#and could be an effective king if allowed to act on his initiatives

[fortune-maiden]

This drama is all court politics and very few character moments

So the character moments we do get are absolutely precious and Bo Pi may be a schemer but seeing him dote on Fuchai like a father is just too cute 😭

[nightwngz]

Older bat! Damian with super or wonder reader who's like sheltered and oblivious to the real world and they go on a mission or smith together and the whole times she's just doing whatever he says because that's what she's used to and he's just like damnn and finds that really attractive

— 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ! ☆

older!damian wayne x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀… drabble smut. porn with a plot. dirty talk. fingering. Damian uses Arabic nicknames.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲… I don't know how I feel about myself today, but I decided to write this for you anyway. I hope you like it. <3

It was one of the first times you, a young girl exiled from the real world and born on an island paradise inhabited only by women, had contact with what was considered 'the real world.' You were not yet accustomed to many things, especially the existence of men, or perhaps men like Damian Wayne.

On Themyscira, you were used to following orders. When the Queen or your trainer told you to "do this," you knew exactly what to do. But when you joined the Justice League and met Batman, you initially believed you were supposed to act the same way. You soon realized that maybe you should have listened when Jon told you to ignore him completely.

At that moment, Damian Wayne, now known as Batman, was the last person you wanted to be trapped with in a situation like this. The two of you were locked in a reinforced room with no way out, where neither your strength nor your wits could help you get out. So you found yourself trapped with the one man who liked to bark orders like he was the king of Gotham.

— You really don't know what to do? — He asked, annoying you again. — Before, Wonder Women were effective.

However, you tried to heed Jon's advice; thus, you responded to him without intending to participate in his game.

— Yes, and in my land, men didn't even exist. So I'm just getting used to working with the inefficiency of one.

Damian slowly approached the box you were sitting in with an annoying grin on his face.

— In fact, I am a detective. Of course I know how to get out of here.

Your confused expression made him smile even harder at your confusion. You weren't sure if it was fair to feel like a complete idiot, but that was exactly how you felt at that moment. Besides, you didn't like him at all.

— And you never thought to open the door, or are you just trying to annoy me by making me live with you?

— Actually... — He replied, moving even closer to you. — I'm testing you. Go and open the door as best you can — He finally ordered.

And as if it were a sacred word, you stood up, determined to open the door to the room at any cost. At first, you tried to break it down with blows, but your strength wasn't enough. It was probably made of some incredibly strong material, possibly of alien origin.

— Try pulling the doorknob with your lasso — he suggested, and once again, you listened.

Damian couldn't help but find the way you obeyed like a trained dog incredibly attractive. Deep down, he felt that he had you at his mercy and that no matter what he asked you to do, you would listen.

Totally exhausted from the effort, you knelt on the ground, but you didn't give up. Feeling sorry for you, he reached over to stroke your hair, trying to calm you down.

— Pretty obedient little thing. — He flattered, lifting your chin so you could look him in the eye. — You don't know how to say no, do you?

A wave of intense heat enveloped you. Perhaps it was the first time you had ever found yourself in an intimate situation with someone, as you had always believed that your body was trained solely for an impending war. Yet, when Damian was around, that was the one purpose of your training you occasionally forgot.

— If I asked you to take off your underwear, would you be so obedient, habibati?

Your cheeks reddened immediately. You knew you should avoid this kind of situation, but having been trained on the island, you understood that you had to follow the orders of a superior. Batman was more experienced than you, making him your superior, and you felt obligated to obey him.

Immediately your panties fell down under the metal skirt of your suit, exposing your pussy to the man in the room.

From what you knew about men, you noticed they often looked for specific qualities in women. However, Damian had never shown any boldness towards you. As time passed, the 'sexual tension' that Jon had mentioned began to feel more like an annoyance.

When he saw that you were listening to him, he smiled as usual. But his smile was not one of despair; it was one of desire.

He knelt down to be at the same height as you. Gently, he slid a finger down your soaked pussy while keeping his eyes on yours, watching for any reaction on your face.

You understood what he was doing and how he was touching every part of the anatomy between your legs with precision. What you didn't understand was how he was so skilled at it.

You couldn't hold back your moans as you felt him gently pinch your now throbbing clit. His touch drove you crazy as you felt waves of pleasure crash against you.

— Damn, what a good girl. Sorry to tell you, Habibati... I have a weakness for obedient women.

[roanniom]

I adored smartest! Scratched an itch I didn’t know I had for Steve. Can’t stop thinking of him seeing someone trying to flirt with his tutor and getting possessive and dragging her down the nearest dark alley to prove no one could make her dumb like he can.

Smartest - Part 2

King!Steve Harrington x tutor!fem!reader

Read Part 1

Warning: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, mutual masturbation, semi public sex / PIV sex / unprotected sex, teasing, power dynamics, King!Steve is a dick and is his own warning (but goes through angst here???)

Steve isn’t really sure what he assumed would happen after he’d been hooking up with his tutor for a while. There had been absolutely no forethought to the initial act, and the fact that you had been into him enough to let him keep fucking you during each session - well Steve Harrington isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, of course.

But he certainly hadn’t anticipated how the attention would affect how you carry yourself. In the halls. In class. In the stands during pep rallies. Walking through the diner or at the movies. Whenever Steve sees you out and about in Hawkins now, he can’t help but blink and do a double take.

You stand up straighter. You smile brighter. You make eye contact with the people around you. Your clothes are a little more relaxed, opting for flouncier skirts and fun tops rather than cardigans and your usual buttoned up, structured dresses.

To Steve, of course, the change seems motivated by him. And, to be fair, he was sort of the catalyst. He couldn’t possibly know that really you’ve started to come into your own, not because of Steve’s attention itself, but because of the way it allowed you to dismiss the fears you’d had of your own undesirability. The King of Hawkins High wanted you. You’re pretty sure it’s just as a steady fuck buddy, but still. You’d gone from scared to look boys in the eye to being very aware of the fact that you walking through the Harrington’s front door with your books and notes had a pretty much Pavlovian effect of Steve’s cock. He was basically hard fifteen minutes into any tutoring session these days.

It’s not that Steve’s attention has validated you, per se. It’s more that it has made you realize how silly men are. How easy and one track minded they can be. Its almost silly to think how starved you had been for approval and how sure you’d been that your status as an A+ goody goody made you untouchable. That was clearly, judging by the bruises Steve left on your thighs each week, not the case. The whole thing has made you ten times less nervous in his presence. And if you don’t have to be nervous around the King, it essentially means that you’re more at ease everywhere.

At first this change in you intrigues Steve. He truly had never really given you much thought prior to the start of your dalliance. Sure you were pretty…in a stuffy, academic, good girl type of way. But he was always a bird of prey, looking for shiny, garish, colorful and shapely things to catch his eye.

So the day you show up to his place in a tight skirt and a fashionable off the shoulder blouse that bares your collar bones and exposes cleavage, Steve’s eyes practically pop out of his head.

“Well hello,” he says directly to your tits. You roll your eyes and step around him into the house.

“Hi, Steve,” you reply, walking towards the dining room where you usually have your sessions. Steve jogs up behind you and grabs you at the waist, turning you back to him.

“Not in there. Let’s study in my room.”

“Why?” you ask, confused by the sudden change.

“Well, my parents are home,” Steve elaborates. Heat fills you as you realize what he means, but you cock your head to the side, waiting for him to say it. Steve rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “So we can’t…have fun in the dining room.”

“I’m here to tutor you, Steve. So I guess it’s okay if we can’t have fun,” you say with a shrug. You can’t suppress your smile though and Steve’s smile widens. A few weeks ago you would have stuttered and gone shy but immediately compliant, hoping to please him. This was new.

“Yeah but what about when I get an answer right?” Steve asks, stepping forward and lifting his hand so he can play with the hem of your shirt. “You know I need positive reinforcement.”

You do your best to hide your swallow at the memory of how you had sucked his cock after you’d cajoled him into memorizing his flash cards. Even more heat courses through your body but you look up at him defiantly.

“I brought a packet of gold stars. You like stickers, Steve?”

Your answer catches him off guard and he lets out a bark of a laugh. There’s a triumphant fanfare ringing in your ears at the fact that you are able to make Steve laugh like that. Organically and not part of any of kind of show or flirtation or charm offensive.

“I do like stickers…” he says, his hand dipping under the hem of your top and splaying out over the bare skin of your waist. “But I think this body might motivate me better.”

Your breath catches in your throat at that. His heavy eye contact leaves you nowhere to run. Not that you’d ever run from Steve. He’s a magnet pulling you in regardless of distance or context.

But he’s also made the vital mistake of showing his hand. He wants something from you, too. This isn’t a one way serving pity situation. You might be dumb with his cock in you, but before it gets to that point you’re still the smartest girl in Hawkins. So you use this information to your advantage.

You take his hand and walk him up the stairs (a bold move that he didn’t see coming and which makes him immediately rock hard as he watches your ass away ahead of him up the steps).

You’re the one who closes the door. He locks it.

You end up getting Steve to complete all of his homework…by himself. With motivation in the form of a game where you give him a sticker after he completes each assignment and he gets to decide which body part of yours it goes on. By the end of the afternoon you’re naked on his bed, a sticker on each of your tits, each of your ass cheeks, your bellybutton, and your lower abdomen. By the end of the session his head is squeezed between your thighs, his hands roaming and roving to squeeze each soft piece of flesh he’d bedazzled with his gold stars of favor.

So yeah. At first your increased confidence was something Steve found pretty fucking hot.

But as time went on, he began to realize that your confidence didn’t begin and end with him. He started seeing you around in school more. It’s not that you had somehow increased the amount of times you cross his path in a day, exactly. More that you used to melt into the background a bit more. He’d notice you only if you were right in front of him shyly waving. He’d wave back dutifully at his tutor, sometimes throwing you a bone in the form of a wink, lazily enjoying the way it would so obviously throw you into a tailspin with virtually no effort on his part.

Now you’re somehow everywhere all at once. And not only are you noticeable in the crowd - you stand out from it. Your hair is more stylish, your clothes are unapologetically patterned and colored and fit you in ways his hands envy. Your smile is brighter than the god damn fluorescents above. And now Steve is the one who has to maneuver to catch your eye. Because you’re always talking to people these days, it seems. And a lot of those people are guys, Steve notices begrudgingly.

You stand with your back against a locker, your books pulled to your chest as your arms wrap around them, a smile on your face that is definitely not worth the lame ass comment said by the dumb jock standing before you. Steve pauses at the water fountain where he’d been bending when he’d turned his head and saw you. So clearly the recipient of some football player’s attention.

And boy do you glow under attention.

That week when you arrive at his house to tutor him, Steve tries to charm you again into simply fucking outright. Again, you coyly dance around it, making him work for it. He ends up losing his patience and crowding you in the kitchen when you get up for a snack.

“Steve! I’m trying to—!” You’re squealing but he swallows it up as he takes the coke can out of your hand and blindly moves it away from you, his mouth already hot on yours.

Before you can register what’s happening, Steve’s hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter and pushed his way between your spread legs.

“What?” Steve asks, pulling away and feigning nonchalance as if he hadn’t just manhandled you and mauled you with his lips. “You said we could have a snack break.” He slides a hand down to cup your pussy through your skirt. He pets at the place over your clit. “This is my snack.”

What would have once rendered you speechless makes you roll your eyes.

“I’m actually hungry, Steve.”

Steve gives you a lopsided grin and drops his hand on his hard on, evident and swell in the confines of his jeans.

“Got a snack for you right here.”

You laugh at that and Steve feels something akin to pride zing through him. But it’s not exactly like pride, an emotion he knows well. No, it’s something different. Warmer.

“As much as I do enjoy that particular snack, Harrington, I don’t think your cum will satiate me.”

“Fuck. Dirty talk and big words like ‘satiate’.” Steve pretends to feel faint with a hand on his forehead. “You really have this hot smart girl thing figured out.”

You shake your head at him but smile, and Steve hates the fact that it’s your smile that makes him even harder.

He also hates the fact that fifteen minutes later he finds himself sliding into a booth at the local diner rather than sliding himself into your sweet pussy.

You’d cajoled him into taking you for a real meal since there was nothing to eat at his place. And no, you’d continued to argue. His cock was not a balanced meal.

His hand had been on your thigh for half of the drive to the diner before he realized, like ice water down his back, that the whole situation reeked of a date. He’d pulled his hand back over to clutch at the steering wheel with a double grip, eyes flitting to you anxiously. However you seemed not to notice, looking instead out the window pleasantly.

As he’d parked Steve had made a mental note to reel in the PDA. He didn’t want you thinking this was more than it was. More than a weekly fuck session between two consenting people. One of whom used to have the upper hand and one of whom…had the sexiest smile with lips that looked sinful wrapped around a stripped straw and cheeks that hollowed sexually as they sucked—

Fuck.

Steve Harrington was in trouble.

The meal went by quickly, and over time you were able to pull him from his rattled internal monologue, stealing his fries and teasing him for getting in trouble in class earlier in the day. Steve throws a fry at you and nudges your foot with his under the table. You laugh. His stomach flips. His palm itches so he drops it under the table and rubs it against the denim on his thigh.

When the waitress comes with the check, you bound to the bathroom and Steve gets a minute to get his shit together.

He’s Steve fucking Harrington. Supreme stud of Hawkins High. Another girl every week (although if he was counting, which he wasn’t, it had been a few weeks since he’d reracked his rotation). He fishes his wallet out of his too-tight jeans and drops down some bills.

“Thanks, handsome.”

Steve looks up, expecting to see you but instead realizing it had come from the waitress who he’d forgotten was standing there. She’s a pretty thing, maybe a year or two older. He’s seen her working here before and he lets his eyes roam over her figure unabashedly. Her uniform isn’t zipped up all the way in the front, leaving exposed a generous swell of cleavage and her waist flares out into a voluptuous set of hips. She taps a manicured nail on her order pad, patiently waiting for him to finish oogling her. She’s a hot girl and he’s a hot guy. She knows this dance and so does Steve. When he drags his eyes up from her tits to her face, she looks expectant.

This is the part where he chats her up. Where he compliments her - or cuts her down a bit in a boyish, redeemable way - and then asks her out. He’s supposed to give her his million watt rich boy smile, run a hand through his hair, and turn on the charm.

She’s expecting it. He’s expecting it of himself.

But instead, all he can manage is a nod and a tight smile. He watches the waitress’s brows raise and her smile fall a bit. But then she’s simply picking up the money and walking away. Steve has a moment of panic as his eyes drop to watch the sway of her ass as she retreats. What the fuck is wrong with him? He could have been tucked away in his car with that hot woman, spanking that ass within the hour.

Instead he’s still tucked away in a booth at a diner her didn’t want to go to, still painfully hard without an outlet in sight.

Which is when he hears your laugher ring out, causing said hard cock to twitch. Steve turns quickly to find you standing by the entrance to the bathroom, cornered by yet another football player.

He sees red. The way you’re leaning up against the wall is a mirror image to when he’d seen you receive attention earlier in the week by your locker. You gaze up at the football player with a smile that Steve realizes he’d assumed was only meant for him. It boils his blood to think that the smile you’d bestowed on him so dutifully, so loyally, was just your smile. A thing to be handed out like some cheap party favor to any Tom, Dick, or Harry.

Steve can’t know - especially from a distance - that you really are only humoring this guy. If one looked closer they could never mistake the tight lipped, emotionless nicety on your face for the radiant, full bodied smile you reserved for Steve. You’d gotten cornered by the jock on your way back to the bathroom, and you’d been trying to politely extricate yourself from his lukewarm advances for a few minutes now.

He was rambling about his car and the upgrades he’d gotten done to it when suddenly a pair of big hands land heavy on your shoulder.

“Babe, I paid the check. Let’s get out of here.”

You whip your head around to find Steve behind you, though his gaze is placed firmly on the football player. Though they aren’t the same in width, Steve’s got the guy beat in height, and he uses it to his advantage by standing up straight and puffing his chest a bit.

“Harrington,” the jock chokes out. In the Hawkins hierarchy, the basketball team is more successful than the football team by a long shot, so a certain amount of deference is expected for the king of the court, even from fellow athletes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…is this your girl?”

Steve feels you go rigid under his hold. Your eyes flash up to his but he doesn’t meet yours.

“Don’t you have a playbook to memorize?” Steve asks coolly. He pulls lightly and your back presses against his chest. “If I remember football season right, I’d say it’s gonna take you till fall and then some. Better get back to it.”

You try to laugh his comment off and put a hand on the bicep of your would-be suitor.

“Steve, this is—,”

“Mr. Irrelevant,” Steve completes for you, smoothly using both an insult and a football pun.

The jock stutters another apology before ambling back to his friends. You don’t have time to question Steve because his arm is suddenly around you, pulling you with him out the door.

The two of you walk briskly to his car, and only when you reach the passenger door do you finally regain your powers of speech.

“What was that in there, Steve?” you ask quietly. Your hand is on the door handle but you remain motionless.

“What? I told you, I don’t like football players,” Steve says with a shrug, yanking open the driver side door and dropping into his seat. You climb in carefully and watch him as he violently pulls on his seatbelt.

“Why?”

“Because they’re a bunch of meat heads and it’s a sport revolving around how many concussions they can rack up—,”

“No, Steve,” you interrupt gently, your hand dropping on his knee. “Why were you acting…possessive?”

Steve’s skin burns through his jeans where your hand touches him. He stares at it for a second before looking up, agitated.

“Well excuse me for saving you. I thought you’d be thanking me for getting that guy to stop drooling on you.”

His words sting and you wince. Steve even winces a bit, having not intended to sound so forceful. You shrug.

“He was only being nice.”

Steve let’s out a humorless laugh.

“That wasn’t being nice. That was undressing you with his eyes. That was trying to get you to let him feel you up under the bleachers. Nice is—,”

“Nice is flirting with your tutor to get her to do your homework?”

Steve freezes before he can turn the key in the ignition. He looks over to find that you’re staring blankly out the windshield. Your arms are hugging you, like you’re trying to comfort yourself.

“That’s not…”

“Nice is fucking her when you’re bored? Your little prescheduled sex appointment?”

Steve’s defenses raise and he unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn more fully to you.

“Hey wait, that’s—,”

“That’s exactly what this is. I haven’t misunderstood that, Steve,” you say, finally turning the full force of your earnest gaze on him. “Have you?”

Steve blinks at you slowly. Completely unsure about what’s going on and how the night has taken this turn.

He’s even more bewildered when you suddenly move to climb into the back seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks, surprised and leaning over to watch you lay yourself down on the seat.

“You wanted to fuck me earlier. So do it.”

Steve feels like you’ve slapped him in the face. Your stare is cool and you begin to unbutton your blouse. Panic rises inside of him and his head whirls around.

“Here? Someone could see,” Steve argues. They are in the back corner of the parking lot, but it’s a parking lot nonetheless, illuminated by one sole street lamp. You shrug.

“The windows are tinted, aren’t they?”

Steve can’t begin to comprehend the conflict coursing through his veins. Of course the windows are tinted. Almost illegally so. He knows that because he’s fucked countless girls in the back seat of his car. Hadn’t he even just thought about fucking that waitress in his car only minutes ago?

But with you…

He’s thrown off by the urge he has to cover your breasts with his hands when you peel back your top. Not even to touch you but just to keep you from being seen by others.

Why does he fucking care?

King Steve had fucked at every party he’d ever been to - sometimes even in rooms with no doors or up against the back of a house with people nearby on a porch. He’d never once had a conscience about it. As long as the girl was down, he was ready to go.

So why is it different now, with you stripping in his back seat and staring at him with big doe eyes?

“Come on. Don’t make me get started by myself,” you say teasingly. You’re clearly trying to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. Steve swallows hard.

“You wouldn’t.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him and lift the hem of your skirt. You’re wearing a lacy scrap of panties that match your bra. Definitely a far cry from the sensible underwear you’d been wearing the first time he’d seduced you.

“Try me.”

And despite the confusion and warning bells going off in his head, Steve’s clambering into the back seat in seconds. He’s on top of you, hips shoved between your thighs and big hands on your wrists, pinning them above your head against the inside of the car door.

“That’s more like it,” you coo, smiling a dazzling smile up at him. It thrills him and upsets him and makes him frustrated all at once, and since he doesn’t know how to express that with words he does it physically. His mouth drops to your neck so he can pull a sizable amount of flesh between his lips and suck. Hard. You gasp and arch up into him, giving him the perfect opportunity to switch your wrists into a single handed grip so he can move the other hand down to grope at your breasts. Instead of covering them and hiding them, he rips down your bra, letting your breasts spill from the cups.

Steve bites a bruising trail down from your neck to your cleavage, sucking harder than he ever has before.

“Trying to be cute, huh?” he growls against your skin. You laugh breathlessly, wrists straining against his hold.

“Yeah. ‘s it working?”

That makes Steve strangle a laugh but it still frustrates him. You’ve somehow still got the upper hand here. Even though you’re below him and your body is at his mercy. When did the tables turn so fully?

So he sits up abruptly, leaving you laying back, legs still open wide around his hips, his spit still drying around the new bruises sucked to your neck. You’re motionless for a second before leaning up on your elbows to look at him, dazed.

“I’m a little unconvinced,” Steve says with a shrug. A frown filters over your features. You watch as he smooths his hands up and down your thighs, looking at your panty-clad center appraisingly.

“What are you unconvinced about?” you ask. Steve draws a line with his index finger over the length of the waistband of your panties.

“That you really want it bad enough.”

Frustration flickers in your eyes.

“Want what?” you ask, playing along. Steve drops one hand to the bulge in his jeans.

“This cock.”

You roll your eyes and sit up higher.

“Of course I want—,”

“I’m not sure, baby. You were gonna touch yourself back here. Maybe I should have let you handle it.” His actions contradict his words as one hand rubs slow circles right at the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Your eyebrows knit together.

“No, I want you,” you reply, almost petulantly.

There it is.

This is what Steve needed.

But he shakes his head. Now that he’s got you back on the line he’s going to enjoy this to the fullest.

“Maybe you had the right idea,” he says, leaning back a bit against the opposite door. The backs of your thighs still rest on the tops of his, and with one hand still heavy on you, his free hand pops open the button of his jeans. You feel the slide of his zipper rush down your spine.

When Steve pulls his cock out and begins to stroke it, you feel your stomach drop and your mouth water. He’s watching you as he does it. Eyes darting from your breasts almost spilling out of the cups of your bra to the wet spot in the center of your panties. It makes you hot. It turns you on in a way that’s almost painful to watch the flushed fat head of his cock disappear and reappear in the grip of his fist.

“I’m…I’m right here,” you mutter. Steve grins and takes his hand from his cock and slides it confidently under the elastic hem of your panties.

“Yeah, you are.”

The intrusion of his fingers is sudden and sure and you gasp at the feeling of them sliding through your slick. He swirls a few circles around your tensing hole before sliding up to press circles into your clit. You drop back down off your elbows and let out a satisfied moan at the stimulation you’d craved.

But then…he’s pulling his hand back, allowing the elastic of your panties to snap back on you with a sting. You sit up again fast and watch as he takes the wetness he’d gathered from you to make the glide of his hand on his cock more smooth. Your jaw drops.

“Thanks, baby,” Steve says with a wink.

“Steve, what?!”

He shrugs.

“I would’ve asked you to spit in my hand but I didn’t think you would since you’re having an attitude.”

That. That struck exactly the nerve he thought it would. Your jaw sets and your eyes flash. Scooting back a bit so you, too, can lean on the inside of the door closest to you, you drop your legs open wider, well aware of the way Steve’s attention immediately drops to them.

“You’re not very nice, Steve Harrington,” you say quietly. Both of your hands move to squeeze at your own breasts and you arch into your own touch. Steve chuckles at that, eyes on your hands.

“And you’re nice even when you’re pissed apparently,” he says dismissively. Your frown deepens as you pull your bra down to expose you fully. Steve’s face goes blank, like you hoped.

“Fuck you,” you respond, just as quiet as before. Steve’s eyes remain glazed, hand moving faster on his cock, but he gives a lopsided grin.

“There she is. Feisty.”

The interior of the car has started to heat up. The humid smell of sex fills the air, though you’d prefer actually having sex. He’s been pushing it tonight, but you really can’t help the way you feel watching his big hand move on his even bigger cock. It should be inside you. This is the day of your tutoring session. The one day of the week that almost guaranteed you had his attention. Every other day, King Steve belonged to Hawkins. He was a heartthrob and a hometown hero. Probably inside of a different girl each night of the weekend (though you try not to think of that because it’s gross).

But on tutoring days it’s just you. So the fact that he’s choosing to touch himself rather than fill you has you feeling petty. It makes you redouble your efforts. You pinch one of your nipples and let out a heady, performative sigh, all while your other hand moves down and shoves inside your panties. You trace the same path Steve did, circling your hole and then your clit. Getting yourself nice and worked up with your eyes glued on the way Steve drags his hand over his throbbing dick.

Steve is mesmerized, as seems evident by the way he’s stopped talking to watch you. To hear you.

When you push two fingers inside of yourself, you let out an indulgent moan that causes Steve’s hips to buck into his hand. Your thighs quiver where they remain stretched out around his legs.

You drop your other hand down into your stretched out panties to play with your clit while you continue thrusting fingers in and out of yourself - that’s when Steve loses it.

“Show me,” he says gruffly, eyes ripping from the space between your legs to look up at you blearily.

“You’re literally watching me right now,” you laugh, breathless. Steve shakes his head and reaches out to tug on the edge of your panties.

“Get this shit out of the way.”

Now it’s your turn to shake your head.

“Nope. You had your chance with my pussy. You wanted your hand.”

The filthy words coming from you almost makes his eyes roll back in his head. He grunts and continues fisting his cock, but he looks more frustrated now.

Unfortunately there’s something of a Pavlovian response in your body at the sight of his aggression. Whether you like it or not, your burgeoning sexuality had crackled into being under the hands of Steve Harrington, and Steve being Steve is what gets you going.

Unlucky for you and the upper hand you’re trying to cling to, Steve can tell. Back to back weeks of fucking the same person will do that to you, apparently.

“You’re close.” It’s more accusation than observation.

You want to disagree but your fingers speed up on your clit and you widen your legs even more, looking to build pressure.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Fuck.” Steve slows his hand on his cock, breathing deeply and placing a laser focus on your hands in your panties. “Bet you’re getting tight around those fingers, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing and head thrown back against the door. “Really tight…”

Steve let’s out an uncharacteristically pathetic moan. The thrill of it causes your core to contract even tighter.

“Bet you wish I was sucking those tits right now,” Steve remarks, replaying in his head all the times he’d made you cum lately. You lift up to look at him with stern hooded eyes and pull one of your hands from your panties. With a pointed look you raise your fingers to your mouth, lick them wetly, and then bring them down to play with your nipple. Your hips buck into your other hand and Steve loses his fucking mind.

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” he says, launching himself forward. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, hitching your legs up and around his hips, dropping so that his elbows cage you in on either side of your head. The length of his cock slides parallel to your entrance with a wet sound, pushing your pussy lips apart.

“Finally,” you moan petulantly. And that’s all the consent Steve needs to reach down and line himself up so he can thrust into you.

Things get hot and hazy after that. Your fingers thread into his hair and pull hard at the roots. Steve’s tongue and teeth are everywhere, but especially on your pulse point and on the peaks of your breasts.

The slap of skin on skin fills the interior of the car, rivaled only by your shared panting.

Steve shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t be such a relief to sink into your body, like it’s a home he’s been waiting to return to. Your nails biting into his back through his shirt shouldn’t feel like heaven and your little mewls and gasps shouldn’t be an angel’s chorus. He’s not even fucking religious, so what’s with the holy comparisons?

“Oh Steve. Fuck,” you whisper moan right into his ear. Steve slides a hand under you to push your lower back up, giving your hips a tilt that lets him hit deeper.

“It’s good, yeah?” he asks. It’s a question but it’s cocky. You bite his earlobe and clench around him.

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Fucking Christ.”

Yeah. Steve Harrington is seeing god in the back seat of his car in a diner parking lot.

~*~

It takes a minute for you both to catch your breath when you’re done. Sweat and cum and words left unsaid create a film over the two of you which makes it hard to breathe.

Eventually Steve helps you climb back into the front seat before hoping behind the wheel himself to bring you back to the empty Harrington house. Upon arriving, Steve puts the car in park and turns to you, intent on speaking though he’s not sure what he plans to say. You, however, give him no such chance to figure it out as you bound out of the car and up the path to the front door. Steve catches up to let you in.

It’s later than it usually is when you wrap up your tutoring sessions. Steve has to turn on lamps as he follows you through the dark foyer and into the dining room where he finds you already grabbing your things and packing your bag up, half hidden in shadow.

“We didn’t finish the work,” he says quietly. Some what dumbly. You hoist your bag over your shoulder and give him a smile that deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“Yeah. Looks like we’ll have to finish another time.”

When you start for the door, moving at a brisk pace, Steve stumbles after you.

You’re over the threshold and making your way to your car, glowing in the yellow light of the porch lamp before Steve can blurt out.

“When?”

God, he does sound fucking dumb.

And you. You turn and give him one last smile. Looking so put together. So smart.

“That’s up to you, Steve,” you say with a shrug, opening your car door. “You let me know.”

And with that, you get in your car and drive away. Leaving Steve standing alone on his porch with his thoughts.

~*~

-

—

—-

——

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Ahhh originally had no intention of writing a part two and then this happened. Please reblog and comment to let me know what you think and thanks for reading!!

[power-chords]

The Doves Type legend is one of the most enduring in typographic history and probably the most infamous. It’s the story of a typeface and a bitter feud between the two partners of Hammersmith’s celebrated Doves Press, Thomas James Cobden-Sanderson and Emery Walker, leading to the protracted disposal of their unique metal type into London’s River Thames. Starting in 1913 with the initial dumping of the punches and matrices, by the end of January 1917 an increasingly frail Cobden-Sanderson had made hundreds of clandestine trips under cover of darkness to Hammersmith Bridge and systematically thrown 12lb parcels of metal type into the murky depths below. As one person so aptly commented on Twitter recently, this notorious tale bears all the hallmarks of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.

The original Doves Type was crafted by master punchcutter Edward Prince, based on drawings produced by Percy Tiffin of Nicolas Jenson’s pioneering 15th-century Venetian type. William Morris, founder of the Kelmscott Press, had actually developed his own ‘Golden’ type some years before The Doves Press came into being but Doves is held by experts as being more faithful to the original Venetian letterforms.

The Doves Type was commissioned in 1899 and created solely by Prince in 16 pt; it was used in all of the press’s publications including their iconic edition of the King James Bible. Each Doves Press book was beautifully bound and, notes Green, noticeably “stripped of decorative borders and illustration, the elegantly clear & legible type acting alone as visual siren-song.”

By 1908, despite successful Milton prints and the aforementioned Bible, the Press was in dire financial difficulty. Subscribers began melting away after Walker had effectively left in 1906 as the bitter & acrimonious dispute took hold between the partners. On finally dissolving their partnership in 1909, Cobden-Sanderson began attempts to wriggle out of an earlier promise that, should the partnership cease, Walker would receive a fount of type ‘for his own use’. Walker retaliated, issuing a writ insisting that the Press shut down completely and he receive 50% of remaining assets. In 1909, the Press’s only valuable asset was the type.

A compromise was reached, brokered by their exasperated friend Sir Sydney Cockerell, which allowed Cobden-Sanderson uncontrolled use of the type for as long as he lived, at which time it would pass to Emery Walker, if he did not die first.

The thought of ‘his’ typeface being used by anyone else, and in a manner beyond his control, prompted Cobden-Sanderson’s now infamous course of action. Only the Doves Press, run exclusively by him, could be bestowed the honour of printing his type. And so the mission to destroy it, beginning with the punches and matrices on Good Friday 1913, began. On an almost nightly basis from August 1916 the ailing septuagenarian dumped the type into the Thames, wrapped in paper parcels and tied with string; “bequeathed to the river” as he put it in his personal diary. Every piece of this beautiful typeface, more than a ton of metal, was destroyed in a prolonged ritual sacrifice.

—Raised from the dead: The Doves Type story, 2013

After working on a revised digital facsimile Robert Green decided that he would try and find some of the original metal type. Using the sources available, including Cobden-Sanderson's published journals, Mr Green worked out where he thought the type was thrown from the bridge into the Thames.

At low tide, and with a mudlarkers licence, he scoured the Thames foreshore and found three pieces of the original type.

Due to the dangerous nature of the Thames currents and tides a team of professional divers from the Port of London Authority then spent two days looking for more type and a total of 150 pieces were recovered.

—One man's obsession with rediscovering a lost typeface, BBC News, 2015

[adamwatchesmovies]

Uglies (2024)

Oh, the Young Adult Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian/Fantasy Novel Film Adaptation genre. How I’ve missed you. Uglies is a film cut from the same cloth as Divergent and The Darkest Minds. Its villains are obvious, which makes everything that follows evident. The romance and "shocking" revelations that follow are sure to have you rolling your eyes. Any potential it might’ve had is buried in overused ideas. Even if you haven’t seen where this clone's original genetic material comes from, you’ll be holding back laughs. I can’t wait for the sequel.

After the planet’s dwindling natural resources nearly caused civilization to collapse, a new society emerged to solve all of humanity’s problems. Genetically modified orchids provide free, renewable energy and humanity’s worst traits are expunged after they undergo extensive cosmetic surgery at the age of sixteen. Tally (Joey King) cannot wait to become one of the “Pretties” but when her best friend, Peris (Chase Stokes), undergoes the procedure, she has second thoughts. His personality has completely changed. Her uncertainty doesn’t go unnoticed. The city's lead scientist, Dr. Cable (Laverne Cox) assigns her a mission - she will remain one of the "Uglies" until she infiltrates the rebel group that lives in the surrounding wilderness and discovers the location of their leader, a terrorist named David (Keith Powers).

There are some good ideas there. Until you’re sixteen years old, you’re forced to live outside the city in restrictive dormitories. You’re told by the authorities that you need to be fixed and that you don’t fit in but that someday, you will. Once you undergo the surgery, you’ll start a new life “over there” with all the beautiful people living in this place you’re not allowed to visit but know is filled with non-stop revelry, fireworks and fun. If you grew up in a society that broke you down mentally every day, you’d do just about anything to get that carrot they've been dangling. Wanting to belong is something we can all relate to. With everyone over the age of sixteen either part of the corrupt governing body or brainwashed, it makes perfect sense for young heroes to be the driving force of rebellion and change.

The problem is that when we see this world in action - and I’m going to blame director McG here - every cell in your body says “This is wrong”. You take one look at Joey King. She looks fine. The “Pretties”, however, have a distinct sheen of special effects and makeup and the way they act/talk makes you immediately uneasy. When Dr. Cable tells Tally she can’t have the things she’s always wanted until she investigates this mysterious terrorist who operates outside the city, you know who the villain is. Even before we meet Dr. Cable, you’ve got this entire society figured out. From minute one, you’re waiting for our protagonist to catch up to you and scenes of flying skateboards can't make up the difference.

In the film’s defense, it’s got a good message. It’s what's on the inside that counts, and as a bonus, it doesn’t beat you over the head with it. The performances are… fine, so are the special effects. It’s not like anyone acts illogically or there are glaring technical errors, it’s that you feel like everything in this movie is beneath you. There are no interesting twists or revelations. There's nothing new to see. We never dig into Tally’s psyche enough for us to doubt our initial impression of this society. This world's sales pitch isn't good enough to make you think "You know, maybe they're an idea here worth exploring". No one who isn't brainwashed could see the idea of “Uglies” and “Pretties” as a good thing but the society isn't even sinister enough to be interesting and the secondary crisis is the definition of "underwhelming".

For me, the joy in Uglies, The 5th Wave, The Mortal Instruments: The City of Bones, etc. comes from seeing the boxes I know it will check get checked. Does the enemy become the friend? Does the transparently evil-looking character turn out to be evil? Are the protagonists anguished, system-smashing teens? Is there a plot-relevant scar or tattoo? Will victory come at the expense of a vaguely important, but ultimately useless supporting character? Is there a city surrounded by walls or a barrier? Will the first love romance get broken up? What’s the film’s equivalent of “Muggle” and what are the factions called? I’ve made a game out of it, where everyone watching gets random cards and the one who gets the most points once the credits start rolling wins.

Uglies is not worth your time, not when you could re-watch the Hunger Games, Harry Potter or even the Twilight and Maze Runner films but when/if the sequel comes out, I’ll be there. I want to see what comes next so when it comes to Uglies, do as I say, not as I do. (October 4, 2024)

[chloewatcheswrestling]

Wrestling Love Letters

Intrigue and Mastery: A Traditional Japanese Villain Emerges

Shinsuke Nakamura, the former three-time IWGP Heavyweight Champion, a man who's won the prestigious 2011 G1 Climax and the 2014 New Japan Cup, was also the founding member of the stable 'Chaos' (currently led by Kazuchika Okada), cemented his status as a true wrestling icon long ago. The King of Strong Style's journey through the world of professional wrestling has been nothing short of remarkable but, up until recently, he's been cruising along living the 'future hall of famer' life.

Shinsuke has always been able to capture the hearts of fans with his charismatic presence. Whether it's his infectious smile, his captivating entrance music that gets the crowd singing, or his unique in-ring style, Nakamura has always been a fan favourite. However, in recent times, it felt like something was missing. It seemed as though we hadn't seen a certain side of Shinsuke, and he was merely showing up to give us his best professional babyface performance without being a viable contender for a title or someone we eagerly anticipated seeing at the top of the card.

A contributing factor to this feeling was WWE's insistence on having Nakamura communicate primarily in English, limiting his ability to cut compelling promos. Despite this, he compensated adeptly with his eccentric and exaggerated facial expressions, which effectively conveyed his emotions when the scripts fell short. This issue isn't unique to Nakamura; it extends to other Japanese wrestlers, including Asuka and Iyo Sky, who also both occupy prominent positions on the roster and the women's title scene.

Then came the game-changing moment - Nakamura's heel turn on Monday Night Raw (August 7th, 2023) and subsequent promo the following week. The promo involved a clever twist: Nakamura initially speaking in English, pausing to contemplate his next words, only to dismiss the need for understanding from the crowd or his opponent and seamlessly transitioning to Japanese. It was as if the man brimming with charm had unearthed an entirely new reservoir of charisma.

For someone who has tried and failed to learn Japanese, witnessing Nakamura speak his native language with such animation was truly enchanting. It was as if he'd finally been allowed to show his true self and was running with that opportunity. His animated facial expressions, body language and impassioned delivery made it almost feel as though you comprehended his words, even if you couldn't speak a word of Japanese. This change demonstrated that the WWE audience don't always require spoon-fed storylines to grasp a narrative.

Shinsuke complimented his change in character with a slight tweak in his appearance, now wearing dark kimono-inspired outfits, evoking the classic Japanese villain archetype. This archetype typically pits the villain against a heroic protagonist, in this case, the baby face Seth Rollins. The hero-villain dynamic, central to many Japanese narratives like samurai epics and martial arts tales, usually unfolds with the villain displaying a complex relationship with the concept of honour and quite often they themselves were once a beloved hero. I initially questioned why it had taken so long for WWE to pull the trigger on this heel turn but soon realised that it may not have been as effective if acted on sooner.

Nakamura's decision to whisper a cryptic threat to Seth Rollins was a genius move to get the audience speculating what could have possibly been said (a wrestling storytelling technique reminiscent of Undertaker whispering to Bray Wyatt). And later revealing his knowledge of Seth's persistent back issues, ignited their feud brilliantly and played into the traditional Japanese villain traits of intelligence, cunning and manipulation. Following Payback 2023, the challenge was maintaining the momentum of this rivalry. Nakamura, adopting the quintessential villain role, goaded Seth to the point of Seth demanding a rematch, only for Nakamura to deny his request until he deemed the time is right. The calculated manipulation, marked by meticulous planning and tactics, exemplifies Nakamura's mastery of this character.

I'm confident I'm not alone in backing Shinsuke in this ongoing feud with Seth Rollins, I would love to see him have a heel run with the title, orchestrating the fate of the baby faces on the roster like a master puppeteer. While Rollins is a safe pair of hands, I'd like to see him drop down the card and confront the challenge of having to claw his way back up. This journey could infuse his character with a newfound intensity, potentially sowing the seed for a compelling character transformation. Nakamura has undoubtedly regained his cool factor, and it's high time for WWE to capitalise on this resurgence and explore fresh storytelling avenues.

With pins, submissions, and a whole lot of heart, Chloe xoxo

13.09.2023

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1077 - Initial Thoughts

Well we are back, the breaks always feel longer every time we get through them

But we have more Among Us to get through, so let's see what twists Oda offers today

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release Also

Back in the present for the cover story with Judge and Caesar deciding that Vegapunk is to blame for their troubles

Sentomaru's trying to evacuate the island, telling the people that Ohara may happen to them

Funny flashback Aokiji face though

The shaky alliance are still fighting off the Seraphim, who keep getting up from the combo attacks

Zoro finally clicks on to the fact that the Seraphim look like King, prompting Shaka to confirm that the Seraphim have Lunarian properties

Did we know that it was Punk Hazard they were testing on them? I mean it makes sense given the DF but still

We get the gag of Zoro listing the clear telltale signs of a Lunarian though, but at least they know how to fight them now

Shaka meanwhile suddenly has a clue where the Stella body may be

And back to Nami, turns out she was being attacked by S-Shark

Unnecessary ass shot though

Seems like S-Shark has been busy, beheading Brook and beating down Edison, which only allows Nami to convince herself against her instincts to not hurt a child

The thunderbolt seems to hit hard, but S-Shark sank into the ground to flank Nami

Brook was about to make the save but then Sanji charged in, triggered of course by her scream last chapter

Although Sanji hit S-Shark hard it is worth reminding that the fire is still on its back when he hit them, but I can already tell that twitter's gonna zero in on it

WAIT! SANJI'S TWIRLY BROW CHANGED SIDES AGAIN!! I wonder if that means he's gonna tap into Vinsmoke powers again, maybe he has an anger shift?

With Team Lilith, Lilith manages to deter S-Snake with the Bubble gun

Turns out the Bubble Gun has the same effect as Sea Prism, and Sea Prism still works on Seraphim because of the Green Blood

Lilith's lil pose as Usopp and Pythagoras cheer for her XD

Franky uses the bubble to properly subdue S-Snake, but falls prey to the Seraphim's crocodile tears

Hit with a Perfume Femur, Franky is partially stoned, while Usopp and Lilith get fully stoned by being hit with her cutesy act and DF

Is this the thing I read Usopp would 'never do'? Honestly I thought it was something more dramatic than being caught in the DF powers

I wonder if Franky got fully stoned in transition, but since we know through Boa vs Blackbeard that only the user can undo the Stoning it's worrying for us right now

I do at least hope that Franky (and Usopp and Lilith but not as much of a priority) get unstoned given how an arc about Vegapunk always felt like it was gonna be Franky Season

The place the Stella is being kept is called a 'Devil Fruit Laboratory'

Shaka does arrive there to surprise, so I guess it wasn't him after all

Vegapunk Stella though asks who Shaka came with, leading to gunfire

Shot through the head, I doubt Shaka's getting up from that

'Ktok' is a unique sfx for walking isn't it? I feel like we've heard it before

Okay so RIP Shaka guys

All the Ohara information stored in his brain is now spilling on the floor, that's gonna sting for Robin, though the info should still be in Elbaf.

This was a good chapter to go back to, of course people will be upset that we didn't go back to Shanks but come on you had to have seen that coming? I do feel like while it makes sense for Sanji to jump in to rescue Nami that it still diminishes Brook being there, they split into groups for a reason after all. Also this means that Stussy and Jinbe were left out.

We have all the Seraphim accounted for though, only Pythagoras and maybe Franky are still active around S-Snake, but it was a shame to see Lilith and Usopp shafted even if it's temporarily. Key note though that Seraphim have the same DF weakness, could use those Sea Prism cuffs Lucci and Kaku had on some of them.

Sentomaru evacuating the island is important too, 100 Warships, an Admiral and a Gorosei are on the way, so it'll definitely be worse than Ohara, Egghead is gonna turn into a Warzone.

As for our ktok, it sounds metallic, but Vegapunk didn't recognize them from afar, so still hard to say, but we might get the reveal next week.

[horizon-verizon]

What is this bullshit that the fact that Rhaenyra has children born out of wedlock and yet heirs, will upset the stability of the kingdom? 🙄 As if there hadn't already been "bastards" in power in history or even named as heirs? 😂

Rhaenyra is already doubted to be an effective leader due to her gender. It's not only that, many lords and their male relatives do not wish to be directed by a woman, used to male authority and patriarchal privilege. So there is the fear that some will resist and actually rebel to remove her.

Rhaenyra, just by being a woman, already "threatens the stability of the realm".

We think of how Henry VIII felt about his daughters Mary I and Elizabeth I, how hard he wanted a male heir, and how many wives he got rid of and abused--he wanted to make sure that his lineage and dynasty would survive, and to do that was to ensure he got legitimate males. (He had a few male illegitimate children, but you know.)

Thus the other fear is that some lord(s) will take Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron and any children they may have to use against Rhaenyra. So Rhaenyra would be forced to order their executions or kill them in battle.

I understand the initial fear and concern, but I can't really excuse how far it went with what Show!Alicent knew of Show!Rhaenyra, with they were supposed to know of each other because of *close friendship*, the fact that Rhaenyra could have also claimed that those lords were trying to make her commit kinslaying (Jane Grey was Mary I's very distant relative while Aemond and the rest are closer kin to Rhaenyra), and the fact these people had dragons.

Book!Rhaenyra was not afraid to use her dragon either, as we read about Vaemond and the Driftmark Claim (she got Daemon to decapitate him and fed the remains to Syrax).

I also reject judging women for the same action a man can take without similar consequence, reaction, or punishment.

Back to bastards. Because Rhaenyra is already a "liability", her introducing bastards into the mix would complicate things since some lords already do not want a female ruler. Bastards are unfavorable because they are believed to be inherently untrustworthy and evil (Faith of the Seven). 

By having bastards, she acts "unwomanly" and against the standards set for her gender--how can she be a good ruler?! 

As if Jaehaerys I didn't get enough of the lords and peasants to accept Targaryen sibling-sibling incest through manipulation and propaganda, or that there was a time in their pre-Alysanne history that a lord could rape one of his peasant's/vassal's newlywed wife [right of the first night], which does go against what the Faith official doctrine teaches about gender-equal fidelity.

Some have counterargued that the V boys aren't bastards at all because they were born accepted by Viserys, Corlys, and Laenor. Others bring up what you do and counterargue that bastards have always occupied higher positions of power or were allowed to according to their parents and relatives or else's needs and desires for power and resources.

In real life:

before the 1200s in France, England and Spain, it was being born to the right parents–whether they were married according to the Church’s doctrines and rules–that made a child seem more worthy of inheriting their parents’ lands, properties, and titles.

several early medieval kings – Charlemagne as an example– had concubines, mistresses, etc. who mothered children that were very much apart of these kings’ lineages.

there was also a real concern behind this was that kings can marry and annul/divorce a lot easier or how their parents’ resources could provide for the child’s future vassalages.

it wasn’t until more and more medieval lawyers used Church doctrines of marriage to draw up reasons for some illegitimate children to not inherit some lands and rights, such as the Anstey case of the 1160s (if you doubt this wiki page, look through its references listed below).

“There is very little evidence to suggest that an interest in keeping illegitimate children from inheriting noble or royal title outweighed political or practical considerations in the same way that the policing of illegal marriages sometimes did.” (The Wire)

The fact that these medieval lawyers can even use another precept to exclude “illegitimate” children for succession for other lords and ladies when before, illegitimate kids can and often inherited their parents’ right and properties (William the Conqueror) speaks to how immaterial and unreal legitimacy itself is. 

[maloned]

The Photo-Realistic Little Mermaid?

I have to say, I really liked the live-action/photo-realistic remake of The Little Mermaid. It took a while to find its footing, but once it did, it was absolutely delightful.

The beginning of the movie was a bit challenging. It lacked originality and the visual effects fell short. I mean, Disney did a fantastic job with underwater scenes in movies like Wakanda Forever and Avatar: Way of the Water. In comparison, The Little Mermaid's underwater scenes were a bit blurry and dark. It felt like they were trying to mask the weak visual effects with motion blur and dim lighting.

Halle Bailey truly shined in her role. However, in that initial part of the film, it seemed like they were trying too hard to faithfully recreate the original animated version. Bailey's rendition of 'Part of Your World' felt like an imitation of Jodi Benson's version.

The movie hit a rough patch when it tried to differentiate itself from the animated original with Jonah Hauser-King's 'Wild Uncharted Waters.' Personally, I wasn't a fan of the song or the way it was performed.

But then, in the second act, the film finally found its charm and identity. Bailey's innocence in her performance of 'For the First Time' captured our hearts and allowed us, as humans, to become immersed in her perspective and experience the wonder of the human world through her eyes. Instead of being amazed by the underwater world, Bailey's portrayal made us feel like we were seeing our own world for the very first time.

Halle and Jonah had amazing chemistry. We couldn't help but root for them as we followed their day long date.

Our new found investment in the story and characters gained momentum, pulling us through the final act. (Spoiler alert) And I particularly loved that Ariel was the one who defeated Ursula, instead of Eric.

Melissa McCarthy, who is usually wonderful, was somewhat held back by distracting visual effects. On the other hand, Javier Bardem was absolutely spectacular in his role. He managed to overcome the weak special effects and the underdeveloped father-daughter relationship with Ariel. When King Triton finally let go and allowed Ariel to lead her own life, Bardem's performance compensated for any writing shortcomings and made me feel the emotional pain of a father letting go of his daughter.

All in all, I genuinely enjoyed this movie. The performances truly saved it, despite the subpar special effects and the lack of originality in the first act. That initial part could have set up the movie for failure, but thanks to Hailey, Hauser-King, Bardem, and the rest of the cast, the film rose from the depths of it’s flaws and emerged victorious.

[rabbitcruiser]

National Tartan Day 

Research the history and culture of the Scottish people, represented by the iconic Tartan pattern often seen on kilts, blankets, and other clothing.

Tartan is one of the most recognizable patterns ever, and has a strong history for the people of Scotland. National Tartan Day was created to celebrate Scottish history and the achievements of people of Scottish descent around the world. While some areas hold marches and parades, other people simply celebrate it amongst themselves. For anyone who has ever been interested in Scottish history, National Tartan Day is just a great opportunity to research and learn.

Get ready to celebrate National Tartan Day!

History of National Tartan Day

National Tartan Day was initiated in the mid-1980s by the Scottish diaspora living in Canada at a meeting of the Federation of Scottish Clans in Nova Scotia. By 1997, the idea for the day had been approved and the annual celebration began to grow into other Scottish communities in North America and Australia.

By 1997, the idea for the day had spread to the United States and National Tartan Day was approved by the US Congress and President, and it was first celebrated the following year on April 6.

The reason for the celebration of the day on April 6 is because that is the date in 1320 when the Scottish King Robert I signed the Declaration of Arbroath. This was a letter written to Pope John XXII, responding to his excommunication from the church because he refused to stop fighting for Scottish Independence.

National Tartan Day Timeline

200-300 AD Scots start wearing Tartan

Sometimes confused with the word “Plaid” (meaning blanket), Tartan is the specific pattern woven both horizontally and vertically into the fabric.

1320 Declaration of Arbroath is signed

A letter is written, on April 6, by King Robert I, responding to Pope John XXII’s demands that Scotland sign a truce in the first War of Scottish Independence.

1746 Act of Proscription takes effect

In an effort to assimilate the people of Great Britain and crush the Clans, the government makes it so that the Scottish people could not revolt–and are not even allowed to wear their Tartans.

1986 First National Tartan Day is proposed in Canada

This day is proposed for April 6 to promote Scottish Heritage in Canada, originating in Nova Scotia, which means “New Scotland”.

1998 Tartan Day is adopted in the United States

The Scottish Coalition USA met the previous year to propose following in Canada’s footsteps and Tartan Day passes legislation in Congress during this year.

How to Celebrate National Tartan Day

Although National Tartan Day was originally created to celebrate Scottish history, there is no reason people of non-Scottish heritage cannot join in the fun. Try out some of these fun ideas for celebrating this exciting day:

Wear a Tartan for National Tartan Day

While many people in the English language refer to tartan as “plaid”, this is a misnomer. The term “plaid” is actually Gaelic for a blanket. The correct term for the vertical and horizontal stripes that are woven into the fabric is “tartan”.

Whether it be a scarf, skirt or even a kilt, show a bit of love for the fabric that never goes out of fashion this National Tartan Day by incorporating it into the day’s outfit. Those who have Scottish roots can choose the color and pattern of tartan that most represents the clan from which they descend.

Listen to Scottish Music for National Tartan Day

For those who do not especially fancy wearing tartan on this day, it would always be possible to celebrate by digging out an old classic from Bay City Rollers, the “tartan teen sensations from Edinburgh” and singing along to Bye Bye Baby! Or put on some tunes from twin brothers, Craig and Charlie Reid, otherwise known as The Proclaimers. Alternatively, this would be the right time to enjoy listening to some bagpipe music!

Enjoy Some Scottish Treats for National Tartan Day

In addition to simply donning some sort of tartan garment, this would be a great day to have some friends over to enjoy a bit of Scottish Fun! In addition to listening to some Scottish music, as mentioned above, enjoy some food that would be traditional to Scotland, such as Walkers Shortbread cookies which often feature tartan on the packages. Other treats might be haggis, oat cakes, “neeps and tatties”, Scottish pies or Irn Bru.

Join in on a Celtic Festival

Many Scottish communities throw festivals or parades in celebration of this day. For instance, the Tartan Day South Celtic Festival takes place in South Carolina each year. In New York City, Tartan Day is celebrated all throughout the week with a wide selection of events, including a 10K run around Central Park.

In addition, many pubs and bars that have Scottish roots will often host celebrations and offer discounts in honor of National Tartan Day, so be sure to check those out locally as well.

Of course, perhaps the best place to celebrate National Tartan Day might be to head on over to Scotland for a visit!

National Tartan Day FAQs

What is National Tartan Day?

National Tartan Day is a time set aside to celebrate Scottish Heritage, particularly in North America.

When is National Tartan Day?

National Tartan Day is celebrated on April 6 in Canada and the United States and on August 1 in Australia.

Why is National Tartan Day on April 6?

Canada and the United States proposed National Tartan Day for April 6 because it is the day that the Declaration of Arbroath was signed.

Is National Tartan Day a holiday?

National Tartan Day is celebrated as a recognized holiday in Canada and the United States, as well as Australia, though the date may be different.

How to celebrate National Tartan Day?

A great way to observe National Tartan Day is to enjoy celebrating all things Scottish, including wearing a Tartan or even visiting Scotland.

Source

[jaz-norman]

Down the Rabbit-Hole

Jervis only recovered when his nose became a fountain of blood. The Joker once told Batman that starting with the head was the wrong way to start an interrogation, the victim remains confused, but that was a pure act of violence. It was a quick movement, but not as quickly as Jervis raised his face to look over his shoulder so disoriented and frightened. When he succeeded, trembling and with a hand to his nose gushing, he did not find anyone behind him, or rather he found many people behind him looking at him at a distance of a few meters, leaving around the table, which had just met his face, a circle of emptiness. From this he deduced at least three things:

Whoever did it was moderately strong; and that’s bad.

That was fast enough to hit a person and run away in the time it took a person to react; very bad.

This person had struck him and subsequently camouflaged himself with the crowd who had not reacted further, effectively hiding this person; dangerously ill.

As already explained, the blow to the head was destabilizing and while the hatter was thinking about all these things, he didn’t even have time to be scared of it because he fainted falling backwards. No one rushed to help him, and even those who would (very few) did not. Something had changed and Jervis had the first true taste of what is meant by: suffering for love.

When Jervis woke up he found himself in a cell; apparently the guards, after about ten minutes, noticed the prisoner passed out on the ground and dragged him to the infirmary to patch him up. Jervis knew for a fact that he had woken up worse than that, and yet knowing it was no consolation. The first thing he did was view the room and his multiple deductive "abilities" made him understand, after several minutes of observation, that he was no longer in his cell. He obviously did not understand it by the furniture, which was uniform for all the cells, nor by the lack of his goods, because it was not allowed to own them. But he understood it from a simple farmer, there was a man there with him who was not there before. Not just anyone, but one of those who if there was a fan list of the worst criminals in Gotham would be among the first places, one of those names quarreled for the fantasycrimine of the "crazy"  A.A., one of those who more than anyone had seen their blood on the hands of Batman. Jonathan Crane, also known as Scarecrow. One of the oldest and most heinous criminals of the Red King was locked up with him. For Jervis it is very difficult to hide what he thinks or feels, God had given him a super expressive face. So Jonathan could immediately compose the discomfort in the features of his new roommate, and being the King of fear, it didn’t take long to think about how to take advantage of the situation.

The Terror Man glued his eyes to Jervis' as he rose from his cot to approach Wonderland’s madman number one. These, on the other hand, his was still shocked and while you could read only fear in his look, inside that blue sea that were his eyes swam to keep himself afloat many other emotions. And that’s always been the problem with Jervis. Unlike sociopaths who commonly do not show no signs of remorse or empathy but only controlled, manipulative and aseptic attitudes, he was a river full of different emotions that he could never direct into the right sea. His mind seemed like a labyrinth of suggestions that followed one another with an assiduous and spasmodic observation of something, like when trying to take an egg from a shelf that gets higher and higher. Then Jervis stood still but inwardly not motionless as Jonathan sat in front of him, continuing to maintain eye contact. It was the first time that Jervis was so close to a supervillain, and although the minutes passed, after the initial shock, nothing else broke the Hatter’s face except calm. The Scarecrow could not explain why, it intrigued him more, until he decided to ask him some questions. "How are you?" The question was the simplest one he could think of because even asking someone in shock for their name (especially someone confused about their identity as Jervis) could be a very difficult thing. Despite the simplicity, Jervis took a while to respond.

"You know well that you are locked up here, do you know what place it is? A psychiatric asylum. It seems that calling it kindergarten or hospital can make the place more welcoming and less claustrophobic, but it is not so. On television it looks very different..." And Jervis, with his scramble, I continue with this stream of words impregnated with no meaning or information for a couple of minutes in abundance, until Jonathan decided to shut him up. Normally, to allow a person to speak in a conversation it is necessary to silence the person who, with his voice, pollutes the delicate auditory system of all the more. Some may find reading or listening to a particularly long and meaningless and/or uninterrupted sentence stimulating, pleasurable or even attractive and exciting for the purpose of the plot, unable to catch their breath without risking missing punctuation marks. But they don’t include Jonathan Crane, much less Scarecrow. As we said, interrupting into the speech would be what would happen in a normal situation with normal people, but A.A. is not one of those situations and Jonathan was, so he cut the flow from the source. He took Jervis’s neck and pushed it against the floor of the cell with a force that the Mad Hatter would never have expected from a man with such a thin frame. His collier-like hands on his neck did their duty and Jervis could not emit a little air to talk, let alone breathe. "Learn to answer concisely and correctly".

But he dared not make remorse for this colourful reception, nor did he seem to hold a grudge. After a couple of minutes of silence in which Jonathan concluded that Jervis had learned his lesson, he picked up where he left off with the questions. "So, how are you?" There were no answers from the correct or wrong content but only multiple answers exposed in the correct form. Jonathan didn’t say this explicitly, but Jervis saw it in the scarecrow’s eyes. "I could be much better, but I’m here and I’m alive, I guess it’s a milestone." The Hatter almost seemed to congratulate himself for making it that far, ignoring the nose and the near death experience of a few minutes ago. The scarecrow seemed satisfied with the answer, but it might not have been so, I simply wanted it to be so. And that was the line of thought that made Jonathan worry. He was in a situation of advantage, he could literally do what he wanted to this man: he could destroy him psychologically, break a few fingers and with a little patience he could also remove all his teeth, one at a time. He could torture or kill him for all that mattered, no one would expect anything else from him. All except this man who, despite seeming to know him already of fame given the initial reaction, seemed not to have a real fear. Jervis looked at him with concern mixed with something he could define with a word: waiting.

But not the spasmodic wait but more resigned, he was not afraid of Jonathan, but you could see that he was nervous not to know what would happen soon. And as similar as they were on the spectrum of feelings anxiety and fear are not the same thing. So a little curious and a little annoyed, he just got up and said, "I’m glad to hear you say it". And in doing so, he lay on his cot again. Jervis was amazed and followed the example of his new roommate. Lying down he also thought, he did not know well what had happened, but since this experience did not lead to anything too negative he pointed to it as a new achievement. For Jonathan it was not easy to fall asleep and he imagined that now even for his partner it would not be automatic to do it. Not even time to finish this thought that the indistinct sound of snoring, symptom of a classic sleep apnea, invaded his auditory pavilions. Jonathan initially struggled to believe it, but soon after a smile appeared on his face; he had found a new friend to have fun with and play the game of darkness that makes  peek-a-boo

[mysterious-cuchulainn-x]

The odds were never in Ferelden's favor, for certain. The darkspawn can't be held back at one point indefinitely, both because they're effectively endless and because eventually they'll just tunnel around. I certainly doubt the archdemon was ever going to appear until the horde got out of the Korcari Wilds.

The rest of what you say, however, suggests to me that we have deeply diverging views of Loghain and his actions and intentions at Ostagar.

First, while Cailan certainly throws his weight around at the war meeting, he previously shows a certain (grudging, dismissive) acceptance of Loghain's expertise and authority; in fact, even at the war meeting, he asserts himself as king in response to Loghain's criticism of the Orlesians, not Loghain's efforts to persuade him to wait for reinforcements. He wants glory for himself, and lacks a full understanding of the darkspawn threat, but his impatience to counter the darkspawn is not the fatal flaw in the army at Ostagar.

In fact, from Loghain's (and Cailan's) perspective, waiting for more troops is exactly the wrong strategy: if the archdemon were not a factor—as, so far as they know, it is not—waiting would merely allow the horde to grow, almost certainly eclipsing any benefit of reinforcements to the army.

Second, the strategy proposed and adopted is, in fact, Loghain's idea; Cailan says so explicitly, though it's clearly one they've been over before. Again: it's Loghain's strategy. He's working around Cailan's hubris, but hubris is not blithering idiocy, and nothing in Cailan's temper requires the battle plan we see in action: the king's army charges out of their fortified position. If Cailan wanted to lead a glorious charge, and Loghain wanted to do anything other than invite catastrophic defeat, he could simply have reversed his and Cailan's positions, held the line, and (since the valley floor was evidently visible from the reserves' position) signaled Cailan to charge without worrying about an intermediary at the Tower of Ishal.

Instead, he puts Cailan on the defensive line, surely knowing—if not agreeing—that Cailan will, on this night, lead a charge against the darkspawn. Ogres can certainly do a lot of damage, but so can mages ("Save your spells for the darkspawn!"), trebuchets, and several hundred half-decent archers. No matter what, charging forward to meet the darkspawn visibly disrupts the army's ranks (one might better say it completely destroys their organization) and puts them in a much worse position to hold out until the charge comes.

My initial post was an attempt to provide some reasonable justification for that decision, a background and "intended" course of the battle that would make an opening charge something other than immediate suicide—which Loghain would surely have recognized and altered the plan to avert. Unless, of course, he had already conspired with blood mages and allies in the nobility to assassinate his rivals, overthrow the Circle of Magi, and generally take unlawful possession of the realm because he thinks the king has fallen under Orlesian influence and poses a threat to his country and daughter.

In either case, though, what Loghain decidedly did not do was (consciously) act to save Ferelden from the Blight. A successful holding action would, as I said above, eventually have been more devastating than what happened—but Loghain, for the same reason that he would have thought a decisive battle worth pursuing, had no way of knowing that, and he was the architect of the battle as it unfolded.

We Will Hold the... Charge?

I've spent a fairly, perhaps unreasonably, long time being deeply perplexed by the Battle of Ostagar. The human forces are both on the defensive and defensively positioned, while the darkspawn are obviously on the attack, yet dialogue consistently treats preparation for the battle as preparation for an attack on the darkspawn—even though it is the human forces who are camped in a clear location, and the darkspawn who can emerge from the wilds to battle at will.

Stating the obvious, maybe, but I'm also excited to have finally figured myself back around where things make sense:

The Battle of Ostagar is not the first battle of the Blight.

Duncan and Cailan both refer to previous "skirmishes" against the darkspawn. It appears at first that these may be fights against scouting bands in the Wilds, but Cailan specifically mentions participating in several victories—the teams in the Wilds have had a much harder time. Rather, the darkspawn must have emerged from the Wilds previously, lacking the numbers they have built up by the final engagement, and failed to break through the human defenses.

(This adds additional flavor to the fearful soldier in the cutscene—it's not the sight of darkspawn at a great distance that's so intimidating, but how damned many there were.)

2. Duncan's return changes Cailan's calculations.

The king is in high spirits when Duncan returns with The Warden, eagerly anticipating a heroic charge against the darkspawn. Part of this is immature hero worship and glory-seeking, but there are also widespread indications of fatigue, mounting casualties, and growing morale problems; "holding the line" with no end in sight isn't going to work for much longer.

So: the royal army may have been positioned defensively during his absence, but with Warden-Commander Duncan at the king's side, it is time to seize the day (and his army's flagging morale) and cast down the darkspawn once and for all!

(Loghain, as Rendon Howe's patron, etc., etc., has his own reasons to abide by this reversal; Cailan explicitly refers to the battle plan as Loghain's strategy.)

3. Duncan urges patience and asks after the archdemon.

Duncan questions Loghain's plan twice: urging Cailan to wait for Arl Eamon—not knowing he has, most likely, already been poisoned—or for more Grey Wardens, and then asking what contingencies exist if the archdemon appears. Both approaches aim, unsuccessfully, to alter the strategy's implementation to make it effective: delaying a decisive engagement is bad strategy against the horde, but the only way to ensure the army's survival until the archdemon actually appears.

But neither Cailan nor Loghain knows (nor would Loghain likely believe Duncan) about the archdemon, so from the non-Warden/generally ignorant viewpoint the best option—with morale declining and the horde growing every day—is to counterattack and force a decisive battle. They can choose this battle because the darkspawn attack the human defensive positions semi-regularly; it is merely a question of picking the attack to counter.

TLDR: No, CuChu, the army did take advantage of their positioning. They just stopped doing that, for reasons unique to each decision-maker, right on time for it to be the worst possible decision.

Of course, Cailan's charge is still a foolhardy and unnecessary risk, but it's something he could coherently insist on in contrast to the previous battle plan, and which Loghain has every reason to agree to.

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???���  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[volturiwolf]

The Volturi Princess - A Felix Volturi x fem!Reader Story (part 1)

A/N: This is the first Volturi- and Twilight-related story I ever started writing and it is quite long and elaborated/complex, as I tend to overanalyze in many parts. I have wrote a few parts until now and I'll be uploading them in the future. I have been quite emotional throughout writing it, trying to understand the reader's point of view.

A/N 2: I'm sorry if something doesn't make sense. English is not my first language. I also include Italian through the story, with translation, but I'm not a native or a speaker, so I'd like to apologize in advance to those who speak Italian. Enjoy :)

A/N 3: According to "The Amagi" on Youtube, Felix was born in 250 BC (their thumbnail), so I used that in my story.

No of Words: about 5347

Mentions of: Abandonment, Abortion, Anxiety, Blood, Bruises, Coma/Comatosed State, Death Emotional Abuse, Emotional and Physical Pain, Gaslighting, Greece/Greek Language - with translation, Heartbreak, Italian Language - with translation, Manipulation, Murder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Suffering, Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Swear Language, Throwing Up/Puking, Witches/Wizards/Witchcraft

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My heart felt heavy. I may have just escaped the cruelest vampire of all, but I also ran away from the love of my life, my mate, the only person who could fully understand me in this world. I asked him to run away with me, but, although our bond was strong, he felt obliged to stay loyal to his master, his creator. I drove as fast as I could, away from the sunny Volterra, and away from him.

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

(Y/N) grew up quite privileged, in Vampire terms. Being born into the Volturi coven was something many vampires could only dream about. (Y/N) was abandoned by her parents when she was a baby, but Aro, one of the three Volturi leaders, took her under his protection, and offered her more things than she could ever have imagined. After all, she was his only biological granddaughter, the “Volturi princess”, an heiress to the throne; her mother lost that “privilege” when she met and fell in love with a wizard.

(Y/N)’s mother soon got pregnant with her, and then later turned her husband into a vampire to help her with her pregnancy, and stay together forever. However, (Y/N)’s parents couldn’t raise her because they wanted to run free and careless, not commit to anything permanent, so Aro took over and raised his granddaughter with the highest honors and privileges, “as a princess should be raised”.

(Y/N) was a mix of Vampire, Witch and Human, due to the grandmother, Sulpicia, being human when Aro found her; Sulpicia later fell pregnant with (Y/N)’s mother, and Aro transformed her to vampire, as he had planned all along. Aro raised (Y/N) according to his own rules and morals, teaching her how to kill humans to feed from, how to attack and slip away from her opponents, how to lead other vampires, and most importantly, how to keep her identity and existence a secret, not only to humans, but other non-Volturi vampires as well. No one could know that there was a possibility of a vampire having a child with a human, and that the child could be effectively controlled and raised as a regular vampire.

As (Y/N) grew older and older, reaching the human age of 25 within 7 years of her birth, Aro would spend more and more time with her, examining and studying her possibilities and her potential powers’ development. (Y/N) grew up to be extremely strong and fast, an excellent tracker with great intelligence and understanding of the world around her. However, Aro could not risk sending her to “Volturi duties”. She was his hope for a stronger coven; with (Y/N) in the throne, Aro felt like he could conquer the vampire world with ease.

That’s why he was always searching for the best guards he could find, to protect the coven and do his work instead of himself, Caius, or (Y/N). He couldn’t rely on Marcus, as he proved to be too emotional since Didyme died, but was still valuable for his plan. Caius, on the other hand, although powerless, was far more sadistic and “diligent” in following vampire rules, and (Y/N)... (Y/N) was just too obedient, following every order Aro gave her - a strong asset for the Volturi.

Aro was changing guards and trackers quite easily, disposing them when they were no longer needed or when he found better ones. He needed talented and strong vampires to serve the coven and do their work.

Chelsea was the very first vampire Aro created solely to serve the Volturi, after recognizing her potential when she was human. Chelsea’s gift of relationship manipulation was truly useful in bringing new vampires into the coven and was used thousands of times during Volturi's reign. It could also easily dispose of them, making their bonds with other vampires break at will; those vampires were isolated by the other vampires and then killed - Aro couldn’t risk letting them get away knowing the Volturi’s secrets and life.

About 100 years later, Corin joined the Volturi, just a couple decades after (Y/N)’s birth. Corin’s gift of addictive contentment was the one which kept Marcus in the Volturi after Didyme’s death - along with Chelsea’s to make him committed to Aro’s greater plans, and was also used on Sulpicia, Athenadora and any other vampire in the Volturi guard to keep them satisfied being in the Volturi. Under Aro’s instructions, Corin was keeping Chelsea content with being in the Volturi, and Chelsea was keeping Corin loyal to them, each of them using their gifts against each other, without their knowledge.

Sometime between 230 and 220 BC, while travelling in Rome, searching for additional vampires to add to the coven, Aro supposedly met a young, strong and ambitious fighter, who wished to become a gladiator one day, named Felix. Felix did not only look, but also was physically capable of fighting even with beasts, during his short time as a fighter, way before the Colosseum was built. Born into a poor family, his strength was his only way of making money, and becoming a gladiator was his only way out of poverty, a way to provide for both his family and himself.

When his family was almost imprisoned by Roman army officers for outstanding debts, Felix was forced to make a deal with them to fight, in whatever they ordered him to. Fighting turned out to be the only way for Felix to deal with his emotions and rage towards people in power. When Aro approached Felix, he was promised a good life, where he wouldn’t have to worry about surviving another day. Felix did not seem willing enough, not being fond of the idea of serving people in power, who he so despised.

Luckily for Aro, Chelsea was the one who “convinced” Felix to join the Volturi guard, with Aro changing him afterwards. Unlike previous guards, Felix showed impeccable strength, speed and talent towards both dodging and initiating attacks, eventually making him a permanent member in the Volturi Guard, along with Chelsea and Corin.

Felix was assigned as the leading guard for the three kings’ protection, this role extending to the protection of their two wives and (Y/N); though Aro knew that, if it came to anyone attacking his granddaughter, she would be able to handle it by herself. However, he still wanted to make sure that she was safe and that Aro would do anything to protect her.

For about a couple millennias, (Y/N) was content with her situation, being the “Volturi princess” and all that. Besides, having Felix in the Volturi was another reason to stay in the coven, apart from staying loyal and true to Aro for taking her in, when she was abandoned.

Every time Felix looked into her eyes, she felt her whole body burn - though, it wasn’t a feeling of suffering, rather a feeling of longing, waiting for something to happen so badly that her body couldn’t control itself. Although she was partially a vampire, (Y/N) would feel like she couldn’t breathe, like her legs were ready to give up on her, like she wanted to grab Felix and never let go.

Felix, although not admitting it even to himself, would feel the same way, but he knew that his position would not allow him to approach (Y/N) in such a way. He was just a guard - although he was the strongest of them all, and she was the Volturi princess, one of his masters, whom he was only allowed to approach in order to protect. He didn’t want Aro to know he saw his granddaughter like that; it could cost him his position in the guard, or even his life. So, he kept these feelings deep within him, not allowing them to resurface, or act upon them.

However, every time these two existed at the same place, the invisible sparks between them would fly left and right. And only one vampire was able to see them. One who hadn’t felt these sparks in centuries.

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

(Y/N)’s POV:

I yawned loudly as I woke from a long, much needed sleep. I was the only vampire around who was able to sleep, mostly due to my non-vampire natures. I didn't really need to sleep on a regular basis, but when I did, I could literally sleep 3 days straight and nobody would be able to wake me up. “For my own protection”, as Aro said, I would always have at least two guards outside of my room’s door, in case anything happened while I was sleeping. Like what could even happen? My room was at the furthest side of this huge castle. I’m pretty sure that if there ever was an attack against the Volturi, it would most probably have been dealt with immediately, and the attacker wouldn’t make it anywhere near my room.

I felt the warm sun on my skin, slightly glowing and sparkling beautifully. My eyes, mostly (Y/E/C) with a golden ring around the pupil, could easily adjust to the light. Unlike the other vampires, I could easily live among humans; I could sleep, eat human food, my skin not being as sparkly as others, and I could control my thirst far better than others.

Since Jane and Alec joined the coven, Aro would show an immense interest in them and their skills, helping them train daily and develop their powers further, eventually forgetting about me. I would spend more and more days away from the castle, “protected” by my anonymity, getting to know humans more and more. The longer I was observing them, the more they would trigger my interest in them. They could feel true emotions, real pain, real hurt, real love. They had their families, they received an unconditional love that I could never have.

Unbeknownst to Aro or anyone else for that matter, I have started developing new powers, similar to the other vampires in the Volturi coven or anyone else outside of it. I have also started noticing that I may have an immunity towards others’ talents, feeling that neither Corin’s addictive contentment made me satisfied with being in the Volturi, nor Chelsea’s relationship manipulation could keep me loyal to Aro anymore. If it weren’t for Felix, or Demetri and the Twins, who have all become my best friends by now, I would have probably left.

A vampire named Carlisle Cullen had visited the Volturi and stayed with us for a while, about 100 years ago. He saw the way the Volturi treated humans like they were nothing, and how they were as cruel as to kill other vampires, with the excuse that they were exposing our kind with the way they lived. Entire covens had been wiped out due to such excuses, a way to eliminate potential enemies from becoming too powerful and find as many talented vampires as possible and force them to join the Volturi.

Carlisle was talking about a new way of life, where vampires wouldn’t have to kill humans to survive, a life where vampires and humans could live in peace, without harming each other. He was insisting that vampires could survive on animal blood just as efficiently as with human blood; that animal blood would not make them weaker, and that it would be a much more ethical and sustainable way to feed.

Of course, Aro and Caius were the first ones to mock his proposition, clearly not caring about humans’ feelings and pain. Marcus did not budge at all, his heartache making him indifferent to anything around him. But I was growing more and more interested in this alternative way of life; I was, after all, feeding on human food already, so that I was feeding on human blood as little as I could.

It was a few years after Carlisle left Volterra that Eleazar joined the Volturi. Aro forced him to join after finding out he could detect if someone had any special ability. Aro considered his gift useful in identifying if any of his enemies had any special power when in battles, or when he sent Eleazar around the world to recruit talented vampires.

Eleazar was clearly not liking the way the Volturi forced their ways and wants on others, and how they could take advantage of others for their own benefit. I could just sense that he was displeased and was forcing himself to stay in the coven, one, due to Corin’s and Chelsea’s gifts, and two, out of fear of what could happen to him and his mate, Carmen.

Carmen, a vampire from Spain, like Eleazar, met with Eleazar while he was a guard here, they fell in love, and eventually, Eleazar decided to leave the Volturi and run away with Carmen. Aro decided that he did not care about him and his gift as much as others’, so he let him go unharmed, “blessing” them for safe travels.

Just a few days before he left, I consulted him on my own powers. Though a lower member of the guard, Eleazar had his own room, a decent place to stay, and spend his endless hours in. I knocked slightly on the door.

“Come in”, a calm voice was heard. I opened the door and came into his room. Carmen was sitting on the edge of their bed and Eleazar was reading a book on his desk. They both smiled sweetly. I just felt and knew they were too nice to fit anywhere in here, among the cruel and strict Volturi.

“(Y/N)! So nice to see you!”Carmen exclaimed and stood to hug me. The second we hugged I started seeing parts of her life in Spain, the calm waters of Catalunya, the vast vineyards where she would spend the early years of her life… I quickly detached myself from her embrace. I just couldn’t invade her privacy like that. She and Eleazar both looked at me worried, as if I had offended them.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t let you “show” me your whole life like that!” I looked at Carmen apologetically.

“(Y/N), you saw Carmen’s life?” Eleazar continued, intrigued by my words.

“That’s why I came to talk to you. I..I feel like I’ve been developing a gift, or a few gifts, to be completely honest. And I feel like.. like I have a specific power one day, and another power the next!” I stated frantically.

It was the first time I have openly talked about my powers to anyone, and I was shaking just by the words that came out of my mouth. Eleazar did not say anything, he just stood there for a few minutes, I supposed “examining” me, as if a doctor checking on a patient.

“Remarkable.” He said calmly. He looked at his mate with excitement, as if he just discovered a lost treasure. “(Y/N) has one of the most remarkable gifts I have ever seen.” He then turned to me. “You, (Y/N), are able to copy anyone else’s gifts and keep them as your own. You don’t even have to be in contact with them. Just by meeting someone, you can obtain their powers. I have never met anyone like that. You also seem to have obtained immunity to others’ powers, kind of like a shield. I have met such vampires before. From the stories Aro has been telling, your mother was like that. It is likely that you copied that gift for her. Such vampires are extremely useful to themselves or even others, in battles. Like themselves, you can use your gift to protect others from others’ powers, beside yourself.”

That came too sudden to my ears. I have assumed that I may have at least one power, but I didn’t realise I could copy others’ powers. That is why I was showing signs of Aro’s power!

“How can I train my powers? Eleazar! Carmen! You have to help me!”

“As you know, we will be leaving soon. I don’t know if there will be enough time to train you.”

“It’s okay. We will train as much as you want. Please, Eleazar! Please, Carmen!” I started begging them. As if they were hypnotized, they quickly looked at each other and agreed to help me.

The next few days, before Eleazar and Carmen’s departure, included intense training, far away from Volterra, deep in the woods, where no human could interrupt us. I couldn’t say the same for vampires, but I hoped nobody would cross paths with us. Eleazar and Carmen helped me develop my self-control and self-awareness, concentrating through the deepest parts of my mind, resurfacing my shield and expanding it beyond my existence. I started to have control over it, as if it was an actual solid substance, a veil floating around me towards any direction I ordered it to go.

After Eleazar and Carmen left, I started travelling the world more, trying to copy as many powers as I could come across with, while also training my shield. My excitement for the endless possibilities was what kept me going - kind of when Aro would add another talented vampire to his Guard. His Guard. Felix. I wonder how he was. I hadn’t seen him in a while. I wondered if he thought of me like I thought of him.

After travelling pretty much anywhere I could reach, I eventually went back to where it all started: I went to Greece. Aro met Sulpicia here, apparently my mom met my dad here. Maybe I could find out, understand why they left me. I have never met them, but I felt as if my tracking skills could detect them through my own existence.

I started travelling through the country, hoping that they stayed here or, at least, that they’re alive. I spent about 2 or 3 years in Greece, trying to take in every different place, while also avoiding the battles that seemed to take place in every other corner. I was feeding off animals mainly, mostly when I couldn’t find any other human food. I was washing myself in rivers, streams, whatever I could find.

I was stopping by any village that seemed to be still standing, asking about the current situation. The Greek Revolution, which started a few years ago, seemed to still be going on. The Ottomans, who had been occupying Greece for almost 400 years, could not allow Greeks to turn against them and start claiming their rights within the Ottoman Empire.

Many Greeks I met and talked to, admitted that some of the Ottomans were actually being nice to them; it was only the Ottoman government ordering their armies to execute massive massacres against Greeks, and after all this time, a few Greeks started gathering up and planning a revolution, away from Greece, in fear of being caught. They started getting organized and finding possible allies to help them with the Revolution; they just couldn’t risk getting caught within the country that they were hoping the independent Greece could become. The battles were becoming more and more intense, both on the mainland, as well as on the islands.

I started looking for answers, anything that could suggest that my parents were still alive and somewhere in Greece. To my surprise, I crossed paths with many Greek nomad vampires all over the country. They were also fighting against either Ottoman vampires or each other for territorial claims; however, they all talked me out of travelling north, towards Macedonia. The region had started being reclaimed back by Greek humans, but vampires were also seeing the potential for the area and they fought against each other for the land.

All of the nomads I encountered were talking about some of the most vicious vampires claiming the land, their enemies being literally slaughtered and burned to set an example for other vampires to back off their territory. I was intrigued, and I knew that, most probably, I would be able to deal with them or flee before they got to me.

So, I started travelling north, through the woods and mountains, in order to avoid any possible battle between humans, though many of them seemed to hide in the mountains, preparing for their battles. Macedonia was a quite big and vast region, so I had to travel quite a few days and search every possible corner.

I know I shouldn’t have done this, but I was feeling exhausted from all the searching. I haven’t fed in quite some time, and my throat was burning by the familiar need for blood. I haven’t seen any animals all these days, and I was wondering if they were gone or hiding.

Sadly, I came across a human. He seemed to be wounded, probably during a battle, his blood gushing out of his body. I couldn’t help myself, when I breathed in the smell, the burning sensation becoming unbearable. I thought of approaching him slowly, so as not to scare him, offering to help him, but deep down I just wanted to feed off of him.

“Γειά! Συγνώμη αν σε τρόμαξα. Σε είδα από μακριά. Μπορώ να σε βοηθήσω με κάποιο τρόπο; (Hey! Sorry if I scared you. I saw you from afar. Can I help you in any way?)” I offered calmly.

The man was trying to suppress his growls. I could sense his pain. I tried to help him stand on his feet, and then I saw all of his memories. He was in the army, fighting alongside Greeks against the Ottomans, in Macedonia, just outside of Thessaloniki. I didn’t even know I was so close to a city, let alone Thessaloniki.

He was trying to pass through the woods, when he came across what seemed to be two red-eyed vampires, one male and one female. They tried to attack him, but someone else managed to shoot him first, forcing the two vampires to run away. I don’t know how or why, these two felt familiar to me, I could feel that through his memories.

“Γειά! Μπορείς.. Μπορείς να πας στο κοντινότερο χωριό; Νομίζω.. Νομίζω ότι είδα κάτι στο δάσος, δε νομίζω ότι ήταν κάτι φυσιολογικό! Πρέπει.. Πρέπει να προειδοποιήσω τους άλλους! (Hey! Can.. Can you get me to the nearest village? I think.. I think I saw something in the woods, I don’t think it was something normal! I have.. I have to warn the others!)” He mumbled in between sharp shoots of pain.

“Με συγχωρείς πολύ! (I’m really sorry!)” I plead with guilty eyes. I put my hand in his wound, searching for the bullet, while he was consumed by pain. I took the bullet out of the wound, and quickly attached my lips on his skin, sucking the blood as fast as I could, biting deeply unintentionally. His screams were becoming louder and louder, so I covered his mouth with my hand, while trying to shut him up or break his jaw. A few seconds later, he stopped screaming, and I let his lifeless body fall, completely numb and drained out of blood.

I felt renewed, his blood travelling to every part of my body and giving me a new kind of strength that I haven’t felt in a while. I still felt guilty for killing him, but he was already wounded and I couldn’t risk him exposing our kind to others. I assumed that whoever found him - if anyone found him - would also assume that he died of blood loss, so I tried to position him in a realistic pose for that purpose, as best as I could. I left him there, and continued the search for my parents.

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

I was running through the woods, trying to locate the two vampires from the guy’s memories. My mind was chaotic, I wasn’t thinking about something specific. I stopped in my tracks. What Aro taught me, and what I understood from Demetri’s tracking skills, is that you have to stop, take a breath and realize your position in the world. Then, you would be able to realize everything around you and find your targets. I have successfully found other vampires like that before, vampires who I have either met in person or smelled their scent, but I didn’t know if I could find someone through someone else’s memories of them.

I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate as best as I could, focusing on the smaller details of the guy’s memories of these vampires. I felt two vampires running on my west, about 10 kilometers away, and I ran after them. They were running fast, but I was way faster. Within a minute or two, I was running right behind their tracks. They must have realized that a stranger was following them, but, instead of running, they suddenly stopped. I stopped as well, and we were now facing each other.

The female had long, brunette, curly hair, and the male short, dark brown, straight hair; both of their hair looked shiny, healthy, and rich. They were of average height and their eyes were piercing red, as if they also fed quite recently. The female was exceptionally beautiful and enchanting; I could only compare her to Heidi’s exceptional beauty. The male looked quite stoic and austere, though still beautiful.

Both of them on defensive positions, waiting for me to attack. I wasn’t planning to move any further from my position; I was only waiting for their own reactions. I felt that kind of a burning sensation within me again, like a feeling buried deep inside me, trying to find an escape.

Suddenly, the male growled at me, flames springing out of his hands, and being thrown at me. I felt my heart fall out of my chest, fearing that this would be my end. As if my body reacted on its own, I felt my own shield extending out of my body, building a wall around me and protecting me from the male’s attack. My hands started burning and flames came out, ready to counterattack the male. The male looked at the female, dumbfounded by what he witnessed, still in a defensive position, but ready to attack again.

“I’M NOT HERE TO FIGHT YOU!” I shouted at both of them. “I’M JUST SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE!”

The male shrinked back, the female following close by. “Who are you looking for? We haven’t seen you around. Who are you? Why are you here?” The male requested. His voice serious, but smooth at the same time; a voice I could only describe as the warm earth below their bare feet.

“No, I’m not. I come from Italy, though I think I was born around here. My name is (Y/N), I’m looking for my parents. I don’t quite remember what they look like, but I’m pretty sure that they lived around here. They abandoned me when I was a baby.”

“This has been our territory for almost 3 millennials! We would have known if any humans abandoned their offspring around here!” The female exclaimed, as if she didn’t believe a word I said. I didn’t want to tell them the whole story, but I had to show them that I didn’t mean to fight in any way.

“I never said they were humans. My mother was actually sort of a vampire, like you.”

The female started letting her guards down. “What do you mean sort of? I’ve never heard of a “sort of vampire” before!” She continued doubtfully.

“Believe me or don’t, my mother was born half vampire, half human. My dad wasn’t even a vampire before she met him. He wasn’t even human to be honest.” My eyes started stinging slightly. I could have had a good, happy life if they didn’t abandon me. I wouldn’t have to grow up with Aro.

“You said you were from Italy.” I nodded at the male, as he continued. “You never said where exactly.”

I wasn’t sure if I should tell them my real origin; I wouldn’t like them to know I was a Volturi, but I knew I needed help to find my parents. If they were actually here as long as they say, they might have known or met my parents at some point.

“Volterra. I was born here, in Greece, like my mother, but grew up in Volterra with my grandparents.” I looked down, kind of scared, kind of anxious, waiting for their next move.

The female gasped. “Are you a Volturi?!” I looked at her, straight in the eyes, swallowed, and nodded. “I know the Volturi. Who are your grandparents?”

“Aro and Sulpicia.” I answered so quietly that, if they weren’t vampires, they wouldn’t have heard me, my voice trembling slightly.

The female suddenly fell on her knees, the male wrapping his arms around her, comforting her. I didn’t know what was going on. Did I say something wrong? Were they scared? The sheer mention of the Volturi would scare a lot of vampires, but I thought that maybe these two seemed strong enough to deal with them.

The female started sobbing, no tears coming out of her red eyes, her body shaking. I felt something within me break. I felt that I didn’t want to upset them, that’s why I was hesitant in telling them who I really was. The male looked at me, pain in his eyes. I saw a familiar look. I saw me in his eyes, what I looked at in my mirror anytime I was thinking about my parents, or, sometimes, when I thought of Felix.

“Are you a half witch?” The male asked quietly. Something snapped in me. How would he know that?

“I swear, I didn’t do anything to your mate! I DIDN’T!” I shouted at the male. I didn’t want him to think that I would hurt his mate, or himself.

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s just..” He looked at his mate who had stopped sobbing, but was still down on her knees, unable to stand up. “..my mate is Aro and Sulpicia Volturi’s only daughter.”

My body tensed and shivered. If that woman is the only daughter Aro and Sulpicia ever had...could that mean..?

I took a few steps back. “AM I YOUR DAUGHTER? ARE YOU MY PARENTS?” I looked at them in disbelief.

Those were the people who abandoned me! That let me grow parentless, under Aro’s rules and directions! I was breathing heavily, in between sobs. I didn’t even realize that I set my whole body ablaze, until both vampires looked at me shocked. I didn’t feel any pain, but I couldn’t stop the flames licking my body, and in my frantic state, I started panicking even more.

The male started approaching me slowly, trying to not scare me away. “Shush, shush. You’re okay. You’re doing okay. I know how it feels at first. You’re experiencing some aspects of the life as a witch. It’s okay. Close your eyes and picture the flames in your head.” I closed my eyes and tried concentrating on the flames. “Now, imagine them burning out, becoming smaller and weaker.” I focused on the flames, imagining them weakening. After a few minutes, I felt them getting smaller and smaller, and finally disappearing. I opened my eyes slowly.

The female was standing next to the male, watching me carefully. In a quick motion, she pulled me and embraced me, stroking my hair lightly. I breathed in her scent, a mix of mountain flowers and the saltiness of the sea. Her touch was soft, and filled me up with what felt like a thousand different emotions.

But, I mostly felt safe. It was the first time in my life that I actually felt this safe. And whole. I felt like I actually belonged somewhere. I hugged her back. Tears started spilling from my eyes. That was my mom! That was actually my mom! After all this time, we were finally together. I felt the male, my dad, hugging both of us, and in that moment, I felt my legs giving up on me, and I finally fell into a long sleep.

[alj4890]

I got an ask we know Riley gets kidnapped by Anton but what if Anton was in love with her and he didn’t wanna kill her but makes her his. What if Olivia killed Claudus for shooting drake.

I love the way you think, Nonny! I actually would have eaten this up with a spoon if that had happened in canon. To be honest, I really liked Justin in book 2. If he had been a new love interest, I would have done a play through just to see what happens if Riley chose him 🤦🏻 Of course then we find out he is behind all the bombings and such so...oops, LOL. When I first saw your request, I made an aesthetic with just Justin/Anton and Riley in mind. I completely forgot to add a definite OTP of mine, Drake and Olivia, to it. Smh. The story though will definitely include them along with Riley and Justin. I am so tempted to turn this into a series 🙊

@gkittylove99 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg  @amandablink @neotericthemis  @mm2305 @sfb123 @iufilms

Masterlist

True Intentions

It had happened when he had not been paying attention. It shouldn't have happened at all. He had one goal. One mission. Nothing had ever come to mean more to him than that. Nothing. No one.

Until Riley.

He knew he shouldn't have spent so much time with her. He shouldn't have helped Maxwell in picking the right dresses for her. He shouldn't have stuck around to see her come out of dressing rooms, an excited smile upon her face, as she twirled around for them to give their opinions.

It had taken all his will power to keep from telling her what he truly thought. Riley's beauty was simply stunning, not because of her outer loveliness, but more that he saw her inner beauty shining through each trial she faced. Her strength amazed him. Her wit brought a smile to his face. Her kindness touched his heart.

It made him begin to long for things he shouldn't. They shouldn't be a part of any dream or plan he had.

And yet...she was beginning to crop up in his thoughts. In his dreams.

In his plans.

He winced as he tried to get comfortable.

His plans hadn't exactly gone as he had hoped. In fact, he should have talked to his men and explained that Riley was not to be a target.

Thank God for Drake. If he hadn't jumped in front of her, she would have been taken from me.

His lips twisted in another painful grimace.

"Are you in pain?"

Justin looked up and tried to smile. "Just a little."

His nurse shook her head. "I told you to buzz before it got too bad." She gently checked his wound.

"I don't want to be a bother." He mumbled.

"You aren't." She patted his hand. "You aren't any trouble at all." Her nose wrinkled. "We had a few nobles cause unnecessary problems when the attack happened."

"Really?"

She rolled her eyes. "Some were knocked down during the chaos and demanded they be admitted."

He chuckled softly. "Sounds like something they would do."

"It's a shame that good people like you were seriously hurt while those spoiled nobles try and take all the attention." She readjusted his covers after administering some more pain medication in his IV. "I don't know why King Liam is so hellbent on bringing them back to court."

"What do you mean?" Justin tried to fight the effects of the pain medicine. "What's he doing?"

"He and Lady Riley are going on some type of tour to some of the major houses to personally invite them to their wedding."

His brow furrowed.

A unity tour. That would work on these small minded individuals. It was a smart move. The public were already Team Riam. Once the royal couple convinced the most powerful houses to come to their wedding, all the other minor lords and ladies would follow suit.

"Well played, Liam." Justin's eyes drooped closed. "Well played."

**************

He couldn't believe that they not only convinced Madeleine's entire family, but also somehow got all of Portavira on their side.

"What's the plan?" Claudius asked.

"We need something big to remind everyone that we aren't a one trick pony." Justin told him.

He looked out the window. Leaves were beginning to change with the first hints of autumn in the air.

A hint of a smile appeared as a plan began to form.

"It would be a shame if Cordonia's apple orchard had a bad year, wouldn't it?" He eyed his second in command.

Claudius chuckled. "It really would."

******************

Justin watched as every channel showed the devastation of the orchard near Applewood. He couldn't help but smile over Riley making the people love her even more for her righteous anger. Her promises to bring those responsible to justice along with making the orchard bigger than before made him nearly burst with pride.

She had grown into her role more so than he had ever imagined. Gone was the timid young waitress from New York who uttered no comment when reporters surrounded her. She was a confident woman now who could think on her feet.

Justin thought she was more attractive than the first time he had seen her floundering in front of the cameras, in desperate need of a hero. It hadn't been a bother to rush to her side then and put his arm around her. Her wide eyes had lifted to his and he had nearly melted from her beauty.

He still couldn't believe that she forgave Liam for choosing another over her. Granted Madeleine impressed him with how she could manipulate reporters into spinning a story to her advantage, but Riley was so many things that the cold countess was not. She deserved better than what she got.

And he planned on giving it to her.

*****************

A week after the orchard burning, he turned to see the one rarely far from his thoughts.

"Justin!" Riley rushed over to engulf him in a hug.

"How's my favorite media darling?" He asked.

She leaned back and gave him that smile that was brighter than flash bulbs. "Much better now that I know you're recovering." She playfully glanced about before whispering, "Save me from Madeleine!"

He laughed as he hugged her once more. "I don't know. I've seen her work and can't find fault with it."

Riley pouted. She linked her arm with his as they walked down the hospital hallway. "I prefer your guidance to hers." Her nose wrinkled. "It's weird being told how to act by Liam's former fiancée. I know there wasn't anything between them, but still."

Justin patted her hand. "Tell you what. If Madeleine is unable to do her job or you decide to fire her, then I will gladly step back into my old position." He dug around in his pocket for the earpiece she had used during Liam's engagement tour.

Her smile reappeared. "Old faithful."

"I'm always Just-in-time." He teased.

*****************

It had been too close. He hadn't expected Riley to go anywhere near Constantine. And there she was, by Liam's side, graciously accepting some necklace from the old man who had destroyed her initial happily ever after.

His heart had nearly stopped as he watched rubble fall around them. Riley had frozen in fear over Liam's safety. It was a nightmare come to life as pieces of the wall and ceiling began to collapse.

At least one good thing had come from this: one king was dead.

It sadly wasn't the king he needed to die.

Justin began to plan how he would comfort Riley once Liam was gone. He wouldn't have to tell her it was he, himself, who orchestrated his death. But he would make certain to enjoy the benefits of it.

His eyes narrowed over another slight problem he had.

He was going to have to kill his own wife too.

******************

Lythikos...

It had been almost too easy. Madeleine was already in need of a distraction after hearing Liam gush over how excited he was to marry Riley in a few weeks. Once she requested a fruity cocktail, he knew then that the poison could go undetected taste wise.

The bartender left to go replenish the champagne. Madeleine's irritation over having to wait on a refill was drawing attention.

"Here." He grinned at her. "Allow me to make you another."

Her eyes widened. "Aren't you that press secretary that helped Riley?"

"I am." He began to mix a strong cocktail for her while adding the poison, all right under her nose. "And I must say you are the best I've ever seen."

Madeleine's irritation disappeared over the compliment. "I am, aren't I?"

"Riley's lucky to have someone so knowledgeable in ways of both the court and public like you." He added.

"Yes, she is." Madeleine muttered. "I'll do anything for my country, even if it is a thankless job."

"You should be recognized for your sacrifice." Justin handed her the deadly drink.

"Yes, I should." She took a gulp.

"How is it?" He asked.

"It's the only good thing here." A tipsy grin appeared on her face when she saw Riley. She grasped Justin's hand and pulled him in her wake. "Let's go say, hi."

"Boooooo!" Madeleine giggled when Riley turned around. "It's the ghosts of press secretary past and present."

"The what now?" Riley lips trembled with suppressed laughter as she looked up at Justin for clarification.

"I'm the ghost of press secretary past." He winked at her.

"OoooOooo!" Madeleine swayed where she stood.

"Whoa, there." Riley tried to steady her. "You okay?"

"She's had a little too much." Justin mimed drinking.

"It's a party!" Madeleine slurred. "It's in the worst place ever but it's a party and I'm going to...going to..."

"Enjoy it?" Riley offered.

"Extractly!" Madeleine's brow wrinkled over that not being the right word. "Expactly?"

"Exactly." Justin corrected.

"That."

The crowd quieted around them when Olivia took the stage to offer a final toast of the evening to Liam and Riley's wedding.

"Woo!" Madeleine cheered.

Riley and Justin tried to shush her.

Her giddy smile fell as her rosy cheeks drained of color. "Somefing's not..."

"Madeleine?" Riley lost her grip on her when she swayed violently to the right. "What's--"

Madeleine hit a table, causing the plates to clatter and the vase of blood red roses to fall over.

"I hate this place." She collapsed on the floor.

"Madeleine!" Riley dropped to her knees and tried to bring her to. "Liam! Mara! Come quick!"

Justin stepped back as the two came to see what was wrong. He watched as Olivia made her way through the crowd to find out what the all the fuss was about.

"What's wrong with her?" Riley asked.

"She's been poisoned." Mara whispered.

*******************

Justin loved seeing the delighted surprise once more on Riley's face when he said he would take over Madeleine's duties for the rest of the tour. It would have been a perfect moment if Liam had not been standing there. He was ashamed to think of his nearly giving himself away when he panicked at the sight of Olivia walking in behind him.

He wished Lucretia would quit trying to push Olivia into going into the family vault. She had a sick sense of humor in wanting her niece to discover she was already married. For some reason, she did not approve of the way her niece depended on her friends for support.

Justin knew the power friends could have. Had he not been trained by his own parents' friends, he wouldn't be the worthy man next in line to the throne. His comradery with his own men inspired their loyalty and willingness to die to make him king.

He needed to distance himself from Lucretia the moment they got out of Lythikos.

****************

She was supposed to come alone! Why did she bring Riley? I can't kill her. I need her. I deserve to have a choice in the one I want ruling by my side. The people already adore her, much more so than they admire Olivia. I was supposed to become free of this marriage. Once she and Liam are dead, I'll be able to be king and have--

"Justin?" Riley's eyes were clouded with confusion as she looked first at a picture of him dressed in a royal uniform. "What is this?"

"I'm sorry, Riley." His voice cracked on her name.

Justin reached in his pocket and pulled out a revolver.

Lucretia cackled with glee as she told her niece the truth about her marriage.

Justin stood there silently as the woman he loved shook her head in denial.

She's so incredibly sweet to doubt a friend could be the bad guy. I hate that I can't pull her away from all this and simply explain why I should be the ruler of Cordonia. I deserve it. I worked for it. My entire life was made for me to take the crown. She would be able to understand that. Look how far she's come in her own life. Who could imagine a waitress from some dive bar in America would come to be the next queen of a small European nation?

"Do it already!" Lucretia hissed. "Shoot her!"

He couldn't do it. Even as he held the gun steady, pointed directly at the woman he loved's heart, he couldn't shoot Riley.

"Get away from her!" Liam ordered.

Justin spun around to see the king and guards filling up the narrow passageway.

"I thought you said this was secure." Justin snapped at Lucretia.

"It was." She held her hands up in surrender.

Justin watched as she stepped forward, pretending to stumble.

His eyes widened as once again his love was trapped within a collapsing room.

He managed to see her safely end up in Liam's arms before escaping through a hidden passage.

He left Lucretia to the guards. She had served her purpose and was sadly of no use to him any longer. Now he could plan what he truly wanted to happen.

*******************

Liam and Riley's wedding day...

"I don't care who you kill. Olivia and Riley are to be taken alive." Justin told the small team of men he was sending in. "If you have to wound them to get them here, make certain Riley's is non life threatening.

He ignored the questioning look Claudius sent his way.

"Bring them both to our stronghold." His eyes narrowed. "Do not fail me."

****************

Later that night...

"Good work." Justin straightened his jacket. He wanted to look his best when he saw Riley again.

Claudius smirked at him. "Just think of all the men we would still have if you had let me go alone."

Justin chuckled. "True, but at least we are free of our weakest links." He smoothed his hair back. "Now take me to our guests."

***************

"I know the real Justin is somewhere in there." Riley leaned as far forward as her bindings allowed. "You helped me gain the love of the people. You know that if you kill me, the people will not readily accept you as king."

He couldn't help but smile. "I know and that is why I don't intend to hurt you."

"Then why kidnap us?" Olivia demanded.

He turned toward her. "If I'm to be king, then I have to take the necessary steps to claim the throne." He motioned for Claudius to come in.

"You're the one who shot Drake!" Olivia shouted, struggling against the ropes biting into her tender skin. "You'll regret that."

"And you tried to kill me!" Riley added, narrowing her eyes.

"That was a mistake." Justin quickly said. "You were never to be harmed."

"Then why all the attempts?" She asked. "Why do you persist in--"

"You weren't supposed to be here, Riley." He knelt down in front of her. "You should have stayed in New York until the time was right"

Her eyebrows drew together. "What are you talking about.

Justin asked Claudius to remain with Olivia while he took Riley somewhere private.

"If you think for one second that I will remain with this man while you take her away go do only God knows what," Olivia's chair creaked at her straining to break free, "then you don't know what a Nevarkis is truly made of!"

Justine rolled his eyes over her rant as he untied Riley from her chair. He kept her ankles and wrists bound together. He swept her into his arms and carried her out.

Olivia's shouts were silenced by the sound of a hard slap.

Riley struggled in Justin's arms. "What did he do to her? OLIVIA?!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Justin, please don't--"

"Nothing's happened to her." He took her into a surprisingly clean, yet drab, sitting room.

Riley was dropped on a chaise lounge. She eyed the door then Justin.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He repeated. He gently cupped her cheek, fingers brushing along her jaw line. "I love you too much to ever harm you."

Riley stilled. She looked up at him. "You what?"

He knelt before her. "I'm in love with you. It didn't hit me until you told me you had accepted Liam's proposal on the train. I didn't plan it, but I refuse to hide my feelings any longer." He smiled at her. "You've proven yourself as the rightful Queen of Cordonia. Once Liam and Olivia are dead, you and I can rule this country as we see fit. We'll--"

Riley shook her head. "Justin," she believed he was deranged and knew she had to handle this carefully, "I'm flattered. Really I am. I mean, we both know I would never have gotten this far without you."

His smile grew at her realizing she owed him for her meteoric rise within the court.

"But if you kill Liam and Olivia, the people will not feel any love or loyalty for you." She tilted her head as she studied him. "Surely you see the problem with this plan."

"People respect power." He explained. "They respect someone who fights for what is rightfully his. Since my birth, I have been meant for something greater. My parents, Olivia's family, even my soldiers realized that I alone am worthy to rule over this country." He focused once more upon her. "And I've seen that you are the one to do so by my side."

Riley shook her head. "Justin, I am honored," her voice cracked on that lie, "to have your love but I can't accept it." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm in love with Liam."

"Riley, he didn't choose you." Justin argued. "He left you on your own to fight against nobles, the press, even his own father. You deserve so much more than being an afterthought."

Tears slipped down her cheeks once more. "That wasn't what he did. He was trying to protect me. And I--"

He leaned down and kissed her.

She froze at the touch, refusing to participate.

"Once Liam's gone, you will see the truth." Justin promised.

"I won't." Her eyes narrowed. "As long as I live, I'll hate you with everything within me for taking him from me."

"You don't have it in you." He shook his head in amusement. "You've forgiven everyone. Olivia, Penelope, Madeleine, even Constantine. You never hold a grudge."

"You'll be my first." Riley vowed. "Liam is the love of my life. If you ruin my chance to finally be with him, I will never forgive you. As long as there is breath in my body, I will find a way to destroy you."

"You are amazing." He murmured, knowing she was speaking from her heart. He couldn't wait for that devotion to be for himself.

"Anton?"

The two turned to see Claudius in the doorway. "Liam should be here any moment."

Justin nodded and told him he would meet him and the rest of the men downstairs.

He lifted Riley in his arms and placed her back in the cell with Olivia.

His wife had the bruised imprint of Claudius's hand on her alabaster cheek. Blood had dried on her bottom lip. No tears had fallen from the force of the hit. Her left eye was bloodshot as she glared up at him.

"Liv?" Riley choked out. "Are you--"

"I'm fine." Her harsh answer echoed in the chamber. "It will take more than some two bit thug to hurt me." Her eyes did a quick scan to make certain Riley wasn't hurt.

"If you will excuse me, I have to go prepare for Liam's last night on earth." He retied Riley to her chair.

She threw her head back with all her might to connect with his face.

His glasses broke from the force of her strike. Blood poured out his nose as he stumbled away from her.

"Don't ever," his voice dropped to a hiss, "do that again, my love." He gripped her chin and jerked her face up toward his. "You will learn how to behave soon enough."

He slammed the cell door and left them alone.

"Did he hurt you?" Olivia whispered.

"No." Riley bit her bottom lip. "Not yet."

*****************

"Where is my wife?" Liam demanded.

Justin couldn't help but be impressed. The young king was standing before him, completely outnumbered, yet didn't show the slightest flicker of fear.

He asked the one question that he himself would have asked if Riley was taken from him.

"She is well." Justin replied. "Which is something I can't promise about your own well being."

"I want to see her." Liam bit out. "Now!"

Justin's chuckle was interrupted by a hastily whispered message from Claudius. His head jerked around to search the dim hallway as if doing so would reveal the missing prisoners.

How had they escaped?

"You don't get to make demands here." He snapped at Liam.

"Let Riley and Olivia go." Liam ordered. "And I will take their place." His eyes narrowed. "I know it is a temporary one."

Justin couldn't help but smile. The man was indeed brave to trade his life for Riley and Olivia's.

"No!" Riley screamed out from the stairs.

Chaos broke out as she led the charge to attack the Sons of the Earth. Justin watched as she ran over to protect Liam's back.

The couple were doing their utmost to protect the other from harm.

Their friends were taking his well trained soldiers out one by one. It was embarrassing to see how pitiful his men fought.

Olivia moved into his line of sight. Fury blazed across her delicate features.

"I'm impressed." He told her, unsheathing his sword. "I should have searched you myself."

"Trust me." Olivia circled him. "It will be the last mistake you'll ever make!"

She lunged at him. He easily parried her attack. "I think you've forgotten that it was your parents who gave me the same training you had."

"I think you talk too much!" She twirled about, bringing her daggers up to stop his sword from meeting her shoulder. He grunted from her heel piercing his leg as she pushed off to break his hold.

They continued to try and deliver punishing blows to the other. She was desperate to kill the man who was after her friends and country. He was anxious to be free of their marriage.

He noticed from the corner of his eye Claudius and Drake fighting. His second in command stunned the commoner with an uppercut to his jaw, causing Drake to stumble back into a wall.

Olivia heard the scuffle and followed Justin's line of sight. Her face paled at Claudius moving towards Drake to end him once and for all.

With a flick of her wrists she not only slashed Justin but threw her other dagger at Claudius. It struck true along the side of his neck, cutting into his jugular. He let out a garbled scream as he fell to the floor.

Justin hissed at the deep gash she had made along his ribcage.

Seeing that it was a lost battle, he hopped the banister and began to rush upstairs. He would have to go into hiding once more before orchestrating another attack.

"This ends now!" Riley yelled out at him.

He spun around to see both her and Liam rushing toward him. He raised his sword, determined to put an end to the man who stood between him and the throne. He hesitated when Riley jumped in front of her husband.

"You're not taking him from me!" She raised her battle ax. "Every time you try, I will stop you."

Does Liam know how lucky he is? She waited on him to choose her. Twice! And now she stands here, ready to defend him to the death. How could any man not fall in love with Riley?

His refusal to fight her was his downfall. He was pushed over the banister by the royal couple. While his breath was knocked out, Maxwell and Hana bound his hands together behind his back.

He looked about at his fallen and captured comrades. His attention was drawn toward Olivia and Drake. The pair were covered in blood and bruises, yet they were leaning against each other. Drake had his arm around her while softly speaking. Whatever was said caused Olivia to press even closer to his side. Her arms slipped around his waist. Her eyes were closed tight as she allowed him to hold her.

Justin had suspected something more between the pair. It looked like his coup for the throne had accomplished something for them.

Bastien and the rest of the King's Guards rushed in. After talking to the king and new queen, he collected Justin and hauled him outside.

On the way, Justin met Riley's eyes.

There were so many things he wanted to explain to her. He believed she would have been on board with his plans for the kingdom. Once he had killed Liam and Olivia, he would be the benevolent king the country needed. Gone would be the purpose for pompous nobles. He would have established a council of Cordonia's citizens from all walks of life to advise him. People would be rewarded and honored for their service instead of simply being born to the right parents.

And she would have been his queen, guiding and protecting all she deemed worthy.

"Riley, I..."

"You will never ever hurt those I love again." She hissed.

"Take him away." Liam ordered, keeping his arms locked around his wife. "He will be dealt with in the morning."

Justin knew then that it was pointless to try and explain. She would never give him a chance after all that had occurred.

For the first time in his life, he realized that his intentions didn't matter to the one he loved most.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 37

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 16.9k(? i think?) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, talks of past self-harm, nothing directly graphic all mentioned through conversation, graphic depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part four

​​​

“I’m going to kill the king, Hyunwoo.”

“Y/N, you can’t… that’s going too far.”

“I don’t think we have a choice any longer.”

“We always have a choice, Y/N. It’s just about what you decide to do with that choice that matters. Think about why you’re doing what you’re doing, and what your intentions truly are. It’s not about revenge or payment for a crime — the crimes of his people cannot be put onto his shoulders.”

A sigh passes through your lips, one that sounds more exasperated than anything else, and Hyunwoo lifts a brow upon hearing the noise.

“This is revenge, Hyunwoo. He allowed my past to be taken, he created the law that allows the military to do that. Not to mention the other crimes he has committed — even if they are a result of him sitting idly by and watching them happen. I’m not saying Jisung is always right or that he is a saint for wanting to do this. But if Jisung won’t commit to doing it, then I’ll do it for him.”

“And we swore to find a way to get those memories back, Y/N. Don’t let this cloud your judgment. Don’t let your devotion to making Jisung happy decide your future. If this is something he wants, then he should do it himself and face the consequences on his own! It’s not a burden that you should bear as well. I know this is something you will come to regret!”

“Then you’ll have to stop me with force because I’ve already made my mind up about this. I don’t see Jisung getting in my way right now. But after all, isn’t this what he wants? He’s just too much of a coward to do the dirty work himself!”

“We both know where he stands on this, which is precisely why he’s not here. Just — please let us try one more time. I’ve spoken with a few of my off-planet contacts about this, and we have one last idea that might reverse the effects of the serum. You know how difficult this is; the military keeps such a tight wrap on everything about the serum. It’s near impossible to just get a spare vial, and even harder to examine how it works with test subjects while still being ethical. We are trying our best, I promise, just please hold out a little while longer. Jisung is getting things set up now… so please… just come with me and try before you do anything drastic.”

The man extends a hand, palm facing towards the ceiling and fingers outstretched for you to take. There’s hope in his eyes, a hope you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and that look is what brings your feet forward. You place your palm over his and curl your fingers tight around the side of his hand. He squeezes back as a small grin overtakes his lips.

“If this doesn’t work, then you know what I have to do, Hyunwoo.”

“I know,” he whispers. The hope in his eyes flickers a little, like a flame hit by a gust of wind. “In that case, I’ll do whatever I have to so that you don’t come to regret that decision.”

“Hey, get up. It’s go time.”

You wake with a start, not fully come out of the memory that paints the insides of your eyelids until you look around at your surroundings. Yeosang seems to be the one who woke you seeing as his hand is still outstretched to your arm. The sight of him brings you back to reality and reminds you of where you are and what exactly is going on. Jongho sits on your other side, dressed in nicer clothes than you’ve ever seen him wear before — a pleated and pristine navy suit complete with a bright yellow tie and hair gelled back on his head. Yeosang too wears a somewhat expensive garb although he appears more natural in the silk tunic covering his torso. His naturally dark roots are starting to peek through the blond near his scalp, accentuating the harsh part down the middle of his head.

Despite the fact that both look relatively harmless in this state, you know they each have weapons hidden somewhere on their person underneath that formal wear, just as you do with the knives strapped over your thighs under the skirt attached to your waist. Such an outfit like yours is something you hardly agreed to — it was moreso an insistence on Seonghwa’s part to at least dress the part (although he had to listen to some of your incessant nagging about how you could never fight in a dress so he had to settle on finding a substitute in the form of a jumpsuit with a skirt wrapped around the back. Yet the more you pick at the seams and touch the fabric, the more you recall the none too pleasant conversation you and Seonghwa shared as you were preparing to leave for the mission.

“Perhaps I do have an eye for beauty after all, or is it that you simply look breathtaking in anything?” Seonghwa stands in the doorway to your bedroom, not a mind for privacy as he watches you struggle to tug the zipper of your suit up.

“Can’t even breathe on my own, huh?” You huff out as you drop the zipper in defeat.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you, have I not? There’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen before,” Seonghwa says through a laugh. He watches your cheeks flush with color before dropping his arms to his side and coming closer to you. He remains wordless as he pulls your zipper up for you, smoothing the fabric under his fingers down once it’s pulled up to your neck. “It suits you. Things like this, I mean. The silk makes you look… softer, yet the color combination of black and white makes you look lethal. Perfect definition of beauty, no? That something so delicate could also kill you? A wonderful dichotomy in my eyes.”

“Someone is in a poetic mood today.” You don’t hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem all too bothered by your show of faux-annoyance. Instead, his hands find your hips and turn you to face him directly, staring so intently into your eyes with his own dark ones that you lose the rest of your retort.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to go on this mission so desperately but that didn’t quite work out.” You’re quick to shake your head, already in the midst of denying his words before he even finishes his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’ll have Yeosang and Jongho there with me.”

“I would go if only Hongjoong would let me bu—” The thought cuts short as you place a hand over his forearm.

“Seonghwa, it’s okay. Hongjoong is right to have you stay here while you’re not 100% better. And you can both keep an eye on Jisung this way. We’ll bring Wooyoung back as quickly as possible, I swear.” Instead of consoling the man, your words seem to have an opposite effect as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“If I were stronger, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You should not have had to waste so much time having to look after my fragile and weak mental state when you could have caught up to the ship sooner and had all three of them back in one go.”

“This is what we’re working with, Hwa. It has nothing to do with your welfare. We still would have been too late regardless of whether that night had happened or not. So please — it will all work out and be okay. It has to.”

Seonghwa’s smile is quaint, a small twitch of his lips, then he’s leaning in to close the distance between your lips. You lift your hand to push hard against his chest, furthering that distance before he gets the chance to meet your lips with his.

“I just put on this black lipstick and you already want to mess it up? How rude,” you scoff. That isn’t a real reason, and you both know it, and you only solidify that further when you speak next before biting your tongue. “You shouldn’t push it right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for not fighting my decision to go with Jisung. Besides wasn’t the decision to… stop whatever this is mutual?”

“It was, of course,” he murmurs back, not quite meeting your eyes. “I am merely a creature of habit, so it will take some time for me to adjust to this change. But… Y/N, might I be so bold as to ask you something?”

“Hm, isn’t that a question right there?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You regard him with a small nod but pull away so that his hands drop to his sides again. “Were any of the feelings you had for me something real and tangible? Not just because of what we are and that comfort of both being Sirens, I mean.”

You should have known he would bring this up eventually, especially with how the two of you are constantly dancing around each other and the topic. Still, you aren’t ready for it.

“I… don’t think I know the answer to that question, but even if I did, I-I might not be able to answer with complete honesty.” The smile that comes to paint Seonghwa’s lips is nothing short of sad and painful, not quite reaching his bright eyes with its usual mirth.

“It’s a conversation I wish for us to have one day, but I too fear that I might not be able to be completely honest either. Perhaps — perhaps we got a little too caught up in the heat of things without truly thinking about why we were doing the things we were doing.”

“Why did you do it then? I was the one who gave the initial push, I started things, I claim responsibility for that, but you pulled right back. So why?”

“I have found time to think about such things quite a bit lately since I was left in the medbay alone for so long; however, now is not the time to talk about that as it would take too long. Has Wooyoung brought you back yet?”

“No, not since the night in the medbay. But San very clearly said three days until they would land on Dorado, and it’s been six since then. They should be there by now, and the deals should have gone through. Wooyoung’s was to be immediate after all.” Seonghwa’s smile drops into a half-hearted scowl.

“Without Wooyoung on the inside, we will have no way of knowing where San and Mingi are.”

“Unless Jisung decides to be kind with his information.” You run a hand through your hair, mussing the already down tresses enough to be somewhat noticeable. “We’ll have to make do.” Seonghwa stretches across the empty space between you

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Tell the others good luck from me, and please… be careful? No unnecessary risks if you can avoid them. I’d like to see you all back in one piece.”

Reality swoops in on you as Jongho places a firm hand over your thigh.

“You alright? I can practically feel you thinking so hard.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just… wondering about the mission.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jongho murmurs, squeezing at your leg a little tighter. “It’s a straightforward mission — easy in and out.”

“Hopefully.” Yeosang is the one to hum the word but he doesn’t look at either of you as he speaks. “Once we’re in, I’ll talk to the main desk and ask for someone with Wooyoung’s general appearance. It’ll be a bit difficult because they will have given a new name — something a prostitute would have. I’m not sure how many people in there will have similar appearances to Wooyoung but we’ll have to do our best. You two remember what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Follow suit, wait fifteen minutes for you to pass through the reception area, then ask the same thing. A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin. All prostitutes have collar so it won’t be Wooyoung’s defining feature any longer.” The recitation rolls off your tongue with ease after having heard Yeosang repeat it so many times by now. He nods in approval nonetheless.

“Remember there are cameras in each of the rooms. Don’t know how they use them but it’s something to be aware of. Hopefully, one of us will be able to come across Wooyoung, and in the case that you do?”

“We are to stay in the room with him for the allotted time, ping back to the ship and let Hongjoong know we have him, then wait for his signal,” Jongho responds. “His contact here on Dorado will be hacking their surveillance systems once we are certain that we have Wooyoung in a safe position.”

“Hongjoong sure seems to have a lot of contacts for someone who doesn’t trust people,” you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else, but Yeosang picks up on it nonetheless.

“His contacts are few and far between. This is one he has known since before he became a captain, so he holds a bit more trust with him. Back to the plan though, after his contact confirms our safety, you’ll crack a window and hop out hopefully unscathed. Remember that the Upper Echelon of Dorado is tight on security. Whoever gets Wooyoung out will have to be mindful of guards and try not to look suspicious. If any guards stop you, do not engage with violence. Simply do as they ask you to and tell them that Wooyoung is your slave. And one last thing: don’t forget we’ll be going in silent so keep a close eye on your wristbands. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” Jongho says while you offer only a hasty nod.

“Good, stay sharp then. We’ll be landing soon, and it’ll be go time immediately after that.” With that, Yeosang sits back and shuts his eyes, leaving you and Jongho to stew over the plan again in silence. At least until you decide you can’t take it anymore and turn to talk to the Berserker again.

“Are you nervous at all about the mission?”

A shrug.

“No more than usual. Recovering Wooyoung won’t be easy by any means, of course. It’s a step in the right direction, right? How are you feeling?” As though sensing your nerves, he pats your thigh a few times, and you simply stare down at the dirty floor beneath your feet.

“I feel a bit guilty in a way because I’m not too worried about the mission,” you admit, albeit quietly because you aren’t sure how please Yeosang would be to hear the words. “The only thing that is on my mind right now is how San is doing and if he’s okay.” Although you told Seonghwa otherwise, the sudden radio silence that Wooyoung has given you has made you anxious to an unspeakable degree. And not having the security of being able to see San through Wooyoung’s eyes is plaguing you more than you’d like to admit.

“I understand that,” Jongho says through a deep exhale. “I feel the same way about Mingi right now honestly. No matter how much faith and trust I have in Mingi, that fear always lingers and resides in me.”

“That’s how I feel about San. I shouldn’t be worried about him but part of me is just fearful that we won’t make it in time. That he’ll accept the serum before we can get him out.”

Jongho brings his hand up to take hold of one of yours, squeezing around your palm as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I know San better than I know anyone on the crew, besides Mingi perhaps. I’ve spent years at San’s side. He was the only person who trusted me at first and trusted me enough to let me in. That trauma he bears, the scars on his past, the red in his ledger, those lingering pains that resurfaced when the mutiny happened — I have felt them all. I spent months at the foot of his bed, taking what pain I could away for as long as I could, just existing to comfort him and help him get through even one more night. And in that myriad of emotions I felt from San, not once did I ever feel him desire to take it all away. Those scars he bears are part of him, and he treats them as such. Something like… small accessories on a bigger picture that he won’t let go of. So no matter what happens, I have confidence that San won’t let them win. He’s far too stubborn for that, his heart is too big, he has too much love in his body for such a thing. He would rather die before he forgets the crew, and that fact alone makes me confident that San will hold out.”

You are left in the wake of Jongho’s words for too long, letting them crawl under your skin and find a home there. You count the seconds that pass before your voice finds you again.

“I understand that.” Forty-one seconds. “It’s just the fear of him being hurt when I’m not around to stop it that is hard to get past.” Jongho’s smile is nothing if not soft and gentle, the epitome of understanding.

“In our line of work, that fear is always present. It’s always a possibility too, but at some point, you reach a point where you accept that sometimes, you won’t always be able to save someone from all pain. Just because you can’t prevent every ounce of pain doesn’t mean that you are doing something wrong or that you’re not doing enough.” Jongho pauses. Some emotion fills his red eyes and leaves them swimming with something unspoken. “There are some pains that we must allow to happen, no matter how much we wish to do the opposite. Even something as horrid as pain can be necessary and needed to move forward in life. Try not to dwell on it too much and focus on Wooyoung for now, yeah?”

“I’m trying my best,” you sigh and drop your head back against the seat. The second your thoughts begin to drift, you are brought back to another memory, this time one of Hongjoong’s dark office with Seonghwa at your side.

“You punched Jisung in the face?”

“Please, I let him off easy,” you huff back, ignoring the lieutenant’s slight shock in favor of finding interest in the wall.

“That’s not the important part,” Hongjoong cuts in from where he sits behind his desk. You shift to glance over the captain. “Does Jisung know anything about you being a Siren?”

“No, not that I recall,” you mutter after little thought. “I never slept with him or anything like that, and I can’t remember him ever seeing my back so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know. Besides who would just see tattoos and immediately assume ‘Siren’?”

“Then his interest in you has nothing to do with you being a Siren?”

“Exactly, but why is that important? I can tell you why he wants me if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“We’re just eliminating suspicions right now.” Hongjoong shifts his focus to where Seonghwa stands. He wears a bit of a cocky grin as they stare at each other, both feet slung up on the edge of his desk and one brow raised. “See? Jin has nothing to do with this.”

“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility altogether!” Seonghwa retorts. A frown mars his otherwise pretty features, twisting his lips into a scowl so deep that you feel your own muscles ache at the sight of it.

“You live your life in fear of Seokjin. For what? Do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

“That isn’t it and you know it, Joong. I will not sabotage your plans simply because of what I am. That is why we keep my identity to be a closely-guarded secret yet our number one enemy knows of that identity. That is a weakness, and it’s one that you need to take seriously.”

“Why is that? Sheltering you would be more suspicious to the crew than anything else. Unless you would like to inform them of your identity? Allow me to call them all right this instant.”

“No! No, Hongjoong, I — fine. Have it your way. Keep believing that you’ll be able to fix where Jin went wrong by ignoring the issue altogether because th—”

“That’s enough.” You bristle at the tone of the captain’s voice even though he is not speaking directly to you. “I’m still on edge as well, Hwa, and I know you are as well. I know why you are too, but please have at least a little faith in me. Now, Y/N—” Hongjoong turns back to you now “—I’d like to ask about the nightmares you had that night.”

Your initial response is to inhale sharply and glance over at Seonghwa with panic boiling in your gut.

“Why do you want to know?”

All Hongjoong does is roll his eyes and drop his feet off the side of his desk. You purse your lips at the action, watching him with wary eyes as he shifts his position to prop his elbows up on the same wood.

“Seonghwa, you’re dismissed.”

“I — Captain?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. I need to speak with her in private.”

“Why is it something I cannot be present for?”

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Now go.” If possible, the temperature of the room would drop ten degrees. Seonghwa seems to want to retort further but he bites his lip instead. Then, he gives a quick bow at the waist and mutters a goodbye before slipping out of the office without any further issue. “What did your nightmares consist of?” Hongjoong repeats, arching a brow as he speaks this time as though it will get you to talk faster.

“You didn’t have to get me alone to ask me that, did you? What is this really about?” The questions flow without hesitation, and your second refusal to talk about the dreams draws a sigh from Hongjoong’s lips.

“Do you know anything of Seonghwa’s relationship with his mother, Y/N?” A beat of silence. You shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing away from the captain to find interest in something on the floor.

“I… did witness a few of his memories when the two of us were still with each other in the dreams, but — if you mean to ask me about his nightmares, I have nothing to offer. I didn’t see those at all.”

“No, he already told me all about those nightmares. I don’t need to know more of them,” Hongjoong exhales with a shake of his head. He draws his arms up over his chest as he talks, falling back to slump in his chair and letting his exhaustion shine through. “Initially, I was going to have Seonghwa go with Yeosang and Jongho on this mission. But now, that plan has changed and I will be sending you instead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t send Seonghwa down to Lynder unless I myself can be at his side the entire time. There is far too much of a risk if I am unable to do that.”

“Risk? Of what? He would be with Yeosang and Jongho, would he not?”

“Yet if even the barest whim overcomes him, they would have to listen to whatever he says because of his position as lieutenant. I am the only one with more power than him, and as such, he has to listen to me. If he goes to Lynder, the risk is of him abandoning the mission to seek out his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do at all,” you counter. Both you and Hongjoong drop your chins at the same time, although yours is more of an accusatory and pointed action compared to the slumping defeat that comes over Hongjoong’s body when he lowers his head.

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

“A-Ah…” The sound of your dry swallow echoes in your ears. It’s hard to imagine Seonghwa — cool, rigid, stoic, gentle and calm Seonghwa — ever being so depraved and rabid as to harm himself as well as Hongjoong. Seonghwa, whose greatest fear is losing his captain. Yet the grave expression coating Hongjoong’s delicate features remains serious and deadpan, and you know every word is one that holds a memory that is painful to recall. He’s telling the truth.

“Have you ever had that voice in your head telling you to be cruel, Y/N?”

“Of course I have,” you admit through a whisper, like the words are going to break the threads of tension hanging in the air.

“Seonghwa has lost his will and his mind to that voice time and time again, and it gave him his reputation as the Lieutenant of Death. Mingi may be a slave to a childhood which bred him to be a monster, but Seonghwa? He’s a slave to his own consciousness, the part of him that spent years trying to be perceived as an Elitist so that he could hide what he really is, someone cold and calculated without an ounce of remorse or emotion. He put his own monsters under the bed, but now he can’t get them out.”

Hongjoong sits up a bit straighter all of a sudden. His gaze is still unfocused and hazy though, refusing to look you straight in the eye. Either subconsciously or through the fog of that revisited memory, Hongjoong lifts a hand to his neck and rubs idly at the skin there.

“My Seon—Lieutenant is strong, but strength isn’t worth a damn thing when the person you’re fighting is yourself. He admitted to me once that the thought of letting that voice win is more terrifying than the act of killing his own mother. So for that reason, I can never allow such a thing to happen. Seonghwa’s demons are nothing if not rabid dogs begging for a pound of flesh, and if he can’t fight them on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho yet again brings you back to reality, most likely a bit disturbed by the way you are squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt, but he takes it without complaint. “You keep drifting out of focus.”

“Yes,” you say, filling your chest with air when you remember to breathe properly again. “Everything is fine.” Rather than responding with words, Jongho just places his other hand over your joined ones and brings them to rest on his thigh. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear him humming a soft melody under his breath but the rumble of the transport car covers most of the sound up. Still, it’s a relaxing sound that brings you some much-needed peace of mind for the remainder of the ride.

And as it turns out, Yeosang wasn’t bluffing when he said the three of you would be there soon because you had barely started listening to Jongho’s soft song when the car comes to a screeching halt that leaves you lurching forward.

“Alright then.” Yeosang stands first, hands smoothing down the fabric of his tunic even though it’s still perfectly in place. It’s not against his nature to get nervous or anxious, but it is still odd to witness like this. He is usually stoic in an unsettling way yet the grim expression he now wears is only accentuated by the crude shadows cast over his face. “It’s go time. Let’s get Wooyoung back in one piece, yeah?”

With that, the three of you climb out of the vehicle to be greeted by a dark and pristine city with thick clouds of smoke billowing through the air below you. Looking over the lip of the road is like looking down a cliff with the dramatic fall to the lower portion of the city. You weren’t exactly prepared to see such a drastic difference between the upper and lower echelons, yet looking over that cliff is like looking into a different city altogether with wooden buildings and decrepit warehouses that can barely hold themselves together. Where you stand with Yeosang and Jongho feels like a different world altogether with roads lined with lights and technology, tall buildings made from wood with exquisite carvings detailing the sides. From what you saw of the city in Seonghwa’s memories, Lynder has not changed one bit since he was here last.

You can’t clearly see many of the buildings below your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering which one could possibly be that bar where Seonghwa met Hongjoong, if it even still exists. Jongho pulls you away from the road by the arm, tugging you along behind him as you approach a new building. The swaying wooden panel outside the door is a dead giveaway, but it’s the absurd amount of lilies trailing over the railings that tells you what this place is.

“They weren’t bluffing with the House of Lilies name,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose a bit at the overwhelming stench. Yeosang has grown alarmingly still; he lingers outside the tall double doors with a hand hovering over the brass handles without budging even an inch for far too long. You could pretend to not know why he’s hesitating, you could act like he is merely holding you back and push past him in annoyance, yet instead, you find yourself laying a hand atop his shoulder and squeezing the fabric there lightly. “No matter what happens in there or what we find in there, we will bring Wooyoung out alive.”

Yeosang releases a shaky exhale that makes his shoulder quake under your fingers.

“I know we will.” He looks past your face to make eye contact with Jongho then gives a curt nod. “Here goes the first fifteen minutes of hell.” The Elitist pushes hard against the brass handles, and the door gives way to his effort.

If you thought the smell outside the House was horrid, you don’t even know how to describe the reeking stench of flowers that hits you with the force of a tsunami. It’s thick enough for you to feel as though you are wading through a sea of flowers when in reality it’s just a strange yellow haze hanging about the interior. Yeosang doesn’t let the smell affect him in the slightest; he walks inside without missing a beat, shoulders pushed back so far it nearly hurts to see. Despite that, he walks like a prince, like someone who knows how to act in high society with ease, and for the first time, you don’t see Kang Yeosang before you. Instead, it’s Kang Minhee, the forgotten prince of Aera, who walks before you and heads for the front desk where a middle-aged woman with dramatic hair and hefty makeup stands.

“We should mingle a bit and look natural,” Jongho whispers when the two of you stop just inside the doors. “May I?” He motions to your arm with a small smile, not saying anything else and leaving you confused.

“May you…?”

“Quit being dense and give me your arm,” he huffs back and extends his elbow for you to loop your arm through, and this time, you get the hint, hooking your hand around the inside of his arm. Yeosang shifts to look back at both of you as you pass, and you offer each other discreet nods before he returns to speaking to the receptionist.

You let Jongho lead the way for the most part since you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be doing outside of “looking normal”, although even doing that is somewhat difficult. Jongho doesn’t stray far from the entrance area until Yeosang dips into a hallway and out of sight without looking back at the two of you. Moments later your wristbands buzz, signaling that it’s time for the first fifteen-minute countdown to begin. Jongho shifts to fiddle with his wristband while you keep your hand folded over his elbow still. It gives you a chance to glance around the whorehouse without the distraction of having to act normal, but frankly, there isn’t much to see beyond the bodies filling the foyer and mingling about the lounge before you. There are flowers everywhere — probably an overabundance of them, and they aren’t just lilies as they were outside. You can’t pinpoint whether those flowers are the source of the clawingly sweet scent stuck to the insides of your nostrils or not, but that yellow fog seems partially responsible to some degree.

“You seem to know how to look like you belong in high society,” you mutter once Jongho pulls his attention back to your surroundings. A huff of laughter leaves his lips.

“It’s not because I grew up that way. I was merely an observant child who wanted to grow up and have more than what I had.” A smile cracks his stony expression. “Isn’t that what all children want?”

“I—”

Well, you wouldn’t really know, would you?

Jongho’s expression softens as he realizes what he’s said and who he has said it to, and his gaze turns apologetic seconds later. He turns to flag down one of the workers milling about with drinks, taking two glasses of what looks like wine in one hand. Jongho angles one of the half-full flutes in your direction. You take the hint with relative ease despite the clawing scent of flowers still muddling your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” Jongho says through what seems to be a sympathetic smile. “What do you think your childhood was like? If you don’t mind talking about such things. We have time to kill after all.”

You draw your lips into a tight purse, curling them around the edge of the wine glass and pressing an imprint of your dark lipstick there. Subconsciously, your hand tightens around the inside of Jongho’s arm as well, although the Berserker doesn’t comment on the added pressure as he simply continues to regard you with the same steely and careful gaze.

“I think it must have been rather sad,” you admit after some thought. It must not be the answer Jongho was expecting at all because his brows draw together in confusion. “What kind of childhood must one have for them to willingly sell away their memories by fourteen? The more I think… about that time — when they gave me the serum — I recall fighting the doctors but I don’t think it was because I didn’t know what they were doing. I’m certain that I knew my memories would be taken from me. It was the act of them strapping me to a chair like a prisoner that frightened me.”

This time when Jongho smiles, all you can see is pain in his deep red eyes.

“I would have given anything in the universe to have my memories taken away at that age too, if it’s of any comfort to you.” He pauses to swirl the liquid in his glass, watching the red liquor dance before his eyes under the yellow haze around your bodies. “Don’t think you’re weak for wanting to forget that past. No child should ever deal with pains that strong, even if you can’t remember what they are.”

“People like you… San, Mingi… the whole crew honestly — how can I not view myself as weak in comparison? People who were given the choice but denied it and rejected it unlike me, who apparently didn’t want to be left with some shred of dignity. What did I become with that fresh slate they gave me? All I could do then was be weak, but it seems like that hasn’t changed one bit.”

Jongho won’t let up with that devastating smile, and you are about to turn away so that you don’t have to see it any longer when he finally lets it fall.

“For what it’s worth, you are rather strong in my eyes. During your fight with Jisung, I’ll admit that I tried to ease some of your pain then. It’s not something you know about — the others know of it by now so I should have told you sooner and I’m sorry for that but I have a special mutation in my genes that gives me the ability to take away and absorb emotional auras. I inherited it from one of my grandparents so it’s something I grew up learning how to use and I carried that over when I joined the crew. I attempted to do that with you because you were in so much distress and I was worried but — b-but your pain was too much for even me to bear. So before you go around calling yourself weak, you ought to give yourself more credit. Just because the pains you bear are different doesn’t mean that they are any less than the pains the rest of us bear.”

Jongho doesn’t say anything more than that; he slings his wine back in one shot like it’s nothing then places the now empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he’s passing by. You don’t touch your own, mulling over the glass as you fall deep in thought. If Jongho could feel that much from you, then it begs the question of what else he might be able to feel from you.

Can he sense that I’m a Siren too? Would he be able to tell that Seonghwa and Wooyoung are Sirens as well?

Your mind shifts to latch onto something else he said. Your pain was too much for even me to bear.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

You had been too preoccupied at the time to think about that moment until now.

“That time — did I hurt you? When you tried to take it away, did I hurt you even a little bit?”

“Nothing you did hurt me, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you didn’t do anything. It’s something I have done time and time again for others on the crew and something I would do again as well. It’s what I’m good at, and something I was born with for a reason. If it helps even a little bit, then why would I not take the temporary pain?”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to fight those words, to tell him that it’s not worth it, your pain should not be a burden he has to bear as well, yet no words fall from your lips. Your mouth stutters uselessly without saying anything, and Jongho just keeps smiling like nothing is wrong. The clenching in your chest is not fine, however, and you force yourself to turn away from him in the hopes it will alleviate that pain. Instead, your eyes travel to a head of bright red hair that is so starkly different than anything else in the room that you have to stare right at it. It would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary to you since the crew you are now part of has such a wide array of hair colors. It would be something you look right past without much thought.

And yet you find yourself staring right at it. Right at the girl who turns to look around the lounge with red hair sweeping through the air.

You jolt.

Something hits your shoulder hard enough to tip your drink over and spill some of the red wine onto the floor. Your hand retracts from Jongho’s arm to touch the knife hidden behind the fabric of your skirt. You’re forced to pull your gaze away from the girl, finding the man who bumped into you to just be a stumbling drunk man with little sense for spatial awareness and direction. Jongho wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer to his body. The man continues on without any regard for you or the wine he just spilled. Jongho takes your glass with his free hand, discarding it at the nearest flat surface before redirecting his focus back to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, everything is okay.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur back, but your gaze goes straight back to where that redhead just stood.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Instinct tells you to stay put and continue on with the mission, putting that familiar face to the back of your mind. But again your heart is clenching painfully in your chest, racing so fast that you feel the pounds echoing in your ears, and you know you can’t let go of her that easily. Not when she’s this close to you.

“I think I did.” You pull away from Jongho to go chasing through the crowd after that red hair, but the Berserker moves with you in a rush.

“Y/N, we can’t get off track. There’s only six minutes until it’s your turn to go to the counter.”

You wave him off with a dismissive hand rather than responding with words. Moments later, you find your target again, just as she is turning to head for the hallway that Yeosang went down not too long ago.

“Soojin?” You throw the name out as a last resort, mostly a desperate attempt to see if you are right and your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you in this heady yellow haze.

She freezes in place. It gives you just enough time to shove past the crowd and get closer to where she stands. You close your fingers around her shoulder, tugging with as little force as possible so that she turns to face you. There’s not a doubt in your mind when you see her face. She seems to recognize you as well based on the way her eyes are blown wide as saucers. The girl — well, you suppose she would be a woman by now — glances past your shoulder to look at Jongho. Her throat rolls as she swallows around nothing.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Soojin whispers, bringing her gaze back down to you. She dips her head a bit then pulls away from you to head down the hall. You think back to Jisung — the threats and odd comments he made combined with the newly resurfaced memories of Hyunwoo lingering at the forefront of your mind, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you can’t let her go this easily.

“P-Please, Soojin — I need to talk with you. It’s important, please, I have so many questions and no one else to ask.”

“I’m sure you do, little scapegoat,” she huffs back. “I actually have work to do though and a client waiting for me, so I’m not all too inclined to speak with you. I’m not sure why you came here, but I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for either.” You don’t have a chance to keep her from leaving after that because she turns and leaves so quickly that it leaves you reeling. Jongho tugs you back by the arm, pulling you from the hallway and out into the lounge again before you can chase after her.

“What the hell was that?” He hisses under his breath.

“She — I-I knew her. She w-was my teammate, one of the p-people assigned to my unit in the military. I… I had no idea she ended up here of all places. Jongho, I have to talk to her, please, I have to. This c-could be what I need! If Jisung won’t tell me the truth, then maybe she knows something. She has to know something o-or else I—”

Your voice dies in your throat, but your unspoken desperation seems to reach Jongho nonetheless. The key to whatever memories you lost could lie in Soojin. Things happened so quickly at the end, perhaps she learned of something before leaving Eros with the others.

“She called you a scapegoat,” Jongho says. He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing with the motion. “What was that about?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. You didn’t even think to question that part but it is odd and not something you recall her calling you in the past.

“I’m not sure why she would say that. All the more reason to speak to her and ask. Jongho, please!” You attempt to pull away from his grip as you speak. The Berserker doesn’t budge, too strong for you to fight like this, and he doesn’t let up even when you try to slap his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He yanks you back to him and brings his free hand up to rest on your forehead. This time, you can physically feel the panic in your bones ebbing away and being pulled to your forehead where Jongho touches you. It’s a frightening sensation but the influence he has over you takes that fear away as well, leaving you in a daze of confusion because you know you should feel bothered right now but you cannot bring yourself to feel that way even as Jongho pulls away from you. His jaw twitches just a hair, not moving much beyond that, then he grits his teeth to hiss out his next words. “Wooyoung is our mission. You have to focus. You have two minutes to get up to that counter and do your job. We can try to track down your teammate later, but not on a mission like this.”

You have it in you to at least be angry enough to tug your arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch my emotions like that again. I understand you trying to take my pain, and as much as I hate that and despite the thought of you taking my pains for me, this is different. Emotionally sedating me for the sake of completing a mission better is different.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you’re heading off for the counter where Yeosang stood not too long ago. The woman who previously occupied the space behind it has disappeared, now replaced by a young man who must be younger than you from the looks of it.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks as you sidle up to the desk.

“I’d like a room, an hour’s worth.” You fumble a bit with your pockets as you try to fish a credit chip out without exposing the knife strapped to your thigh, but the boy doesn’t look up until you slide the chip across the counter.

“Of course, of course,” he hums. “Do you have any preferences for pleasure tonight?”

“A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin,” you recite back, forcing a smile onto your lips when the boy glances up at you. He tilts his head to the side. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth as the stare grows unsettling then he shakes his head and speaks again.

“Would you like someone more submissive or dominant?”

“Hm? Oh, um…” That wasn’t part of the plan. Surely Yeosang would have mentioned it if he had known they would ask. But what would he have said if they asked him the same? “Um, submissive is fine, I suppose?” The boy hums again then motions towards the hallway where Yeosang and Soojin both headed down.

“Your room will be on the second floor, Room 213. Please take the stairs at the end of the hall.” He passes a keycard your way along with your credit chip, leaving you with a grin and a soft-spoken, “Your courtesan will join you shortly. Enjoy.” You bristle at his words but manage to smile a little bit as you take both the card and your chip back. You leave the counter to head for the hallway, not pausing to look back at where Jongho might be, but you ping your wristband as you go. Nothing has come in from Yeosang’s side again so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have Wooyoung with him by now. It leaves you and Jongho with more pressure and either more or less of a chance to recover him, so you can only hope for the best as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

Room 213 is empty as expected when you slip inside, and it’s free from that odd yellow fog outside as well, so you bask in the freedom and breathe fresh air deeply while you can. It’s a basic and standard room — much more like a small hotel room than anything else from the cabinet near the door and the double bed pushed up against the wall. There’s a metal sink as well close to the window but nothing else adorns the room leaving it rather dismal and simple. Not that you expected these people to treat the courtesans with even an ounce of respect; it’s still disheartening to think of Wooyoung being stuck in such a small and cramped space without a choice.

Whatever peace you thought you could have is cruelly interrupted less than five minutes later as a series of shy knocks reach your door. You blink up from where you sit perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. Is this how Yeosang felt waiting for his door to open? You inhale sharply, heart pounding mercilessly in your throat and choking you with the strength of an actual hand. And shamefully, you can’t even bring yourself to look at the door when it slides open, too afraid of not seeing Wooyoung standing behind it.

“Y-Y/N?”

You snap your head towards the door so quickly that your neck pops with the effort, eyes blinking open faster than ever, and even when your gaze settles on him, you still can’t quite believe he’s really before you. In that moment, the two of you merely regard each other with stunned stares like neither of you can believe this is possible, and in that time, the door slides shut again to leave you together in the all too small room.

“Wooyoung.” You bring yourself to your feet, standing on shaky legs as you face him. “W-Woo—”

He cuts you short by barreling into you with such force that it knocks the air out of your lungs. The metal around his neck scrapes against your skin hard enough to cut but you pay it no mind as he squeezes his arms around your waist and releases a heart-wrenching sob into your shoulder. Reason returns to you then, bringing you to ping your wristband again; although this time you tap it three times to alert the others that you have Wooyoung with you now. There is nothing more to do after that other than to hug him back as his tears soak your neck and shoulder.

“I-I didn’t — I di-didn’t want to lose hope b-but… fuck it was s-so hard not to and I was st-starting to think I wouldn’t ever s-see you again,” Wooyoung sobs. You almost want to cry with him if not for the small blinking light in the upper corner of the room that catches your eye and sends a surge of panic through you.

“The cameras, Wooyoung. They’re still on, we need to—”

“Y-Yeah, they’re — they only c-check if you hit the button by the bed.” Wooyoung pulls back from your shoulder, at last, rubbing at his tear-stricken cheeks so hard it makes his skin blossom with red. He pauses to catch his breath, or at least steady himself enough to speak without choking on his words. “That si-signals that you’re unsatisfied so they’ll c-check and see what’s — what’s wrong before sending a new courtesan.” Wooyoung puts his hand in yours and laces your fingers without hesitation. The touch seems to offer him some more comfort that helps calm his small hiccups and cries. “Is Y-Yeosang okay?”

“He’s alright, yeah,” you whisper back through a smile. “Misses you something awful, but he’s here too. He tried to get to you first, but they must have sent someone else to him. Jongho came as well. To get you. We came to get you, Wooyoung.”

Those words make Wooyoung’s eyes well up with sickening haste. He sinks to the bed before another sob forces its way out, and you sit down beside him like the mattress might collapse if you move too quickly.

“I’m so glad. So fucking g-glad. Being in a pl-place like this without Yeosang — it’s fucking hell.” Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his lower lip just to keep it from trembling.

“Have you…” Surely it’s not a question you have any right to ask, and part of you feels like Wooyoung did need your help but merely did not want to bring you to this place, even if just to watch through his eyes. Still, you swallow the nerves and force the question out. “Have they made you work yet?”

“It’s not important whether they did or not,” Wooyoung says through a weak smile, but that tells you all you need to know. It sounds too rehearsed and monotonous, like he’s been told to say this even if only by himself. “B-But what’s the plan? How are we getting out? Is someone coming to get us?”

“Um, we’re to wait the allotted time here until we get news from one of Hongjoong’s contacts here. He’s a hacker, and he’ll take care of the surveillance system so that we can open the window and get out that way. We’ll meet Yeosang and Jongho in an alleyway not too far from here after that. Then head back to the ship on a transport car.”

“Thought of everything, huh?”

“I sure hope so.”

“It should work just fine. We’re on the second floor though, so it’ll be quite the fall. Just remember to not go face-first.” Wooyoung’s smile is infectious, and you laugh along with his jest, hand squeezing around his. “How is Seonghwa doing?”

“A-Ah, I nearly forgot you knew about that. Um, he’s alright but Hongjoong didn’t think he was well enough to come on the mission with us.”

“Captain is up then? Yeosang mentioned he’d been out for quite some time because of his injuries. That’s great news that he’s up! I — he’ll be happy to hear that I have some info about where Mingi and San are being held too. I can tell him when we’re back on the ship. B-But Seonghwa is okay otherwise?”

“Yunho said there’s no lingering signs of health issues so he’ll be okay physically. I… I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” Wooyoung’s smile stretches a bit wider.

“I assumed you would. That’s okay though; we have a full hour to use anyways, so you can ask me anything while we have the time to be alone together. I would say we could do it later when we’re back on the ship but Yeosang probably won’t let me out of his sight for even two seconds from now on. It’d be best for us to get it all out now so we don’t have to hear him scribbling in that damn notebook of his.” Wooyoung can’t hide his elation despite the teasing words, and you know that getting to see Yeosang again soon means more to him than you could ever understand. Yeosang must be feeling the same way himself, waiting out this hour with painstaking patience.

“What happened in the days you didn’t let me in? You went quiet for so long I was getting worried.”

“Ah, we shouldn’t start there,” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing down at the floor. He pauses. The breath of hesitation leaves your stomach in knots. “Nothing you want to hear, I promise. That’s why I didn’t try to bring you in. It wasn’t anything pretty, but I assure you there was nothing they could do to hurt me physically. I’m too far gone for that sort of torture. It’s… over and done with now. More scars to add to my collection, and more for Yeosang to cry over probably. We’ll both be fine. You’re probably wondering about the whole connection thing and us both being Sirens and such, right?”

“I — admittedly yes, but looking back now it seems almost obvious? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner, I guess. But yeah, specifically that connection or whatever it is. Yeosang said he didn’t know much at all about it.”

“Right, yeah, I don’t know much myself either, to be honest.” Wooyoung presses his lips into a pout. “It’s hard to say what exactly it is. Seonghwa’s books don’t really have anything about this sort of occurrence, but what I’ve gathered from it so far is probably all that Yeosang told you. ‘There’s no place in the universe that you can hide from each other’. Daichi told me that once.”

“He told me the same actually.”

“Mhm, I think he knows a bit more about it than he claims to. For me, I can almost hear you in my head when you’re in distress, even when you’re far away. Except it doesn’t sound like you’re scared or anything like that. It almost sounds as though you’re softly singing to me? Like… I’m on a boat with gentle waves and you’re singing to me through the water. When I’m asleep and dreaming and you reach out to me for help, I can close my eyes and find myself on a boat like that. A white boat on a black lake. And I hear you singing to me in the water, look down, and see a tiny flickering light through the darkness. For years I’ve had that dream.”

“Yeosang… he talked about you having such a dream. Swimming in a black lake and trying to reach someone but not being able to?”

“Yeah! Um, I’ve woken him up so much because of that very dream. I would have that dream time and time again before you joined the crew, desperately swimming to reach you but it was like something was blocking me from getting to you. Like I could never reach you no matter how fast I was. I would never be able to get in. Then suddenly — one night I did, and I woke up in a box of fabrics in the cargo bay.” Wooyoung shifts to look you in the eye, a weak laugh slipping through his lips. “That feels so long ago now.”

“I’ve been wondering how to thank you for that,” you murmur. “If not for that moment, I would have died.” The skin around your nails suddenly seems a lot more interesting, and you busy yourself with picking at it mindlessly rather than looking back in Wooyoung’s direction. He doesn’t let your hand drift far from his though before he’s tugging it right back into his grasp. His other hand finds its way atop yours as well, holding your joined ones together tightly.

“I didn’t do it to get a thank you. It was just… the right thing to do. It’s sad that we live in such a bad and awful society where you feel the need to thank me for doing something as simple as that.”

“Did you not thank Yeosang for saving his life once upon a time?” You dare to ask. Wooyoung is a bit startled at first, caught off-guard by both your sudden question and the content behind it, but he laughs loud and clear without restraint.

“For someone who claims to hate talking about his life, he sure does talk a lot, doesn’t he?” Wooyoung brushes his bang out of his eyes, pushing the strands that have quickly grown unruly and long to the side. “Yeosang never lets me thank him. Any time I’ve tried, he shut me down before I could finish. Honestly, he saved my life twice. Once when he chose me from that lineup of slaves and spared me a crueler fate, and once when he broke those chains and set me free.”

Chose… me…? Then it wasn’t Yeosang’s mother who picked Wooyoung out for him?

You don’t get to dwell on that thought for long because Wooyoung simply continues to ramble, more and more peace coming to his shoulders as he calms down further.

“Yeosang only ever thanks me. As odd as that is.”

“Did you — have you ever saved his life then?” You already know the answer to that question, but it’s already hanging in the air between you by the time you catch yourself.

“Yes.” Wooyoung is beaming by now, lips stretched wide as he grins. “I got him out of prison when they charged him with treason.”

“And that’s what he thanks you for?”

Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head in denial.

“He never claims to have saved me, not even once. Instead, Yeosang says that I saved him.”

“B-But why? Objectively he did save you, so why does he not acknowledge that?”

“Because, Y/N, there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Yeosang and I loved each other for many years before. But just loving each other wasn’t enough for Crown Prince Kang Minhee to break my chains and commit treason. When ”I love you“ turns into ”I am in love with you“ and ”I am in love with the mere idea of you“, then Yeosang set me free. Even though I would never have asked him to do it, he chose to on his own accord. So he thanks me and says that I saved him because of that. Because I trusted him enough to put my life in his hands time and time again and let him fall in love with me. He claims it to be a difficult thing — allowing an Elitist to fall in love with you. But with Yeosang… he has only ever made it easy. There are times where it is difficult and frustrating, where I wish that he could be anything other than an Elitist, for fuck’s sake, times when I would rather break his neck in an absolutely non-sexy kind of way, but that’s part of love and loving someone. That’s why he’s grateful to me. It sounds selfish and egotistical to say, but after having him repeat himself for so many years, I’ve grown to accept that even if I don’t believe I deserve it.” Wooyoung speaks with a raw conviction that you’ve heard before. It’s the same tone Hongjoong used when speaking to Seonghwa in the medbay, the same tone Yeosang used when talking about Wooyoung and their past together.

Even if you wanted to formulate a response, you don’t think you would be able to because of how overwhelming the emotion in Wooyoung’s voice is. He’s had every opportunity to blame Yeosang for the misfortune in his life, claim that if only Yeosang hadn’t picked him from the start he would be better off, claim that Yeosang got him out of being a slave only to put him in a more dangerous position. Wooyoung could even blame Yeosang for not protecting him well enough to keep him from being kidnapped and tortured.

Yet not once has Wooyoung blamed him.

Perhaps you were being unfair in pushing the blame onto Seonghwa’s shoulders when he didn’t fight your decision to go with Jisung. Is it so wrong to want someone to fight for you? Yet Yeosang has fought every day for Wooyoung and continues to do so. Wooyoung, who has been through hell and tortures he does not wish to speak about, asked about Yeosang’s well-being before anything else. Yet if they were in your position — if Wooyoung were the one agreeing to go with Jisung to save the others, would Yeosang not drop everything to fight for him?

Your mind screams back at you, telling you that it’s different, the situations aren’t the same, the relationships aren’t the same, and you cannot compare yourself to people like Wooyoung and Yeosang who have had years to figure this out. And so, you don’t compare yourself to them.

Rather you compare Seonghwa and Hongjoong to them. How Seonghwa’s worst nightmare is not being able to save Hongjoong from himself. The sheer will and determination in Hongjoong’s eyes when he said he would never let Seonghwa’s demons overtake him. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is similar to what Wooyoung and Yeosang have. Neither are anything remotely close to what you have — had, your mind suggests ever so helpfully — with Seonghwa yourself.

“It may be selfish, but I don’t want you to push me away. I would rather be hurt and still have you in my life rather than to be perfectly fine without you.”

That memory slips through unannounced and unasked for, and the mere prospect of why it’s coming back to you while you’re having such thoughts scares you so much that you slam the door in that memory’s face and throw away the key before it breaks loose.

“But anyway that’s — I rambled a bit too much, that’s not the point, um, have you ever had similar dreams like those? The ones I had, I mean? Before waking up in my body or before you came to the crew, any time you can remember. I know you haven’t had much opportunity yet, but you’ve had a few experiences by now.”

“I can’t recall ever having those sorts of dreams. That dream you mentioned about the lake — I had a dream that I was drowning in a black lake the night you came to save Seonghwa, but when I wake up in your body, it’s simply that. All I know is falling asleep and waking up like a passenger in your consciousness. I don’t have any control like you’ve had over my body.” Wooyoung’s eyes are oh so expectant and pleading, and it twists something painful in your gut. You want so badly to have information for him, to be able to give him answers or even a hint as to what could be going on, but frankly, you have nothing to offer. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I-I feel utterly useless in this whole situation. I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me or my head, I just can’t remember at all and I don’t… You and Seonghwa seem to have this whole Siren thing figured out, how it works, what sort of abilities you have, how to use them. I, on the other hand, have so many gaps and missing pieces in my memories. I��ve had one or two moments where I consciously used some sort of ability, then Seonghwa tried to help me learn, but other than that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay!” Wooyoung rushes to reassure you, squeezing his hand tight around yours as he smiles again. “Y/N, please don’t worry about that. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now, it’s really okay. We’re gonna figure this out together now that you finally know what I am and we’ll be back on the ship soon. And I can help you understand more about being a Siren in general too! If we can get to the Dreamscape together, maybe Daichi will be willing to talk.”

“Last time I was there, he tried to kill me and told me that if I kept asking questions he would end my life,” you snort. Wooyoung’s smile drops into a grave expression that doesn’t fit his features.

“In the beginning — when I first started seeing Daichi, that is — he wasn’t like that. He wanted me to find other Sirens. That’s what ultimately made Yeosang choose Captain’s crew because Daichi had told me there was a Siren there. Then as more time went on, Daichi seemed to get more and more frightened by the idea of Sirens finding each other. He started telling me that someone dangerous would find me, someone I should guard myself from.”

“He warned me of the same when I first came aboard. But Seonghwa mentioned how Daichi’s job is to guide Sirens to each other?”

“That’s true, yes, but Daichi seems to have changed his mind along the way. I can’t understand why, but I’m sure it will make it a lot more difficult to find two more for Captain.” Your conversation dies a bit there, leaving both you and Wooyoung to stew over the predicament. According to Daichi, you spent years denying your identity and refusing to listen to him, so you never made an effort to find any Sirens like both Wooyoung and Seonghwa have been apparently. Still, it leaves you more curious than before, especially given what all happened in your latest escapade in the Dreamscape.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Did he ever tell you that we will always be able to come back to each other?”

“Come… back to each other? No, I’ve never heard him say such a thing before.”

“I remember seeing you in a dream before, not the Dreamscape but an actual dream. But that dream felt more like a memory, and I asked you about it once in the medbay. I know you told me no then, but does it have anything to do with what Daichi said possibly?”

“Hm, I suppose it could?” Wooyoung leans back and looks up at the ceiling. You can’t figure out what’s on his mind just through his expression, and what he says next doesn’t help much either. “But I don’t have any sort of memory like that.”

“You — you were wiped with a serum too, weren’t you?”

“Did Yeosang tell you that as well?” Wooyoung asks through a frown. “Did he mention how guilty he feels about that too? Probably, that would be very much like him to do so. Guilty for things that aren’t even his fault… but yes. Yes, my memories were wiped too.”

“I have another question. I’m sorry for asking so much all at once. Yeosang never gave me a clear answer though, so I’m still curious, but why haven’t you told Hongjoong about this?” Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and refuses to look your way for a bit. The silence drags but it’s nothing uncomfortable or unsettling. It isn’t like you’re on a time crunch right now either, so you’re more than willing to wait until he is ready to speak.

“It’s something stupid and selfish honestly,” he whispers after a bit. His other hand finds purchase on the bed, picking at a loose thread hanging off the sheets. “I didn’t expect Yeosang to take it so seriously, but now he’s adamant even when I try to tell him otherwise. Really it’s just that when I was still a slave, I didn’t always have to wear the collar. It dampened and muted my abilities so I couldn’t use them freely. Shocked me a lot too whenever I foolishly tried to use them without permission, leaving some really ugly and awful scars. Yeosang always treated the wounds when that would happen.”

His hand travels up to touch the band of metal hanging about his neck. You follow the movement with your eyes. You can’t miss the spreading scars underneath the metal as he shifts it, like little lightning bolts of pale skin hiding beneath it, and you wonder if that’s what you felt the first time you woke up in his body.

“I have a lot of scars from lots of different things. It shouldn’t be any different, and it shouldn’t even matter because it’s stupid and childish and I need to get over it. Even though the collar is dead and doesn’t work, like it doesn’t mute my abilities anymore or anything like that, just the idea of having it on keeps me sane. Being a Siren is both a blessing and a curse. Some abilities you’re born with are crueler than imaginable and can be used to do horrific things. The things I was forced to do with mine are not something I ever want to revisit again. So… I keep the collar on because the trauma I suffered while wearing it for so many years keeps me sane. Merely the idea of wearing it prevents me from using my abilities because I was conditioned into a state where if I tried doing anything while the collar was on, I would be hurt. When it comes to visiting you, it’s different because I’m asleep when that happens. And whenever people other than Yeosang or myself try to touch it, I get thrown back into the memories of his father taking it off me to use me as a weapon and I-I can’t — it’s too much to bear.

“I trust Hongjoong. I really trust him and admire him and respect him so much. As much as I do Yeosang even if it’s in a different way. But I have an innate fear of authority that tells me no matter who it is, the people who have power over me will abuse it. That if anyone above me knows I’m a Siren, I’ll be used again, and I’m afraid of that. So it’s not that I don’t want to tell Hongjoong. Just that as long as I have this collar on and as long as these demons linger at the edge of my mind, I don’t think I can ever tell him what I am.”

You want to express an apology for bringing those memories back or at least offer an ounce of consolation because you can almost feel the pain radiating off his body in waves. But the moment you reach out to pull him into a hug, the door to your room slides open out of nowhere. You jerk, and Wooyoung lifts an arm to protect the both of you, but you take the initiative in pushing him down to the bed. In one swift movement, you climb in front of him, one knee down on the mattress and the other stretched out in front of Wooyoung’s body. The blade against your thigh is cool on your fingertips, but you don’t pull it out quite yet. The flash of red hair before you stops you at the last second.

Soojin?

The girl is already halfway in the room, door sliding shut behind her, and the second it’s fully closed, she turns to twist the lock into place.

“W-Wait, we’re n-not supposed to lock the doors!” Wooyoung protests, leaning up over your shoulder to see better. Soojin levels him with a sharp glare. You reach behind you to push Wooyoung back enough so that he’s hidden behind your shoulder, matching Soojin’s stare with equal intensity. The girl steps closer to you, draws a single finger up, and stabs you hard in the chest with her dull nail.

“You and me need to have a chat after all it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You clench your fingers around the handle of your knife, still not completely at ease with the woman standing in front of you.

“What do I mean? I mean that my fucking client downstairs just tried to fucking murder me and gave me a message from Han Jisung of all people! Seeing you and hearing from that bastard on the same day after being free from that past for several years? That’s no fucking coincidence, Y/N.”

“Murder!? How did you — how did you get away?”

A laugh of disbelief escapes Soojin’s lips as she pulls back a few feet.

“I killed him, of course! What else was I supposed to do? I dumped the fucker’s body out the window for staff to clean up later. This sort of thing happens frequently enough for them not to question it, and besides, I told them it was a jealous worker so they won’t really care all too much about him. But what the fuck is going on? Why are you here and why did Han Jisung just tell me my time is up and try to have me killed?”

“I… I-I don’t — I’m not with Jisung, I know nothing about that at all. He—” You cut yourself short with a sharp inhale, eyes darting across the floor like it has all the answers in it. “Wait, he knew I would be coming here though. Did he know that you worked here?”

“Unfortunately, not by choice though. We ran across each other around a year ago in the city, and I mentioned working at the House in passing.”

You shift to motion back at Wooyoung and pull your hand off the knife on your leg at last.

“He was brought here against his will by Jisung. Well, whoever Jisung is working with at least. I only came to get him out. We’re — he’s part of the crew I’m working with now. Jisung knew where he would be and that I would come to get him.”

“And he’s still a psychopath when it comes to you then?” Soojin scoffs, brows knitting together to accentuate her disbelief. “He tried to have me killed just so that I would stay out of your business?”

“I don’t know, Soojin,” you exhale. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would do that. I already made a deal with him and he’ll get to take me regardless of what happens here.”

“T-Take you?” Wooyoung interjects. “Take you where?” His hand latches around your elbow and squeezes hard. You ignore the man in favor of maintaining your focus on Soojin, however, much to his dismay.

“Unless you know something Jisung wouldn’t want me to know and he couldn’t even risk the thought of us running into each other and speaking.” At that, Soojin tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“What happened before you left the crew?” Her confusion intensifies to a dramatic degree.

“Have you gone mad? Do you not remember or something? You were always a bit bad with memory, yeah, but has it gotten this bad?”

“Please, Soojin, I’m begging you please just tell me what happened before the crew fell apart. I know you called me a scapegoat for a reason, please.” You reach out across the empty space between your bodies, having to stand to reach her, but when you do, you close a hand around her wrist. Soojin blinks between where you hold her and your face without speaking for so long that you think she’s going to refuse you again.

“I called you a scapegoat because I thought you were in on Jisung’s plan at the time,” she says finally, pulling her other hand up to run through her hair. “You would’ve done anything for him so I thought that was just another part of it.”

“What did I do?”

“I should be asking what you remember happening instead.”

“What I remember is stealing documents and plotting to dismantle the military from the inside out with you guys but I fucked up. I know I fucked up and got caught and Hyunwoo took the blame for me and it got him fucking executed.” Soojin leans back, hand tugging out of your light grip.

“I know nothing of what happened after Ash, Juyeon, and I left Eros. But before we left…” It’s her turn to hold you by the wrist. She turns your arm over and exposes the inside of your left arm, right where that damned brand sits against your raised skin. “You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your burden to bear. You were the scapegoat, and that’s why the team fell apart, that’s why we all broke up and ran away. You didn’t plan to steal anything, nor did you plot a thing. Neither did Hyunwoo. It was all Jisung; Jisung wanted to dismantle the military and kill the king. When Juyeon, Ash, and I found out what he was planning to do, we brought it to Hyunwoo. All Hyunwoo said was that stopping Jisung wasn’t something he could do. So he told us to leave while we still had the chance and that he would take care of things. He would take the blame so that no one else would have to get hurt. But you didn’t want him to do that, so you ran off and carried out Jisung’s plan for him.”

“Which part? Did I k-kill the king… before Hyunwoo died?”

Soojin heaves a deep sigh.

“The last night we were all together as a team, you snuck out of the barracks and infiltrated the palace. You stole the documents Jisung wanted — whatever the fuck they were because I don’t even know why he wanted them in the first place if he was going to kill the king anyways — and you killed the king that night too. Everything went to shit. It all happened too fast for the rest of us to know what was really going on. You just came back to the barracks and turned the lights on and…”

You don’t realize how hard your head is pounding until the woman trails off, voice dying in her throat, and then it hits you will so much force that you feel your body beginning to lurch. You would fall over, most likely smack your head on the sink as well, if not for Wooyoung jumping up and catching you by the waist before you can fully go down. And thanks to him, all you do is hunch over and hold your head in your hands as a stab of pain sears through your skull.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe for me,” he urges as you slump your weight back against him. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re hyperventilating. One breath every five seconds, slow it down, you’re okay.”

“Th-There was blood. There was blood, wasn’t there?” Looking at Soojin fills your vision with pure crimson, but it’s not because of her hair this time.

“Yes,” she whispers back, not daring to speak any louder than that. “You were… drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. And we were so scared you had been hurt somehow. I carried you to the bath and cleaned you but you didn’t have a single scratch on you.”

“O-Oh god,” you choke out. The red in your vision turns coppery as a different image takes over and a new memory swarms your head.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

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

“Let her go!”

“You ruined everything! How could you do this? Why are you so fucking useless? I told you to sit still and not do anything!”

The water spread to your nostrils and forced its way in as you struggled to find air.

“Jisung, release her right this instant!”

The hands around your throat just grew tighter.

Wooyoung eases you down to the floor when the rest of your strength leaves you. He keeps a hand at your waist, using the other to hold your head to his chest in a desperate attempt to control the wild tremors shooting through your body. You keep a hand pressed to your throbbing temple but it does nothing to alleviate the pain you’re in, one that feels as though something is trying to rip your head in half with their bare hands.

“C-Can’t remember more. I can’t, I do-don’t want to remember anymore, I — it hurts. It hurts too much, it hurts so much.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember anymore, okay? You’re good, you’re done, no more. No more.” Even through the pain, you can’t miss the desperation in Wooyoung’s tone. His hand moves for your arm where your wristband sits, buzzing uselessly against your skin. “Y/N, what does this mean? Is something happening?”

You want to answer, You even open your mouth to do so. Yet the moment you do, the taste of that metallic soapy water fills your mouth and you choke on air.

“Y/N, please, what does it mean? Are we in trouble?” You think you shake your head but the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes isn’t reassuring and you aren’t sure you have any hold over the muscles in your body right now. “Please, do you know where our friend is?” He asks, directing his focus to where Soojin kneels in front of you.

“The brunette?”

“Brunette? No, no, I’m talking a blond?”

“J-Jongho,” you force out, gritting your teeth until your jaw hurts from the force. “Jongho… here too.”

“I saw that name on the register,” Soojin cuts in. “I checked it to find what room you were in and saw his name further down on the list.”

“Please get him and bring him. Please, I know you — we just need your help right now, please,” Wooyoung begs. His grip on your waist tightens a little as Soojin hesitates, and it doesn’t let up until the girl nods and leaves the room in haste. Wooyoung brings you back to his chest once she’s gone, matching your shaky breaths as he gently rocks you back and forth. “I can’t… know your memories or the pain you’re feeling right now, but I know what it’s like to suddenly be hit with memories you forgot you had. Ones that were suppressed behind an iron wall. I know what it’s like to have it slip out and hit you.”

“It fucking hurts.” You clench your jaw again, feeling a burn of pain up the side of your face with the movement. “Like someone is stabbing my b-brain with a da-damn icepick.”

“Are the memories painful?”

“I d-don’t know. I can hardly think straight. My head hurts. That’s all I can think about.”

“The serum… I’m assuming it’s the same one I was given back then. It can’t take away memories. Yeah, they tell you that it’s a wipe, but that’s only because they don’t want you trying to find those old memories. It can’t remove parts of the brain like that. They just use it to lock away memories but there’s no guarantee of it being permanent, so when you do remember something they tried to lock away, it hurts.”

“D-Does it hurt you like this too?”

“Yes, but I’m — pain isn’t something that bothers me all too much, and I’m lucky enough to have Yeosang nearby when it happens. I’ve got a prescription for the pain from Yunho too. We can… we can get you something long-term back on the ship.”

Another stab of pain hits as the door slides open, metal grating hard on your ears, but this time Jongho stands with Soojin. He rushes over to join you and Wooyoung on the floor in a panic, obviously torn between being excited to see Wooyoung again and your current crumpled state.

“Yeosang’s hour is up and he’s waiting at the meeting point. Captain hasn’t buzzed in on the contact yet.” Jongho reaches down to lay a hand against your forehead. You’re quick enough to turn your face further into Wooyoung’s shirt, inhaling the sickening floral scent that clings to his skin.

“Don’t even think about trying to take it away,” you hiss.

“I can’t take physical pain, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Here, something for the pain.” Soojin interrupts the moment to lean over you with a cup of unknown contents. “Fast-acting pain reliever. Every room has some in it just in case patrons get too out of hand. We keep it in the cabinets, I promise it’s nothing bad. It’ll numb you and make you a bit sluggish for a while, but it’ll also take the pain away.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs as he takes the cup from her hands. He helps bring the cup to your lips, pushing some of the murky grey liquid inside into your mouth, and you struggle not to gag around the taste of it. He doesn’t stop until the entirety of its contents are drained into your mouth then tilts your head back to keep it down when some threatens to drip out the corners of your lips. An unknown hand comes down on your knee.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Soojin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with this information.” You swallow hard only to choke a second later on the putrid aftertaste clinging to your tongue. Wooyoung lets you cough into his shoulder without complaint, passing the now empty cup back to Soojin.

“You couldn’t have known,” you murmur after escaping the coughing fit. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know what they would do to you after we left the planet,” she sighs through the quiet of the room. “I should have expected it honestly, knowing Jisung, but maybe I hoped he would be better than that. He always manipulated you so it only makes sense that he would try to manipulate your memories too. Do you at least know what happened a little bit better now?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah.” You try to pull away from Wooyoung and get up but his grip on you doesn’t let up. “My memories were taken away for a second time and replaced with something else. So instead of only losing fourteen years of my life, I lost eighteen and spent the last three years believing those manipulated memories to be real. I’m peachy.”

Another buzz from your wristband pulls your attention away, and Jongho glances down at his own too.

“Cameras are down.”

“Let’s go then,” you mutter.

“Are you okay to move? Don’t push it if you’re not strong enough.”

“We need to go now while we still can,” you protect, letting Wooyoung help you to your feet even if it’s on shaky legs. Jongho gives a curt nod then heads for the window, no doubt to pry it open. Soojin catches you by the arm before you can fully turn away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember all of it, there are still things I regret saying and doing to you. I should have known back then how much Jisung was manipulating you and not pushed so much blame onto your shoulders.”

“You can get out now with us, Soojin. While you have the chance.”

“And do what with that freedom?” She huffs out a dry and lifeless laugh. “Wander aimlessly? Ash and Juyeon are both missing in action. I have no clues or leads on where they might be or if they’re even alive. I don’t have anything left out there beyond the House.”

“I… if I hear anything out there about them, I promise I’ll send you a message. I’ll find a way to get news to you, maybe through my captain’s contact or something. I swear if I can help you get out of this hellhole I will.”

Soojin reaches up to ruffle her hand through your hair, mussing the loose locks more.

“You always were a good kid, Y/N. Too good for the life you were forced to live.” It hurts to watch her smile. It hurts even more to let Wooyoung guide you to where Jongho waits by the now open window. “Go while you can, you three. The medicine will wear off in a few hours, but hopefully, you’ll have access to something better by then. I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

Jongho dips through the open space first, hopping down to the pristine streets below with little issue.

“Send Y/N down next!”

You can’t tear your gaze off Soojin. You don’t know when you might see her again or if you even will, and it hurts to leave her behind like this but she just keeps smiling at you with bright eyes and blinding hair.

“T-Thank you, Soojin. Please stay safe, if you can.”

“Always.”

With that, Wooyoung hoists you over the ledge of the window and dangles you far enough down so that your fall is softened a bit. Jongho catches you by the legs, taking the brunt of your weight before you hit the ground. Wooyoung drops down beside you without warning a second later. As Jongho eases you down, you dare to glance up at the window you just left from, and it shuts slowly without a sign from Soojin inside.

Wooyoung rushes back to your side and loops an arm back around your waist when you start to slump forward again.

“That’s — that’ll look too suspicious,” you mutter, pulling his arm back to his own side.

“We just dropped out a fucking window. I’m sure that would look more suspicious.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Yet two steps later, you’re stumbling over your heels and Jongho comes to your rescue this time. He tugs your arm through his own as he walks forward without saying a word. You can only lean your weight on him and slump your chin against his shoulder.

“Thank you…”

Silence drapes over the three of you as you make your way to the meeting point with Yeosang. You aren’t in as much pain as you were earlier (Soojin wasn’t bluffing when she said fast-acting) but the medicine is already making you a bit groggy. It feels a bit like you’re wading through sludge just trying to walk a few steps, and frankly, Jongho is the only thing keeping you going at this point. Wooyoung lingers at your other side. Every once in a while, you feel his worried gaze find its way to your form. He might even be speaking to you at some point because you hear something that sounds vaguely like his voice through the radio static in your ears, but there is far too much on your mind and too much to think about right now for you to pay any attention to that.

If… if I killed the king before Hyunwoo’s execution, then who did I kill that night? Did I kill anyone at all? Was that memory fabricated? What have I been working towards all these years if that’s a lie?

Funny how your search for answers only left you with more questions instead. There are too many questions to keep track of and not remotely enough answers to them. You know you won’t be able to have those answers yet either, not while San and Mingi are still missing and Jisung is bothering you. Where would you even look for answers now? Jisung would never tell you a thing, Hyunwoo is dead and gone, and now you’re leaving Soojin behind.

The one thing that reaches your brain through the static in your ears is a dry and choked sob. You pull yourself out of your thoughts as Wooyoung disappears from your side. It doesn’t take much to guess why. You’ve reached the meeting point, the all too small alleyway where Yeosang waits for you three, and Wooyoung is running straight to him with reckless abandon.

“Y-Yeosang, angel, Yeosang, my god I’m—” Wooyoung’s voice dies in a cracked sob when he reaches the Elitist. His hands barely brush the man’s shoulders because Yeosang drops to his knees in front of Wooyoung, face hidden but no doubt bearing tears, and he balls his fists around the flimsy material of Wooyoung’s pants. He presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s hip, hands traveling further up to press against the small of his back. Wooyoung can only card a hand through Yeosang’s hair in response, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough for both of them like this, with Yeosang’s knuckles white from the pressure of clinging to Wooyoung, and you and Jongho maintain your distance as best you can to give them this moment.

“Are they happy?” You whisper to Jongho even though the answer is blindingly obvious before you. The Berserker’s lips twist into a small grin.

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe how they’re feeling right now.”

Yeosang pulls his head off Wooyoung’s hip and stares up at the man with tears on his cheeks and stars in his eyes. Wooyoung dips down to the Elitist’s height, pulling his face up to his own and slotting their lips together like nothing else in the universe exists around them. Again, it’s raw, as all emotions between these two seem to be, but it belongs to them and it’s something you can’t take away from them. When they part lips to gulp in desperate breaths of fresh air, Wooyoung places his forehead over Yeosang’s and takes the breath from his lungs like that. They don’t exchange words but there doesn’t seem to be a need for words either, not until Yeosang seems to catch hold of himself and come back to his senses.

“The car is waiting for us at the other end of the alley. Driver’s already pulled up.” Jongho nods when the Elitist drags his gaze over to where the two of you stand. Yeosang lets Wooyoung pull him back into space after that, unable to contain a smile as the Siren continues to press more kisses to his cheeks. You and Jongho trail behind them to the other end of the alleyway. Seeing them together like this makes it worth it. You knew it would and you were striving to bring them this moment, but seeing it unfold before you like this increases that feeling tenfold.

Once in the car, Yeosang sits Wooyoung down in one of the cushioned seats then drops to the floor between his legs even when Wooyoung protests and tells him to get up.

“Stop, that’s weird! It looks weird, Yeo, please! It looks like you’re trying to su—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles back as he drops his head to rest against Wooyoung’s thigh. “You’re the one who makes everything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Wooyoung obviously doesn’t mind all too much because he returns to toying with the Elitist’s blond locks moments later as you and Jongho settle into the seats beside the pair. And from where you’re sitting, they really do look like young boys again, more than just a former slave and ex-prince but also less than that. Just… boys who fell in love despite the odds set against them.

“I’m sorry, Woo, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, angel, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You tune out of the conversation there. It’s far too intimate and personal for you to encroach on, and the medicine has you falling asleep in your seat anyways. Jongho seems to pick up on that, reaching over to pat your leg.

“Rest while you can.”

A hum comes as your reply as you slump to the side, head hitting the side of the car with a loud thud. Jongho exhales a quiet laugh and pulls you over to rest against his shoulder instead.

“’m sorry for snapping at you,” you murmur. You’re forcing your eyes to stay open long enough to get the apology out but it’s growing more difficult by the second. “I didn’t mean to, I was afraid… of her slipping out of my grasp but… that’s no excuse.”

Your fluttering eyes snap wide open when something presses down hard on your nose. You blink uselessly at Jongho and the finger he hovers over your face.

“Stop talking nonsense, yeah? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Hm, no, I’m not.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I’m staying right here.”

“And we’ll get San back?” You mumble just before the drowsiness wins.

“We’ll get your San back too, I promise.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall imma be honest this chapter feels like a whole fever dream and a half but i love it nonetheless she’s my Baby i hope you guys love her just as much and enjoy her <3 lots happened but also not a lot happened? i feel like the wc is so dramatic for Not A Lot but yaknow that’s life ! next chapter we’re getting juicy and bringing a part 16 move back bc teehee that’s what i do best u know me anywho let me know what u think as always i love u all im so happy to bring u guys this chapter and so excited for the coming ones!

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