#but that makes the other acting choices almost more jarring

[belladonnaprice]

.

[riddleredcoats]

Was looking for something I once said on another hellsite, unrelated to this lmao, and came across someone saying how Briala and Celene's relationship is toxic (sure, I can see that) and how Celene has so much control over Briala and that's the issue of their relationship when.... no. No.

That ain't it.

Celene and Briala, for all their issues and there are many, in the way Weekes writes their relationship is far more balanced than people give it credit for.

To the point that when it isn't balanced, it jars.

(More under the cut if you're interested.)

To get this out of the way; yes, Celene has more power than Briala. That is a fact we can't deny and even if you reunite them, while the power disparity does lessen, it doesn't go away. Celene is, by virtue of her position, always going to be more (politically) powerful than pretty almost everyone else in universe.

However, the way Weekes turns this on its head is by having Briala have more agency.

It is Briala that comes back to Celene out of her own volition every single time. She comes back to Celene after Celene sends her away when they were young. She comes and goes to Celene's bedroom at her own pleasure. She spies for Celene because she wants to - and enjoys it. Briala is the one that rekindles their reconciliations in the novel; after Halamshiral Celene doesn't even try to talk to Briala about what happened, respecting Briala's imposed distance, and only when Briala opens the door does Celene enter the conversation. It's even Briala who comes back to Court - after having rejected The Game and Orlais - with the intent of, at least, returning to Celene's side during the war: they- Well, Briala really, was already planning to work with Celene.

It is always, always Briala.

This isn't because Celene loves Briala less - it isn't, because we can see she's much more emotionally compromised than Briala due to her reliance on Briala to function like a normal human being. It is merely because Briala has the space to act towards Celene as she wishes, more or less.

The one time in the novel Celene does try to use her power to control Briala - having her arrested, so she could spend a few lavish years in prison... which yes, it is fucked, but even that panic-driven decision-making is shown to be a testament to Celene's emotional vulnerability, not necessarily her desire to dominate - it goes horribly wrong.

It - they - don't work when the relationship is THAT unbalanced and they have been working together for 15 years. That moment showed how their relationship falters when it becomes too unbalanced.

Celene and Briala aren't unconscious of the power difference. They work around it.

Especially, Celene.

She constantly says she does understand if Briala wants to leave her, she reassures Briala over and over that leaving her won't have repercussions to Briala's most dear cause. Celene's brain is always so aware of it that she always tries to give Briala the space she needs if she wants to leave. I will take joy in my love finding her people, even as my breast aches with every heartbeat I live without you. Those aren't just words, that is how the relationship works. Which is why Celene's most consistent and ardent belief - when she's being a rational human being and not the Empress of Orlais terrified for the fate of her country - is that Briala needs to be free to act as however she wills.

It's why those are the last words they say to each other.

It's why them getting back together - or the possibility of it - was almost a forgone conclusion.

Ultimately, Briala’s autonomy within the relationship is one of it's defining characteristics. She may not have the political power of an Empress, but she holds the agency to act - which is why always needed to get those Eluvians; she's the only one who CAN use them, but that's another conversation. While Celene, for all her power, respects Briala’s independence and choices, and is often hamstrung by her lack of freedom in choosing what she can do - something she pointed out in the novel as well, even though its often misinterpreted.

TLDR: This relationship is not defined by Celene’s control over Briala, but rather one shaped by Briala’s autonomy, Celene's understanding, and their shared emotional connection.

[faeries-child]

No place for love

(I got inspiration from Thomas Shelby's line: "Everyone's a whore, Grace. We just sell different parts of ourselves")

Pairing: Azriel x reader / (y/n) / oc

Warnings: Mentions of sex, drugs and prostitution.

Enjoy :) (I'll maybe make part two)

Azriel didn’t really prefer places like this. Not at all. Even if he, Rhys and Cassian had been really stupid and young once, the male was not going to indulge himself in those activities anymore. Azriel remembered the time when he and his brothers used to have females at the same time, in the same room. Azriel however had grown fully past that phase centuries ago. But the spymaster would play this role, if not for Velaris’ sake then for his high lord and lady. 

Before him now rose the dark and luminous red light district of the court of nightmares. The path that now opened right before him was crowded and the most unwelcoming. For when it came to the court of nightmares the so called road of lust offered far more than just satisfaction for bodily urges. Azriel could see vendors selling illegal substances, suspicious looking jars filled with dead things and he could as well see things sold, alive. Spymaster also noticed females and males alike leaning in the doors of buildings in very little clothing to cover themselves with, trying to lure people into entering. The Whole place had a sinister feeling but Azriel didn’t have any other choice than to wander deeper into the streets.

Rhysand had sent him to gather information about a mole that had been delivering crucial information to their enemies, Beron included. Spymaster had heard from an important source that his suspect visited the den of sin often. Especially a particular brothel. He had also heard that the brothel in question was one of the more expensive ones, they would provide their clients with anything that they asked for, almost anything.  

It was not hard to spot the brothel in question. Building was bigger and grander than the others surrounding it. However no females were outside luring men in. 

Building was made of stone, painted black and there were curtains in the windows, so the only thing that one could see was candles that shone through the light fabric. 

Spymaster blended into the shadows and approached the brother. Front doors were open, so one could see what really was happening inside. There was carving over the door in the wooden frame. It read: “There is no place for love here”. In Azriel’s mind that was a weird thing to be carved in the doors of a pleasure house, but that wasn’t important now. He set a foot into the building and was met with the smell of scented candles, wine and to no surprise, sex. Music could be heard, someone playing instruments, sensual tune that matched with the atmosphere of the place. There were mostly men, drinking and indulging in activities that Azriel did not stay to watch for any longer than necessary. What he did point out was that the place certainly seemed to be on a more expensive side than the brothels he had visited in the Illyrian mountains.  

“What is it that you're looking for, lord of shadows?”´

 Hearing the voice Azriel turned around, as calmly as he could. Given the amount of people in the room and the acts that were currently being committed, his shadows had a hard time sorting out what each of them were doing. So the speaker had succeeded in surprising him. 

“I’m am sure whatever you are looking for, we will be able to provide”

Speaker was a woman, not an high fae. Her ears were longer and eyes bigger. She was also dressed in very little clothing, so Azriel focused mainly on her face when he spoke: “I’m not here for your services, but I am looking for someone with important information. I am here in high lord’s name.” Female let out a short laugh, smiling in a way that Azriel could only describe as sinister. 

“In high lord’s name you say?” Female circled around letting her gaze wander around the spymaster's body. “You seem rather… uptight, but I would gladly help you to relax.” She was now reaching to touch Azriel’s wings but the male took a step back immediately after sensing the woman's intentions. “But since you’re not here to pay for them I will sadly pass the opportunity”. Woman turned to leave but Azriel opened his mouth before she had a chance to: “I will pay you a nice sum for the information I’m looking for.” 

“Now that's what I like to hear. Follow me, our mistress will surely be interested in your offer.” 

Female gave him no choice but to follow her up the grand staircase that was leading them to a corridor that had many doors on both sides and with his precise hearing Azriel could hear exactly what was happening behind those closed doors. 

The woman led him to the end of the corridor, where there were big twin doors, decorated with gold accents. Without knocking, the female opened the door and let Azriel in while following behind him. 

Room was covered in different kinds of fabrics, pillows and areas designed for lying around. Room was mostly red colored, with some gold and black accents. Air here smelled like vanilla candles and surprisingly, some kind of musk. 

Almost immediately after stepping into the room, Azriel’s focus was drawn to another female in the room. She was sitting on the ledge of the window smoking something like a cigar, but by the smell Azriel could definitely swear that the substance was way stronger and most likely, illegal. Smell of it traveled to his nose and lungs.

High fae female, well she was… The only word Azriel could think was gorgeous. Her hair was left down, curling down all the way to her back. Color of it was white, whitest that Spymaster had seen in his 500 hundred years on this world. The male also pointed out that the female was wearing practically nothing. Only a long translucent black gown that widened towards hem on her ankles. One could see everything, her wide hips and almost spotless skin. She didn’t bother looking at them. Only opening her mouth to say: “I thought I told you that I’m not taking anymore customers for today Daphne”

Azriel’s shadows seemed to delighted to hear her voice, slivering out of their hiding place to caress the shadowsingers hands and neck. 

“But I have brought someone special for you my lady” said the female whose name allegedly was Daphne. 

When the woman turned, Azriel was left gasping for air. Her eyes were the color of ice, same as the gaze that she gave him. However something seemed to spark in her as her mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Oh well, I might be able to make an exception under this special occasion.” Woman walked closer to him and Azriel for the first time in centuries felt like compromising his morals. 

“So tell me lord of shadows, what do you desire? I am sure whatever your heart wants, I will be able to provide”.

Female stopped just a few feet from him. Looking him up and down like he was a prey and somehow Azriel felt like it too.

“I do not seek what you are offering, I am here only for the information-” but Daphne interrupted him “He says that he’s here in the name of the high lord”. Azriel could sense almost a hint of mockery in her tone but let it slide since he was not looking for trouble right now. 

“Leave us Daphne, tell the girls not to bother me for the rest of the evening”

Daphne only nodded and left the two in the room alone.

“Sit” 

And to his surprise, without questions Azriel sat on the cushions that made up some kind of strange sofa. Female got closer and was now standing before him, only a few feet between them. The spymaster could smell her. Vanilla and a hint of tar. Azriel could also smell whatever the female had been smoking. 

“So if you truly aren’t here for my services, why are you looking at me like you would give up your title and all that comes with it to be with me?”

Azriel tried collecting himself and threw on a mask of calmness. “I am here to collect information about a traitor and hopefully catch him. My sources tell me that he visits this particular establishment often. The High lord-” Azriel could not finish his sentence because the female moved closer to him, too close. Before the spymaster could do anything, the female moved to his lap straddling his legs. She placed her hands on Azriel’s shoulders. “The high lord of the night court. So much does he oversee and control, but unfortunately you have come to the one of the few places that even his gaze doesn’t fall nor does his words reach.” Female continued to smile at him as she leaned close to his ear: “What power does the lord of shadows hold in a place like this, where everything is of shadows, how are you special?”

The spymaster could almost feel the female's lips on his throat. He didn’t even notice that control over his shadows was now slipping, they were traveling around her exposed thighs. 

Gathering the last drops of his control he pushed the woman gently farther away from him, so he could see her face. “The night court will pay you nicely for your information” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not to just take the female's offer to make an exception for him. 

The woman rose from Azriel’s lap and said: “You’re no fun. But at least now you're talking my language. But what makes you think I have what you need?”

“They said that he prefers your… company. Almost exclusively.” He answered. “So can you help me?” Azriel didn’t know why he felt like… the female already knew what he was asking. It could be her face that now showed a certain kind of bitterness, maybe some sadness as well. 

The female now walked towards the writing desk on the other side of the room and leaned on it. “I might know who you are talking about. So what now, do you want me to catch him or… Oh” her face twisted in a knowing smile. “You need proof that he is the male you’re searching for-” Azriel interrupted him: “I have heard of your reputation. You get people to reveal their secrets”

“Men talk when they are happy, easy as that” She now eyed Azriel like he would be her next meal, and Azriel truly thought that maybe he wouldn’t even be opposed to that. “I will pay you-” again she interrupted him: “I don’t want money”.

His mouth tightened into a line: “Then what do you want?” 

“I want you to owe me a favor, you cannot ask what kind or when I will ask for it”

It wasn’t good deal on Azriel’s part, but he really didn’t feel like he wanted to torture anyone right now, he was tired. “Deal.”

Azriel rose and walked to the female offering his hand, which the female took without hesitation. Azriel could notice a tattoo forming on the female's fingers. The spymaster couldn’t really read the female's face, nor did his shadows provide him with any assistance. They almost seemed a little unsure of how to act around her. 

Azriel turned to leave, but his interest in the female got the best of him. “So that’s it. I know your profession, but you are willing to do this just like that?" The female's smile fell and her eyes hardened as she said: “We are all whores shadowsinger, we just sell different parts of ourselves.” 

That was that, Azriel turned and left. But somehow he could tell that this definitely wasn’t the last time he would visit her. 

Shadowsinger cursed himself, by the time he had already reached Velaris he realized that he didn’t even ask her name. 

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 26

PLEASEEEEEE NOTE: this is a Maturity rating chapter. heed the content warnings below etc etc

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this one was supposed to be merged with chap 25 but it was getting long and i felt like this motive reveal chapter should be isolated anyways

one day i will write a full thing about fucking nasty style and post that online without the 25 chapters of leadup

ty @digitaldollsworld for the peer review and validating me specifically :)

Content warning tags: blood, physical violence/roughhousing, biting, making out (while bloodied. mild bloodplay?), mildly dubious consent becoming unspoken consent given enthusiastically becoming dubious consent again, coitus interruptus, mild (nonsexual) breathplay, murder plot suggestion, unhealthy relationship dynamics...Please let me know if there's anything I'm missing

< previous - from start - next >

To his surprise, they don’t continue on the same path together.

Instead, they split, with Kirigiri walking towards the stairs, and Makoto in the opposite direction. Without exchanging words, or even a glance.

It gives him pause for a moment, but the choice is ultimately easy. Kirigiri, for all her mysteriousness, does not seem like the kind to be swayed by money, or most other things for that matter, and would certainly not hesitate to point out his current state. He goes after Makoto instead, trailing him some steps behind into the supply room.

The place is the same as ever - stacked with materials, shelves crammed snug with crates of all sizes, and with the air disconcertingly clean and free of dust, as if Monokuma vacuumed every day - and the overhead lights hum and buzz, glowing with an insufficient yellow light. Makoto is crouched near the far wall, over a box on a bottom shelf. Byakuya approaches, making no effort to conceal himself.

For a moment, neither of them say a word. Makoto continues to rummage, and Byakuya simply watches, arms crossed, waiting patiently as the silence stretches to minutes. 

Finally, Makoto turns over his shoulder. “Uh…hi?” He doesn’t sound startled or surprised by Byakuya’s presence, but more bewildered by it than anything. “Do you need something?”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound sarcastic or spiteful. On the other hand, he sounds so genuine that it dissipates any tension that might’ve been in the air. Byakuya sighs, a little exasperated, but less bothered than he thought he should be.

He was going to ask what Makoto’s feelings were about the motive reveal, but suddenly the atmosphere is all wrong for it, and such a conversation feels too exhausting to have now. “What are you doing?” He asks instead.

“I’m…” Makoto trails off, turning back to look into the box. “...Looking for something.”

“Yes, I gathered that much.” He rolls his eyes, and steps nearer. Even standing right behind him, it was impossible to determine the exact contents of the box just by looking, and he didn’t remember the exact locations where all the products were stored either. “I’m blind, not stupid.”

And he blinks, surprised by what he just said; that hadn’t been the snide remark he wanted to make. It feels like it should have been harder to say, and yet the words had left his mouth easily, like he’d been waiting to finally say it for himself. Makoto startles a bit, just as taken aback by the admission as he.

“I…” Makoto starts, then looks back down. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.” 

The response is so meek it’s annoying, and not the kind of answer he was wanting from someone who had been sneakily butting into his life the past few days, and he scowls. Whatever light-heartedness had been previously present was now slipping quickly away into irritation. “I don’t need your pointless scraping. What are you looking for?”

Makoto doesn’t answer. Rather, he continues to dig through the box, acting as if he hadn’t heard Byakuya’s question at all; a complete reversal from the previous sheepish, meaningless apologizing. It’s almost jarring, if it wasn’t also something entirely infuriating - he couldn’t remember the last time someone had the gall to ignore him, other than his father - and Byakuya childishly aims a kick at his shin. “Answer me.”

“Ow,” He says instead, unconvincingly. “Okay, okay, um. Do you promise not to get mad?”

“I’m going to be even angrier if you keep talking in circles.” He snaps, the last threads of his patience thinning. “I know for a fact that you’re not this wimpish, so speak up.”

Even despite the demand, Makoto is silent a little moment longer, rummaging still. Byakuya is about to kick him again, when he stands up, a tiny, blue box clutched in his hand.

“You, uh…you were shaving this morning, right?” He takes a deep breath, then holds the box out. “You’ve got a little blood here-” And he taps a finger against his cheek, somewhere below his ear; Byakuya mirrors the movement, reaching up to feel that thin line of roughness, the scab tugging at the skin. “And…I remembered my dad gave me this brand of razor, it’s really easy to use-”

Byakuya smacks the thing out of his hands before he can even finish speaking, sending it spinning across the floor, beneath some other shelf.

For a moment, the two of them stand there, stock still. Byakuya can feel his pulse thrumming in his ears, throbbing against his eardrums; he’s not sure which of them is more shocked, to be honest. Makoto’s hand is still partially outstretched, now empty.

Then: “What the hell is your problem?!” Makoto demands, instantaneous and loud and cracked with a slight note of hysteria. The sound bounces tinnily between the metal shelving units, before being swallowed into the wooden surfaces of the crates.

“What is your problem?” Byakuya shoots back, just as furious. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want your pity?”

“It’s not pity if I’m trying to keep you alive,” Makoto grabs his arm, shoving it upwards. His hand is nowhere big enough to wrap around it, but the grip is tight anyways, fingers digging into the hollow junction of his wrist. “You barely eat, you don’t talk to anyone-”

“I’m trying to keep myself safe-”

“That’s shit, that’s bullshit. You look,” He breaks to breathe, to laugh, and his grip tightens, grinding the bones. “You look like such shit, and it’s not even hard to tell. It’s so obvious that you’re trying to hide it but you can’t, and everyone can see that you’re falling apart and it’s so pathetic but you won’t let anyone get close enough to tell you that -” He’s shaking, or maybe that’s Byakuya himself. “Just-”

And falls silent - no, not entirely silent. Byakuya can hear his uneven breathing, the quiet squeaks in his throat. Stifling the sound of his crying, still only just audible over the hum and clanks of the building’s internals, and the ring in his own ears.

Why was he crying? The thought is fleeting, and should have just been a blip in everything else. “I am not,” He starts, and the latter half of that sentence never even becomes coherent in his own mind.

Instead, he tries to wrench his hand backwards and away from Makoto’s grip, and Makoto just follows him, pushing him, until his back meets the hard, uneven edges of a shelving unit, digging into his shoulders.

“You are, you so are,” Makoto wheezes. His hand shakes violently, but Byakuya still can’t break out of it; his wrist is being pinned to the metal frame, the cold surface a shock against his skin. “You - fuck, you can’t even take care of yourself. You try to act so cool but you’re so helpless it’s lame. You’re trying so hard to predict where the next threat is coming from but your biggest threat is yourself. You can’t even see what’s happening around you, so you don’t even try to find out - I just -”

And he stops, taking another deep, shaky breath, head dipping down until his forehead rests against Byakuya’s collarbone. His other hand is bracing the edge of a shelf, next to Byakuya’s hip, and Byakuya can feel it by sheer proximity, the warmth bleeding impossibly through the layers of Makoto’s jacket and his own thin shirt.

He-

should say something. Anger and indignation boils in his gut, how dare Makoto say such things? Who gave him the right? Didn’t he know who Byakuya was?

But-

what can he say, when it feels like he’s suddenly been struck stupid. Like he’s a child again facing his first real defeat at the hand of one of his siblings’s lackeys, kneeling with scraped knees weeping blood into his pants as he’s being taunted, the words hysteric and victorious. Like he’s trying to argue with Kirigiri, but she’s already had the last word and is simply walking away.

So he resorts to the same answer he had the first time he was forced to concede to one of his siblings, and kicks Makoto in the shin.

It’s not a very strong blow. Caged in against the shelf as he is, he doesn’t have enough space to pull back very far; but it makes Makoto grunt, surprised, and his hold loosens. Byakuya shoves him backwards, and glances to his side, where the white light spilling from the open door marks the exit.

He could leave. He doubts Makoto could catch him if he ran seriously. But his legs refuse to move; it would feel too much like conceding. He’s been losing too much these past few days to forfeit again, now.

Makoto is standing in front of him, the overhead lights above providing just enough illumination for Byakuya to make out the location of his nose, the curve of his brow, and in the split second before he can do anything Byakuya reaches out. One hand snags fingertips into Makoto’s hood. The other grabs his face, slotting his chin almost tenderly into the space between forefinger and thumb.

The effect is instantaneous, Makoto’s cheeks heating beneath his fingertips. “Hey, wh-”

Byakuya feels his face pull, an undignified baring of teeth that’s barely reminiscent of a smile, before he drags Makoto forward and knees him in the gut.

He prefers more dignified solutions to things, but violence is the most universally understood language, and he can admit to its usefulness when the need calls. Like now, as Makoto wheezes, bent over, his hands clutching unsteadily in Byakuya’s shirt to keep himself upright.

This is how it should be, he thinks, as he looks down at the crown of Makoto’s head with a twisted sense of triumph. It hardly lasts long before Makoto’s moving again with an animalistic growl, fingers twisting so tightly Byakuya can feel some threads snap in his shirt, before he’s shoved backwards with a rattling clang against the shelves.

It’s hardly enough to stun him, but he winces anyway, at the metal frame digging between his shoulder blades. Far more effective, is what comes next - Makoto sways, resting his forehead against Byakuya’s chest - before surging upwards, colliding the top of head against his nose.

The taste of copper is an afterthought to the sharp, explosive burst of pain. Byakuya screams - snarls - with it, blood tracking a hot line down his upper lip, stinging against raw skin. He sinks his hands into Makoto’s hair, and yanks roughly, trying to drag him off.

It’s unsuccessful. He doesn’t have the strength in his arms to move the weight of another teenage male, but it’s not wholly ineffective either. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and he’s managed to drag Makoto’s head backwards enough to see his face.

A face that, even in the dim yellow light of the supply room, is flushed darker than usual. And with eyes that are blown wide, the blotted shape of iris-pupils very, very dark against the whites.

It takes a moment for him to put together what that means through the haze, before Makoto’s hands are resituating themselves in Byakuya’s shirt collar, and yanking him down to - kiss him.

He freezes for a moment, mind once again going utterly blank. It’s nothing more than a hard press of lips, almost far too innocent compared to their previous state. Makoto’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, and sliding slightly against his as he smears the blood over his mouth.

It continues for a long moment, the two of them frozen in place, until Byakuya realizes that Makoto was beginning to pull away, his hold loosening; willingly seceding control over, meek again, and anger works its way up in Byakuya’s skull, spiking sharp and precise through the delirium.

He twists his hands, fingers tightening in the locks of Makoto’s hair, and forces him still, bowing his head down to bite at the seam of Makoto’s mouth with all the composure of a starving dog, smearing blood, tongue and teeth snagging in the cracked skin of his lips.

He pulls away just enough to grin, savagely, at the sight of Makoto with a vividly dark slice staining across his mouth. “That is how you kiss someone,” He whispers, with something dark and self-satisfied curling in his gut.

The only response Makoto gives is a low, almost inhuman sound, before he’s being yanked down again.

There’s nothing chaste about it this time. Rather, it’s more like a continuation of their fight, biting, clacking teeth, hands scrabbling and grasping for purchase. Makoto matches his every move with the same exact vigor, and Byakuya tastes salt and hot metal and the over-sweet sourness of energy drinks and laughs into the kiss, breathless and triumphant at Makoto’s desperation, the feeling of hands dragging down his sides, even as he claws back, trying to drag him nearer, nails raking across the thick fabric of his blazer, down his back, over his arms. In turn, Makoto licks into his mouth, tonguing hotly over his canines, the soft roof of his palate.

Disgusting. Byakuya shudders, and lets his jaw slacken just a little more.

He feels his back beginning to slide, uncomfortably, down the frame. It’s both an annoyance and a relief - the previous angle was killing his neck - but then Makoto leans forward, weight pressing against him, sandwiching him there, and digging his spine painfully against the hard juts of the shelves.

Byakuya half-thinks to scold him for that, but at the same time, Makoto is sliding his leg between his thighs, propping him up, and the reprimand turns into a groan instead, breathy and desperate and far too loud in the solitude of the supply room.

He jerks back, suddenly self-aware again, face flushed to burning. This was - he feels his head swimming, self-appalled, rivaling the temptation to sink down a little lower, lean into the hands that are now feeling clumsily up his ribcage - utterly unbecoming of him. To give into such base temptations-

Ever persistent and apparently undeterred by the absence of his mouth, Makoto leans forward and presses his teeth to the side of Byakuya’s neck instead, and the rest of Byakuya’s coherent thoughts try to fly out with those thin, pinprick-sharp flares of pain.

“Idiot,” He still manages to hiss, even as he gives in and grinds down, against a sweet pressure that makes everything feel so - indescribably - “Bastard, you pathetic little-”

Talking was getting troublesome. He presses his hands against Makoto’s cheeks, feeling a small thrill of victory when he feels his thumbs brush the corner of his lips on the first try, and kisses him again, feeling dizzy with it.

His hands shift, seeking out better purchase in Makoto’s hood, knuckles pressing against the warm, jumping muscles in his neck, the other sinking into his hair again. This time more to keep himself upright as Makoto was apparently trying to bite his tongue off - and that thought really shouldn’t be doing anything for Byakuya, and yet -

Tap, tap. Tap.

“Makoto,” He gasps, whines, managing to pull himself away once more. This time grabbing onto Makoto’s face and pushing him backwards like an undisciplined, overeager dog - the other boy struggles for a moment, pushing back against his hands - “Wait, just - calm down, you - do you hear that?”

It takes a moment for Makoto to respond. “Wh-huh?” He manages, somewhat incoherently, which Byakuya…supposes, is reasonable. They’re still pressed against each other, and Byakuya can still feel something pressing against his thigh, which he tries very hard to ignore, in favor of concentrating hard.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It doesn’t sound like it was coming from the hallways. But it couldn’t be the heating or piping in the walls either; it was too soft, and…too dynamic, too purposeful, for that. He cranes his head over his shoulder, but the only thing behind him was the shelf, some boxes, and the flat, gray expanse of the wall.

Tap. Tap, tap, taptaptap-

The sound rises to a sudden crescendo, speeding behind him. Almost reflexively, he shoves away from the shelf, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Makoto lands on his back with a grunt, and Byakuya lands nearly on top of him, before scrabbling backwards until his back meets the shelf, self-awareness shattering his earlier insanity.

Makoto is staring at him, face still flushed and dazed. “Hey, what was-?”

“Awahwahwah!? Kyahh!!”

They jerk their heads in unison, turning to find a short, round, oblong shape standing in the doorway. Monokuma stands there with face covered by paws, squealing. “C-c-could this be?! The fabled, mythical, super-ultra-sexy-secret-rendezvous I heard about from the headmaster’s handbook?! Wah! My eyes!! My untainted, honest, adorable teddy-button eyes!!!”

“Shut up!” Byakuya snaps, voice far too high-pitched to not be damning, despite his best attempts to calm down. He surreptitiously turns away from the door, and can see Makoto doing something similar out of the corner of his eye, tucking his knees up close to his chest. Monokuma shakes, either from laughter or phony horror.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry, Young Master Byakuya. I’m a very progressive bear, after all!” It nods emphatically, and Byakuya grits his teeth at the derisive use of the title. “After all, I am your headmaster, and I want this place to be all sweet and accepting of all my students! You can talk to your classmates about it at this seminar I’m planning-”

“Get out of here.” Makoto rasps, voice still rough and a little unsteady. He sounds downright furious, more so than Byakuya remembers ever hearing him. “It wasn’t- It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh-ho? T’wasn’t it?” Monokuma tilts its head, and toddles over with squeaky footsteps. “Well then, what did happen? Because it certainly looked to me like I just blue-beared you two!” And it cackles hysterically at its own joke, the sound grating and echoing between the shelves.

“He-” Makoto’s sneakers scrape against the floor as he shifts, hesitating. “He was- trying to…trying to kill me.”

And even through the rising haze of fury, panic, and nauseating shame, Byakuya’s thoughts grind to a sudden halt.

“What?” He says aloud, at the same time as Monokuma squeals with apparent delight, drowning him out entirely.

“Oh, oh! Is that so?” And it rounds on him, all of a sudden far too close for comfort, his vision divided white and black. “Tell me, is this true? What was the weapon? What was the plan? Oh, it’s a shame I interrupted, so now I gotta make up for the lost opportunity! Spill the deets!”

So none of it had meant anything. Their pathetic, awkward fumbling in the dark, his brief delusion of control, had only amounted to this. Back to being humiliated and shamed by a grinning, faceless mastermind, and with no more authority over himself as he did before, as Makoto was trying to save him. Again.

He kicks Monokuma away, sending it spinning with a yelp into one of the shelves, and bolts from the room. Makoto is shouting after him, and soon there are footsteps dogging at his heels, but he makes it all the way back to his bedroom before Makoto catches up to him as he’s trying to unlock the door.

He narrowly makes it inside, tries to swing the door shut but it bounces off of Makoto’s shoe, jammed in just in time - and he’d wince in sympathy, or mull in the dejá vu of it, if he wasn’t currently trying to tamp down his own swell of emotions, nearing to breaking through his thinly held-together composure.

“Why did you say that,” He spits through clenched teeth. Too exhausted to try and force him out, too angry to just ignore him. “Of all the stupid, useless lies to come up with, you had to choose one that made me look even more pathetic?!”

“What were you going to say, then,” Makoto shoots back, just as irritated. “Was there anything more plausible that would’ve been better for you than ‘we were making out in the closet’?!”

He doesn’t bother to reply. Because no, that was the most believable thing Makoto could have said, which was why he was so furious now. There was the logical setting, an established motive - the set-up for a cheap, impassioned crime, with no thought or grace behind it. 

If he had said it himself, he might have barely been able to salvage his own pride. But having to be defended by his own so-called ‘victim’, having to be saved by Makoto again-

He sits down heavily on the bed, rubbing his temples. “Just leave, Makoto.” He sighs, eyes screwed shut. He’s too tired for this, and would rather try and sleep and forget it all. Or break down, which was beginning to feel like a very real possibility, which he’d rather do in the privacy of his own room anyways.

But instead of leaving, Makoto drops down to the floor with a thump, directly in front of him. “I’m not leaving until you go eat something.” He says, stubbornly, apparently recalling his entire original purpose of trying to bully him into codependency.

I was hoping he would’ve forgotten that. Byakuya feels a pulse throb beneath his fingertips, exasperation pushing through the rising fog of panic. “Must we do this now?”

“If I don’t, you’re going to ignore and avoid me and everyone else again, right?” He could almost hear the teasing smile tugging at the corner of Makoto’s mouth. “But, um. I mean. If you don’t want to talk, we could…you know…”

It takes a moment to identify exactly what he’s suggesting, but the disbelieving laugh that escapes Byakuya’s mouth is entirely unintentional, the panic miraculously dissipating in the same breath. “You can’t be serious.”

“I-I mean-! I’m totally okay if you don’t want to, I just thought…” Makoto trails off with a cough. “I…it was kind of a joke. Um- but you were enjoying it too, right?” There’s a thin note of hesitance in his voice.

Byakuya sighs. “...Yes. Unfortunately so.” Enough that if he thinks too much on it, he’ll become aware of the buzzing still lingering in his lips and the feeling of warmth beneath his hands, the low throb in his nose where the bleeding had only just stopped, and there was no good way that particular thought process was going to end. He’d almost prefer the impending anxiety attack to this.

“O-oh, okay. Cool. That’s cool.” Makoto rocks a little bit. “So…”

“I’m not having sex with you right now.” He deadpans, and Makoto has the gall to blush sheepishly, as if he weren’t the one making the suggestion in the first place.

“Right. Yeah, of course.” He scratches his head with a quiet laugh. “We…kinda took it a little fast, huh?”

That was an understatement. And he raises a hand over his face, trying to hide the heat rising beneath his fingers…much of what had happened was mostly due to his own actions. “Well, it’s not like we are in a situation where we could have a normal progression of things.”

“I don’t know, we have a pretty good kitchen. I would’ve liked to make you dinner first, or something.”

“How romantic. Forgive me if the idea of a school cafeteria meal doesn’t sweep me off my feet.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try it. I can make a pretty good omelet on a good day…if you’re okay with that.” The lilting invitation is clear, and Byakuya snorts.

“I should’ve murdered you in front of Monokuma.” He deadpans back.

Now it was Makoto’s turn to chuckle, a soft, surprised ‘ha!’ that makes Byakuya smile wholly inadvertently.

“Yeah, probably,” He agrees. “Did you want to?”

The smile slides off his face instantly. It sounds like Makoto is joking, but - it’s hard to tell. So hard to tell without being able to see if he’s smiling, if the easy tone of his voice matches his face.

“Do you want to?” He asks again, voice softer, serious.

Probably not a joke, then. He laces his fingers tightly, tight enough for his joints to ache, pressing the knuckles to his chin. “It hadn’t…crossed my mind.” Not seriously, at least. And not since the last trial.

But he could. There was no deal to uphold, not anymore. And Makoto - 

“Why are you asking?” He looks up for the first time, at Makoto, sitting cross-legged on his carpet. Staring back at him. “Surely you don’t want to die?”

Makoto doesn’t reply, his face still curiously, infuriatingly blank.

Everything that had been previously cleared comes rushing back, fury and disbelief and - anxiety, of all things, a painful, welling lump of it rising up his gullet - and before he knows it, he’s on the ground, kneeling across from Makoto with his hands around his neck.

The skin is warm. Shockingly soft, slightly tacky with sweat. The pressure isn’t enough to cut off airflow - his hands are only just resting against his throat - but Byakuya flexes his thumbs lightly, feeling the shape of his Adam’s apple beneath his fingers, his pulse beneath his palms.

And the whole time, Makoto makes no move to push him off. He had twitched, maybe, surprised at first, but that was all, now frozen stock-still - no, he was relaxing into the touch, muscles going purposefully slack as his shoulders slump.

“...What are you doing.” He whispers. Tenses his fingers, feels the breath hitch. “I could kill you right now. Why aren’t you stopping me?” Takes a deep, shuddering breath as he feels his voice begin to break. “Don’t tell me you actually want to die here!”

Makoto’s mouth is a dark cavern as he opens it to respond. “I don’t. Of course I don’t.” His voice wheezes slightly. “But if it’s you… I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

Byakuya feels his hands shake. This was too much, all of it too much - he hadn’t even concluded how he felt about Makoto yet, not coherently - and apparently, in the time he’d spent in self-isolation, something had become twisted. The most mundane person here had become wholly insane. For his sake.

I must be insane too, he thinks, for the tiny, irrational thrill of joy that runs through him at that realization.

He jerks when he feels hands resting over his, fingers tracing delicately over the fine lines of his knuckles, the hollow of his wrist. Keeping his grip steady.

“I don’t think you will, though,” Makoto continues. “You don’t really want to kill anyone. You would’ve done it already if you did.”

“Don’t act like you know me.” He grits, grip spasming, torn between removing himself from Makoto and throttling him to shut him up. “You know perfectly well there’s a difference between intent and capabilities.”

Makoto takes a shaky, raspy breath. A slash of white pulls across his face. “Then are you gonna prove me wrong?”

Byakuya hesitates for too long. In that time, the hands that rest over his pull and then press, and he flinches as his palms fully meet Makoto’s neck, almost icily cool against the clamminess of his own skin. He yanks them backwards like he’d been burned, too shocked to even scold him for - for any of it. Too flustered to wonder if he even could.

His hands shake, still, even when he clenches them into fists with his nails biting into his palms, pressing into his knees.

Makoto coughs once, massaging his neck, before he stands up slowly.

“Let’s go,” He says, still smiling as he offers up a hand. “I’ll make you an omelet.”

< previous - from start - next >

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

I think my personal view on Padme is that she was introduced as a really interesting character who then sort-of got swallowed by the romance and Anakin's story taking more and more precedence over her own development. Lucas said a few times that TPM is, in many ways, Padme's story more than anybody else's. Which is cool, but it means that when she sort-of disappears into being nothing more than a catalyst for Anakin's fall and Luke/Leia's incubator, it feels a little strange and jarring. The Padme of ROTS no longer feels like the interesting character we had in TPM. Even in AOTC, most of her interesting character development scenes (like meeting her family, her speech about the war, even just the extended arrival on Naboo where she talks about how she set aside her dreams of a family to continue a career of service) got cut in favor of (presumably) focusing more on the romance and how that affects Anakin.

Padme is someone who got introduced in TPM as a person who wanted to avoid violence as much as possible, she tends to play things safe because she believes it's the better political choice to make, but by the end of the movie she's learned that sometimes she just has to trust her instincts and do what she believes is right (this is the whole point of her being on Tatooine with Qui-Gon and seeing him insist on continuing with the podrace idea and the way this works out for him leading to Padme then choosing to approach the Gungans for aid in taking her planet back by force, a plan NOBODY ELSE believes in but her). So they take Padme on this journey where she becomes someone who trust herself and her instincts above anyone else, but who also deeply cares about doing the right thing to help the most people which is why she's in politics at all.

When we get to AOTC, she's continued that into her senator years and apparently only gotten even more reckless with age. But when her feelings for Anakin come into conflict with what she knows to be her duty, she has to make a choice. Does she "follow her instincts" and do what she wants, or does she continue to make that sacrifice because it's the right thing to do? And in the end, she makes the selfish choice.

My problem with what happens in AOTC is two fold. For one, I don't think it does NEARLY enough to convince me about why Padme likes Anakin enough to throw away her morals for him. The overall journey Padme is taking in this film I think is fine, but I don't think the chemistry between them works and I think the romance has aged like milk, which leaves me just kind-of wondering why Padme would risk SO MUCH for... a dude who can't even be considerate enough to respect her boundaries and who she believes makes jokes about fascism and dictatorships (or more accurately, who she has to CONVINCE HERSELF would make jokes about fascism and dictatorship so that she doesn't have to come up against the much more uncomfortable truth that it's not a joke to him at all). Anakin is creepy, insensitive, and sometimes almost unkind to Padme all throughout AOTC, when I THINK he's intended to come off as awkward but charming, enough to make Padme feel sort-of "young again" (I know she's only 24 in this movie, but she hasn't allowed herself to really ACT young for probably about 10 years) in a way that sweeps her off her feet a little. The romance doesn't work, it just doesn't, and I think a LOT of people would agree with me that it doesn't work even if we might not all agree on why that is. The editing isn't good, the dialogue is clunky, the chemistry is practically nonexistent. So when Padme makes her big declaration about how she loves him so much and then marries him, I find it hard to believe, and that is a problem for the rest of the narrative of the Prequel Trilogy.

The other problem I have with AOTC is that Padme is told to us to be a very MORAL person, someone who believes very deeply in doing the right thing and gets righteously upset at people being mistreated. She's someone who ends up seeing Jar Jar more kindly than almost anyone else and is capable of extending that experience with him to the rest of his people enough that she goes to make a deal with them that allows the Gungans better representation and treatment. She gets upset when she realizes slavery still exists on Tatooine and always treats Anakin and Shmi very kindly. She is incredibly upset by the possibility that her people on Naboo could be suffering and dying at the hands of the Trade Federation, enough that she ultimately decides to leave the Senate behind and find her own solution. She barely is willing to leave Coruscant in AOTC for her own protection because she doesn't want to leave before the big vote about whether they're going to go to war against the Separatists or not. And so I have a hard time reconciling that person with the person in AOTC who hears Anakin advocate for a dictatorship and chooses to laugh it off, or the person who hears Anakin say he murdered an entire village of Tuskens and not only chooses to COMFORT HIM about it, but basically CONDONES what he's done by saying it's only human, and then MARRIES HIM. The moral Padme who cares deeply about people seems incongruous with the one who falls in love with and marries Anakin. Fewer people might agree with me on this one since it requires being critical of Anakin, but I think there'd still be a solid group of people who'd agree that this just doesn't seem to match up.

So by the time those two things come together, that interesting journey of this person who wanted to avoid violence as much as possible but had to learn to follow her instincts if she wanted to get anything done starting to give in to selfish desires because she's sacrificed most of her life to serving her people kind-of... disappears. Because I don't understand why she even HAS desires for Anakin, selfish or otherwise, and loving Anakin by the end of AOTC requires her to be so immoral that it feels out of character for her. I don't think the romance INHERENTLY ruined Padme's character at all, but I do think it was mishandled and ended up causing some unfortunate implications about her with the contradictions that exist due to it being a badly written romance.

I like that Padme is, in some ways, almost equally as selfish as Anakin is. She's giving up her morals to marry him just like she is, her job makes this relationship just as forbidden as his does (more so almost, since the Jedi clearly KNOW about the relationship to some degree and don't do anything to actually break them up until Clovis happens and Obi-Wan feels the need to step in a little more and even with THAT they clearly are still aware of the relationship having continued and don't do anything about it, while Padme believes that if the Queen found out about her pregnancy in ROTS that she wouldn't be allowed to serve on the Senate). I like the idea of Padme paralleling Anakin in this, that she starts off such a moral person and that it isn't Anakin himself who causes her to start veering towards selfishness, but the invasion of Naboo and the corruption of the Senate leaving her feeling like she has no choice but to do what SHE believes to be right. And she IS right in that instance, but the implication we get in AOTC is that she's kind-of gotten... worse since then. She follows her instincts no matter what and it leads her to reckless places, up to and including a marriage to a Jedi that is forbidden to her. I even like that Padme is SO selfishly invested in this relationship that she's willing to lie to Obi-Wan to protect Anakin from committing a genocide and then begging him to run away with her so he can escape justice rather than facing the possibility that this is WHO HE IS and she's just been able to ignore it up until now.

I actually like that and think that that's interesting as a character, this... devolution that she has throughout the trilogy in parallel to Anakin and the Senate themselves. She's an immensely flawed person and her connections to the other narratives about how good things go bad can't be a coincidence.

But what sucks is that, over time, Padme has kind-of ended up getting interpreted as this person who was above those kinds of flaws, who wasn't selfish, who WOULD put her duty over her desires. People see Padme as this person who did everything RIGHT and just ended up an unfortunate tragic victim of it like the Jedi when that just... isn't true. And I think it's a reaction to how contradictory Padme's actions (especially in AOTC) seem to be to her character from TPM to just defend her as being RIGHT to be in a relationship with the person she loved despite the reasons for it being forbidden, as being RIGHT to defend Anakin against Obi-Wan's accusations in ROTS, as being RIGHT to prioritize Anakin's comfort instead of condemning what he did to the Tuskens in AOTC. But it misses that Padme isn't just the catalyst for Anakin's choices, she's not just this perfect thing he couldn't live without, she's someone who ENABLED those choices by being selfish herself. She's ALSO someone who started off with such good intentions, such lofty ideals, and was brought low by greed and selfishness and an unwillingness to be mindful about herself and her own desires. Padme might not have ultimately caused a genocide as a result of her selfishness, but it doesn't mean she WASN'T selfish in her choices and that her selfishness helped lead Anakin down a bad path just as much as Palpatine's machinations did. Anakin's choices are obviously still his own and not Padme's FAULT, but I find it frustrating when people try to exonerate Padme of all responsibility for what ultimately happened and pretend like she never did anything wrong in this story, that her love was pure and selfless and free of any attachment.

So on paper, I LIKE Padme's arc and I find it fascinating and the romance is necessary for that arc, but I do think the romance part of it was mishandled badly to the point that it makes Padme feel contradictory and incomplete and underdeveloped. Like if I'm supposed to believe Padme is willing to set aside jokes about dictatorship and the massacre of an entire village of Tuskens when I've been repeatedly told that she's a moral person who cares about humanitarian issues above anything else, I need more than just "this pretty boy is kinda dorky and sweet sometimes." I need know what would DRIVE her to pursue a relationship she knows is forbidden for a reason with a man who is pretty clearly unstable and almost dangerously obsessed with her. What insecurity is making a relationship with Anakin seem so immensely compelling to her, let alone a MARRIAGE.

So either I think the romance needed to be a little more... romantic and eliminate the things like the jokes about dictatorships and the Tusken massacre so Padme doesn't seem like a complete idiot who believes it's okay to murder people so long as those people are Tuskens, or Padme needed to be more explicitly someone who was a little corrupt herself so that Padme being okay with murdering Tuskens and jokes about dictatorship doesn't feel so out of character for her. Or both, maybe a little of both. She's corrupt enough to enter into a relationship with someone she knows she shouldn't without giving up her position as a senator because it's what gives her power, but she's not SO corrupt that murder of an entire village down to the last child is okay so perhaps leave that bit out.

Padme is a character I REALLY loved as a kid when I first watched the Prequels (which were the first Star Wars films I EVER saw) and so I still really like her generally due to pure nostalgia, but my feelings on her have gotten far more complex as I think about her and her narrative more critically.

Ahsoka I think works fine right up until you get to the Ahsoka show where she's just blatantly and wildly out of character and completely flat at the same time. There's things I wish were done a little differently in TCW for my own personal taste, but I think that generally the idea of Ahsoka as someone who only really knew Anakin through the context of war and as a child actually does work. Some of his more violent outbursts can be more easily explained away through the context of the situation as well as a child's sort-of more naive outlook on the adults around them. Ahsoka also never sees him do anything as heinous as the Tusken massacre or make jokes about dictatorships (at least none that I can remember), so unlike Padme, she's not ever blatantly ignoring anything that should be a massive fucking red flag. Well, there's the abusive training from TOTJ, if we choose to consider that canon, which I think Filoni was technically on the fence about. But even that is something that seems to not cause any long-term damage and that Anakin tells her is for her own protection, so it's easier to set aside perhaps than the massacre of an entire village down to the last child.

What makes the Ahsoka show frustrating is that it doesn't ALLOW HER to have an adult perspective on it where she looks back and sees all of the things her child self wouldn't have been able to notice. She never looks back and sees the outbursts of violence or some of his more unorthodox comments about the Jedi as the warning signals that they were. She elects instead to IGNORE everything that he's done in order to double down on the opinion she'd held as a child (and that she'd been able to KEEP up until Malachor) that Anakin was a genuinely good person overall rather than acknowledging that while Anakin had good MOMENTS, he was in fact a bad person and a bad teacher, and she can only move forward if she LETS HIM GO. Ahsoka deserved that and now she'll never get it and it sucks.

Obi-Wan I sort-of disagree with you on in that I don't think Obi-Wan's ever BLIND to his faults. I think this is part of a major misconception of his character that a lot of people seem to share. But Obi-Wan spends like all of AOTC being VERY aware of Anakin's faults and has to figure out how to let go of his worries in order to have faith that Anakin has learned enough to fix and learn from his own mistakes. So by ROTS, it's not that he's blind to Anakin's faults at all, he's just chosen to have faith that even when Anakin stumbles, he'll always pick himself back up again. We see this most evidently in his reaction to Anakin's temper tantrum in the Council chambers about not being made a master where he's clearly disappointed in Anakin's behavior, but he later tells Anakin that despite that, he's still ON HIS SIDE and tries to give Anakin guidance on the situation. He takes Anakin's apology later as a sign that Anakin is sort-of figuring things out a little more, but he is uh. Wrong. Anakin's apology is sort-of half-assed AT BEST, but I can see where Obi-Wan would at least see it as good first step in the right direction. But I don't see Obi-Wan's faith in this film (or in TCW) as a flaw or a blindness because he cares too much about Anakin. It's his STRENGTH. Much like the Jedi themselves, just because his faith was betrayed and misplaced doesn't mean that he was wrong to decide to have faith in the first place. It was STILL the right, healthy choice to make.

The guilt we see him have in the Kenobi show is more a product of the uncertainty surrounding why Anakin did what he did than it is about Obi-Wan caring too much about Anakin to handle what he did. I think if Obi-Wan had KNOWN about Palpatine, and Padme, and the visions, and how all of those things came together, he might've had an easier time of it. But he knows VERY VERY LITTLE about why Anakin is making the choices he's making, and in that uncertainty, the easiest thing to do is blame HIMSELF. Especially since, at the beginning of the show, he believes Anakin to be dead. In some ways, it might feel easier to blame himself than it is to blame Anakin or even Palpatine. And this ISN'T healthy, but I don't think it's necessarily a problem because he blinds himself to Anakin's faults. His journey at the end is about accepting that he may NEVER know why Anakin did what he did, that there might not have BEEN anything he could've done differently or better to cause a different outcome, and that there is likely nothing he CAN DO to keep Luke and Leia from going down the same path. All he can do is have faith again, faith that he did the right thing by giving Luke and Leia to the Larses and Organas, faith that the Larses and Organas will raise Luke and Leia well, faith that Luke and Leia will not be like Anakin and repeat his mistakes.

Rex is definitely just a product of not knowing the truth. I imagine he'd have a LOT less positive gushy things to say about Anakin if he knew Anakin was the one who betrayed them all and became Darth Vader. I'm STILL waiting for someone to show us Rex's reaction to that because I would maybe DIE to see Rex react to finally discovering that particular truth. With what we do have though, I think Rex is mostly come to peace with what's happened to him. I don't think it's that he's choosing to ignore the things that hurt so much as that he's gotten himself to a place where he CAN just... let himself remember good moments with people he'd cared about. The end of it sucked and there were moments in the middle that sucked, too, but there are still a lot of good memories acquired during the war, good people he'd met, good lessons learned. Rex seems like he's in a pretty healthy place by Rebels, having had to live with the truth about the chips for a while and do what he can to live his life as happily as possible with what's left of his family. He can't do anything to change what happened, so he's let it go. He obviously does still have some PTSD from the war, that's always going to be true, but he genuinely seems like one of the most healthy characters in Rebels despite how shit his life has been.

[melliotwrites]

You’ve mentioned in the past that there used to be a section where the Adamandi characters would’ve written letters home, what would that have entailed? Why was it cut?

Vincent and Quincy, specifically! It would have included details that framed how different their home lives are; Quincy is writing home constantly but hasn't gotten a letter back since they came out to their parents, while Vincent avoids writing to them because he feels ashamed of what he sees as his lack of academic success. Before they came to Ardess, Quincy was a prized only child, raised almost in a terrarium to be the perfect scholar, while Vincent has siblings in China who are depending on him to carve out a place for them in America. The song would've probably just added complexity to the arguments they have in the latter half of Act II; why is Quincy the first one to return to the establishment? Why does Vincent want to be remembered so bad? It's part of their backstories.

In the end it got cut for time and also because there wasn't a great place for it in the plot as it was written (it used to be right before Me, Myself, And if I remember correctly, but the end of Act I moves so briskly it would have dragged everything to a halt to Be Sad™ for a second.) However, it might make its way into our next draft a little more!

~Mel

I think it got cut because in our conversations with our advisor, we were unsure how to treat the "outside world" beyond Ardess. If the letter song had existed, that would've been the only part where the characters would've contacted the outside.

In our process, we were heavily inspired by folk horror (a genre that emerged from fear of the pagan roots embedded in the British countryside, capitalizing on the disconnect between the historical pre-Christian pagan inhabitants of the British Isles and the Christian culture of the Isles’ modern inhabitants -- basically, horror tied to the land.) If you've watched Midsommar or The Wicker Man (1973!!!) or Get Out, those are some good examples -- they involve a newcomer entering a seemingly antiquated place removed from the rest of society, and a stark contrast between this newcomer and the establishment.

For Adamandi, we wanted to see if we could transpose this power structure onto a college campus environment to create a similar genre of horror -- the university settings presented in dark academia (steeped in patriarchal and white supremacist values) VS. queer students of color (characters traditionally excluded from dark academia narratives who have only been recently granted access to these prestigious settings during the time of the show.) Accordingly, a big part of this was making Ardess feel like an inescapable bubble.

We also wanted to heighten this by making Ardess a pressure cooker a la Lord of the Flies or Yellowjackets. The students only get pushed to horrific lengths because they see no other choice, and because they're trapped in this claustrophobic hellhole. They're so deeply surrounded by the Ardess bubble that they think it's totally normal. Accordingly, we (or our advisor) thought breaking this bubble by Mentioning The Parents would be a bit jarring and lower the stakes (what if they could just go home? what if they asked an adult for advice? what if their parents bailed them out?) -- which is something we didn't want, especially near the end of the first act! Hence, goodbye, song. But I do want to discuss their backstories during the show somehow. We'll figure it out.

- Elliot

Also that. I forgot about the whole advisor thing but she was probably right! ~Mel

[oldiesstationlover11607]

The Project - Frank Iero x GN!Reader

Pairing: Frank Iero x GN!Nerd!Reader

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of smoking, stress

Word Count: 1,062

Summary: When you and Frank are paired up for a class project you do everything you can to change partners to no avail. It feels like he's doing everything he can to make this hard on you until he shows up at your door.

A/N: Used a writing prompt for this one but actually never ended up using the prompt itself in the story. Thought I'd write something for Frank because my MCR stories are doing well at the moment.

“Y/N and Frank,” Mr. Reynolds pulls your names out of the group jar. Presentations for your Health class are a key part of your grade, and everyone is anxious to find out their partners. The last thing you want or expect is to be paired with Frank; it’s practically an automatic fail with the way he acts. You hear a loud groan come from the back of the room and turn around to see Frank’s friends laughing to themselves. The bell rings soon after that, and everyone—including Frank—piles out of the room for lunch.

“Mr. Reynolds?” you ask, shoving your books in your bag.

“Y/N, what can I do for you?” he asks, flashing a smile your way, always excited about his work. He has no idea what he’s done by putting you together. This is the moment you finally get to use your "favorite student" card.

“I can’t work with Frank,” you mutter. You won’t work with Frank.

“I know you two don’t exactly get along, but I think it’ll be a good challenge for you. I’m not changing the groups, but if you can show me you’ve put in the effort, I’ll give you a good grade, even if the presentation isn’t at your normal standard,” he says. That is good enough for you. You say a quick thank you to Mr. Reynolds before leaving to meet your friends in the cafeteria.

Frank and you both happen to have a study period after lunch and agree to meet in the library. You dread the entire hour because you have to be around him.

“Hey,” he says, turning to look at you. His hair is up in a small mohawk and dyed a reddish-orange color.

“Hi,” you reply, sitting down next to him. You’ve been assigned to do a presentation on the dangers of smoking, which is incredibly ironic considering you’ve seen Frank smoking outside school almost twice a day for the last four years. “Do you have any resources prepared? I know Mr. Reynolds sent out a few emails with good links,” you ask. Frank lets out a loud laugh, clearly signaling he hasn’t done any work yet and doesn’t plan to.

“Shh!” you press.

“Oh, fuck off,” he laughs. “You know, you really need to take a chill pill, Y/N. You’d be a lot more likable if you stopped acting like you had a stick up your ass.” He has no idea how much stress you’re under through school and at home. You need to get into your dream school, or your life is going to go completely off track.

“This project is a lot more important than you think. I need a good grade, and I’m not going to let you mess this up for me,” you say, running a hand through your hair.

“Oh my god,” he says, sinking into his chair. “I’m not going to waste my time on a project I don’t give a shit about.”

“I hate you,” you groan, getting up and leaving the library.

10:30 PM

You rest on top of your bed, reading the project description on your laptop when you see the notification pop up in the right corner of the screen.

Frank.

Frank: Are you awake? Left on Read Frank: Come on, Y/N Y/N: I’m awake, yes. Frank: Are you doing anything tonight? Y/N: No, why? Frank: I’m bored, and all the others are at the movies. Y/N: I’m not doing anything with you. Frank: Well, given that I’m outside your bedroom window… you don’t really have a choice.

You immediately get up from your bed and run to the window where Frank is standing, his phone torch in hand. Opening the window, you lean out so he can see you.

“Go away, Frank!” you shout.

“I’m not leaving until you come down here!” he responds. You let out a loud sigh and move back inside to put your shoes and a sweater on. It is cold and dark outside, but Frank is waiting on the left side of your front lawn, leaning against the fence.

“I’m not hanging out with you, Frank. You’ve done enough already.” Your arms are folded across your chest in frustration.

“I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I think we should talk.” He nods his head towards the sidewalk. You reluctantly agree, and you set off down towards the park at the end of the block. “I shouldn’t have been such a dick. I was talking to Mikey about it, and he told me how much stress you’re under to succeed. I didn’t know. School kind of comes second for me in life. I didn’t mean to be so difficult, you know. School is hard for me.” His voice seems full of genuine remorse. You hadn’t realized that he had trouble at school. You’d sort of just assumed everyone was at the same level as you.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I put pressure on you to be prepared,” you sigh. This is when he stops walking and looks at you.

“You know, I rigged the groups. I asked Mr. Reynolds to put us together,” he mutters. So that’s why he wouldn’t give you another partner. But why on earth would Frank have asked to have you as his partner? “I’ve had a crush on you for a few months, Y/N, and I didn’t know any other way to get you to talk to me.” You stay quiet, completely in shock. Frank Iero certainly doesn’t have a crush on you. Punk rock guitar shredding Frank Iero. The guy who threw paper planes across the classroom like an idiot and consequently got into a fight and ended up in the principal’s office with the guy who was picking on you last term. Oh god, Frank has a crush on you. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Did I overstep? You literally just said you hated me this morning.” He looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ll go home.” He turns around and starts to walk away, his red hair shining in the light of the lampposts lining the street.

“Frank, wait.” You feel like you are losing a battle against yourself. He turns around. “I don’t hate you. You’re not the worst person in the world, okay.” You walk over to him as a smile starts to grow on both your faces. “You beat up Tom because of me, didn’t you?” He nods, and you pull him into a tight hug. “And you really like me?” You can feel his smirk on your shoulder.

“I like you more than I like guitar.”

“You aren’t making this any easier,” you laugh. He probably knows where you are going with that comment. You feel his hands on either side of your face and an unfamiliar stare directed at you.

“Can I kiss you now?” you nod.

“Of course you can.” You feel his lips press against yours in a desperate kiss fueled both by his frantic energy and your pent-up stress. His lips taste of cigarette smoke, which you aren’t surprised by. You cup his jaw as he deepens the kiss, and you nearly fall on the concrete ground. While you hadn’t expected to be in this position that morning, you definitely don’t plan on regretting it. When he pulls away, his eyes are scanning yours for any sort of reaction. However, they relax once you flash a smile in his direction. “Your friends are going to bully the fuck out of you for that one, Frankenstein.”

“Hell yeah, they are,” he smirks, “but at least you’re finally mine.”

//

Feedback is appreciated! Please request on my page if you have a story idea. I write for lots of different fandoms so request anything and I'll write it!

[sundropstories]

I Remember You

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Y/n remembers everything.

a/n: I hope you guys like this I had been working on it for a while but I really have no idea how I wanted to end it. But I hope the choice I made leaves it open for interpretation. Thank you for reading <3

˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧˖⁺‧₊ ˖⁺‧₊

I take my seat as I wait for the barista to let me know my coffee is ready. I come to this cafe every Friday morning.

I bring a book, and sit at the same table and wait...

There's this boy, his name is Peter Parker. About a month ago the news said that he was The Spider-Man. It was insane and everyone lost it. They were saying  he was a murderer because supposedly he killed Mysterio.

I don't believe it though. I know Peter Parker, okay maybe not like.. super personally. But, we've been going to school together since we were in elementary school. I can believe he is Spider-Man though I've had a few interactions with him and the personality I see. But, he's no killer.

Anyways...a weeks after his identity was released there were like these weird villains showing up. Then this huge thing was happening in the sky. It looked like it was almost...breaking in a way. I don't know maybe I just sound crazy..

Then, later that night, everyone just stopped talking about him. Literally..it was almost as if...he never existed. So I thought I was going insane, thinking I made it all up.

Till one day when I came here, Peter Pan Donut Shop.

I actually saw him come in, and he ordered a coffee. MJ and Ned acted like they had no idea who he was. When I am pretty sure him and Ned have been friends since..well forever. I'm also pretty sure him and MJ were like dating not that long ago, but I just assumed they had a bad breakup.

Until he LITERALLY introduced himself to her!! What?! I know! I was thinking the same thing. That's why I spent the last few weeks coming here.

Today I plan to make a move. Not like romantically. I just need to talk to him. I need to know I'm not crazy.

Okay yeah I definitely sound crazy.

—

"Y/n, Hot Chai, 2 shots espresso with whip!" I hear MJ yell my order. "Hey, Thank you." I say to her as I grab my drink and slip some cash into her tip jar.

"Of course!" We chat for a bit till I see him entre the cafe. MJ is actually really nice, if I'm being honest in high school I thought she was kinda intimidating.

—

I decided to gather my things and move to the bench outside. It's a nice day for this time of year so I don't wanna spend all day in there.

Almost immediately i hear the door ding as it swings open. I stand to see the brunette pass me. Immediately I try to flag him down.

"Excuse me, Peter." I say gathering my things to catch up with him. He almost immediately stops in his tracks at the sound of his name.

He turns and comes towards me so fast I barely have even left the bench.

"You know.." He whispered.

"That you're spi-" I'm cut off by him slapping his hand over my mouth. "No no no shhh.." using the other hand to hold a finger in front of his mouth.

" okay, okay.." I slowly move his hand off of me. "But, please can we talk."

He quirks an eyebrow giving me a questioning look. "Who are you?" He says it's less of a question though and more like he's demanding to know. Hurts my feelings a little though we did go to school together since kindergarten. "Y/n we've gone to school together...like our whole lives.."

He looks me over. "Okay, but not here."

—

We arrived at what I believe is his apartment. It's small but nice. Comfortable for someone living alone, and he barely has any furniture so I can tell he just moved in.

"Why don't you exist?" I ask. "Wow, straight to the point." He says moving through the kitchen. "Water?"

"No thank you, could you answer my question please." I smile. He lets out a breath, running his hand over his face.

"I did it to save everyone. The multi-verse was... Breaking? The only way I could fix it was to make everyone forget Peter Parker."

"Why do I remember? It was like one second. Your identity being exposed was all anyone could talk about, but then everything stopped. Within seconds." I take a breath. "Also what the hell is the multiverse?!"

" I don't know. And basically what it sounds like."

"I felt like I was crazy." I let out a small laugh. "You're not." He laughs with me.

—

We ended up spending the rest the night just hanging out. We played boardgames, got pizza, and ended the night watching movies.

"You know it's nice to finally talk to someone who...knows who I am." He turns to face me.

I turned a look at him, making eye contact and then looking away. "Is it true?"

"hmm"

"Did you.." I make air quotes. " 'Kill' Mysterio?"

He sucks in a breath. "Yes, but he wasn't good."

"I didn't think so." I look at him offering a supportive smile.

"He tricked me. I thought he was someone I could trust."

"How do you know you can trust me?" I shift in my seat to be fully facing him. "I have a..well my Aunt called it a 'tingle' about you. It's a good one though."

"Ew." I make scrunch my face in fake disgust. "No no not like that." He says slight panick in his voice. When we make eye contact we immediately burst out laughing.

[breakyourrxles]

『paradise lost』 ; 07

❝ nobody has to know ❞  

↳ an old acquaintance comes back around at a time when you’re even more in relationship limbo than usual, you know your actions will have consequences should they ever be found out, but maybe the risk is worth the reward.

⎯ ୨previous୧ ⎯  ○  ⎯ ୨series mlist୧ ⎯ ○ ⎯ ୨next୧ ⎯

『 pairing 』 : park seonghwa x fem!reader

『 genre 』 : romance, angst, explicit sexual content.

『 rating 』 : mature

『 word count 』 : 9.2k

『 warnings 』 : really poor decision making probably, rough sex, consensually recorded sexual acts, oral sex (m), penetrative sex, dirty talking etc they are pretty emotionally careless with one another, horror scene of a twist ending (angst)

“hey lol”

When the text comes through, past the jarring initial response of hopefulness and wishful thinking of who it could be, your next immediate reaction is to hide the screen...turn it the other way, from potentially prying, curious eyes on the other side of the bed.

The problem with that being: you are alone, in your own apartment, not at Hongjoong's as was once common place.

Rolling over in bed and lying on your back, still staring at the screen — reading the time, 2:45am, you hate the fact that you're awake, struggling to sleep these past few nights now on your own, but even more than that, why was he texting you this late, and after so long.

Realistically, it hadn't been that long since your first contact with the man, though. A year or so back at a mutual friend’s graduation party — the tall, pretty guy with the long black hair in the front, sides and back shaven short — you recall being wholly unsurprised when he tells you that he does some modeling, far more so when he tells you that he's pre-med. Not that a gorgeous man can't be both, of course.

Hitting it off, you exchanged numbers and texted occasionally, but with busy schedules (mostly on his end) it was next to impossible to meet up, and as a result, texting would die off as well.

You hadn't expected to hear from him again; ever, really.

>you: don't think I know you well enough for you to be booty call texting me at 3am

A playful response back, but also testing his motives. The typing bubble pops up almost immediately, and a reply comes through just as quickly.

>Seonghwa: very funny. what a warm welcome. 'wow Seonghwa so great to hear from you it's been so long!' awww thanks, it's nice to hear from you, too.

You roll your eyes at the conversation he begins having with himself, already beginning to type back to him.

>you: men usually text this late for one thing, you know that as well as I do.

>Seonghwa: well I hope that 'thing' is picking out an outfit for a thing I have coming up because that's actually what i'm texting you for. I need your assistance tomorrow.

>you: tomorrow? thanks for the heads up dude...what if I have stuff going on?

>Seonghwa: i'm not above begging. I just got back in town like 45 minutes ago okay i'm working with the best that i've got. we can use the time to catch up. plsplspls.

Rolling your eyes again, you confirm a time and a place with him, receiving numerous different heart and smiley emojis back in response before shutting your phone off and setting it back down on the empty bed space next to you.

Being back in your own place feeling so foreign to you now.

Your mind wanders back to Hongjoong and what it is that he could possibly be up to at this time of night; no doubt out with friends, drinking, smoking, partying — dealing with his emotions the one way he knows best — not. Almost certainly drunk past the point of making good choices and quite probably bringing someone back to the very place you had made yourself so comfortable only days ago.

Screwing your eyes shut tightly, you try to force back the mental image of exactly how your best friend likes to deal with his problems — a couple of stiff drinks and being over, or under, someone else.

Grabbing your phone again, you shuffle through your texting app to bring back up your conversation with Hongjoong, last message sent four days ago — four days since that conversation in his kitchen, him disappearing off to who knows where in a huff after the fact and you texting him that you're taking some of your things and spending some time back at your place.

With no response from him, of course.

“hey lol”

You chuckle at yourself lightly at the fact that you're really considering sending him the same thoughtless text that Seonghwa had just sent you minutes ago, before backspacing it all entirely and locking your phone again, gently tossing it off and towards your side in a hearty exhale of desperation, exasperation...

Missing him.

And of course you know, you've known that you're in love with Hongjoong. You're in tune enough with your feelings to know it, despite being entirely unwilling to admit it to him — not without something more concrete, not without him giving up and giving in just a little. You don't think it's a lot to ask of him, to put his hurt, and his worry, and whatever it is that clings to and harms him so deeply — to take a leap of faith and just say the words, the words that are so painfully obvious to the both of you.

That maybe he isn't necessarily in love with you, not yet — but he wants you, wants you all for himself. To be had and held by no one else. Is it too much to ask, to hear the words from his mouth without using them as a means to an end to make the both of you come?

A man so aware and enlightened, only willing to use his words when he knows he can take them back — not completely, but any deeper meaning behind them.

‘All talk, of course, it doesn't mean anything.’

Much like the first time.

And in spite of conversation number one not going according to plan, you find your chest empty at the loss of him next to you — wherever it may be that Hongjoong finds himself on this night, it's with your heart alongside, tightly in hand.

You only hope that he's thoughtful enough to be aware of it, to not make any rash decisions; for all intents and purposes perhaps—

For him to be better than you.

“So, what are you looking for, exactly?”

Stepping through the large, perfectly polished glass doors just behind the man that you've met with, you look around momentarily — luxury brands and department stores far from something that you're uncomfortable or unfamiliar with, it's not all that often that you find yourself shopping about in such places, given Hongjoong's interest in the more 'far out' of fashion trends, as it were — this, a place for people with money, and who want to look like they have money.

It reminds you of Wooyoung, mostly. Expensive, untouchable. The opposite of Hongjoong in every way.

“Not a suit but,” he slowly answers, head only slightly turning back and looking as if he's even more out of his depth than you are. “Something...nice.”

“Not giving me much to work with, here.”

Seonghwa stops in the middle of the fragrance department, you nearly bumping into him from behind at the abrupt halt — looking around, you watch him intently, as if awaiting his next command on where it is that the two of you should head off to.

Hair still the same, black and swept off to the side of his face, sides shaved and neat — you take a second to enjoy the view, beautifully effeminate features, perfect teeth, and when he opens his mouth, such a deceptively heavy, deep voice.

Enough to knock anyone off their game, even just a little bit.

But the truth was, that Park Seonghwa was kind of a fucking nerd.

Not in the typical way, perhaps like Yunho — ex-pro gamer, but more in the sense of being a little awkward in a way that one might not expect upon laying eyes on him. Easy to assume a cold, tough personality to the man, but not so much the case at all.

He was awkward. Sexy, but definitely awkward.

“Is just a button down shirt nice?” he finally asks, making eye contact with you again after scanning the expanse of the room.

“It really depends on where you're going, was there no dress code?”

“Business casual, I think it said.”

“Oh!” you chime, all of the day's problems solved with ease at the description. “That's easy then, yes, you can get away with a nice button down. See? When you give me information to work with...”

A few strides into the direction of the men’s section, the both of you fanning through different colors and brands of shirts, Seonghwa finally pipes up in a lull of quiet from the typical, dull small talk.

“So,” he says plainly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

You're thankful for the way that he cannot see nor hear the way your heart drops at the question alone.

Swallowing hard, eyebrows furrowing just for a moment as if to collect your thoughts, you finally reply. “Um, yeah. I guess. It's kind of complicated, though.”

“What does that mean?”

And in most situations, you wouldn't want to open up about the situation. Still too new and raw and painful to the touch, but the lack of the ability to do so eating you up inside in such a way that the pain drawls on endlessly — Seonghwa probably isn't the right person for this discussion, but frankly, you're not really sure who would be.

You just know that right now you're dying inside, so it has to be somebody, and well...he's offering.

“I've been seeing this guy for the past bunch of months, we're actually best friends, or were— before all of this,” you begin, sighing between the statements and emotional exhaustion from it all evident. “He's obviously into me, just like I am into him, I'd love to just...be in a relationship with him but he can't...talk, say the words. Be vulnerable.”

“Real tough guy, huh?” Seonghwa quips as he pulls a navy blue shirt off of the rack to check the size and fit against himself.

“Not really, that's what really gets me,” you start again. “He's really not that sort of macho, out of touch with his feelings kind of stereotype dude that you'd expect, but I guess anyone can have their problems with intimacy.”

“You're sure he wants what you want?”

The question comes out of left field, especially from the man just across the rack from you — and despite not needing it, you do take a moment of pause to think the question over before giving the same answer you would have either way.

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

Seonghwa sets the shirt back onto the metal tubing from where it came before leaning forward onto it with arms crossed and chin pressed against them to look at you.

“Then he kinda needs to shit or get off the pot, ya know? Tell him to grow up.”

“I don't think it's that easy. If it were that easy I think he would have by now, there's something else there holding him back.”

“Are you fuckin' other people still?”

The question gives you whiplash, the velocity at which it leaves Seonghwa's mouth and proverbially slaps you right across the face something you never could have expected — paired with the fact that yes, it was something you had considered...

But coming from someone with completely fresh insight on the situation—

Perhaps you hadn't been as safe and accommodating as you could have been, after all.

“I mean,” you stutter out, eyes darting away from his own and back down into the slew of button down shirts before you. “Yeah, we're not exclusive or anything, so...”

Who is it that you're trying to convince, anyways? That everything that you do is okay.

The idea that right and wrong can coexist simultaneously. That someone's right is someone else's wrong, or someone's right and wrong all at once.

Of course you are allowed to do that, and shoulder the consequences of your actions, you shall. Not a punishment, merely a result.

Choose wisely.

“Obviously,” Seonghwa says, pulling back to stand straight again. “But if he has feelings for you and you know that, and he knows that you know that, and yet he knows you're fuckin' other people still...I mean, I can only speak for myself I guess, but I would not be jumping to bare my soul to someone who's probably got a date to get her back blown out twenty minutes after, ya know?”

It's funny in delivery. The truth behind it making you wince all the same.

“You told him?” Seonghwa asks, shortly after amending the question. “That you have feelings for him? Want to be with him?”

You nod silently, carding through a rack of shirts that you've long since stopped paying attention to.

“Then I maintain my stance that he's gotta get a grip,” he says with a shrug, finally settling on an item and holding it up with confirmation. You smile gently at him.

“You threw yourself into the fire, he's gotta meet you there eventually.”

Stepping into the apartment and gently shutting the door behind you as you kick your shoes off, you hear the sound of Seonghwa casually tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter only a few feet away as he steps further ahead, bags set down behind the couch on the opposite end.

You stop and take it in for a moment — another new place, new sights, new smells, a new man.

And sure, Seonghwa wasn't new. Not in the typical sense of the word. He wasn't a random guy that you had just picked up that evening with every intention of drowning your worries in anything that he was willing to give you to help you forget, if even for a moment, but he wasn't...well...

He wasn't comfort. He wasn't home.

He wasn't Hongjoong.

Checking the screen of your phone again for notifications — notifications that you know have not arrived, for if they had, you would have felt them, you attempt to swallow down the knot in your throat. The feeling of being forgotten, of potentially being moved on from.

Did he even care anymore? Was it too little, too late, before you had even known it?

Vaguely, you can hear Seonghwa's deep voice ring out towards you, but the words fail to make their way to you. Not in any real, meaningful way — instead, past words spit like venom once again swim around and consume your memories, making their bed in your mind like a disease you may never find yourself rid of.

‘After all, you didn't know I was going to be there that night.’

“Hey,” you hear, Seonghwa finally breaking through the heavy thought clouding your mind. “What is going on up there?”

Lightly tapping the top of your head with his index finger, you lightly swat his hand away, awkwardly laughing and trying to shake off the way the memory makes you feel even now — the same way it felt then. As if no time had passed between at all.

“I'm fine.”

“Thinking about him?” Seonghwa chimes, teasingly mocking you like you're a girl with a crush.

It's not wrong, but hurts far more than he seems to be aware of, even in spite of the conversation earlier. You're unsurprised by this, as he never had come off as one quick on the emotional uptake of others.

A little self-centered, and a lot into himself. Med student, model — you figure it just sort of comes with the territory, perhaps, and truly — you had known him not to be the one to confide one's deepest, most vulnerable thoughts and feelings in, for those hands however skilled they may be, know not what to do with such items.

Opting to ignore the comment for as long as you can, instead eyes trailing along the medical books, papers, diagrams strewn about on the coffee table in front of the couch...only a few feet away from a few rather expensive looking garments carefully laid out across the top of a lounge chair — you find it charming, in some bizarre way — the juxtaposition of Seonghwa's lives carefully balanced on a thread via a man with no time to spare, and seemingly little knowledge about anything else.

You wonder if there's anything there, really, beyond medicine and beauty. Albeit, the path of medicine such a selfless act in and of itself, almost jarring in comparison to knowing the man; barely able to carry on a serious conversation, or offer a consoling word.

And hilariously, through all of the split second introspection, you come to the ultimate conclusion that you're not even all that sure you even like him that much.

“No,” you eventually answer, shuffling the thoughts from your head with finality. “Thinking about what we should eat.”

“What are you in the mood for?” he hurriedly responds, jumping up and into one of the stools next to the counter, phone in hand. “I'll order whatever.”

“Kind of want a pizza, actually.”

“Done.”

You find this to be the easiest conversation that you've ever had with the man, relief washing over you a bit and, for once, not feeling an undercurrent of battle with every word that is exchanged between the two of you, but you remember after all — you're there for a reason.

“By the way,” you say suddenly. “Need a tape measure, do you have one?”

“Ummmm, yeah, should be in my bedroom. The big white dresser? Not sure which drawer. You can go in there though, don't worry, won't find anything crazy.”

The words aren't all that comforting, you find, in spite of the fact that he's quite evidently trying to be. The promise of not finding whatever insanity the man may have hidden somewhere in the apartment something that you are thankful for, but as you step into his bedroom, the looming feeling of alarm washes over you just as quickly — that previously mentioned undercurrent of battle, now replaced with uncertainty. Not worry, so much, but with the crashing acknowledgement that perhaps you don't really know this man at all.

And you know that it's really none of your business. Not even a little bit, but he had you go in there, and knew what you would find—

—It seems only fair.

“Uh, Seonghwa?”

Long eyes looking up from his phone and straight towards you, dark hair dangling at one side of his face, it takes a long moment for the realization to hit him — so used to his version of normal, that you realize then and there, he had not actually thought about what it was he had been sending you off and into upon informing you where to find the tape measure.

That he obviously should have gotten off of his ass and retrieved himself.

“Oh, oh God,” he groans, eyes darting side to side and most importantly, far away from your own. His discomfort adds to your comfort instead, finding pleasure in the way that he is for once the one in the compromised situation between the two of you.

He was always awkward, but this was way better.

“Okay, ummm, I guess—“ he pauses, eyes screwing shut as if immediately trying to disappear himself from his own apartment, only opening them again upon accepting his failure in doing so and with lips forming a straight line, Seonghwa exhales heavily from his nostrils.

“—It's kinda...what it looks like.”

“The camera,” you plainly state, thumb over your shoulder and pointing back from where you had come from. “Want to tell me about that?”

Sighing, Seonghwa simply slumps forward with his head buried in crossed arms on the counter in front of him, words muffled. “No, but I guess I'm going to.”

“I mean, I won't say anything,” you comfort, shrugging and setting yourself down on the couch behind him. “I'm just already in here so if you're going to like, murder me for the dark web or something then I'd like to know ahead of time.”

You hear Seonghwa chuckle in response, probably thankful for the lighthearted banter in response to your findings. “Okay well, if that's what it looks like then it's not that.”

“What are you, a camboy or something?”

The chuckle in your voice as the words exit your mouth are evidence enough of the fact that you're still trying to make banter of the situation.

Seonghwa's silence in reaction, however, tells you that you're right on the money with your guess.

“Oh my God,” you chime out, a bit louder than you had anticipated. “You are.”

“Can you keep your voice down,” he hurriedly replies, pulling himself up and around to face you with the utmost urgency across his features. “These walls are paper thin, God.”

“Sorry, just—“ you pause, still taken aback by the discovery. “I was joking, I didn't think you really were. Not that there's anything wrong with that.”

With a heavy inhale, and equally heavy exhale, Seonghwa groans in anticipation of having to explain himself even further.

“It's good money, and it's fun,” he explains, standing up and heading over towards you on the couch so that the two of you can finish up the reason that you had gone over there to begin with. “The modeling is good but sometimes I don't take jobs because the travel just takes up so much time, it's hard to juggle with being a med student, so camming sort of supplements my income when I don't take jobs.”

Watching Seonghwa's face as he explains — cheeks and ears flushed red and the complete inability to make eye contact with you as he talks about it, laughing through it awkwardly even though nothing humorous is being said — you hate to admit the way that you find it charming, that perhaps in all of the ways that he is unattractive to you, there's still this. Goofy, uncomfortable, incredibly regular, like a little kid entirely too big physically and especially in life to handle all of the things being thrown his way.

An incredible juggling act, perhaps shocking that he didn't turn out worse.

So awkward, for a guy that jerks off on camera for who knows how many strangers.

“I think it's kind of cool.”

And for the first time since the conversation topic had been breached, Seonghwa's eyes meet your own, albeit briefly. A silent thankfulness for your understanding, for your willingness to accept him.

“You want to get into it? I'll fuck you on camera, we'll make a killing.”

Ah, right, there he is. Spoken like a truly insufferable prick.

“You wish, moron,” you say, flat in tone and forcing him to spin so that he faces away from you. “Get down on your knees so I can measure you out and get this fit right, and if you don't behave I'll have you out there looking ridiculous on purpose.”

Tape measure in hand, you extend the length enough to cross the width of the man's shoulders, making note of the number and dialing it in on your phone laid just next to you on the couch cushion, Seonghwa's head turns just slightly as if in attempt to look back at you, despite not having the range of motion to do so to any reasonable amount.

“Are my shoulders wide?”

You roll your eyes.

“They're a perfectly normal width, Hwa.”

“Wider than What's-his-face's?”

There's that burn in your chest again, and you can't tell if Seonghwa just doesn't get it or doesn't care, at this point.

Swallowing hard at the question, hoping and praying that your voice doesn't break as you force out a light response to an absolutely painful topic, you manage well enough.

“Yes, he's not a model.”

“He's short? Small?”

At this point, you're glad that Seonghwa can't see you — the way that you chew on the inside of your cheek or lip at the mere mention of Hongjoong, and now especially at this bizarrely competitive way that Seonghwa seems to be...having a go at him, despite not even knowing him, it's unappealing, unattractive, and downright right fucking annoying.

“Yes, he's small,” you answer, this time with far less effort to conceal your irritation at the line of questioning. “What does it matter to you, anyways?”

Shrugging suddenly as you continue on with what you had gone there to do to begin with, he sighs. “Just trying to lighten the mood, surely this guy isn't all that, and especially not if he can't even tell a girl he likes her.”

You kind of wish you could disagree.

Appreciating Seonghwa's mismanaged attempt at making you feel better in some way, you allow yourself to let the anger fall to the wayside a bit. The man just before you clearly only good at so many things — matters of other people's hearts, maybe not so much.

Which you sort of knew already.

Silence finally taking the room as you move to measure the length of his right arm, you're delighted by it. The fact that no words are currently exiting his beautiful mouth. You consider for a moment that perhaps beautiful men are far more often better off not using their words.

Wooyoung sort of springs to mind.

Paradise crashes down pretty quickly, though.

“He got a small dick?”

“Seonghwa.”

Swatting the back of his head gently, the man chuckles at your response. “What!? I find it admirable that you love him despite his flaws if that's the case.”

“You have got to shut up before I walk out of here.”

“Okay, okay, I was just jokin’—“

It's an almost pleasant bit in the evening, interrupted by the sound of a notification coming through on your phone, and as the screen illuminates, you only have to glance at it for a second to recognize the length of text — the name — that comes through on the screen.

You take pause, not only due to the unexpected nature of it, but given your current circumstances and just — everything. The feelings all rushing back to your chest, throat tightening in an instant, heart feeling as though it could beat straight through your rib cage at any given moment, you can only assume that Seonghwa doesn't hear the sound, or thinks nothing of it at first, before taking notice of the way that you freeze behind him, arms stuck in statuesque figure as you stare down at the device next to you with thoughts racing a mile a minute.

“What?” he finally questions, moving to turn more and take in the scene behind him, first looking to you, but following your eyes down to the object as the screen dulls again only seconds later. “Oh, is it him?”

You nod, slowly allowing your arms down and swallowing down a dry throat.

“Just ignore him, come on, we're having fun,” the man with you insists, grabbing you playfully by the arms and flailing them about for you. “He can wait a few hours more, don't let him ruin your night.”

Snapping back to reality, you blink, then turning your attention to Seonghwa — eyes bright and eyebrows down turned as if pleading for you not to ruin his good time, you take control of your arms once again as you reach towards your phone.

“I'm just...surprised, he's texting me—“ you say, inhaling deeply before unlocking the screen. “I can't ignore him.”

“You can, come on, we're having a good night!”

>Hongjoong: hey. i'm sorry. we should talk. I want to talk. about the conversation we had a few days ago. when you have time, obviously.

The message hits you in the chest like a freight train, for so many reasons, but the pointed willingness of the apology quite possibly being the most gutting of all.

Hongjoong, a man never above an apology, so you're unsure why it is that this one in particular hits you in such a special way — that he leads with it, that it feels so strong, so meaningful, so much.

And the acknowledgment of the failed conversation, of course.

Looking up from your phone, you meet the sad, puppy dog eyes of Seonghwa — pouty and evidently beyond bummed at the inevitability of the way the night will end — a child starved of play dates, his one moment cut short just like that.

You flash back to the night that you met Seonghwa, and how sexy you thought he was. The reason that you exchanged numbers with him to begin with. Truthfully? A quick fuck was ideally in the cards.

How unfortunate now that you've gotten to know him.

“Nah, I don't think so!”

Before the words really register to you, Seonghwa has your phone swiped from your hands, pulling it from your reach and back behind him — holding it far and away from your own as you attempt to swiftly grab it back from him but with no avail. Repeatedly calling his name to give it back, the man only laughs as you try to best his long limbs without closing too much of the space between the two of you — something that you would like to avoid.

And that he would not.

Pulling forward and nearly off of the couch entirely with Seonghwa leaned back and away, you attempt to reach behind him for your device, still far out of reach, but it's when the man quickly leans back in again without your ready — lips firm against your own and free hand cupping the side of your face to pull your further into it that you find it so easy to melt into the feeling without so much as a second thought; the warmth, the inviting plush of his mouth with a kiss not rushed, or needy, but passionate and soft.

You meet his motions briefly, before pulling back and away from him entirely.

Hand still gently pressed into the side of your head, fingers lightly curling into the hair that resides there, you take in the way that Seonghwa's features soften so much just in that moment — as if a man now knelt before you that you'd never met before. A new man.

He delicately pulls your face back towards him, and you hate the way you allow him to.

Only centimeters from your lips, Seonghwa whispers into you, voice heavy and laden with obvious desire that, if laid dormant all of this time, you had not noticed it until only now.

“If you're really gonna give the fun up for this guy,” he begins, pressing his lips to your own again and so gently that you almost couldn't even feel it. “Then what's wrong with one last one for the road, huh?”

Another kiss.

You're melting into it far too quickly, so easy for Seonghwa to lull you into this sort of comfort that only minutes prior you never would have thought him capable of — a new side of himself, so sensual and inviting and deeply, you wished you weren't curious about what else there was that he had to offer you.

“—He'll never have to find out.”

Okay, fuck it.

Scooting backwards on the couch a bit further, parting your legs to allow room for him in between them, Seonghwa leans into you even more, mouth heavier against your own, with more intent now. Your eyes dart down, in view of the hand clasping your phone still — the buzz of another notification ringing through your ears, knowing precisely who it is that's attempting to contact you — it takes everything in you to muster up the courage to ignore it, cast it aside.

Cast Hongjoong aside.

Seonghwa stands, carding his fingers through long, black hair as he does so before reaching for his belt buckle and beginning to undo it right in front of your face — your eyes fixated on the obvious tenting in the front of his pants at the promise of a fuck that neither of you should particularly be indulging in, but especially not you.

You can. You're allowed.

“Have you thought about this before?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you and desperately needing to cut through the silence of only your thoughts.

Seonghwa chuckles, still looking down upon your features as he pulls the leather apart, fingers then moving to the button — it's happening a little faster than you needed right now, but also, perhaps that's exactly what you need.

“Of course, every guy thinks about fucking every attractive, female friend they have — at least a little bit.”

An unfortunate byproduct — everything reminds you of him.

Pressing his jeans down slightly and pulling himself from the black fabric of his briefs, he strokes himself slowly, gently, for your viewing pleasure — only inches from your face, eyes still engrossed and watching you as you watch him.

You wonder if this is how he does it for however many viewers he brings in.

“Don't think about him,” he says, bringing the hand up that still clasps your phone and turning the screen towards your face. “Unlock it, just for a little fun.”

“Are you crazy?” you bite back, leaning away from him altogether, but the man before you still lazily pumping himself only snorts a bit and shrugs before answering you back.

“It's your phone, think of it as a bachelorette gift from me.”

The confidence in his tone, while irritating, is intriguing — you wonder briefly who and what he's done to make himself believe that video recollection of you sucking him off could be something that you'd watch back later, holed up in the bathroom late at night with nothing or no one better to do and only a fond memory of something that you had no business partaking in to begin with.

Though, come to think of it; when you put it like that, the appeal was certainly beginning to present itself.

You snatch the phone from him and plug in your pass code, handing it back to him just as quickly — as if the faster it's done the less either of you will have to acknowledge the acceptance, but the grin on Seonghwa's face says everything as he evidently pulls up the camera app and angles your phones lens down and towards your face.

“Lemmie see you work, baby.”

You're certainly not proud of the way the sentence is felt straight between your legs — not entirely sure if it's the words themselves, the man, the camera, or the deviousness of the act as a whole — taking him into your dominant hand and replacing his as he pulls away and instead runs fingertips through the hair at the top of your head, you carry on with the work that he had started on himself. Heavy and warm, long, thick enough but not anything that would take any exceptional prep to work up to, you quickly (and unfortunately) have to settle on the fact that the guilty fuck is doing more for you now, in this moment, than you'd ever really like to admit to yourself.

Pulling yourself forward on the couch more to situate yourself best for taking him, you angle your head down as to run your tongue against the tip of his cock — wet, showy circles across it and looking up to see the effect on him — bottom corner of his lip pulled between his teeth and slightly hooded, brown eyes gazing down upon you.

And the camera, of course. You're making a show of it.

Moving upwards again, you take Seonghwa fuller into your mouth, properly for sucking him off — too big to take the entirety of but you're thankful that he doesn't seem stuck on the necessity of it, hands in your hair and on your head for the sake of being there rather than with intent to guide or pull you onto him, he allows you the ability to take him at your own pace and depth, languidly bobbing along his cock with wet, swollen lips as airy, devilishly sexy groans topple from the beautifully plump ones that had just been kissing you only moments before.

Kisses testing the waters: ‘How horrible are you, really?’

Even with cock in mouth, or especially with cock in mouth, you can't help but have the thoughts spring to mind — how wrong it is, how fucked up it is.

How you're only doing this with promise that Hongjoong will never know, because if he were to, you wouldn't.

But the knowledge of it devastating him not enough to stop you from pulling the trigger on the act, either.

Is this love?

“Feel so good, look so pretty like this,” Seonghwa says, the words nearly startling you from your thoughts despite the act still taking place. “Like a big dick? Hm? Mouth looks so small around me.”

You know he's playing it up for the camera, likely because it's what he's used to doing — talking the viewer through to their finish — he's assuming that someday you will, in all actuality, make yourself come to this little snippet in time at some point in the future.

Depending on how it turns out, you can't really promise that you won't, either.

Picking up your speed along him, hand following suit to make up for the amount of him that you can't fit into your mouth, Seonghwa groans at the extra friction, head falling back briefly to take in the feeling of you swallowing him whole, as best you can.

“God.” And it's nearly a whisper, eyes falling back down to yours once again. “Wanna come all over that pretty face of yours.”

Arousal pooling between your legs much quicker than you'd have ever hoped, the promise of him emptying on your face — while enticing — not exactly the finish you were looking for, but just as you pull off of him slowly to voice the concern, Seonghwa locks your phone screen with an audible click and tosses the device to a plush chair sitting adjacent to the two of you.

“Kinda short but should do the trick if you're hard up for time, here, stand up.”

Somewhat confused but following the man's lead all the same, Seonghwa pulls you up and off the couch before seating himself down where you had just been, cock still hard and all present — you finally come to realize that it was all for show, that he had no intention of finishing then and there.

What a magnificent actor, you think to yourself.

“Take your pants off,” he then instructs, sitting with his back against the couch and hand around himself as he resumes stroking himself at the visual, you wasting no time shimmying out of your clothing for him to watch — lips slightly parted and eyes so strong and intensely situated on your body and all of its movements. Once down to your panties, you look at him again, unsure if meant to strip in totality.

“Should I...?”

“Up to you,” he says, suddenly grabbing towards you and pulling your hips forward and against his face as fingers quickly make their way between your legs and into the sides of the fabric there — but pausing to look up at you again, the dastardly grin is really what sends home the words themselves, thereafter.

“Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be, the more clothes the better then.”

And you don't really have time to answer the question, had there ever even been one, before his lips press hard against your pussy and tongue making quick work of the quest for your clit — nearly toppling forward, hands falling to his shoulders for leverage as your knees just about give out from the sudden contact, lewd, slurping and sucking sounds resonating through the apartment as Seonghwa wastes no time tasting you — and just as quickly, the feeling of a single finger slowly pressing into you as you stand before him.

“God, fuck, Seonghwa—“

He hums in acknowledgment of the name, two, three slow pumps of the digit, you feel him add a second. Delicate hands, but by no means dainty — fingers with thickness to them and the feeling of fullness is immediate as he continues the suction on your clit with earnest.

Your own fingers digging into his shirt and the flesh beneath it, head falling back and feeling almost dizzy at the onslaught of sensations, clenching your eyes shut, he pulls his head back from you to look at your features. “Good?”

“Yes,” you whimper out, heavy and barely audible at all. Seonghwa chuckles at the scene before him.

“C'mere.”

And you know he's being annoying when he does it, the words paired with the curl of his fingers deep inside you as he ushers you forward, pressing hard against your g-spot as he does and it's everything you have, all of the strength in your legs to not completely fall forward and against him — but slowly pulling his fingers from you, he instead brings his hands to your waist, steadying you to ease you down and into his lap. Another kiss, this time much heavier and needy and messy from both sides — panties slick and wet and pulled apart messily, allowing you to feel the faint press of his bare shaft against you as the two of you pant and bite at each other's mouths, you want him, and you want him bad.

The coming to a head of so many different thoughts and feelings all at once: the longing, the missing, the sadness, the desire. The allure of being in places and arms where you shouldn't dare be, all the while wishing you were in the ones that you should.

It was good, he made me come, I prefer you.

I prefer you.

You want Seonghwa to fuck you raw.

And you know that the strongest factor in favor of it is the fact that it would be so easy. That the both of you are already right there, so simple, and you shouldn't, and all the while knowing it's sort of why you want to.

Maybe somehow you can undo all of the work that Hongjoong's done if only you allow someone else to do it all over again.

“Seonghwa,” you whisper against his mouth, hips pressing forward and against him, swallowing up the hiss that escapes his lips as a result of it and loving every second of it.

“Condom.”

Nodding, the man reaches down and into his pants’ pocket — still conveniently wrapped around his thighs and pulls for his wallet, metallic package quickly found and ripping it open with his teeth, he nods for you to pull back a little off of him to grant him room to roll it on — watching intently as he does. Settling back comfortably, large hands finding their way up and around your waist again to lift you gently, to hover over him before your descent down — the two of you make eye contact only briefly as one of his hands edges down and between your legs to pull the side of your panties away just as before.

‘Depends how dirty of a fuck you want it to be.’

You quickly dart your eyes away from him, opting to close them instead as you sink down along his length — faster than you might normally and barely allowing yourself any time to adjust, you wince at the stretch, the length, the pull of him against your insides — not completely ready to take him yet.

But ready to get it over with, get out of there, and carry on like this never happened.

Rocking your hips against him, you start out at a relatively quick pace, one hand on his shoulder and the other between your legs to rub you into your orgasm as fast as possible, not even wanting to leave it up to him to get you there — screwing your eyes shut tighter, allowing yourself to feel the way he pulls you down to take his cock; a little hard, a little rough — but it's kind of what you want, what you need, given the circumstances.

In some ways, Seonghwa may as well not be there at all.

“H—harder—“ you whisper, desperately trying to get the friction you need from him out of the position but being starkly limited in availability, you only hear Seonghwa laugh at first, in response to your demand, before stopping the both of you altogether and nearly pushing you off of him.

Your first thought, is that he's pissed. You're not sure why, or what happened, and before being able to get the question out of your mouth, you find yourself face first into the couch cushion and lengthwise on the couch, with Seonghwa already pressing back into you from behind.

Moaning out at the new, different kind of intrusion, Seonghwa leans forward and over your back, hand nestled in your hair before tightening only enough to get your attention.

You said 'harder,' not 'rougher,' — 'rougher' was the next command on the agenda, though.

With a hard, sudden snap of his hips into you, you whine out loudly in response. Then another, and another following — crying out at the feeling, just teetering on the edge of being too much, too painful, you finally hear the words from behind you through gritted teeth.

“I'm fine with being your guilty little fuck,” he says, still snapping his hips harshly between every few words. “Use me to forget him? I can do that.”

Hand still pressed against your head, Seonghwa adjusts his positioning behind you just enough that it gives him better, easier access to continue his relentless drives into you — hard and fast — your hand once again buried between your legs and now orgasm much faster in its approach, you whine out with every full thrust of himself, nearly pulling all of the way from you before plunging back in.

“Feel good? You like that?” he asks, breath heavy and husky and sounding almost bitter in the exchange.

It almost turns you on more, knowing that he's angry with you for this, hates you for it.

“Yes.”

“Yeah? My cock feel good to you, baby?”

So vulgar and with a tone so hateful, you know he's trying to make a point. The reminder that it's him and not Hongjoong. Making you pay attention to it. Not letting you disassociate from the fact. Forcing you to be present and in the moment no matter how much you don't want to be — not entirely, at least.

“Say it,” he adds with a particularly harsh thrust, and you give in right away. “Yes, yes, fuck, Seonghwa—“

“That's right, good girl. Close? Wanna come around my cock for me?”

A moan first ripping through your lips, fingers desperately attempting to grip into unrelenting cushions, you feel Seonghwa's own curl harder into the skin of your hips with every second that you don't answer him.

“Yes, I do, fuck, please I'm close—“

Continuing into you, he quiets long enough to focus on getting you there; fucking into you hard and fast and all of the way through it as you cry out at the way your orgasm finally takes you, you barely even notice as Seonghwa suddenly exits from you, pulling the condom free of himself and stroking himself through his own orgasm — translucent white strings of his cum painting your already stained panties and backside.

A fitting end — filthy and used and an amalgamation of things that never quite should have taken place to begin with.

Slowly, tiredly flipping back over to face him, Seonghwa avoids eye contact at first — the easy excuse of needing to toss the condom away in a rush able to pull him from the situation long enough to steady himself and his feelings before coming back — pants now pulled back up and into place before sitting down on the couch next to you again, eyes away from you as you awkwardly reach for the garments you had left on the floor onto ten or so minutes prior to now.

And then, your phone.

Buzzing lightly against the plush of the chair, you can't help but allow your attention to draw to Seonghwa in light of it all — but the man turns his head from you gently, instead opting to reach for the device as the one closest to it and handing it to you without ever making eye contact.

Talk about guilty fuck.

And of course it's Hongjoong. It's always Hongjoong. The vibrancy of the name on the screen in juxtaposition to the scenario that you just took part in and the way Seonghwa isn't helping in making it feel okay, feels like a knife to the chest.

Maybe, just maybe, it's not okay. Maybe it hasn't been for a while.

“I need to get—“ you quietly clamor out, your existence feeling like a disturbance in the man's home, but unable to leave until you wash the remainder of him off of you. Seonghwa turns his head to you briefly, finally realizing the situation and quickly — awkwardly, pointing you into the direction of his bathroom.

And it's unfortunate the ways that hurt people sometimes expel that pain. For Hongjoong, it's a spitfire tongue and thoughtless words — precisely as he thinks and feels in the moment but with every intention to hurt the recipient just as much as he, himself hurts.

For Yunho, it's repetition — the starry-eyed hope that if given the ability to go back in time, do the same thing over again, maybe do something differently, that he can forge a different outcome of the same situation.

For you, it's actions — thoughtless and selfish and entirely self-absorbed. Desperate for the acknowledgment that the choices one makes along the way are good and right, objectively so, even if at the expense of the ones we love around us.

And for Seonghwa, it's revenge.

Coming back from the bathroom, as best cleaned up as you can manage, you find Seonghwa standing in the kitchen — arms crossed with a glass of unknown liquid in hand as his eyes coldly fall over your figure. A far cry from the man you had arrived there with, but knowing all the same when you had worn out your welcome — you certainly don't feel bad about being kicked out after the sex, truthfully, you couldn't get out of there faster if you had tried to.

“I'm gonna get out of he—“

The sound of your phone vibrating stealing your attention away, but not because of a message notification.

Rather, a phone call.

Phone on the glass coffee table, face up, and not where you had left it when you went off to the bathroom — glancing down at the phone call as the tail end of it comes through, only to find it add itself to a slew of three other missed call notifications.

And all from Hongjoong.

You slowly look back up and towards Seonghwa, still silently perched in the kitchen — watching you, but with nothing to say. Slowly, he brings his hand from the side of his arm to take a sip of the beverage...

But not before ever so gently tipping it towards you.

Cheers, indeed. And 'fuck you, too.'

Panic setting in immediately, before you even have a chance to call Hongjoong back, another call rings through, and gathering your things, shuffling towards the door with little else on your mind beyond getting the fuck out of that apartment and away from that man, you pick up the call finally.

“Hongjoong, I— hold on, just—“

You haven't even heard a word from him yet, pulling the phone back down from your face to swipe through your apps at lightning quick speed, desperate to locate your texting app but not all that ready to lay eyes on precisely what it is that you expect to find.

And you do, of course.

The last thing in your messaging conversation with Hongjoong, the video Seonghwa took of you with him less than an hour earlier.

Not even bothering to acknowledge Seonghwa further as you leave the apartment, barreling down the staircase as quickly as possible with your bag slung over your shoulder, you're finally able to situate yourself enough to bring the phone back to your face.

Inhaling deeply, pausing from exhaustion and pressing your back against one of the concrete walls, you huff out his name. “Hongjoong—“

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

But the tone on the other line isn't angry, not in the way that you had anticipated. It's not a man furious, violent, aggressive in any sense of the imagination — but rather, a tone dripping with desperation, with tragedy, with pain. This question posed, to avoid the other, obvious question that lied bare and rubbed raw behind it: Why would you do this to me? Why would you hurt me like this?

“Look, I didn't send—“ you pause the line of thought, realizing that the details of who or why it was sent to him mean little, and truly the only thing that matters is why were you with him.

And why does Hongjoong mean that little to you.

“Hongjoong, I'm sorry, it was a mistake, I fucked up—“

“I've been texting you all night, is that why I couldn't get a hold of you?”

“Look, please, we should talk—“

“We should talk? I've been trying to get a hold of you all night to talk!”

“I know,” voice breaking with the words, the burning creeping up quickly and pulling yourself together again enough to continue down the stairs and out of the building and in a ride share towards Hongjoong's place, you continue to plead with him. “Please, Joong, I'm coming over. Please, let's talk about this.”

‘About this.’ The concept of ‘this.’

The unmatched, unswallowable feeling of impending nothingness. The loss of something — someone so great.

Everyone has a breaking point.

When silence greets you on the other line for far too long as your car carries you towards his home, a home that the two of you not too long ago once shared, you can almost hear the way that Hongjoong has to swallow down his feelings, the gut-wrenching twist of the dagger that you so ceremoniously planted directly into his chest.

“I don't know why you're tormenting me,” he whispers through broken voice, otherwise calm words falling onto your ears like death itself.

“So fucking jealous when I slept with your friend, before we even started getting involved—“

“I know, Hongjoong, I know please—“

His voice turning whiny, more broken and pointed. “—It was fucked up then, and it's so fucked up now.”

Throat burning, ears on fire, you know it's on the tip of his tongue if he can muster up the courage to do it, to say the words, to do the deed himself.

I don't love you anymore, goodbye.

But he doesn't, and in an effort to cut him off before he can, you make the quick decision that it's enough with the bullshit, and enough with the games. Emotions have been worn and dragged through the mud enough up until this point for the both of you — and for no reason at all. You know what you want, and you've always known what you wanted.

Him.

“You can come to the apartment to get your shit but I won't be there—“

“Hongjoong—“

He silences, you await the inquiry that apparently won't ever come, and it gives you pause again. Veins running ice cold and breath thin, you figure now more than ever before;

It's now or never.

“I love you.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

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[feverdreamsanddelusions]

23

inspo by @the-three-whumpeteers

[tw lady whumpee, betrayal (somewhat), past trauma, implied past captivity]

"I... I'm not sure what to do," Caretaker admitted quietly. "I've never seen her like that... It's... It's jarring. And I don't want to make this about myself and my feelings or whatever, but... I don't know."

"I get that." Medic sighed, placing their notes on the desk and looking up at them. "It's hard for everyone involved. Just... Try to be gentle. I know we were all waiting for her return, hoping everything would go back to normal..."

"It's not gonna go back to normal, is it?"

Medic bit their lip, looking for the right words. In the end, they decided not to sugarcoat it. "No, most likely not."

Caretaker nodded. There was an unspoken tension in the air; a burden they both knew Caretaker carried in this situation. They had always been the right-hand man, the second in command. Now that Whumpee was a mere shell of her former self, was it appropriate for them to step up? Or more like, continue stepping up? They had led the team during the rescue operation and all of that, but... now Whumpee was back, and she was supposed to be the official leader.

"Do you think... we should choose a new leader?" Caretaker's voice was barely above a whisper. Medic didn't even look at them, instead going back to flipping through their medical records.

"I mean, it's hard to say just yet... Who knows? Maybe Whumpee will, uh... snap out of it, in a way. Maybe she'll open up, let me help her, all that stuff... I don't know whether we should make any official decisions yet."

"Right."

The silence that followed was deafening. Caretaker had no idea what Medic was thinking, but if they'd had to guess, they were probably both ashamed of their own lack of decisiveness. Whumpee would've made her choice right away and stood by it, and here they were, skirting around the topic and deluding themselves endlessly.

This was no way to behave. This wasn't what Whumpee had taught them.

"No, it's not right. None of this is." Caretaker stood up from their chair with newfound resolve. "The team needs a leader. I'm going to call a meeting, and we're finally going to discuss this."

Medic almost looked startled by the idea. "Are you sure? Whumpee has barely been back for a week, maybe... maybe we should–"

"Whumpee has been gone for weeks. She'll likely not be functional for several more. Even if we don't choose another permanent leader, we have to stop acting like we can rely on Whumpee for anything right now just because she's back."

The words burned their mouth as they spoke, and Caretaker almost wanted to cry. It felt horrible to talk like this, and they were sure there would be a lot of sobbing during the meeting as well. But someone had to rip the bandaid off.

"Well, if you think it's a good idea..." Medic conceded.

"I'll tell the others." Caretaker turned around to leave the room, instantly bumping into Whumpee as they opened the door. She was standing there with a blanket draped around her shoulders, clutching it tightly with both hands, vacant eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Caretaker. "Holy shit–"

"What?" Medic leaned forward in their chair to see what was going on, but any further comments caught in their throat at the sight.

Nobody said a word. Caretaker shrank back, suddenly embarrassed and almost afraid of what Whumpee would do, even though she clearly wasn't in a state to do much. How long had she been standing there? Had she heard everything? What was she thinking? It was impossible to tell.

Whumpee slowly padded into the room, ignoring the tense atmosphere as she sat on the examination table. Medic was the first to react, standing up from their chair and quickly walking over. "Is something the matter? Pain? New pain, old pain?"

Caretaker took the chance to slip out the door. As cowardly as it was, they didn't want to be there during a potential confrontation. Nor did they want to make Whumpee uncomfortable, if they were being honest. Maybe she would want to ask Medic about the things she'd heard one on one! Yes, that was exactly why they'd left.

They tried not to think about just how unfit they were for this leadership role. They tried not to think about how each and every one of them were unfit. Surely, once someone was chosen, they'd be able to step up to the plate.

[inquisitornocturn]

◇─ 𝕴𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖆 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖇𝖆𝖙 𝕹𝖎𝖍𝖎𝖑 ─◇

◇𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖓 𝕼𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖚𝖔𝖗 ─ 𝕬𝖉 𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖒 𝕿𝖚𝖆𝖒 𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖒◇

⚜ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Inquisitor Lord Xavier Calcazar / oc!High Interrogator Volenta van Halvek von Valancius af Calixis / Interrogator Heinrix van Calox

⚜ 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: Overall story rating - E. Smut-wise just a blowjob in this one, because I'm a sucker in showing submission through acts of service. No other tags.

⚜ 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: The Emperor works in mysterious ways, any person of faith knows that, so does Volenta, but when Xavier presents her with a mission she never envisioned for herself - that's when the Interrogator's entire world begins to crumble. How a man she loves so much can cast aside the path that was clear, for one that she does not wish to take? She doesn't have a choice though. When the Inquisition calls - Volenta answers.

⚜ 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 8,982 | on AO3 |

story summary and chapter list can be found here ⚜ artwork I commissioned for Volenta can be found under #oc: Inquisitor Volenta

“You want a list. Why exactly?” Theodora’s authoritative voice rings louder than it should even in the room of this size.

Calcazar met the Rogue Trader in his temporary office on Footfall. Naturally, he already is looking for a more permanent residence in this region because he has to remain here until the Koronus Expanse can be considered a worthy part of the Imperium. Although the Inquisitor is not too thrilled to reside in this backwater system, away from the Holy Terra. He misses the high spires of it already.

“Because if you’re bringing prominent figures from the Imperium here, especially your heirs, I’d like to know who they are. The Koronus Expanse is not big enough to ignore people who have political power over this sector and you, esteemed Rogue Trader, are one of them and so are your heirs.” Xavier’s words are slow and measured, he speaks to everyone like this, but seems the blessed Rogue Trader is particularly unnerved because of it. He almost smiles at this.

Theodora scoffs and shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. Her ocular implant scans the room and Calcazar knows this because his own detects it. One thing Xavier can say about the head of von Valancius dynasty is that he does not like her. An assertive woman, and he can appreciate that, but otherwise her attitude is jarring. Clearly she has been running around and behaving like the Warrant of Trade permits her everything. Clearly she needs to be reminded that it doesn’t.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence Theodora clears her throat and narrows an eye at the Inquisitor.

“I do not appreciate the Holy Inquisition tracking my heirs.” She finally says and Xavier scoffs with a mild chuckle.

“I am sure you don’t appreciate anyone’s gaze when it is focused on you, least of all the Inquisition’s, but need I remind you that I am here for the good of the Imperium and by the Emperor’s will?”

“I don’t need your reminders, Lord Inquisitor.” Theodora’s eye flashes with hardly contained anger and he finally allows himself that easy, lazy smile in response to her fury.

“No, of course you don’t. As a good daughter of the Imperium you remember all the rules and permissions someone of your status has.” He watches von Valancius pretend to not be moved by his words, but couple taps of her gloved fingers on the armrest betrays her unrest.

Without saying another word Theodora turns to the servo skull hovering over her shoulder and it immediately begins to print a strip of parchment. Only couple moments, no more than three breaths, and she rips the paper from the maw of the skull, glancing down as if to make sure the information is there, then leans to hand it over to Xavier.

“Much appreciated.” There’s satisfaction in his tone when he speaks and that doesn’t escape Theodora’s own notice. She’s reluctant to let go of the list, but when Inquisitor’s steel fingers gently pull at it, she doesn’t resist.

With an annoyed sigh the woman leans back in her chair, watching Calcazar look over the paper, his expression calm. She hates that she cannot read him and it started when she met him first time upon his arrival to the Expanse. Chorda and Winterscale, who were there for that occasion as well, didn’t seem too pleased to have the Inquisitor Lord of the Most Holy Ordo now monitoring their every move. Well, maybe not both of them, Chorda actually looked starstruck, that old sanctimonious bonebag. Theodora’s teeth grit at the thought of Incendia, not because she hates the Rogue Trader, but because Calcazar’s arrival only emboldened the pious one, which in turn led to Theodora receiving no less than twenty letters from Chorda, trying to convince her to repent whatever sins Incendia imagines Theodora having.

“I’m surprised.” Xavier finally speaks interrupting von Valancius’ thoughts and she starts paying attention again.

“By what exactly?” Her tone is sarcastic but Inquisitor ignores it.

“So few.” His eyes rise to the Rogue Trader and Theodora shrugs with a smile.

“And finding even these was a hard task. As you may have noticed, unlike some other Houses, my dynasty was never too eager to procreate. Serving the Emperor and the Imperium by means of exploration has always been the priority.” She says the right words, but she doesn’t mean them and they both know it. Still, it matters nothing to Xavier as he lowers the parchment and leans back.

“We will keep in touch, but for now, I will have to return to my duties.” He seems to lose all interest in Theodora and she frowns. He summoned her here just for this, a conversation of no more than fifteen minutes. She knows it was to establish the power balance between them, or rather, the lack thereof, and fumes at this.

Annoyed, but trying not to show it, the Rogue Trader stands and salutes him with bitter regret. In turn Xavier just nods his head and picks up the dataslate on his right. Theodora thinks of saying something else, but bites her tongue knowing better, then turns on her heel and marches out of the room, aflame at the insolence she so rarely experiences.

When the door slides closed behind her, Xavier glances in the direction of her departure and sighs slightly, but with a smirk. She’s willing to obey, that’s enough for him to consider this meeting a satisfactory one. He had two other such meetings already. Calligos Winterscale tried to assert himself without success, Incendia Bastaal-Chorda swore her loyalty to the Emperor and Calcazar himself, which suits him just fine. If it comes to blows in this fragile political ecosystem, at least he has one out of three prominent Rogue Traders on his side. It makes his job easier, but not by much.

However, the list that Theodora so begrudgingly has given him makes Xavier uneasy. He doesn’t recognize any of the handful of names that the servo skull printed out, except for one.

Volenta Scipio-Grimald af Calixis.

Only him and Silas Ravonir know this name, it exists nowhere in the Inquisition’s documentations because when Xavier took this young, hotheaded Astra Militarum corporal into his care, he already had plans that were grander than him or her.

And by the looks of it, the Emperor appears to have had even grander plans.

Still, Xavier realizes this complicates things. Just three months ago the High Interrogator was promised a promotion and an honorable duty of presenting the entire organization at Senatorum Imperialis, but now… now a new possibility seems to have dropped in Calcazar’s hands out of nowhere.

No, a Rogue Trader and an Inquisitor in one person is not unheard of, and while usually Rogue Traders become title bearers first and agents of the Inquisition second, the situation unfolding in Xavier’s mind is also not that unique. Rarer, surely, but not unique. He taps the paper on the desk over the name he’s so familiar with while Calcazar’s brain is already trying to find the answer to a question: does he permit this?

But so many opportunities would open for the Inquisition and just as many opportunities for him. Xavier just has to be smart about it.

***

You didn’t relish leaving the Imperium, traversing the Maw and dealing with horrors of the warp just because of Calcazar’s summons. You were in a middle of pursuing a rebel acolyte, but with Ravonir’s permission, an order really, you had no choice but to go to the Koronus Expanse. Abandoning your direct duties is something you absolutely despise doing, especially because you know just how needed you are, how essential you are. Doing a job that no else wants that you have taken upon yourself with pride.

Still, you are not an Inquisitor yet and when Ordo demands – you answer. Despite your disgruntlement about coming to the fringes of the Imperium, deep inside you do feel happy about seeing Xavier so soon. You resigned yourself early that with his departure to the Expanse, to deal with the growing tech-heresy among the Adeptus Mechanicus, you might not see him again in only Emperor knows how long. So you don’t loathe the opportunity to see him again, you just wish that you were told why exactly you are dragged across the galaxy to meet your former, at least officially, mentor.

These thoughts keep gnawing at you until the moment your shuttle enters the Porta Septentum star system. Through the viewport you notice a massive alien structure and immediately know what it is, your time at Ordo Xenos hasn’t been wasted to twirl thumbs – a Warp Gate.

“A Warp Gate?” Woman to your left mouths in surprise and you look at her, your eyes stern.

“I told you to school your reactions, Trevine.” The words make the acolyte flinch and she gives you a sheepish look and even more sheepish smile.

“My apologies, Lady Volenta, I just never seen such a thing before.” She admits and you fix her with an unyielding look until Trevine’s shoulders slump and she begins showing fear, cracking under the pressure of your intimidation. “It won’t happen again.” With downcast eyes she promises and you turn your gaze back to the Gate. It is rising tall and intricate like an empty mirror frame.

“Inquisitor’s flotilla, Interrogator.” When Trevine speaks this time, her tone is composed and she straightens her back. You turn your eyes to the side, away from the xenotech monstrosity, and indeed notice several Inquisitorial ships, one of them standing out in particular because of its size and purpose – Xavier’s own flagship.

“We need to contact the-“

“Lady van Halvek, we received a transmission from Lord Inquisitor’s ship with permission to dock.” The pilot speaks up from the front of the shuttle before you can even finish your sentence and you let out a small sigh.

“Then proceed to do exactly that.” You respond without looking away from the flotilla and Trevine steps a little closer to join you in your silent vigil.

Your assistant, not your personal acolyte, is a master of vox networks and overall sacred technology, which makes her a useful tool in your arsenal. With Ravonir’s permission she has been assigned to you several years ago and since then has been assisting you on missions when you’re not at Silas’ side. The only issue is, that despite her numerous talents in tech handling, Trevine Dardt is emotionally weak, showing her reactions and impressions without a second of thought, but you know that given enough time this acolyte can be properly trained to restrain herself. Well, if she doesn’t get herself killed first.

When at last the shuttle lands and you step out of it, with Trevine for the time being staying behind and handling your luggage, you are greeted by the Inquisition troopers and crewmen alike. You recognize Xavier’s Master Helmsman but struggle to remember the man’s name and when the greeting crowd salutes you it’s not hard to notice that most of them seem to struggle with nervousness at the sight of you, but most likely your mask – an intricate and high-end technological helmet that serves to protect your identity but also aids you in multiple ways. From being a voxcom, to ocular aid and even personal augur, your vicious looking skull mask is what first makes men falter in their steps when confronted by you. This occasion is no different, even though you are sure they have heard of you.

“Lady van Halvek, Lord Inquisitor is waiting for you. If you would let me show you the way.” Helmsman bows his head respectfully in your direction and while you know exactly where Xavier’s study is, you first make the sign of Aquila and then nod.

“If you would be so kind.” You turn back to the shuttle. “Trevine, make sure that my luggage is sorted before I am shown to my rooms.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

But only when you follow Master Helmsman the other guards rush in to help Dardt, too scared to even move the wrong way with your heavy gaze possibly judging them, scrutinizing their every twitch. They are not far from truth.

The hulls of the ship are familiar to you and it feels like coming home. You spend much time here and in Xavier’s home on the planet at the heart of the Imperium. Or you did, before he passed you to Ordo Hereticus. Nonetheless, every time you are aboard the voidship, listening to your footsteps echo off her steel walls, you feel calm and relaxed.

“How was your journey, Interrogator?” The man asks, snapping you out of your pleasantly nostalgic musings.

“Uneventful, thank the Emperor.”

“Happy to hear that.” Helmsman responds curtly, then after a pause adds, making casual conversation while you walk slightly behind him. “Lord Inquisitor has his hands full here, pirates everywhere, xenos, cults and Rogue Traders who are not too willing to instill order in the Expanse. Not to mention the warp is becoming increasingly unstable as if realspace wasn’t a problem enough.”

You listen carefully, hearing what he’s not saying: Helmsman is not happy to here, which makes you wonder how bad the situation really is if Xavier’s own man, who led his voidship through numerous dangers bigger than xenos raids or pirates, seems to be eager to leave as soon as possible.

“The Maw seems to be dangerously close to becoming unstable.” You mention with tension in your chest. Again you are left with uneasy feeling of being here. If the Maw closes then you are cut off from the Imperium, together with this backwater heretical region that you’re beginning to suspect needs a complete purge and not an Inquisitor spending time and resources on a lost cause.

“Indeed it seems so. With Emperor’s blessing it won’t come to be, but we shall see.” In other words – all of you are frakked if it happens, because if the Maw becomes too dangerous for space travel, then only the God-Emperor knows when it will be safe again, might be decades, might be centuries. Maybe never again.

Master Helmsman has also enough sense than to mention the real reason of his tension – the Inquisitor Lord appears to be delaying in admitting that Koronus Expanse might be beyond saving. Couple days ago the fleet pushed back yet another xenos raid that threatened to take over one of Calligos Winterscale’s worlds and the Rogue Trader himself couldn’t be bothered to aid the Inquisition. Something is not right with this region and it makes even an experienced man like Master Helmsman want to pull back the voidship before she perishes in the eternal darkness with everyone aboard.

Still, while he knows you perfectly well, his loyalties lie with Xavier and not you, so the rest of the way the man just leads you in silence, only speaking again when the elevator appears before you both.

“Lady van Halvek.” Helmsman salutes and you salute him in turn, then step into the sacred contraption, seeing the man’s back as he turns to leave before the elevator takes you up, to Xavier’s personal chambers.

After the machine stops you step out and make way through the short corridor, at which’s end the opening of the entrance greets you with dim light. You see Xavier standing behind his desk, not dressed in his sacred power armor but just simple black shirt and pants combination, his sleeves rolled up because he’s going through a pile of what looks too familiar not to be reports.

So many. The sheer size of the stack makes you nearly pause, but you approach the Inquisitor and he finally looks at you. The visage of you, clad in your uniform, your power sword and plasma pistol strapped to your waist, your mask and hood making you look more threatening than the actual face he doesn’t get tired looking at beneath, all of it makes him smile a little.

“Take off that thing, Volenta.” He says instead of a greeting and you stop, then without a word do as he wishes, pushing your hood off and placing your helmet on one of the empty armchairs in front of his desk.

The moment you release your head from the grip of steel, you allow yourself a brief glance around just to see if anything changed in this room, but nothing has. There are still same bookcases and a vault, still same cogitator to the side, same Inquisition banners hanging from the rafters. Same.

Familiar.

When you look back at the Inquisitor Lord, he puts down the report and steps to you, gripping your chin and lifting your face to him, inspecting just like you have inspected the room. His mechanical fingers brush couple strands of hair from your face and your eyes visibly soften, making Xavier smile.

“There she is, my dear Volenta.” The words are spoken with a degree of tenderness and you smile in return while your hands automatically reach for his waist, pulling your body towards his.

“Did you drag me across the galaxy just to look at my face?” At that Xavier’s pleased expression falters and he leans closer.

“No, but we will get to that in a second.” A whisper ghosts against your lips before he presses his in a firm, hungry manner. You pull yourself even closer to him, your body pushing against his while your hands travel to his back. Xavier holds the back of your head almost with reverence as he kisses you slowly, but passionately, savoring the moment before what comes next. And he knows with perfect clarity that you are not going to like what he has to say.

After a long moment he pulls back, pleased to see the slightest blush on your pale cheeks and your eyes betraying contentment and belonging, to him alone of course. In this moment you’re not Imperium’s or even Emperor’s, you’re his and Inquisitor gently rubs the pad of his thumb against your lower lip wanting to kiss you again, to take you, but this time he’s aware that duty comes first.

“Was your journey well, my dear?” With a whisper Calcazar watches you kiss his thumb and nod. He exhales with small relief.

“Good. However, to answer your question, no I didn’t make you come here just for this, however reasonable that might be just for the delight of this moment.”

His smile tells you something that you know well – you’re about to hear things you really don’t want to and at that your happy expression shifts to something neutral, unreadable, ready to weather the storm that’s about to start. You sense it in him and Xavier watches the smooth change of your emotions before he sighs slightly and steps away with a disappointed feeling when your palms leave his back, the embrace ending with a sour note.

The Inquisitor walks back to his desk, crossing arms on his chest as he leans against the heavy wooden desk and looks at you. In response, you stand straight and clasp your hands behind you in a military fashion. This turns from something short of a homecoming to a near official setting and you treat it as such. Xavier pauses, watching you take the stance of a verbal battle and sighs.

“Do you know of the von Valancius dynasty?” Calcazar begins, his eyes fixed on you, but he does not expect to see any emotion for the duration of this conversation.

You think for a moment, your memory flipping through names of countless noble Houses that you do remember, but this one doesn’t really ring a bell, because in your line of work you don’t have to deal with nobles much, no matter how ancient their families might be. Your duties usually have you investigating internally after all, within the Inquisition itself.

“No, I do not.”

“It’s a Rogue Trader dynasty, just like Winterscale.” Xavier clarifies and you nod because you do know House Winterscale; if your memory is correct, it was this Rogue Trader lineage that first came through the Maw and laid claim to the wild territories of the Expanse. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that more Rogue Traders appeared afterwards, competing for power and influence. And of course, seeking glory for their names. “Current head of the dynasty is one esteemed Theodora von Valancius Massimo af Scarus, she’s been at the helm of her family name for many decades now and currently is collecting people who carry the blood of von Valancius in search for a suitable heir.”

Just like your face, Calcazar’s expression is also unreadable and the tone of his voice betrays nothing, so it’s impossible for you to gauge where this conversation is going, but unease begins to grip you with cold, slimy tendrils.

“I suspect her choices in possible hairs is why I’m here? Is the Rogue Trader heretical?”

Xavier chuckles, amused by your immediate assumption.

“No more than your regular Rogue Trader, but I do have a wish to supervise her actions. I already sent some agents to infiltrate her retinue. However, blessed Theodora is a shrewd woman and I wouldn’t be surprised if she sniffed them out before trusting them. This is where you come in, my dear Volenta.”

You swallow dryly, saying not a word and showing not even a twitch of a muscle, but if Xavier wants you to spy on this Theodora, then it means that whatever she might be doing is dangerous, so much so that even you have to be pulled into this investigation.

“What do wish me to do?”

“You are one of Theodora’s heirs.”

For just a fraction of a second the Inquisitor Lord can see surprise reflect in your eyes and then you’re perfectly composed again.

“I assume you already have checked if that claim is factual?”

“I have. She has your name, your previous one. I offered to help her find you because I don’t want her dogs sniffing around. Not that I would expect Rogue Trader’s men being better at finding information than the Inquisition is at hiding it, but one can never be too careful and I’m not willing to take the risk. This does present a perfect opportunity for us.”

Yet when he finishes speaking, a pin could be heard drop in the silence of Calcazar’s study. He gives up on trying to peer at your inner reaction and instead walks to the table where he has a carafe of finest amasec. While he pours you both a glass each, he allows you to process the news in privacy not burdened by his studying gaze, then he hears you exhale as if you finished accepting the facts.

“An opportunity. You want me to join her retinue as her heir?” You pause and Xavier looks at you. “Or as an agent of the Golden Throne?” He clearly sees that it’s not easy for you to say the words and before answering the Inquisitor walks to you, offering the alcohol which you are relieved to be receiving.

More silent seconds pass while you drink from the glass and he does the same.

“As her heir. Undercover you will be more trusted compared to if you entered her retinue with your rosette sealing lips before they can speak.”

You take another drink and look up at him, frowning slightly.

“For how long?”

Calcazar realizes he really doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but he has to. For you to perform your duty perfectly and efficiently, for the Imperium of Man and glory of the Emperor, you need to be informed fully. And if by chance Theodora chooses you as her heir, even before Xavier can make that choice for her, you will end up wielding incredible power, something that would enable Xavier himself more daring endeavors for the sake of his duty to the Mankind. The liberties Rogue Traders are bestowed with because of their Trade Warrants open many doors that the Inquisitorial rosette doesn’t. Having both… well, that is a game changer altogether.

“Forever.”

“You cannot be serious.” You suddenly say and your frown deepens. Anger flares in your chest, burning inside your ribcage like promethium fire and Xavier sees that change in you that hasn’t stopped fascinating him: from a woman that looks at him with tenderness and devotion, to a perfect soldier and then… to a woman of immense authority in your own right, one that is on a verge of achieving equal stance as his own.

“I am very serious. I need you to think about this rationally, Volenta.” He drinks more but you turn away and walk to the desk, putting your glass down and pulling your gloves off, placing them down gently. You hesitate, then pick up your drink again and inhale before drinking a considerable amount.

“I am thinking. What you are asking of me is to forsake my position in the Inquisition, abandon my promotion, abandon everything just so that this Theodora can drag me around the planets worth less than the trash left on them.”

Xavier hears your rockrete tone and sees steel in your gaze when your grey eyes fix on him once more. He hoped that you won’t show resistance, but it looks like he overestimated your obedience.

“Volenta, there’s bigger things than your ambitions.”

“Ambitions! I worked for it all my life, Xavier!” You suddenly snap at him with such fury that even Inquisitor himself hesitates before walking towards you.

“You have, and the Emperor clearly decided that your destiny is to be different than your wishes.” He speaks in that same even tone and it usually placates you, but not this time. Calcazar can see your fingers gripping the glass tightly enough to turn your knuckles white. “You are not going to stop being an agent, Volenta. You are going to be undercover-“

“I know what you said.” Your voice is grim as the darkness of space itself when you cut him off, making the Inquisitor frown with annoyance at your disobedience. You were supposed to accept your fate and thank him for it, he expected you to. “But it looks like you have forgotten who I am, Xavier.” As you continue your voice remains grave and he lets you speak. “I worked hard and tirelessly to do a job nobody wants to do. Do you think it’s easy to be equally feared and hated among your own? Do you think hiding behind a mask so that my life is not threatened until I’m promoted is rewarding? I’ve been living this life for decades, sacrificing everything for this, and you tell me I’m just supposed to abandon it?”

Your gaze would make any man tremble with fear, but not Xavier. He knows you and he definitely knows how much your position means to you, your greatest achievement in the palm of your hand, you just need to be patient before you close your fingers around it, but suddenly Calcazar is snatching it all away. That’s at least how you see it.

“You won’t have to wear your mask. Ever again.”

“That’s not the point, Xavier, and you know it.” To avoid saying something else you lift your glass and drink more. Calcazar watches you with disapproval at such display of anger.

“The Inquisition demands that you take this position, there’s no arguing about it. Silas knows and he approves. You will enter my supervision as an heir to a Rogue Trader, you will report back to me while hiding your true identity and you will take up the mantle if you are chosen as a successor to von Valancius dynasty. You will obey.”

A moment, a heartbeat, and you snap, throwing the glass to the floor, smashing it in pieces as your rage takes hold of you. Your hand doesn’t tremble when you point a finger at Xavier, but he knows that you are terrified of the path he just laid out for you. He’s seen you like this before, when Inquisitor Lord decided to make you join Ordo Hereticus.

Your hand doesn’t tremble, but your voice does.

“Void take you, you bastard! You built me up and now you’re stripping me down of everything!”

Try if you will, but you can’t completely hide the notes of pain in your voice and you know that Xavier hears them too. It doesn’t matter, you don’t care, you’re about to lose everything for a stupid whim and an idea that he has. You know what he wants, someone of your position and a possibility of a Trade Warrant loyal to him, but you’re more than just his tool, you are the Emperor’s sword and your holy mission is to eradicate heresy within ranks of the Inquisition itself. There’s no one else doing this job, you’re the only one, who else will do it if not you? Who else will resign themselves to become outcasts among their own?

“Volenta, control yourself. This conduct is highly inappropriate for someone of your station. Think carefully of your next words-“

A crack of a noise rings through the study as you slap Xavier on the face with all your might. As strong of a man as he is, the Inquisitor’s head still moves from the force you put behind your attack, and he makes half a step back. In the following silence, Calcazar places the glass on the table, his eyes turning to you and showing authority that makes your knees weak even now. Your palm stings and you see redness spreading where your hand connected to his cheek. And then there’s loud crunch of glass under Xavier’s shoe as he gets closer.

You rise your chin, defiant, furious and ready to continue the fight if needed, but you don’t get a chance. Xavier grabs your upper arms and gives you a shake.

“I said control yourself!”

“You… You set me on my path, you told me it’s my destiny, you promised that what I’m doing is the most important thing and now you’re willing to let it all be cast to the winds?” Your eyes are narrow from anger, your words strained from fury and Xavier leans over you, trying to intimidate you with his presence and a grip of his fingers alone.

“You didn’t hear me out, Volenta. Calm down and listen before you start acting like the common rabble. Or was I wrong about you after all and should have never picked you up from the Astra Millitarum, letting you rot and die there like nameless millions?”

His words strike a chord within the very core of your soul and you stare at him for a moment longer, then Calcazar feels your shoulders relax. After another moment to make sure you finally found your rational mind, he nods in approval and releases you.

The Inquisitor does want to console you, but right now it’s not wise to show weakness and definitely not a moment to show tenderness, so instead of being your partner he takes a role of your superior and walks around the table, sitting down and picking up his glass again.

You remain standing still for a moment longer, your heart is beating fast in your chest and you look down upon the shattered remains of the glass you smashed in a moment of defective conduct. Silently you turn to Xavier, noticing his disapproving look and feeling shame begin to replace your anger. He’s right, you acted like an insolent brat, and embarrassment colors your face even if you try not to show it, putting on a frown to hide it.

“What do you have to say for yourself, van Halvek?” Xavier’s even, low tone makes you feel even worse and you bow your head.

“My deepest apologies, Lord Inquisitor.”

Silence while Xavier lets you stew in your shame before he sighs.

“Are you willing to hear me out now?” As you straighten your back and curtly nod to him, Xavier empties his glass, putting it down before he speaks, allowing himself an excuse to pick his words. He needs you to see his vision, to share it, his plan depends on your full cooperation. “You will enter Theodora’s retinue and act as her heir. You will be given a cover story, most of it true that will match possible surviving records of your time in the Imperial Guard. You are not to reveal your true identity at any cost, is that understood?”

You curtly nod because you have to agree. After all, members of the Holy Ordo are not exactly paragons of diplomacy, most of you are feared, the rest - despised. Yet it still stings when you remember that you have to abandon everything you worked so hard for.

“So that’s it? Just to monitor this Rogue Trader for the rest of her life? Or mine, whichever comes first.” There’s no joy in your words, just bleak acceptance and Xavier feels guilt, but quickly pushes it aside. Not the time to get sentimental.

“I have a suspicion that von Valancius is working on something that she shouldn’t be. You will be quickly accepted into her inner circle because of the blood you share, but you will have to work hard to gain her trust. From what I gathered, this woman is not one to be trifled with and even more so, she already had a prospective heir, one Kunrad Voigtvir, who now avoids going by his dynasty’s name. One mistake and he was cast down, his role forever sealed as Lord Captain’s Master of Whispers. Do not underestimate her, I need you to make sure that she trusts you.” Calcazar’s gaze on you is intense and serious and you start to comprehend the weight of your mission.

“What about the other heirs?”

“Eliminate them when possible. I don’t have to tell you that you should do so discretely. Your goal is to take over the von Valancius dynasty, as it is your right by blood, by any means necessary. Esteemed Rogue Trader will be removed if necessary as well. My network of spies reports something of which I cannot speak yet, but it gives me a reason to consider eventually labeling Theodora as a traitor of Humanity. Do not take this lightly, Volenta, you will need your best performance for this.”

You hear him, every word, you internalize it even, but the grief for your situation still remains and your frown relaxes as your eyes now beg Xavier to give you something, anything, to soothe your sorrow.

“But what about my job, Xavier. What about everything I worked for, we worked for.” You hate the crack in your voice that is audible when you speak and Xavier frowns at that with disapproval. He trained you better than this.

“You will remain an agent of the Golden Throne, but you are not permitted to wear the regalia, naturally.” Calcazar sees the pained expression wash over your face, too strong to hide, but remains unmoved. “While undercover, you still have your permissions and duties, but your work as an Interrogator of internal affairs of the Most Holy Ordo is temporarily suspended for clearly you will not be able to perform while on the frontier. And attending Senatorum Imperialis is out of the question as well.” He watches your face drain from all color and you feel your knees giving out so you grip the side of the table. This time your hand is shaking.

“Will I ever be able to resume my duties?” You ask with your voice barely above a whisper and it makes Xavier frown even more. He wants to remind you to stand tall and proud in the face of this challenge, but something in him tells that he should allow you this moment of open weakness.

“Yes, eventually. If all goes by plan and Theodora von Valancius is indeed a traitor, or becoming one, removing her will be of priority. Her other heirs shouldn’t be a problem to you. Once instated as a Rogue Trader yourself, you will pledge open loyalty to the Inquisition.” He sees your eyes widen with surprise, clearly you expected him to tell you that you’re going to be able to wear your rosette publicly the moment you take the reins of the dynasty.

“And then what?”

“And then I will gracefully bestow you with the power of an acolyte, eventually publicly welcoming you to the Koronus Expanse Conclave from which point onward you will have your full authority back.”

You think about what he just said and then sigh.

“But it might be years.”

“It might be. Your public acceptance into the Conclave will actually become your promotion into an Inquisitor, but laity won’t care which status you are getting.”

“What?”

“Yes, it already has been decided. Lady Inquisitor of the esteemed Ordo Malleus Kleopatra Arx have volunteered to be the third vote for your promotion.” Breath hitches in your throat at the news and your eyes widen in surprise at which Xavier smiles. “Are you not pleased? You have leaders of all three Ordo Majoris giving you their blessings. A rare show of faith and unity when it comes to a singular member of the Holy Inquisition.”

“No, I am pleased just… shocked to hear it. Lady Arx and I have had our disagreements.” You manage a wry smile and Xavier chuckles.

“Yes, I’m aware. However, she is still very willing to give you her approval. Liked or not, you are recognized as a respectable and important force in your own right. Of course she wants to be on your good side when you take the mantle and openly claim your illustrious duty as Inquisitor of Inquisitors.” Now Calcazar’s smile becomes strained. He is perfectly aware what risk it is to put such responsibility and authority in the hands of anyone, but with you he is willing to take that risk. He is willing to put his trust in you, just as Silas has when he began training you and giving tasks to root out treasonous and heretical acolytes that were your colleagues. Until they were not.

“Xavier…” You suddenly begin with your voice so quiet it has the opposite effect – it sounds like a whip lash in complete silence, and when your eyes meet his at last, he can see doubt, insecurity and almost fear in them. “I don’t know if I can do this. Becoming an Inquisitor, that was planned from the start, the only career path for me. When Silas suggested I take upon the hardest role in the Ordo, I agreed feeling it is my duty to do it if there are no others willing. When I was told I’m going to be suggested for the role of Inquisitorial Representative at Senatorium Imperialis’ next meeting – I knew it was a heavy burden, but I accepted it as honor and show of trust. But this…” Your shoulders sag with invisible burden. “A Rogue Trader? I don’t know if I can do it. It’s… it’s too much power for one person, I fear it might corrupt me, Xavier.” He sees rising panic in your expression, your fingers, gripping the side of the desk, tighten on the edge. “This cannot be right, this cannot what the Emperor wants. This much for one person… it’s not right.” Your speech begins increasing in speed and he sees that you’re on a verge of snapping because of your pious devotion to duty.

“Come here, my dear.” He suddenly says and you pause, now visibly trembling with barely restrained fright. “Volenta, come here.” Xavier waves at you and you finally release the desk, not without difficulty, then walk around it with your legs feeling numb. He turns with the chair to you and sighs as you stop in front of him. “My dear Volenta.” Calcazar sighs and opens his arms to you.

At this you step closer, wanting his embrace, desperately needing it, but your legs give out and you drop to your knees. Instead of hugging him, you place your head in his lap while your arms wrap around the Inquisitor’s waist. The tremor in your body makes him feel pity and gently Xavier begins stroking your hair.

“It’s a heavy burden, my dear. I am fully aware of it. But if anyone can shoulder it – it is you. And I will help you navigate it. Are you not happy to return to my retinue? Are you not rejoiced to join my side once again? If you become a Rogue Trader of the Koronus Expanse, then who’s to say how more often we can spend time together, just like this.”

Xavier’s words soothe you, lull you with a promise of his guiding presence in your life, someone you trust and rely on to go to when things get hard. You sigh, the shiver in your body beginning to subside and the soothing touch of his palm over your hair makes you relax further. You nuzzle your face against his thigh and Calcazar smiles slightly, appreciating yet again that you are being so pliant with him. Truly a gift from the God-Emperor himself.

“It will be alright, I promise you that.” He speaks again in a pacifying tone that only you ever hear and you smile slightly, enjoying the serene moment before you again have to think about your life changing so drastically. “My good girl, my dear Volenta. So amiable, so good to me.” Xavier croons in a way he knows soothes you, makes you moldable in his hands like putty, but in turn it works on him too, reminding just how precious you are to him.

Seeing you like this, kneeling and in his lap, he remembers what he loves so much about you – your complete and utter submission. The look in Calcazar’s eye softens and you begin to feel his fingers become tenser the longer he strokes your hair. Your mind is whirling with all that you have heard, but all of that dulls at the comfort you’re feeling. It’s not going to be easy, you know that, it’s going to be out right agonizing and you absolutely do not want this future for yourself. After all, you had everything settled, everything planned and now all of that have become muddled. Yet the soothing strokes on your head help you accept the reality easier. At the very least you will be close to Xavier and that’s something you always wished for. Maybe… maybe this situation is not as bad as it appears to be.

You move your head, wanting to ask Xavier when are you going to meet Theodora, how much time you have before the inevitable, but the moment your eyes see his face, you recognize the look. One of gentle possessiveness and desire. He sees the realization on your face and doesn’t hesitate to put his hand on the back of your head to push side of your face against swiftly hardening length.

Xavier can see slight surprise in your eyes as they widen but then quickly betray your loyal servility. You won’t deny him, nor would he let you to. With one hand still on the back of your head, the Inquisitor uses his mechanical fingers to grip your chin and lift it so that he can look at your face, except this time it’s not for inspection, but rather to see if this is enough to make you crave him as he craves you. And it is. Not only Calcazar can see it in your eyes as they become misted with desire, but he also gets clear confirmation from your actions, because your hands release their embrace from around him and come to the front of you, your slender fingers beginning to work his belt, working the double-headed eagle buckle with masterful efficiency.

As your hands unzip Inquisitor’s pants he smiles a little, seeing your eagerness when you pull out his cock and glance at it with a hint of hunger. He strokes the back of your head a time or two before he speaks.

“Go ahead, my dear.”

Xavier’s voice is quiet, meant only for you and you don’t hesitate, leaning forward and first pressing your tongue against the tip of his length as if just to taste it, then grip the root to hold him still while you let his cock slip alongside your tongue into the hot wetness of your mouth. You hear a sigh of delight when your lips gently wrap around him and you begin moving your head. Calcazar’s augmetic, now forced to lose its grip on your chin, settles on his thigh while he watches you suck his manhood with devotion of a worshipper and he keeps smiling, satisfied with your performance already.

“You’re such a greedy woman, Volenta.” He speaks and your eyes meet his when you rise them, making muscles in his loins contract at the sheer sight of you like this, in your uniform and on your knees. Usually you refuse to ‘taint’ your Inquisition clothes with activities such as these, but Xavier knows that you’re sufficiently rattled to seek comfort first and heed your self-imposed rules second. He’s pleased. “You know that I won’t be around forever to guide you, do you?”

Inquisitor’s fingers on the back of your head don’t move until you let his cock slip out of your mouth so that you can respond.

“You sound like you want me to stop looking up to you.” After you speak you drag your tongue against the underside of his erection, your tongue hotly moving from where your fingers hold him by the root and right up to the tip, making the man shudder ever so slightly.

“You will have to eventually, my dear.” Xavier keeps his eyes locked on yours and his lazy smile slowly fades as pleasure starts painting his features in colors of gratification. Then his palm presses to the back of your skull again and he guides you back to enveloping his cock with your mouth in full. “But… maybe not so soon. I do enjoy your neediness for me.” Inquisitor’s voice drops to low growl-like tone as he speaks and he pushes your head downwards even more, making you take in more of him until you are forced to halt your breathing.

But it’s just for a moment, because when you try to rise your head he lets you, yet only to push it down again so that you take him whole once more. Your body reacts, growing more aroused by the second and your face flushes with need, but you know that this is what Xavier wants right now and you are happy to oblige. Following the rhythm he sets for you, you continue to pleasure him, your eyes closed while you indulge in the moment, enjoying the mere act of making the man you love feel the way only you can.

Xavier’s breath hitches not long after and you sense the tension in his body, he’s close and you know it, so you make sure that you do this perfectly, in the exact way he enjoys the most, and you pull back enough to let your gaze meet his. The expression on his face makes you nearly moan. The clouded look of his hazel eye cast upon you, his parted lips quietly gasping for air, even slight flush on the Inquisitor’s scarred face. By the Emperor, you could do this all day just to see him like this.

“You know me well, Volenta.” He hums when you increase the pace of your head moving up and down, your fingers around the root of his cock squeezing harder and your chest swells at the praise. “I could never let you go.” Xavier adds and then his voice hitches too as he inhales sharply through his teeth. Fingers in your hair tighten trying to push you forward, disrupt your pace, but you resist, knowing better than to obey right now. His instinctual reaction is not what makes him experience the best ecstasy you can give him. No, you know better. “By the Throne…”

Last words are spoken with strain just before Calcazar’s eyes close and he sighs, partially groans then lets go. You lower your head fully and feel his cock twitch while it’s squeezed between the roof of your mouth and your tongue, but the tip is at the back of your throat and it makes it easier for you to efficiently swallow everything Xavier is willing to spill for you, making sure that you don’t make a mess on either his clothes or, more importantly, your uniform. His length twitches couple more times, pulsing with several spasms while he empties himself in your mouth, then you hear a sigh of delight and relief as he relaxes in the chair again.

You remain still for a moment longer, making sure that there are no last second droplets to escape your hunger and finally pull back, feeling Xavier’s hand finally leaving the back of your head and grasping at your jaw, lifting your face to him. Your eyes meet again and you see a lazy, satisfied smile blooming on his face. There’s a sheen of sweat over his brow and Inquisitor is slightly panting, but he looks pleased with your performance.

“Still a perfectionist I see.” He says and you smile after you lick your lips and duly tuck his softening length back into his pants, your eyes slipping away from his while you zip him up and properly buckle his belt.

“You always told me to strive for excellence in all things.”

He chuckles at your words, a tired, gravelly sound that speaks more of his pride for you than words ever could.

“Come here.” With a tug on your jaw he makes you stand, your knees feeling sore from kneeling this long, but you barely notice it as you climb into his lap, straddling him and without hesitation wrapping one arm around his neck while his fingers grip your hip and waist in tandem.

When Xavier sees your face up close, he realizes that what just happened might have given you more satisfaction than it gave him and it takes his breath away for just a second, the enormity of your adoration for him suddenly making it hard to inhale. He’s your whole world, he’s everything to you and he made you this way, perfectly tailored to be his and only his. Xavier’s heart skips a beat and then feels like it’s being squeezed with too much emotion he can’t even put into thoughts, let alone words.

Instead he watches your loving, gentle smile when your fingers begin tracing over connecting parts of his facial augments, over the wires and tubes, over the steel patches and where his skin meets the sacred mechanics. So careful, so tender.

He can’t let you know just how much you mean to him.

“I’m still not happy about the whole Rogue Trader deal.” You admit with your smile slowly fading and Calcazar sighs, closing his eyes and relaxing under your touch.

“I know. But you will see the benefits eventually. And is it really that unwelcome, my dear? You will still have your job, your status and your promotion, just with slightly more delay than originally anticipated. You can be patient, can’t you?” Xavier feels your fingers trace his lips and you steal a kiss, making him smile.

“It’s not about patience, it’s about a duty I don’t want to take.” You whisper and steal another kiss before resting your head on his shoulder.

“You’ve taken worse duty than that of a Rogue Trader, Volenta. You sound near childish with your refusal to see what kind of a chance this gives both of us.”

You sigh against the side of the Inquisitor’s neck and his hands squeeze you with reassurance.

“Yes, you’re right. I… apologize. It’s just…” You don’t know how to explain what you feel, you barely understand it yourself. “I don’t want to hide that I’m an agent of the Golden Throne. It’s who I am.”

“You’ve done undercover missions before.”

“They did not have an indefinite timeframe.”

At this it’s Xavier’s time to pause and he opens his eyes to look at you, as much as he can given the angle.

“This mission also has a timeframe. Trust me, if what my spies report about the von Valancius, it won’t take long to have enough reason to dispose of her. But worry not, my dear Volenta, I will let you know every step of the plan.”

You look at him for a silent moment, seeing streaks of grey in the dark mane of hair, wondering if there are more of them since you saw him last at the Ma’Kao Magnae Accessio, but then sigh.

“I expect you to. If I am to be lent to Ordo Xenos under your supervision, I prefer you give some guidance.”

“It’s not about Ordo Xenos or Ordo Hereticus.” Xavier says and you frown slightly then lift your head to get a better look at his face. “It’s about you and me and what we can do to protect the Imperium.” Finally you understand his motivations and exhale with growing determination in your mind.

“What we can do.” You echo his words.

“Yes.” Xavier smiles gently to you. “You will make us an unstoppable force, Volenta. I count on you.” His words pierce your heart so deeply and with such force that you forget to breathe for a moment, your resolve growing with each second. All you can do is smile back to him and slightly nod.

“I will do my best.” You promise and Calcazar squeezes where his fingers are resting, his gaze on you suddenly becoming intense and unwavering.

“You are not allowed to fail.”

“Understood.”

[hall0wedwyrm]

Doki Doki Literature Club: A Monika centric Analysis/Retrospective

Monika is definitely one of my favourite characters... well ever and i just wanted to share my love of her on her birthday!

if you're interested, I made a post a while ago talking about Natsuki! To the people who found it again, it made me happy to see the reblogs people left,,, so thank you!!

This post contains major spoilers for Doki Doki Literature Club! This post is also pretty long lol

I love how Monika is set up to stand out against all of the other girls. You can’t see her bottom half on the title screen, but in the promotional art she has black stockings and pink tipped shoes. She extends out a hand, seemingly welcoming us. Monika is the most smartest, popular girl at school, as e by the Protagonist when they meet her. She started the Literature Club after leaving the Debate club when it became boring.

Quickly though, she is immediately singled out. She doesn’t seem to be an option for us to interact with, often being almost forced to choose Sayori, Natsuki or Yuri. Monika also isn’t a choice when we write poems, which is the main way we can choose which of the club members we want to romance. She also acts as a tutorial of sorts, giving us advice on how we might want to write poems, saying generic things that sound right in-universe for her to say about poems and writing and even notices the characters you write for.

This goes off the rails almost immediately.

During day two of officially being in the club, and after Monika shares her second very cryptic poem, Monika gives her writing tip of the day. It starts relatively innocent, saying we might face a difficult decision, but then she says;

“When that happens, don’t forget to save your game!”

This is dialogue is the first openly fourth-wall breaking thing in this game. Monika directly referencing game mechanics, when no one else has before. It makes it even more jarring when she says;

“Wait… is this tip even about writing? What am I even talking about?”

She laughs it off, but this really stood out as completely bizarre. I’d say this is the start of her openly breaking the fourth wall. On several occasions, she says things that seem out of the blue, and that is clearly something only we are meant to understand as the player. The most obvious is when Natsuki makes a joke about how Monika’s name can be a pun (”It’s right in your name! Mon-ika!”), Monika says that that isn’t how you say her name, adding on, “Also, that joke makes no sense in translation!” which makes Natsuki confused and she brushes it off. Interestingly, after this exchange is when we first get hints of Sayori’s ‘rain clouds’, which shows how early on Monika was messing with her and also when Monika speaks to Sayori for the Protag.

(“I can’t say I’ve noticed anything about her…” Monika when i GET YOU WHEN I GET WHEN I GET Y-) (and then she insinuates that Sayori is interested in us OUUGH WHEN I GET YOUUUU)

Day Three and sharing poems with Monika and she comments on how close the protag and Sayori are becoming… to which she says:

“It would be terrible if something bad happened to her, so keep an eye on her.”

To which I say… oh my GOD. OH MY GOD??? you’re joking. you are JOKING??? ahem. anyway. Another important piece of dialogue she says is when the protag says that all the things the club members write about are sad and Monika says that if everything was okay, they wouldn’t have anything to write about commenting, “Humans aren’t two-dimensional creatures… I think you’d know that better than anyone.” The protagonist corrects her (”Don’t you mean one-dimensional?”) and she once again laughs it off, but this is a flex of her awareness of something more than the world she is in. This is one of her many many comments that aren’t directed at our character, but to us specifically.

Quickly going to point out another one of my absolute favourite details about Monika here... and its just going to be this picture:

yeah. oh yeah...

“Stagnating air is common forshadowing that something terrible is about to happen…” Yuri says.

“I talked to her earlier and everything is fine.” “What did she say?” “Anyway we need to figure out the rest of the festival preperations so-”

Monika also tries to get us to help her for the weekend, despite the fact that she’s going to be getting help from Sayori, and this is pointed out by both Natsuki and Yuri, until she’s basically guilted into letting us choose between the two of them. This reflects (a much more tame version) of the same situation from Act 2.

The day we meet up with Natsuki/Yuri, there is very clever foreshadowing that I don’t think anyone really talks about. When we go to meet up with Sayori to make sure she’s okay after yesterday, the atmosphere is tense. There is no music, and it becomes very ominous, especially with the limited assets used in the game (Sayori’s house doesn’t have assets other than her room, so the black screen is unsettling). Sayori is in her room, and she finally opens up about her depression and expresses how its been very difficult for her.

After meeting our chosen Doki, she catches us, and says that she couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been happening and had to come and see for herself. She blurts out that she wishes she could disappear and stop being so selfish. She makes the very concerning comment, “Monika was right… I should just..” The protagonist is rightfully very confused as to why she mentioned Monika. This links back to when Monika offered to speak with her. Whatever she said… it wasn’t good at all.

This is also where we get to confess to her, with the options of “You will always be my dearest friend.” or “I love you.”

As Susie Deltarune once said, ‘Your choices don’t matter’.

I wanted to also mention I was rewatching some clips and reations to this part and GTLive does a very good playthrough. Mat and Steph are very very uncomfortable the entire time (like through the whole game). After Sayori's death, they're sort of collecting their thoughts and Stephanie points out that Monika knew what had happened to Sayori:

“No.. no no. Do you remember, when we were in the classroom just now… when we were talking to Monika? She knew- She knew what happened. She knew everything that happened with Sayori. She knew.” “Because she said- you left her hanging.” “That’s tacky… that’s gross.”

(Mat is just sat in his own discomfort and is just completely silent in processing what the hell just happened) They both agree that you have the chance to get surprisingly attached to Sayori, and it made her death hurt even more.

When the game resets, Sayori is gone, and Monika is on her bullshit full force. She completely devolves into being very pushy and also incredibly insensitive at times. Natsuki becomes aggressive, and Yuri is incredibly possessive of us and thrives on spending time with us. Her behaviour gets worse and worse as it goes on, also resulting in her death too. It's also worth pointing out how the Protagonist has less and less dialogue in Act 2, in reference to how its becoming less about him and more about us, the player.

Monika becomes incredibly detatched from the girls. Unlike in Act 1 where she tries to reason with them and work things out with words, she now truly sees them as only obstacles and lines of code that she has to bypass to get to us. There are elements of her trying to play along and be nice, but she ultimately gives up on it all together by the end of about day 3. She takes advantage of the times she gets to speak to us alone, all of them becoming very meta and unsettling since she’s talking to us, not our character. Everything she does from now on is to achieve our full attention. She can't completely break the game, that would mean destroying the platform in which she can see and communicate with us, but she needs to find ways to get the other girls gone.

Throughout Act 2, Monika is pushing for us to spend time with her, but is always thwarted by Yuri dragging us away. She takes us outside while Yuri and Natsuki fight, and she interrupts Yuri’s first attempt at a confession by literally blocking Yuri's dialogue box and forcing her to stop talking and giving her confession.

One of my favourite act 2 moments is at the end of day 3, Monika finally gets a chance to talk to us, (saying “sometimes it feels like you and I are the only real people here.”) and as she does so, the screen fades away into the poem creation screen. Even when Monika thinks she is in control, she is fighting against the base programming of the game that she can’t alter, as stated previously

After Yuri’s death, Act 2 ends with the next Monday and the day of the festival. I watched Xander’s Cut do an excellent job of recap of the disturbing nature of DDLC, and they cleverly pointed out how Natsuki had a very normal-person reaction to seeing a dead person (literally throwing up and running away), and Monika literally says; “Ahahaha! Well, that’s a shame.” She proceeds to completely disregard the fourth wall, and says that the script is way too broken. She deletes Natsuki and Yuri, takes the chance to eat one of Natsuki’s cupcakes (oh my god it's so messed up she's SO SICK SOMETIMES-)

With another reset, its us and Monika alone in the clubroom.

Just Monika.

During her opening monologue, Monika basically tells us how to access the files and how easy it was to delete the other girls. She says she’s not very good at changing the game, but it was surprisingly easy to access the game files (unless she detects you using Steam, where she kindly explains how to reach the directory). A poem for each other later, and some more words of being able to spend eternity together later, Monika begins her absolutely massive talk. I’m pretty sure she has over 50 dialogue options that she can choose from (everyone should also watch TechRules cover DDLC its super interesting), and it's truly designed to go on forever... or at least a very long time anyway.

After writing this, I learnt about the option where she talks about Yuri bringing a little bottle of wine into the club and it just makes me sob knowing that even at that point she was remincising about her friends and the times they spent together. I think theres another dialogue box where she questions why she's even talking about them and tries to assure herself that they aren't real and they don't matter anymore. This already shows Monika's regret we learn about later.

Monika talks about a lot of things, some very realistic and wise… and the others being her explaining Sayori’s death in waaaay too much detail. It still makes me feel disgusting to this day (GTLive also got this dialogue and Mat was like “I am not reading this. I can’t read this.”), but a lot of what she says makes her feel like she’s a real person and sharing all her opinions is very interesting.

Now… FINALLY. Monika's deletion.

Her omnipotence is her downfall. It made her insensitive, and when she is deleted, she’s given a taste of her own medicine. She blames us for everything that happens, she calls us sick and horrible, telling us to go mess with someone else.

But… she comes back. She says she still loves us, and that she’s the one who ruined the world. She confesses that she couldn’t truly bring herself to delete the others. Monika believes that if she can bring back the club without her, then everyone can be happy.

I really like this redemption of sorts. Even in act 2, when she was trying everything to win us over, she still reacted to the others like they were people. This is most apparent when she told Yuri that she makes for a wonderful vice president, and a great friend. When she tries to get more members to join, she really does want the best for the club, but with the changes to Natsuki and Yuri she gives up.

When beginning act 4, everything seems to be back to normal, except now Monika is completely gone. She continues to blame herself when you try and add her back into the game. She cares so much about the others that she just wants them to be happy, even if it means without her. It's very selfless of her to do so, but is also her acknowledging that what she knows is the things she knows are harmful for everyone.

She assumes she's the one with the knowledge, but really its whoever is in charge. The Club President.

Sayori gains Monika's omnipotence and she wants us for herself now. Monika steps in, and decides that its not worth keeping the Literature Club if this power is just going to keep being passed around.

She says goodbye to Sayori, Goodbye to us, and Goodbye to the Literature Club. This ending on its own is already bittersweet, but Monika comes back one last time, and sings the song she had been working on all this time.

Your Reality is about Monika's journey. It sums up everything she questioned and learnt throughout the game. Ending with her final decision:

"And if I don't know how to love you... I'll leave you be."

She lets us go, and gives us her final message:

man.

Monika's character is very special to me. She's an incredibly complex character for someone who is intentionally pushed aside in the coding, but so badly wants to have her own happy ending. If the other girls can have one, why can't she? All that she does it to get to us, but she eventually realises that her friends are more important than any of this, and how she misses them dearly. We get to see more of their relationships in DDLC+, and how they all got along once. Her story was (and still really is) something so unique to me, and it captivated me so strongly that I haven't really stopped thinking about it for all these years. She's truly something wonderful, and here's to one day seeing her again!

And of course,

Happy birthday Monika!!

[frogwiththephatahh]

I don't like Murder Drones...but I can't stop watching it

Okay, OBJECTIVELY...Murder Drones is bad. Like on a fundamental level. It's lore is too complicated and doesn't get explained well in the show itself, the characters are bland and most of them are unlikable, the voice direction can be a hit or miss, and overall it's written very poorly.

If you're just watching the show for the first time, going in completely blind, it is impossible to understand. Because the show wants to "show, don't tell" and honestly THAT'S GOOD! The issue is...this lore is too complicated to NOT tell. Hiding extremely important details in dimly lit backgrounds was a poor choice. I would be forgiving if lighting or camera direction brought attention to certain details, but the entire show is usually pretty dark and there's nothing eye catching about them that makes it clear "this element is important and I should look at it." The first time I watched Murder Drones all the way through, I then had to go watch like two hours of theory and explanation videos made by people who either 1. stay caught up on outside sources (interviews, forums, team social media, etc.) or 2. went through the entire series and meticulously analyzed every background to get the full story.

Don't get me wrong, it is perfectly acceptable to hide secrets and details in your backgrounds and environments. But not key information necessary for understanding the core elements of the show.

Also, a lot of important context is left out of episodes. I was so confused when I finished episode two, came back to episode three, and Uzi had superpowers. Important decisions and conversations characters have are done off screen. I understand this is probably because of budget and time constraints, but I also understand that Glitch gives their creators a LOT of creative freedoms to tell the story they need to tell in the amount of time they need to tell it. And Murder Drones is a series that definitely needed the wiggle room to explore its own ideas.

Now, the thing that REALLY made me almost turn this show off entirely...the characters. The writing of the characters is bad. Like...infuriatingly bad. This is because the show wants to "tell, don't show" with their characters. Which you should never do. ESPECIALLY with your main characters.

I do not need to be told three times an episode that Uzi is an "angsty teen." I got that when in her very first scene she brings a gun to her school. I do not need to be told how cute and nice N is. I got that when he mistakes Uzi for another disassembly drone and immediately starts acting chipper around her. I probably would have enjoyed Uzi's character a lot more if the show wasn't insistent on making her only notable trait "troubled kid."

And yes, I understand that Uzi refers to herself as an angsty teen because it's how she wants to be perceived. It is still very annoying. And she is not the only character that essentially walks up to the camera, says "hello, this is my name, and this is my character trait," and then walks away.

And all the characters who aren't Uzi or N fall into three catagories: Mean, Stupid, or Forgettable. And a lot of them are in more than one! You could not pay me to care about J, Uzi's dad, or really any of the other robots in the colony. And the show doesn't care about them!

Episode 4: Cabin Fever is the worst instance of this. (Vague Spoilers ahead) A vast majority of Uzi's classmates are killed off in this episode. In pretty gruesome ways. BY UZI. And the show passes it off as a lighthearted compilation of Monster!Uzi showing off her powers. Now, I know these are nothing characters. Most of them don't even have names. But they are still Uzi's CLASSMATES. People she grew up with. And yeah, she didn't get along with them, but we saw before this episode that, despite how much she claims not to, Uzi cares for others. She has a sense of morality. It's out of character and honestly pretty jarring to see her...not give a shit about murdering her own classmates.

It's a strange trait to give a character whose main goal is stopping the end of the world, is what I'm trying to say.

Clearly, I have a lot of problems with this show. Problems I don't have time to name here, or problems I just forgot about because there are so many of them.

So why do I love this show??

It has a saving grace. I can forgive the bad writing, the shitty characters, the nonsensical lore...because the art direction is just that good.

This show is gorgeous. It has amazing backgrounds and sets, appealing character designs, camera direction that's so good it should be in a cinema...it's a nice show to look at.

Despite having mostly the same base builds, every character (except V and J but that just might be me idk I can never tell them apart) looks entirely different and can be picked easily out of a crowd. The monster designs ESPECIALLY are what kept me coming back over and over again.

Despite everything I've just said, I do think Liam Vickers is extremely talented when it comes to animation and art. He was a storyboard artist before becoming a show runner for Glitch and Murder Drones SHOWS THAT. There were shots in MD that literally took my breath away. His character designs are also amazing. I especially loved the elements he brought over from Cliffside and gave to Cyn/Absolute Solver.

Having robot characters with LED screens for eyes that they can use to emote or even write messages for one another is genius. Having the main antagonist kill her human master and WEAR HER SKIN is crazy and I love it. Giving the robots a virus that can pass on genetically is also a really cool concept for humanized androids.

Although scenes are often darkly lit, because the characters have parts on them that literally glow, it's easier to pick them out.

The action scenes are phenominal as well, and have so much thought put into them. Characters like Uzi, Cyn, and uhhh the russian one I don't remember her name oh god being able to pick up and throw objects in their environment makes for really interesting and creative fight scenes. The anatomy of the disassembly drones also seem purposefully tailored for fight scenes. With hands that can shift into weapons, tails with poisoned barbs on the end, and huge, sharp wings, the murder drones have a LOT of different tactics they can use in a fight.

In conclusions: Murder Drones can best be enjoyed by turning your brain off and watching the pretty colors. And somehow it works.

[happyk44]

Jasico prompt:

Nico as a VA who does ASMR recordings and Jason is his devoted fan/follower who listens and comments on everything he posts.

His voice was just soothing. He naturally spoke soft like a summer breeze, but he was good with accents too. He could mimic to the best of them. Still, Jason much preferred Nico's natural speaking voice. It filled him with a gentle air that had him floating as he laid down and listened to the soothing sound of whatever script Nico was reciting. Sometimes Jason didn't even hear the words. Just let himself soak in the clouds of Nico's voice, only taking in the gentle sounds he spoke.

--

Nico had a fan. A very rabid fan. Not rabid as his volatile but just. Rabid as in there. Every post Nico made, he could be certain if he doubled back hours later that fan would have commented on it. Liked it.

If Nico put out a tip jar, that fan was usually one of the first to donate and always had such a heavy amount. It felt overwhelming the first few times - almost like he was going to owe this person something for all the attention they were pouring into him. Sometimes he hovered his finger over the block button.

But he never pressed it. Just backtracked and breathed.

This fan wasn't like the others. They didn't come storming into Nico's DMs demanding certain content. They didn't email him begging him to voice act some indie project they had going on for free. They didn't desperately scream for information on projects he was working on, information he couldn't give out, and then berate him wildly for refusing.

This person was just there. It was kind of like having a sugar daddy that just genuinely wanted you to be happy, instead of your pants down and ass up.

Nico settled at his desk. His equipment was still set up for later, but he ignored it, choosing to lift his laptop lid and sign into his computer. Copying the link Walt texted him earlier, he began to type out a new message to his followers - and any strangers who stumbled across his posts.

Hey guys, my friend Walt is kickstarting his first indie project. It will be a RPG pixel game based on Egyptian gods. You can find more information at the link below. If all goes well, I will be voice acting as the Narrator and a couple secret characters.

He flapped his wrist, willing the pain to disappear before he kept typing.

As a bonus incentive to help my friend fund this project, I will be offering a customized 30 minute ASMR recording of your choice to the person who donates the most to the campaign. Screenshot your donation and submit it through the contact form on my website. I will only be doing this upon completion of the funding period. If you withdraw your donation for whatever reason, your submission will be taken out of consideration.

He submitted the post with a link to Walt's project and sat back. For a minute, he contemplated. His rabid fan... They never did request anything, even when Nico opened the floor to suggestions. Other people did. Then some got frustrated or upset when he didn't do them.

But this fan always seemed eager to please. He wondered if he should text Walt to keep an eye out for their username. Even if they didn't submit their screenshot for consideration, they'd probably still donate a ridiculous amount of money to back the project. Just because Nico asked.

It was weird to have this kind of power over one person. Maybe sugar daddy wasn't the word for what they were. It was probably something else - Bianca would know.

But she'd also make fun of him for it somehow.

--

Jason wrung his wrists nervously. He had spent... Well, it was certainly a number that would have his step-mom calling him once she did her quarterly review of his trust fund account, but it was worth it for the "Hi, Jason Grace, you won a customized recording from Nico di Angelo, aka The Ghost King. Please send a script or concept over for him to develop and record for you."

Hazel sometimes featured in the background of Nico's videos. He said she was his sister, slash assistant, slash business manager, because he was "shit with money" and "would probably live in a cardboard box without her".

Jason had been kind of hoping that Nico would email him personally, but he didn't mind seeing Hazel's name at the bottom. She always seemed so pleasant. She had a nice voice too. Just... not as nice as Nico's.

His eyes flitted nervously to the time at the bottom of his computer screen. Just one more minute.

His request had been sort of... unorthodox. He knew most people would probably have something in mind. Either a fully blown script or an idea - just like Hazel had requested. And technically Jason did have an idea.

It just.

Wasn't what most people would think of.

His concept was just. A chat. A talk. He didn't want Nico to play some character or act in any which way. He just wanted to hear him talk about anything. His day. His life. His hobbies. The colour of sky. Anything.

As soon as he emailed that that was what he wanted, Hazel had sent back a quick, "Are you sure?" He responded with an enthusiastic "yes", and she'd replied back with some dates and times for a video conference. He didn't think that would matter. Since he just wanted to hear Nico talk, there wasn't much to discuss.

But he wasn't going to turn down a chance to meet him face-to-face.

Well, over video, but it would be different this time. Nico didn't really do "lives". People had asked and he just said he didn't like being actively seen. At least with his videos, they were passive. He didn't feel like he needed to keep an eye on the audience.

The clock struck 3pm and Jason immediately clicked the link Hazel had emailed over a few hours earlier. He would've clicked it as soon as she sent it but he didn't want to seem too eager for it.

It took a few seconds but Nico's face emerged on the other side. Jason resisted the urge to gape. Nico was always pretty - it was half the reason he picked up followers so fast. But in his videos, even in photos, there was always shadows, dim lighting, something to disguise him in mystery and darkness, to really sell his moniker as The Ghost King.

But now he was swathed in soft pastel lights. Instead of his usual hoodie, he wore a comfortable dark crewneck sweater with an embroidered skull on the chest. His hair was partially tied back, still a large volume of hair spilling out. What did Piper call that again? A half ponytail.

It pulled his bangs back, showcasing his warm brown eyes.

Jason swallowed dryly as Nico looked around calmly and said, "Hi, Jason! Can you hear me?"

Jason was about to fucking have a heart attack. "Yes," he said quickly.

Nico grinned and Jason's heart soared. The smile was a wicked thing - wider than it had ever been in any photo. Nico didn't really smile in his videos, focused on the things he was saying. But some photos captured a half smile, peaking out around shadows - more smirk than grin most of the time.

Here he seemed content, pleased. "That's great. So... Hazel said you just wanted to hear me talk? She said-" He paused and turned, picking up a black phone. "-anything that comes to mind is fine."

Jason nodded rapidly. Already his pulse was beating fast. Nico's voice was so angelic, even just saying regular words with no intent behind them. Why wouldn't he want to hear Nico talk

Nico cocked his head curiously. "You sure that's all you want? No character you want me to imitate or persona you'd like me to act as?"

"No," Jason croaked. His mouth was dry. "I just- I really your voice."

A pleasant rosy hue spread across Nico's cheeks. Jason stared before he remembered that staring for so long was unsettling to people and blinked away. Nico didn't seem all that bothered by it. Instead he was regarding Jason with a curious gaze and amused eyes.

"Okay, let me just start recording then..." His voice trailed off as he clicked away at the screen. "Okay! Um." His eyes flickered upwards. "Well, Walt surpassed his funding goals and he's starting reaching out to people who said they were interested in working on the project. I can't reveal too many details right now, but the development is going well so far." His focus turned back to Jason. "Are you sure there isn't anything you'd like me to say?"

"No." Jason fought the urge to lay his arms down on his desk, rest his chin on his arms, close his eyes, and listen intently. Nico might think he was falling asleep if he did that. Instead, he just reclined comfortably in his chair and adjusted his headphones. "You can just talk about whatever."

Thirty minutes of Nico's voice would be enough. Plus he'd get a free recording, and at the start Nico would be saying his name.

He'd replay that moment over and over again until he'd memorized the sound of his name in Nico's beautiful voice like a permanent brand in his ears.

Nico crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind." He leaned in a little closer to the microphone. "Yesterday I went to the grocery store with my sister, Hazel. We were looking for garam masala. Hazel wanted to try this new recipe for butter chicken. I like it, but for some reason, I can never get the sauce to thicken properly. It's fine and good, but it is very liquid compared to what you get at a restaurant."

As Nico talked about his adventures with hunting down garam masala and frustratingly attempt to get the butter chicken sauce to thicken up, Jason soaked every word in like it was pouring rain on a long walk home. Every hitch of his breath, the change in tone, the softness, the roughness, the gravelly annoyance, the euphoric brightness - every iota of sound that he made plunged perfectly into Jason's ears, warm and soft like honey.

Desperately he didn't want it to end, but soon the clock flickered that thirty minutes had passed. It dragged on by a few more seconds, just to round out Jason's 30 minute recording, but then it was over.

He stiffened up as Nico trailed off then said, "Oh, time's up."

His heart sank into his chest. He didn't want it to be over. Wanted to hear Nico speak to him for as long as he could. "That was nice," he said instead.

He wouldn't whine. He was not owed Nico's time. Wasn't owed his presence. He won the time he won and he had the time he had.

That was enough.

"It was," Nico agreed brightly and Jason smiled. "You are a very easy audience, Jason."

Nico's laugh and the sound of Jason's name rolling of his tongue had him going warm. It spread hot through his chest and down into the pits of his belly.

"I'll send you the recording of this later today," Nico said. "It was nice to meet you, Jason." He waved and Jason waved back, hoping his hand wasn't moving too fast, that he didn't look too sad. "Bye."

"Bye," Jason echoed.

Nico vanished off the screen. Jason wilted and flattened his arms across the desk, one right over the other. He buried his chin between them, closing his eyes. Concentrating hard, he pulled the sound of Nico's voice saying his name and replayed it over and over again in his mind.

Maybe if he was lucky, Nico would do this again.

And he'd made sure that once more he was the highest bidder.

[kpop-kitkat]

Hi Elle :)) I hope you are doing well!!! Can I request a Nicholas enemies to lovers if you have the chance? Thank you in advance <3

Also off topic but I looked at who you biased and we almost have the exact same biases in most groups haha <3

I Know You Love Me | Wang Yixiang

pairing | brother’s best friend!wang yixiang x f!reader

genre/cw | slight angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, brother’s best friend trope, fluffy sexual content

wc | 1.1k

notes | thanks for the request! i hope you like it. took forever, i apologize. 

���･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧  

Y/n’s brother’s best friend. Out of all the people, she had to have a crush on him. The cocky, self-centered, high school heartthrob. And it didn't help when her brother invited him over nearly everyday. To their parents, Yixiang had become another member of the family. But not to Y/n. 

“Mom! Dad! I’m inviting Yixiang over!” Yelled Minseong. 

“Okay sweetie!” Their mom replied from her comfortable chair in the living room.

Y/n rolled her eyes with a sigh as she continued to pet their dog, Bo. 

“What’s with the sigh for?” Their dad raised an eyebrow. “Is it Yixiang?”

“Of course it’s Yixiang. There’s nobody in the world I hate more,” Y/n scoffed.

Her mom set her book down on her lap. “Y/n, that’s not nice.”

”So what if I hate him?” Y/n crossed her arms as Bo set his head in her lap, wanting to be pet.

“Well maybe if you’d talk with him, you’d get to know him and like him a little better. All you two do is give each other hateful looks,” her mom suggested.

“Even if I wanted to, he’s with Minseong 24/7, how would I?”

”All they do is talk and watch movies. We could all watch one together, in here,” she said.

“Great way to get to know someone,” Y/n replied sarcastically.

”It’s somewhere to start Y/n,” her dad pointed out. “We all hate seeing how you two look at each other.”

For someone reason, it felt like everyone in the room secretly knew that Y/n was just putting up an act, and that she really liked Yixiang, she just didn’t want to get close to him. So she claimed to hate him.

She sighed again and got up from the couch, petting Bo once more before getting a snack in the kitchen. Minseong smirked as he sat at the kitchen counter. “Somewhere to start,” he repeated their dad’s words with a chuckle. 

“Don’t make me throw this at you,” Y/n threatened with a jar of peanut butter in her hand. 

Just a typical day at the L/n household.

~~~~~

“Anyways, so then I run around the side, right?” Yixiang laughs as he continues telling stories of his recent soccer games. Telling stories… more like bragging. Minseong listened intently as the rest of the family stared off into space. Bo included. 

Y/n decided she was bored before leaving the room. 

“Where are you going Y/n?” Minseong asked, everyone’s attention on the girl now. 

“What do you mean ‘where am I going’? Away from here,” she answered, before glancing to Yixiang. “And away from him.”

”Why? Is Yixiang boring you? Do we need to do something else?” 

Y/n stared daggers into her brother’s eyes. “I’m just going to do what I want, okay?”

”No, your brother is right, Y/n. You never hang out with us,” Yixiang pouted. And for someone reason, Y/n loved the sound of her own name when it came from his lips. “Just stay for once? With me?”

”What is with you? I thought we hate each other,” Y/n argued. 

Mr. and Mrs. L/n gave each other a strange, knowing glance, before leaving the room. Y/n sensed they were planning something all along.

~~~~~ 

“No! I’m not giving you park place! Are you crazy?!” Yixiang shouted at Minseong as they played Monopoly, Yixiang’s choice. 

“It was just an offer! Plus two-thousand is a lot of money in this game,” Minseong defended. 

“Don’t care,” Yixiang said before rolling the dice. 

Y/n held her property cards in her hands and sighed. “This game will take forever to finish. Can’t we do something else?” 

“What did you have in mind?” Yixiang smirked, getting a little too close for her liking.

”Not what you’re thinking,” she scoffed and looked away. 

Minseong giggled to himself as that interaction took place. “You know what, I actually have to… do laundry,” Minseong said.

”Do laundry? Since when do you do laundry?” Y/n crossed her arms.

”Since now,” he replied, setting his cards down and running upstairs to his room.

”What was that all about,” Y/n raised an eyebrow before setting her cards down. “Well I was done with this game anyway,” she stood up and left to the living room. She took a seat of the comfortable sofa, and Yixiang followed suit. He sat right next to her. “Can I help you?” 

“No,” Yixiang replied, stretching, oblivious to her obvious confusion. 

“Okay,” she huffed, annoyed. She faced him. “What do you want? I feel like ever since you came over today, you’ve been different. Even my family has been different. Everything’s been different! What is going on? Is there something everyone here knows that I don’t?” She ranted. 

“Maybe,” he smiled, looking at his phone.

She crawled over to him and stole his phone.

”Hey!”

”Give me an answer!”

“You really think I don’t know, huh?” Yixiang chuckled.

”Know what?”

”That you love me.”

Y/n blinked and stared for about ten seconds. “Say that again?”

”I know you love me Y/n, it’s plain as day. You can stop trying to hide it, I love you too,” Yixiang smiled, inching his way closer to her.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stuttered, backing up into the soft sofa cushions.

”Oh I think you do,” he smirked, his arms on either side of her as he hovered above her. She was glad her parents weren’t in the room.

”Yixiang-“ she was cut off by a pair of warm lips on hers. And when her conscience told her everything about this situation was wrong, her heart strongly disagreed. All this time spent hiding her feelings and lying to her family as well as herself, was worth it now. She really was hopelessly in love. She kissed back as her hands slowly got entangled in his soft hair, that she had always wanted to run her hands through. Yixiang smiled into it and gently grabbed her chin, allowing him to kiss her more deeply. After a few more seconds, he pulled away.

”I really do love you,” Yixiang said, taking her hands in his. “Will you be mine?”

Her mouth fell agape as she was in pure shock. “I- didn’t expect this to happen today.”

”Neither did I,” he chuckled. “I kinda just went with the flow. So? What’ll it be princess?”

The nickname made her heart flutter. And she thought about how much she’d love it if he called her that every day. And how much she’d love kissing him every day. He had to be the one. The one she’d been waiting for since eight grade. “Yes Yixiang. I’d love to be yours.”

He smiled and connected their foreheads. “I like that answer.”

Y/n smiled at him before wrapping her arms around his neck. “I really do love you too Yixiang. I’m sorry it took so long to admit it.”

”Don’t apologize,” he pouted before kissing the bridge of her nose. “You’re worth the wait princess.”

[fanbun]

Time for me to talk about Hazbin Hotel now that season 1 has ended!

I’d like to start off by saying I enjoyed watching the show. It is a visual delight that introduces some much-needed variety to the western adult animation space. Charlie and Vaggie as main characters hooked me even way back when I watched the pilot on YouTube. And although many of the songs caught me off guard in the episodes themselves, I kept going back to listen to them for days afterward.

But in all honesty, when it comes to writing, season 1 is a structural mess that wants to do as much as it can in 8 episodes rather than narrow its focus to what is most important for a first season. Yes, of course this is subjective to an extent, but the lightning-fast pacing the show quickly adopts is a common complaint even among the most hardcore fans. It is glaringly obvious that major plot points and character development are rushed because Vivienne did not want to compromise her vision to fit neatly into the number of episodes given to her.

Sure, I agree that 8 episodes a season shouldn’t be the norm but I don’t think the quality of a show is doomed to suffer because of that. Choices were made by the writers to include characters and scenes that could have easily been saved for a later date or even cut entirely. Season 1 didn’t even have to end with a climactic battle between heaven and hell, as first seasons are usually meant to introduce characters and provoke further intrigue that can be expanded upon later. But as it turns out the almighty cool factor demanded a war to end season 1 and that’s what we got.

This is something I’ve noticed often while watching Hazbin. The spectacle of engaging designs, captivating animation sequences and catchy songs quite literally steal the show. This “cool factor” will almost make you forget that many of the main characters have hardly spoken to each other outside of a few brief jokes here and there.

Hazbin wants to be cool and it wants to have an expansive cast of characters to make the world-building feel fleshed out. But this doesn’t exactly work when we’ve hardly gotten to know a character before moving on to the next one who seems far less relevant to the main selling point of the hotel that the first season is SUPPOSED to be establishing.

And here’s where a HUGE issue with the pacing comes in and that’s how fast we see sinners at the hotel get better. It doesn’t feel like 6 months have passed in the show since there is barely an indication of the passage of time, and we also don’t get to see much struggle to change from those staying at the hotel. Both Sir Pentious and Angel Dust are given their own character development episodes, but in my opinion a single episode for each is not enough to feel like the development was realistic and earned. Directly afterward we see them immediately improved and acting as if they have become close family with those staying at the hotel.

It was jarring to watch since I felt like I was missing the context for when all of the characters bonded to the extent of being that close. The only characters I saw bonding in a way that felt real were Angel Dust and Husk, and even though episode 4 was terrific for showing Angel’s struggles and how the hotel serves as his support network, it made me desperately crave more genuine moments like it.

I especially wanted more genuine moments between Charlie and Vaggie since they experienced an upset in their relationship towards the tail end of the season. And unfortunately the last two episodes didn’t satisfy me since the two talked more with other characters I wasn’t interested in than with each other. It’s a shame that Alastor often steals their spotlight, and from what I’ve heard season 2 is going to be more about Alastor and the Vees too. This worries me, as it seems Vivienne is showing favoritism for the supporting cast over the main characters.

Still, I will definitely be checking out season 2 when it’s released to see if there have been any improvements. And even if there aren’t, it’ll be a fun show to turn my brain off to. I see the show’s existence as a net positive for the animation industry despite the issues I have with it.