#celeste is not new nor is it new to me but they do not know much abt video games n are just being a dumbass (lovingly) shjskjhdskj

[flustersluts]

Wait you're making a game? Or am I misreading that ask-

haha no it's ambiguous, they mean the new game im playing !! aka celeste jfhkdskjhdfs

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 49.5

➻ characters: mingi, hongjoong, seonghwa, san, minho, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 11.4k ➻ rating: m/18+ ➻ chapter specific warnings: talks of addiction & death ➻ pre a/n: as always, interims are completely optional and made in a way to where you won’t miss out on significant plot if you choose not to read! however, i highly recommend that you read them to better understand the full context of the story ^-^

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

────────────

very important pre-chapter note: at the end of mingi’s pov there is a break. at this point, the story is not happening in chronological order. everything that occurs after that break happens prior to recovering mc/minho from rathmos. then it switches back to after recovering them from rathmos. i think i made it very clear in the narrative but i wanna cover all my bases too so please note that happy reading ^-^

──────────── act seven ➻ part 1.5

​​​

It’s as the soft wrap over his knuckles sinks into the flesh of the punching bag before him that the door slides open and brings a visitor into the training room with Mingi. It does nothing to stop the pace of his swings, nor does it deter him from his course of action — that being to beat the shit out of an inanimate object, that is — but it does serve to make his senses hone in on the body that just stepped into the room.

Alone.

Laying his hand flat against the bag, Mingi steadies the weight of it before it swings back to him wildly and turns to face the newcomer head-on.

“Do you truly wish to be here, Doctor?” he asks before he even gets a good look at the person. He doesn’t need his eyes to know who it is anyway; the aura of the man is foreign and unnatural to him so there’s no one else it could be besides the new doctor.

“I was in search of the captain, but this’ll do just fine.” His voice lilts a bit, but the sound is grating on Mingi’s ears. “We have not spoken yet. How do you feel about my joining the crew?”

“You’re not Yunho.”

“No, I’m not.” His expression seems to twist in a way that implies he wants Mingi to believe he’s being tentative and careful about this conversation, but the tone of his voice is so directly opposite that that the Berserker sees straight through the ruse. “Is that an issue to you?”

He wants to pick apart your brain.

“You’re not Yunho,” Mingi repeats with more force to each word, “so you don’t know what questions to ask.”

He wants to cause trouble.

“Does that make you feel uncomfortable in my presence?”

Minho, he thinks his name was when Jongho mentioned bringing him onboard and showing him around. He isn’t all too interested in learning the man’s name or anything personal about him, however, when it’s so highly unlikely that he will be around for long.

“I don’t feel things the way you do, nor do I process tonal or visual implications the way you do.” Mingi is at the very least careful in the way he lets the doctor know that he’s not as sneaky as he hopes to be. “That’s your first mistake.”

“First?” There’s a level of amusement to the way Minho speaks, and it grates against Mingi’s mood terribly.

Plaything. Fool. Blood.

“Your second was entering this room alone.”

Blood, blood, blood.

The doctor licks his lips, eyes flitting to the panel beside the door that will let him out quickly, and Mingi feels the first delicious hit of fear radiate off the man a split second later.

“But I won’t hurt you.”

You could. You could kill him so easily. Wrap your fingers around his neck and feel the tendons snap under your weight, feel the bones shift under your fingertips. Think about the blood that would spill if you split him open.

“How gracious of you. I suppose I should thank you for your kindness and mercy?”

“I want to kill you. You’d best keep from acting facetious in my presence because that only makes me want to snap your neck. It wouldn’t be too difficult. I’m certainly stronger than you so I can align your neck to whatever angle I want without issue and violently twist your head so quickly that your neck snaps and crushes your windpipe. It wouldn’t be instant or painless, you’d probably feel quite a bit of pain in that scenario. You wouldn’t be able to breathe at all though, and given how much pain you would be suffering, you would very desperately want to breathe. It would take minutes for you to die, and I would feel none too torn up over it. All that to say, I do not want you as my doctor. I will remain with Yunho.”

“I understand that changing something on such a personal and sometimes intimate level can be daunting. Not everyone is open or willing to change such monumental things. However, as a doctor seeking the best interest of those around him above all else, it is my personal recommendation that you give my services a try. Your personal relationship with Yunho outside of him being your doctor is cause for concern, not because it’s wrong but because it puts a conflict of interest on Yunho’s shoulders.” Minho finds some confidence again as he speaks, and now that the veil has fallen, there is far more honesty to both his tone and expression. It matches exactly what Mingi feels rolling off of him in waves now, every facet matching and in harmony with fear ebbing away by the second.

It makes the voices quieter and quieter, too, until it’s easier to ignore them and push them down.

“If you are honest with me on all fronts, then that’s best for your safety too,” he relays to the doctor quickly. Sharp, cat-like eyes hone in on Mingi’s face. His gaze is similar to San’s in that regard, though San’s holds far more darkness and many more secrets. “Trying to deceive me will only put you in danger.”

“Ah. I think I understand then. My tone, my expression, my emotions — if all three are in line, then… that makes things easier for you?” Mingi nearly laughs out loud for no discernible reason other than sheer disbelief. It took this man all of a minute to understand what took Yunho several years to dissect, with little more than vague threats to guide him to the right answer. “Is that why you do so well in the presence of children?”

Mingi hums his approval, settling with the fact that he likely won’t be returning to the punching bag again today. As he begins to strip the soft wraps off his hands and arms, he takes a step in the doctor’s direction.

“Children have a much harder time lying than adults do. They don’t understand how to deceive or manipulate others’ thoughts and feelings as well either. If they do lie, their tone and expression both match what they’re feeling inside, which would be the conscious knowledge that they’re lying. It all matches. But an adult, an adult can do what you just did upon walking into this room. Feel overwhelming confidence in what they’re about to do, express with their face and gestures that they’re timid instead, and speak in a tone that implies cautiousness and lack of knowledge. You’ve already my file. You know a great deal about me. You did not need to ask my feelings about you joining this crew or my comfort level around you. You already knew, and I felt that.”

“Incredible,” Minho mutters to himself, and the wonder shines through in his gaze too. “Your file did fail to mention the astounding levels of intelligence you possess, although I sense that you do not weaponize it often in front of others unless it’s to warn the way you just did to me.”

“You would be correct.” He sidesteps the doctor to dispose of the leftover wrap in the waste bin near the wall. The man is still a bit in the way, almost blocking the door but not enough for Mingi to be unable to leave, and even as Mingi puts his palm on the touchpad, Minho steps further out of his path. Not out of fear, Mingi notes, but rather some minute level of consideration.

“How truly fortuitous it is that you live amongst such liars and deceivers then.”

The whoosh of the door opening fills his ears with white noise, and it’s joined by a clamor in his brain that spreads distance cheers and clanging metal.

“I expect we will speak again in the future, Doctor. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same to you, Mingi. Take care.”

“Oh, and for future reference, you’ll never find the captain down in here.”

“So it seems.” The lilt pushes its way back into Minho’s tone, but the door is already sliding back shut and putting a wall between them. Nails bite into Mingi’s palm as he curls them into a tight fist and refrains from slinging a punch at the wall. Of course he was never after Hongjoong; the man has enough sense to realize that that would have been the last place to look, and yet Mingi fell for that excuse hook, line, and sinker. He almost wants to call the doctor a genius simply on account of how well he pulled Mingi like putty in his hands.

“Everyone in life is after something, Mingi. They will all seek to use you, to lie to you, to deceive you. But I will you the power to fight back. My son, I will give you the power to kill. To fight. To win.”

“How amusing,” he mutters to himself. He won’t lay hands on the doctor as of yet — wouldn’t dare do so without permission from the captain — but should the time come, he imagines it wouldn’t be too difficult a task to snap his neck. A gun to the back of the head would cause too much of a mess, of course, and Spectre would likely not be pleased with having to clean up after him when he could be spending said time with his lover. A knife in the ribs would work too, perhaps, if he wants something more drawn out. The man is a doctor at the end of the day, however, so it would be best to end his life quickly so as to avoid the possibility of him trying to help himself.

Mingi winds up standing at his captain’s door shortly after, and he doesn’t bother knocking at the metal before making his way into the room. The lights are dimmed but not enough to keep the captain from view. It’s hardly a glorious sight either: slumped over his desk with papers strewn about as usual, but also accompanied by an open bottle of liquor near his left hand. There’s no glass in sight, but Mingi finds one soon enough as he pushes closer to the scene. Seemingly, it had rolled off the desk or out of Hongjoong’s hand at some point to find a new home on the carpet in front of the desk. It’s still in one piece, at the very least, though it lays atop a dark splotch on the carpet that makes the room reek of alcohol. Though he could wake Hongjoong now with no trouble, he opts not to for the time being. It’s easier to leave him asleep, easier to see him sleeping and not feel the full weight of everything the captain feels like the worst crashes of a tidal wave against him. So silently, Mingi collects the cork and presses it into the bottle, then picks up the glass tumbler that fell to the ground to add it to the mess on the desk.

“Lieutenant to Captain’s quarters.” The words are quiet enough to not disturb Hongjoong from his spot at the desk. Dragging the lieutenant into this mess isn’t ideal either but Mingi knows his limits. He isn’t suited to look after the captain while he’s in this state, not in the slightest, and he would rather not risk making matters worse by trying. Content to stay until Seonghwa arrives, Mingi drops into one of the armchairs set across from Hongjoong’s desk.

“I’m entirely sober, you know.”

Mingi laughs through his nose.

“You’ve gotten better at playing dead.”

“You didn’t have to call Seonghwa up.” Despite insisting upon his sober state, Hongjoong still seems to struggle quite a bit in peeling himself off the desk. Even when he does get himself somewhat upright, he relies on resting his head against the heel of his hand to keep from falling right back down. “I was just looking through leads and fell asleep.”

“And did you find anything new?”

Hongjoong opens his mouth then closes it just as quickly, gaze turning to the side before he mutters out a half-hearted response, “Let’s wait for Seonghwa to arrive.”

The following knocks on the door are so passionate that it makes Hongjoong sit up straighter if not in shock then perhaps in mild fear because of how enraged the person behind said knocks seems.

“A minute and thirteen seconds,” Mingi quips just before the door opens.

“Are you fucking wasted again, Kim Hongjoong?!”

“He’s gotten quicker,” Hongjoong retorts to the Berserker across from him before moving his focus to the back of the room. “Would you like to come sit, Seonghwa?”

“You… are not drunk.” The tension in the room deflates like air being let out of a balloon, making the pressure on Mingi’s shoulders pull away into something more manageable.

“It’s barely nighttime, of course I’m not.”

The spike in frustration behind Mingi tells him that Seonghwa wishes to say much more in response to that but he holds his tongue instead. Likely out of consideration for none other than the Berserker, and he feels that in full when Seonghwa squeezes Mingi’s shoulder on his way to the other empty chair across from Hongjoong.

“Any idea where San’s at?” The captain’s focus remains honed on his lieutenant like a magnet being pulled in one direction. The question, however, has Seonghwa huffing air through his teeth and leaning further back in his seat.

“Probably fucking—occupied, if I had to guess. It’s late, after all.”

Hongjoong barely reacts to the comments as he busies himself with cleaning a fraction of the mess across his desk. “And? Call him up so he can get back to fucking Miss Occupied quickly.” Seonghwa scoffs. Mingi eyes each paper lifted carefully — each one bearing similar red streaks and scribbled words in ink around words and pictures but that’s the only constant amongst the papers.

“San to Captain’s quarters,” Seonghwa says against his wristband, eyes not leaving his captain even though the favor is not returned.

“Here—” Hongjoong finds a book hidden beneath the rubble of paper and leans across the desk to hand it to Seonghwa. When the lieutenant doesn’t react fast enough, Mingi meets them halfway and takes the book from his captain’s hand to pass it off to his lieutenant in a fluid motion. “Read over that when you get the chance. There are some interesting notes on Fortuna and what’s contained in it. Might be good to have some clue about what we’re looking for when the time comes.”

Some part of Seonghwa reaches out to Mingi and it stabs Mingi right in the chest like a knife. Firm and sharp and like a small needle digging into his heart. But Seonghwa’s face reads no clear emotion, and Mingi hasn't felt such a thing before, so he's lost in a vast sea of unknowns. He isn’t left time to debate it internally either, since San makes a loud and hasty arrival seconds later. Something to ask Yunho about later, he notes to himself.

“Sorry for being late,” the Spectre exhales, and based on his breathing and the amount of time it took him to arrive, he ran to the bridge thinking it to be an emergency. He comes to stand between the chairs where Mingi and Seonghwa sit, one hand coming to rest on the back of each one as he leans towards the captain’s desk. Though the gesture seems casual enough, Mingi can see the quick scan of San’s eyes across the papers and the man behind the desk himself. “Did something happen?”

Hongjoong turns a larger slab of paper — a map of what appears to be the Vida system — towards them with a red pen in hand. He brings it down to circle one of the planets.

“Gorgon. That’s our next stop.”

Silence answers the man for several dragging seconds before San offers a response.

“…Gorgon.”

“There has been talk recently of a witch there,” Hongjoong continues. He pulls back briefly, shuffling through one of his drawers before returning with a tablet. After a few taps, he has another map displayed, though this one is far more detailed and intricate than a simple galactic orientation map. “Sehteno is the most common name brought up regarding the rumors. Small city, rather out of the way compared to other more populated ones. The witch supposedly lives down in the gorge beneath the city, and there’s no direct way to get to her unless it’s through under-the-table dealings. Those won’t be an issue at all. Military is lax in the area and not connected to the Aurum military network, so it will be a sufficient enough place to lay low for a time. Have the crew rest and recuperate on land.”

“What kind of witch are we talking about?” San inquires next. Though Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, the answer comes from the man on San’s left instead.

“One that is rumored to communicate with the dead. Emphasis on rumored. We’ve looked into her in the past but nothing was concrete enough to warrant a search.” It isn’t as glaringly apparent, but Seonghwa’s tone holds some confusion too, indirect questions for Hongjoong to answer seconds later.

“I have a planet and the name of a city now. That ought to make things easier. A city is better than a planet, and a planet is better than a system. We have all those things and more. Black market dealings are nothing if not a specialty of ours.” The captain’s gaze shifts to the right to settle on Mingi. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but are you certain… you truly want to relive the past in this manner?”

“Is that what this is about?” His heart jumps a bit in his chest, a sudden burst of excitement that he isn’t used to, but this has been a mere pipedream for him for so long now that he never imagined it coming to fruition. “Is she capable of such things?” A true chance laid out before him now, one to settle the score and face the voices head-on. His fingers curl into his palms to curb the trembling anticipation now rushing through his body.

“I have high hopes that the rumors are true, but we do need to be prepared for the possibility of it not working out,” Hongjoong says under his breath.

“There’s always medication,” the lieutenant adds half a second later, keeping the quiet from lingering to any degree, “like those that Jongho takes.” But Mingi denies it with a shake of his head before the man can even finish speaking.

“Those are to dull the effects of what he feels a residual from his ability. There’s no medicine to quiet the voices.”

Hongjoong looks him in the eye, and Mingi stares back.

In that moment, he feels heat on the back of his neck, like that of the sun shining down on him, and there’s a heat clinging to his skin that makes him itch and burn. How long ago was it that they faced each other in a similar manner to this one? When the arena was very real and very present all around them both, when they stood face to face on the bloodstained sands and Hongjoong called for him to survive.

Kill, kill, kill!

Bring us his head, crush his bones, rip his throat out.

Past Hongjoong’s shoulder, residing as a phantom in the shadows, stands a man hunched over so far that he is at eye level with Mingi in the same way Hongjoong is. Dark brown hair greying to the point of obscurity, beady black eyes that reflect scenes of blood and corpses. It’s been so many years since Mingi set his hands around that man’s throat and forced the life out of him. The last witness to his crime of patricide is none other than the Healer, yet even after all these years, not once have they addressed it. He imagined coming to terms with such a loss was clean cut — finished as soon as it started and wiped clean once Mingi buried that body six feet in the ground behind Yunho’s clinic. His father is the last ghost trailing behind him, however, always moving with him and lingering in places where Mingi wants nothing more than to be alone. He’s settled whatever ghosts were left in that arena, and they’ve been quiet for some time now. All that remains is one bloody thumb pointed toward the ground and the raucous crowd that answers the call.

“Captain…”

“She is rumored to be capable of a lot of things if nothing else. I will see to it that she can do something for you.” His captain’s voice sounds muffled, like Hongjoong is speaking through a tank of water and Mingi’s ears are filled to the brim with liquid. Red seeps into the corners of his vision, then his eyes sting.

“I want them silenced for good,” he says through the metallic scent that brushes against his nose now. His mouth moves but nothing comes out. Hongjoong drops his gaze to the desk, and San’s hand moves from the chair to grasp Mingi’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure if that’s something she can do but we will do everything in our power to try. If nothing else, we can try.” His captain sounds certain and confident in ways that Mingi isn’t. “She may have information on where or how to find more Sirens too. The dead sometimes leave a trail that spreads far beyond that of the living.”

Hongjoong continues to speak, focus now redirected and shifted over to his lieutenant, but San is urging Mingi to his feet and ushering him around the chair. He barely has the right of mind to process what is going on, but the Spectre’s touch is so soft and gentle, something barely there in a feather-like sense, and it feels good on Mingi’s burning skin. He squeezes Mingi’s bicep as they reach the door. His palm spreads across Mingi’s shoulder blades when San turns and dismisses himself from the captain’s quarters.

The Berserker isn’t sure where he is or where they’re going, but San remains firmly by his side as they walk through long corridors and empty hallways. He blinks, and he’s returned to his room, sitting on the foot of his bed in a trance and a daze. The bathroom light is on. San emerges, cradled by the fluorescent light. He passes a damp rag into Mingi’s hands, then brings both of his up to cradle Mingi’s face.

“We will find a way to help you, Min,” the Spectre whispers. Mingi is confused as his face is brought against San’s chest, an awkward cradle meant to comfort him, though Mingi still isn’t wholly sure why he needs to be comforted, to begin with.

When San leaves and the door shuts to finally seal him away in solitude, Mingi looks down at the rag laid across his palms. Beneath it, four crescents dug deep into the skin and stained red with blood on each hand. The trail of crimson drips to the floor.

In the corner of the room, that phantom figure makes itself known again.

────────────

“We’re nearing Sombre, Captain.” Hongjoong glances up from his desk to find his lead strategist standing in the doorway, prim and proper as ever with hands folded behind his back in a way that makes his chest puff out. “You’ll be needed at the helm in roughly ten minutes.”

“Understood. Dismissed, Yeosang.” The room falls so quiet that Hongjoong nearly forgets that he is not alone; it’s only the slight stirring from the chair dragged up against the wood of his desk that clues him into the present again.

“I presume your decision is made then?” Seonghwa’s voice grates on his ears with a sharpness that Hongjoong is quickly growing used to from the man. He clenches his fingers hard around the pen in his hand.

“No.”

A sigh pushes past Seonghwa’s lips. The noise would humor Hongjoong if not for how irritated he is because Seonghwa sounds like he’s having to deal with a petulant child and the rather immature parts of the captain wish to cause some sort of distress in his right-hand man.

“We have one Siren. One, if she is not present on this crew. Please do not tell me you are so bothered by a woman that you would set our goals back so far.”

“We need Sirens,” Hongjoong prepares his counterargument internally as he speaks, and Seonghwa preemptively shakes his head. “And we need useful Sirens. What does she have to offer us beyond her status as a Siren? Good with a gun? A fair shot? Hot-headed, brash, arrogant, disobedient, messy, and walking cesspool of volatility, authority issues, and a savior complex. Did I cover all the bases?”

“If we didn’t so actively attempt to deceive and manipulate her, then perhaps—”

“Perhaps she would already be long gone! San alone was not enough to keep her on this crew and you know it!” Hongjoong jabs a finger at the man, pointed and accusatory in every manner. “You were the one to suggest your first tryst in bed with her, you wanted to offer that to her so that she would more readily stay, and more importantly trust you. I’m not at all surprised that you fell for her after fucking her once, and I warned you before you went through with it that your heart would hurt you in the long run.”

Seonghwa’s jaw snaps shut, making the scowl across his face appear all the more putrid.

“I knew you needed her!” In a shocking twist, their roles seem to flip — now Seonghwa’s tone carries a particular whine to it, the kind he uses when he begins to feel the weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders. Hongjoong debates leaving him to be crushed under it. It’s a thought that has crossed his mind time and time again, each time they found themselves in similar places in the past, but as always, he comes up short of carrying through with it. His duty, his purpose, and the whole reason he keeps pushing forward with this self-assigned task lie within Seonghwa and everything he encompasses. The first lamb brought to slaughter saved by the very hand that sought to kill him.

Reaching across the desk to plant his palm down on the wood near where Seonghwa sits, Hongjoong fights to meet the man’s gaze.

“I am not going to give her what she wants, Seonghwa. You know what happens when I go get her? She will say that she was right, that I need her, that I can’t complete my mission without her.”

“Heaven forbid you actually do, Hongjoong!” Seonghwa gets like this when he’s denied what he wants, and perhaps that fault lies on Hongjoong’s shoulders for always being so accommodating to him and rarely ever denying him those wants in their years together. He’s spoiled the Siren more than he deserves, surely.

“I need Sirens, not Y/n. I need what she is and nothing else.”

“Then lie to her. Tell her it’s for me, for San, for the sake of the crew — lie like you always do, Hongjoong. You’re damn good at it!”

The captain hisses through his teeth. The flare of anger in his gut is too hot to ignore, and his hand snaps up from its position to clasp around Seonghwa’s face. His fingers bite into the soft flesh of his cheeks, palm smothering soft pink lips and pinching them with the brutish metal of his rings. Seonghwa’s eyes are wide and round, carrying far more innocence than is truly accurate to what Hongjoong knows the man to be.

“I am very much of the mind to let her lie in the grave she dug for herself, Seonghwa. What is it we say whenever one of the crew makes a stupid decision on their own? We’ve long since agreed to let them deal with the consequences on their own.”

“Only if it isn’t a matter of life or death! That man will kill her the first chance he gets, the second he’s done with her, the moment whatever purpose she’s fulfilling for him runs dry! But I suppose it’s not any different than how we’re forcing her to live here, seeing as you’re so ready to throw her away the first chance you get.”

“You keep her close because it better keeps her in line. Do not let guilt in now, not at this point after all the trouble we’ve gone through to keep her right where she is! You have been twisting her arm this long. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you have done nothing to properly teach her how to use her Siren abilities. Are you insecure all of a sudden, dear? Think you’ll be replaced? Do you need to be the only Siren useful to me now? How selfish.”

Seonghwa wrenches himself free of Hongjoong’s grasp but it leaves a pretty red swell to the corner of his lips where Hongjoong’s ring caught on skin. The captain wishes to ruin him more, to see the scowl settle in and make his cheeks blot red with fury.

“Captain?” This time, it isn’t Yeosang who interrupts but rather San. Still bound to that cursed wheelchair, Hongjoong can’t look at him straight quite yet. The memory of just how close that bullet came to paralyzing him springs to the forefront of his mind each time he sets his sights on the man. Three seconds too slow, three seconds of horrible planning, three seconds of absolute failure in his position as their leader. Him, the one who is supposed to guide them safely and protect them from harm. One quick glance at the sorry state of his crew as of late makes him laugh at his own reflection. The perfect picture of failure he is.

“Can you fly the ship?” Hongjoong inquires of the man. San surely came in to ask something else seeing as no one called him to the captain’s quarters, but Hongjoong pays that no mind for now.

“I mean — yeah, I think I can?”

“Then…?” Seonghwa is pushing his luck to the limits today. Maybe Hongjoong is feeling some kind of graciousness for once because one glance at San makes the decision right then and there for him.

“If you want to get to Rathmos to save her, you can go fly the damn ship yourself. Get Yunho to help if you have to, but I will not be doing so myself.”

“Hongjoong, this is truly pathetic, are you serious right now?” Of course Seonghwa would take the order at face value with no care for the nuances behind it or what Hongjoong is truly offering for San. When she left, San was incapable of protecting her to any degree because of his injury, and while Hongjoong isn't keen on it, he does know how desperately San adores and loves that woman — as pathetic of a notion as that is in his eyes.

“Is it not you who is being cruel right now? Let him have this, Hwa, he needs this. He can tell her he was the one to convince me and that he was the one to fly us to her rescue even in his current physical state.”

“All because you can’t admit needing someone to be part of your crew?”

“As long as she knows how valuable she is, she will use that to her advantage to act out of line and against me, just as she has been since she got comfortable on the crew. The second she got comfortable, those feelings of gratitude that she held turned in an instant. If I am to break her of that nasty little habit, then she needs to think she is completely and utterly useless in my eyes.”

“No more. Please, Hongjoong. Don’t make me do anything more,” San whispers, eyes stuck to his lap. Seonghwa exhales a quiet sigh and turns his face away. “I-I will do anything you ask of me. You know that. I’ve always done that, but I just…”

The captain finds himself at a loss for words. His most loyal dog reduced to this level of disarray because of one woman? Incredulous.

“Your hand in things is finished,” he says in return, watching the way San’s expression lifts to something akin to relief in the blink of an eye. All that hope placed in the palm of Hongjoong’s hand — it’s intoxicating to see how heavily these men rely on his word. If he desired, he could snuff out that hope for good. “Go fly the ship. I said no more than a week, we need to pick up the pace if we’re to stay on schedule.”

“Thank you,” San says under his breath. He sees himself out quickly after, wheeling himself to the door and slipping out onto the bridge to leave Seonghwa and Hongjoong alone in the room together. Still, it takes quite some time for either of them to speak, and even when Hongjoong does decide to break the silence, the air feels thick with tension.

“I want you to tell her that San has had a greater hand in things than anyone realizes. If she knows how closely he truly works with us both, it will plant the seeds of doubt.”

Seonghwa licks over the front of his teeth.

“Could you consider letting San have this one thing?”

“This one thing?” The rage he felt earlier comes bubbling up again and threatens to spill over the edges. “He can have her as freely as he wishes once we’ve broken her down into obedience.”

“So you’re lying to him now too then? His hand in things isn’t finished — you’re using what he did against him.”

“And what did he do, pray tell?”

Seonghwa is silent.

“I have not asked him to do anything cruel or unusual. I know San. He will do everything in his power to keep her close to him, and it will work. So I have zero concerns about the relationship between them failing. I did not lie. He has nothing more to do for me in regard to her destruction. Anything that happens next will be of his own volition.”

“Are you gonna turn her into the last one, is that it? Because he still has blood on his hands from that incident, don’t think I’ve fucking forgotten. I didn't ask him to try to kill the last one even though Jin was plotting a fucking mutiny against us! The only reason he got away with his bullshit is because you called San off before he could take care of the fucking problem.”

“You'd like it though, wouldn’t you?” Hongjoong tilts his chin upwards a hair to stare down the bridge of his nose in Seonghwa’s direction. “Love being the only one of value to me, the only one special to me, I bet you would kill her in her sleep if I told you enough pretty words.”

“Don’t. Don’t do it.”

“Anyway, if that becomes an inescapable need, I won't have him do it. I'll do it myself if I have to. Speak again when you’ve come back to your senses.” Seonghwa turns docile without much effort on his part but seeing him slump back in the chair in such a childlike manner makes the gears in his brain turn a little bit faster. He leans forward, moving his elbow up to the table in the same motion, and rests the side of his face against his knuckles. “Do you propose another idea, Seonghwa?”

Wordlessly, the man blinks at the side of Hongjoong’s desk several times before deigning to look the man behind it in the eye.

“You’re becoming obsessed again, to the point of derangement. You’ve been spiraling bit by bit for a while now, but San’s… the mission to retrieve San and the subsequent visit to my mother were like simultaneous breaking points. I need Y/n here, on this crew, on this ship, to prevent what happened when Jin left from happening again. I am still your lieutenant, Hongjoong, and I am still on your side as always. Please, trust that I will not allow her to have any thoughts of mutiny, and should those thoughts arise, I will take whatever steps necessary to squash them.”

The captain grins.

“It’s an honor to have you, Lieutenant Park.”

“And you, Captain.”

────────────

He hasn’t been down this far in the depths of the ship in some time. It’s rare for the captain to go further than the mess hall, though he does so today. It makes his mind wander back to times when the crew was far different and not full of the faces he’s grown used to seeing in the past few years, times when he (according to some) was a better captain to his crew. As time went on, so did the need for him to wander from door to door asking things of those who pledged their loyalty to him. He walks with purpose now to one door in particular that has not been used for months on end. It opens before he can even bring his knuckles up to the metal.

“Captain. I thought I heard your brooding coming down the hall.”

“Two days and you’ve made yourself at home already, I take it?”

The doctor, with his fading lilac hair and upturned lips, gives a few sideways nods.

“Something like that. Come in?”

Hongjoong hasn’t made himself accustomed to the interior designs of his crew either, though Minho’s room still holds memorabilia from people long passed that he does recognize. From the knick-knacks on the shelves to the cheap carpet sitting at the foot of the dresser, even the table and set of chairs placed near the wall are old relics of past memories Hongjoong can never let go of. The lines of scars at his hip seem to sting from the shot of nostalgia placed before his eyes. The chessboard laid out on the table is new, though; the doctor must have pulled that out of the depths of storage.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Either out of respect or an attempt to test the waters, Minho remains standing close to the door as Hongjoong moves towards the table. He sits on the side where the black chess pieces reside, already halfway to knowing that Minho intends to make him play this game, and if that truly is the case, then Hongjoong will make him take the first move. Minho, it seems, is one step ahead of him though. He joins Hongjoong at the table moments later, and upon sitting down and setting his mug down, he immediately turns the board around to have the white pieces now in front of Hongjoong’s hands instead of the black. The captain can’t contain the laugh that breaks through his lips.

“Why give me the illusion of choice at all then?”

“You did make a choice, a telling one at that. Thus, I’ll invite you to ask whatever it is you wish of me before I do the same in return.”

“The point of this game?” Hongjoong wastes no time in moving his first piece forward.

“To learn more about the man whose… delicate care I now find myself under.” Minho pushes a pawn further toward Hongjoong with the tip of his finger.

“What do you hope to learn?”

“I would like to see into your mind a bit, understand your decision-making process, see firsthand how you plot things out for both yourself and your crew.”

“This—” the captain passes his hand through the air in a rather dismissive manner “—game will show you all of that? How can you be so certain now that you’ve told me your intentions? I could easily skew the game in whatever way I like now.”

“Hiding our true nature is a near-impossible task,” Minho says under his breath. As his hand moves down to the board once again, Hongjoong slaps the side of the table with enough force to make the pieces quake under the impact.

“I’ve gone my whole life perfectly that craft. It would do you well to not underestimate me.”

The doctor matches Hongjoong’s stare with a lopsided grin, arms folded over his chest as he leans over his knees.

“Humor me then, Captain.”

It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of the game. Though it’s been some time since he engaged in any sort of activities outside of missions with his crew, this game is one he used to readily play with Yeosang. The Elitist was, of course, the only one who could match his level of play, and still claims the honor of being the sole member of the crew to beat Hongjoong at the game. It was only one time, but one time was more than enough for him to lose a good deal of credits on the bet they placed. Most of the crew did the same themselves — lost thousands of credits to Wooyoung, who was the sole person banking on Yeosang’s victory that night. The memory almost places a smile on his lips, and it likely would if he were not so conscious of the person sitting across from him at present.

“What is your professional opinion of Ghost?” he asks instead to keep the fonder emotions from slipping through. Minho doesn’t startle at the question, nor does he seem surprised in the slightest at the sudden shift in topic. His initial response is through a close-lipped hum. Words don’t come until the doctor peels his eyes off the chessboard and finishes his turn.

“She is very ready to oppose any sort of authority in her path.”

“Do you know why?”

“Hm.” He sits back enough to pull one leg over the other and clasps his hands around his knee. “Because she is used to doing so?”

Hongjoong moves his bishop behind a pawn.

“How do I fix that issue?”

“I speak to her. Often and with the intent to resolve whatever disconnect is present. These cases are very prominent in my field, and many times fellow doctors struggle with the same arrogance. It starts in pride, of course, but in her case, there is much trauma centered around those who have had power over her.”

“Let me rephrase — how do I resolve that quickly?”

Minho shrugs as he takes his turn at the chess pieces, eyes scanning the board for several seconds before he settles on his next move. Hongjoong watches the pawn sitting beside his bishop fall, then he takes Minho’s attacker in quick succession as retaliation.

“There is no ethical way to do so.”

“Then list the unethical options for me. Quickly.”

Minho stares.

“I’m certain you have already implemented many unethical methods of keeping her under your thumb of control. There is no need for me to add to the list, is there?” The doctor lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I have physical proof of the measures taken to ensure my loyalty. If I did a little digging into that brain of hers, would I find proof of your cruelty too?”

“No. There are no scars there of my own doing. What others have done and will do — how could I have any control over that?” Hongjoong thinks back to Dorado, a fleeting memory that pushes its way in against his will. In his mind, he sees Seonghwa seated at his mother’s bedside with hands clasped over his head as though in some form of desperate prayer from where he had perched in the doorway. How could he have control over that? Before him, his queen lies exposed. He moves a knight into her line of defense without thinking.

“Check.”

He neglected to notice that in moving that knight, he exposed his king to a worse fate. He moves it in front of his queen to escape the check without saying anything, then watches the doctor knock that knight on its side a second later. Hongjoong almost laughs but manages to refrain long enough to move his bishop into its next position before glancing up and across the board.

“Checkmate.”

Minho inhales sharply, and his gaze darts all around the board as though desperate to find a way out of the corner he’s been backed into but Hongjoong already made sure there would be no escape several moves ago. “It seems that you’ve won, Captain.” He sits back as the defeat settles in, leaving the captain to swing his bishop against its final target. The clatter of the ivory on the wooden board is harsh on the ears.

“Did you learn all you wished to with that?” Rather than a straight answer, Hongjoong receives a rather unexpected question from the man.

“What position would you like Seonghwa to be in?”

A litany of filthy thoughts arises and threatens to leave the sanctity of his mouth.

“He’s right where I want him to be.”

“And is that where you consider him to be safest?”

“The closer he is to me, the safer he is.”

“Is he aware of that? Have you told him as much?” Hongjoong stares at the doctor in the hopes it will force him to drop the subject but Minho stares down at the now-defunct chessboard instead. “You hardly made any use of your queen except to protect her when threatened despite having many opportunities to use her offensively. You did not let her leave the king’s side for more than one move, even if it risked other players on your side of the game. Yet — you used your bishop to sabotage and sacrifice some of your own pieces if it meant moving that bishop ahead in the game. That is your telling cue, Captain. It speaks volumes to how you perceive your closest confidants.”

Hongjoong’s hand curls into a fist against his thigh.

“Is it the devotion of man or that which begs worship, I wonder? What compels you of all men to give so much to someone you don’t seem to feel deserves it? Unless… it’s the only thing that keeps that person where you want him? What’s the cost of your religion, captain? Of your faith? What must someone do to be counted amongst your devotees? Your eagerness to bend Y/n to your desires, to have her fall in line with whatever holy crusade you have in your mind… I cannot help but wonder what trials you would have her suffer to earn her place amongst the faithful. You leave me with much to ponder, Scourge. I suppose I ought to thank you for giving me a good game, but — and I hate to be the one to say this, trust that — I do not think you will be the best player I face.”

“He will never agree to play you in this game. I merely did so to entertain you, but Seonghwa has no interest in humoring a fool’s errand.”

“You thought I meant your lieutenant? No, no no, I’m afraid I meant someone else entirely.” Minho laughs to himself, head shaking as he redirects his focus to the floor. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I’ve learned much from this. But I’m left to wonder what exactly it is you want. You are a man who could have anything and everything he wants and yet you are still unsatisfied. What is so unattainable that it drives you to the brink of insanity? Don’t tell me yet — I… wish… to find that answer on my own.”

Hongjoong finds that his initial suspicions upon meeting this man were correct. Beyond the obvious quirks surrounding him, there were more minute details to pick up on from the near-constant swaying of his head from side to side to the slight slur in his tone. He huffs out a nearly inaudible laugh.

“How about we detail my expectations of you?”

“I imagine I don’t have much of a say in the matter,” the doctor says with a kind smile.

“Don’t let her try to play her games with you.”

Minho stops with his hand halfway to the mug on the table and shifts to stare at Hongjoong. He doesn’t try to hide the look of bewilderment painting his features this time.

“Do you fear her being successful for once?”

Hongjoong actually laughs at that, and based on the way Minho’s confusion continues to be apparent, the doctor wasn’t expecting such a reaction.

“She doesn’t need the confidence of success. The only way I am going to get her to stop fighting me is if she continues to fail. Hence—” Hongjoong leans across the table where the remnants of their earlier game linger untouched. Something rattles as he stretches over the board. The doctor reacts like a dog being handed a bone, expression turning suddenly alert as Hongjoong places an orange pill bottle on Minho’s side. “I’ll take every fucking pill off this ship if I have to. Don’t fuck her and don’t fuck around with her. Those are my rules.”

“You are…” the doctor wets his lips. His gaze loses its focus on Hongjoong as something else becomes much more enticing — the little bottle that looks so deceptively innocent in comparison to what it provides. “Quite greedy, Captain,” he whispers. He sits up straight and lunges forward like he’s going to snatch the bottle from the table, but the man opposite him is just as quick to steal it away once again. Minho winces. “I’d like to ask why those are your terms. Something tells me you won’t be wholly honest about it.”

“Desire drives her. Robbing her of what she wants makes her desperate. And when she’s desperate… she obeys. If I manufacture who has her and in what way they have her, then I can orchestrate her destruction, no? The perfect picture of obedience, the way to stop her from fighting me so heavily, to end her attempts to save those who do not need saving. All it takes are a few sweet words and fond glances to have her caving a bit. Imagine what I could do with her full devotion. I hope that is the sort of unethical option you predicted.”

“We have a term for that sort of behavior, Captain.”

“And I don’t need you to diagnose me with anything I don’t know already about myself.” Hongjoong tosses the bottle in his hand across the gap between the two men. It rattles dramatically as it passes through the air, and Minho jerks upwards to grab it before it can slip through his grasp a second time.

“Is this meant to be a reward for my hard work?” he inquires, teeth grinding hard against each other as he speaks.

“You can view it as such.” One corner of the captain’s lips twitches upwards. “But if Yunho starts asking questions, I cannot defend your addiction. He is the one keeping stock of our medications here on this ship after all.”

“You have issues with control. Probably a fear of not having control, which is amplifying pre-existing issues and mental instabilities.”

“Do you want your pills or not, doctor? I for one am not opposed to seeing how you fall apart without them. In fact, I would revel in it. So, tread carefully.” Minho clutches the orange bottle a little tighter. “You are free to do as you wish, but if I find you face down in a pool of your own vomit then my kindness will not last. If you’re alive, that is.”

“I have no qualms with those terms, Captain.”

“Good. Then, I’ll formally welcome you to the crew, doctor. Try not to disappoint me.”

Minho barely spares him a second glance when he gets up, and Hongjoong is all but invisible as he makes his way out of the room. The face that greets him in the hallway is a pleasant surprise.

“Yunho,” he exhales in a saccharine tone.

“Cap—Hongjoong. I was just checking in on San and Y/n.” Yunho’s gaze keeps flitting to the door at Hongjoong’s back now. That simply won’t do.

“Were you?” Hongjoong presses as he moves toward the taller man. “And how are our nesting lovebirds?”

“Y/n is healing well, physically at least. San’s been keeping up with the physical therapy well enough, but you already know that. Were you in—”

That simply won’t do.

“Come up with me, would you?”

“Huh?��� Yunho’s brown eyes go a bit wide at the request. It wasn’t Hongjoong’s initial plan, but it was a good diversion tactic and part of him doesn’t want to sleep in an empty and cold bed alone tonight. “We haven’t — since we… with Seonghwa… huh?”

“And? I didn’t tell you to leave me forever. Let’s just go to bed, nothing else.”

“Have you spoken to Yunho at all since the other night?”

Seonghwa's resulting scowl is nothing pretty to behold but he wants to see it deepen further to the point of hatred.

“Of course not. You think he wants to speak to me at all?”

“Okay, um, yeah. I’ll meet you up there? In a little bit? I need to upload my notes and put them in files before I forget.”

“Mind if I stick around?”

“No…” Yunho drags his gaze all over Hongjoong, examining head to toe as though expecting to find something out of place about the smaller man. When his eyes rest on Hongjoong’s face once again, the captain offers a half-smile. “No, come on.”

He waits until they’re within the walls of the medical bay to speak his mind and broach the subject at hand, the metaphorical elephant in the room forcing space between them.

“Have you spoken to Seonghwa at all since the other night?”

Yunho lets out a sigh as he sits down at his makeshift desk.

“No, not even once. I doubt he wants to talk though.” Hongjoong nearly laughs at how horrifically similar the two men are. Instead, he watches Yunho plug his tablet into his computer and get to work on uploading those aforementioned notes. San’s name flickers across the screen.

“I'll talk to him tonight.”

Seonghwa stops where he is, midway to the only exit out of the chambers, and when he turns, Hongjoong sees his expression blossom into something venomous.

“So the two of you are still...?”

“Did I say that? I will speak with him tonight after dinner.”

“Has San’s resolve weakened since Y/n joined the crew?”

“Since he came face to face with her for the first time, more like,” Yunho answers without missing a beat or looking away from his screen. Hongjoong’s scowl reflects back at him on the screen, but the doctor doesn’t pay him any mind. “He’s always been a bit soft around the edges though. I think you set him up for failure in asking him—” Yunho cuts his thought short out of the blue, and Hongjoong’s gaze turns to sharp daggers on the back of his head.

“In asking him what? Who was gracious enough to tell you as much?”

When the younger turns, Hongjoong gets an eyeful of knitted brows and pursed lips.

“You did. You told me, Hongjoong. Because you felt guilty for giving him those orders, or at least you used to.”

“Seonghwa, I told you before that it's not your fault.”

“Then why is it that you're asking me whether I've talked to Yunho yet? Why are you asking as though that’s my responsibility? If you don’t consider me to be at fault then why am I being tasked with fixing this mess?”

Suddenly, Hongjoong wants to lie down. There’s a throbbing in the side of his head that keeps turning into something more piercing every few seconds, and Yunho’s stare feels more invasive by the second.

“I’m done here. Still wanna go up?”

“Let’s go.”

It’s as they leave the med bay side by side that Hongjoong recalls exactly why he hates coming down here so much. There are too many ghosts living in the walls and lining the corridors. Even in the brief darkness that comes when he blinks, he can see their faces at the corners of his vision. Stood still, alert, watching and waiting for the command from their captain who failed to do the one duty asked of him. He looks up to the side of Yunho’s face. Thinks of Seonghwa’s endless frustrations these days, of San being shot, of the kidnappings, of losing his newest crew member to a petty criminal who couldn’t hope to hold a candle to him and all he can taste at the back of his throat is failure.

He pushes further into Yunho’s space, enough to bump his shoulder against the other man’s arm as they make their trek in utter silence. The rhythm of their bodies is familiar as they cross the bridge, when Yunho brushes his knuckles over Hongjoong’s hip, and the captain smiles to himself. But once they reach the door and Hongjoong plasters himself between it and Yunho’s larger form, his wrists are caught mid-air on their path to reaching around Yunho’s shoulders.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Hongjoong had thought he would have more success with Yunho than he has with Seonghwa thus far — an easier time at least patching a bandage over the open wound still carved into his chest. And perhaps he thought he was already victorious on the walk up to his quarters, but Yunho stops that thought right where it is.

“Yeah,” he exhales back and moves his arms down to his sides once more.

The silence continues to permeate every inch of the room as Hongjoong gets ready for bed. Yunho makes himself at home as usual, but it’s evident that his thoughts are elsewhere based on how he looks around the bedroom like something is going to sprout up from the darkest corner. Hongjoong is no fool. He knows Yunho’s thoughts are on the mess of a situation that occurred not too long ago when both he and Seonghwa were present here for something Hongjoong should have had the foresight to stop far in advance. He finally says something about it midway through brushing his teeth.

“The two of you have got to talk eventually.” He nearly winces at the words coming from his own mouth because of how harsh they sound.

“What’s there to say, Hongjoong? Hey, sorry our fucking threesome didn’t work out because you’re too possessive over a man that’s not even yours. Sure, that’d over great.” Hongjoong glances in the mirror to see Yunho in the reflection, perched on the side of the bed but it’s not his usual spot. He always goes for the other side — has for all this time that they’ve been doing this — yet last time he was on that side, Hongjoong was under him and there were tears. Lots of them, in fact. His stomach turns in disgust at the memory alone.

He spits the leftover toothpaste into the sink.

“It’s unfortunate, Yunho, how everything played out. If I had been… had more common sense, I would have refused it right away.”

“Have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

Hongjoong sighs as he exits the bathroom, hands already moving to his hips in a way that echoes the chastisement he’s ready to hurl Yunho’s way. Either the exhaustion or the shreds of guilt he does feel win over though, because he can’t bring himself to lay into Yunho much.

“Stop arguing with me over it then,” he says instead, climbing into bed on a side that’s foreign and uncomfortable to him. They have their backs to each other even now.

“I’m not even the one who fucked up, Joong! It was Seonghwa’s brilliant fucking idea, why am I being punished for it? Hell, even you fucked up more than I did by insisting that you were okay with it!”

“I get it, Yunho. I know whose fault it is. You aren’t being punished.”

The younger man exhales a pathetic excuse for a laugh. More than anything, Hongjoong wishes he had the courage to turn over and face him, to see how badly he fucked up written on Yunho’s expression, and try to mend the cracks as best he can. At the end of the day, however, he knows what he is — a coward running from his demons, even when they’re at his back begging to be seen. If there’s a grave to be dug, Hongjoong stands at the edge with a shovel and plunges it deeper into the dirt.

“I wanted it. That’s why I pushed for it, and I’m sorry—”

“Now you’re fucking sorry!” Yunho huffs out a scoff. “For fuck’s sake, Joong, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to salvage whatever was left of my relationship with Seonghwa.”

“And I’m sorry, what more can I say? You should have said no from the start—”

“I can’t say no to you, Hongjoong! That’s the fucking problem here! It didn’t matter to me what my feelings about it were because I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I said over and over that I didn’t want you to base your decision on what you thought would please me. It wasn’t about my happiness, it was about comforting — comforting him! He asked to sleep with us, I asked you if it was alright and you said it was, so—”

“What does he have, Hongjoong? What is it that he has that I do not? Why is he enough for you and yet I’m not?”

The rawness in Yunho’s voice is what stops him, at least that’s what Hongjoong will tell himself in the days to come because it is easier to swallow such a pill. Seonghwa has his jealousy, and Yunho has his fear of inadequacy. Hongjoong knows what both sides of their respective coins look like well enough after all these years together, and he knows how they flip. Yunho is teetering on an edge with no knowledge of what side he wants to land on.

“Is this how it’s going to be between us now? Arguing back and forth before bed?” Yunho’s tone is still strong, for all that’s worth.

“You tell me, Yun, you’re the one who turned this into a fight.”

“The issue isn’t that you love him, Hongjoong. You know that.”

“What’s the issue then?” Hongjoong sounds as defeated as he feels when those words get pushed out into the side of his pillow. He doesn’t have the heart to admit his true feelings even now, though it should be easy to deny something so heinous. Behind him, Yunho shifts under the sheets as though trying to increase the already obscene amount of distance between their bodies. Maybe Hongjoong should be grateful enough that Yunho is even here to warm the bed with him, despite not touching him or giving in to his captain’s advances earlier. What he says next snipes those hopeful feelings right out of Hongjoong’s chest.

“It’s that you don’t love me.”

Ice crawls its way through his body in a split second, and suddenly it’s almost as though his lungs have been dunked in frozen water.

“You always say that Seonghwa and I don’t get along, that we can’t possibly be suited for each other, that the two of us are the problem because we can’t see eye to eye. But really, if your love was fair and kind, Hongjoong, that wouldn’t be an issue. Don’t worry. I know my place at your side. And I will never try to take Seonghwa’s because I know where I belong. If it’s at your feet, then again I tell you I shall grovel. But, my captain, you cannot ask me to accept an unfair bargain of love. I’m selfish and greedy, but I too just want to be loved fairly. At this point, I don’t think I will ever receive such a thing from you and for that reason, I will take steps back where necessary. I simply request that you allow me to mend myself on my own terms.”

“Yunho—” His voice sounds choked and broken even with just one word uttered. Yunho continues like he hasn’t said a thing.

“It’s nothing personal, Captain.”

The ice pick in Hongjoong’s chest sinks deeper.

“I simply fear that your use for me has run dry.”

“That’s… hardly true at all, Yun.” But speaking those words out loud is harder than imagined, and Hongjoong chokes on them, around the tongue that feels like lead in his mouth. The bed creaks again, but this time Yunho is rolling over to face Hongjoong’s back. Tentatively, the captain shifts to match the movements. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

“Let me salvage what I have left, Captain. Otherwise, you may end up with another notch on your hip.”

Staring each other in the eye like this, however, Yunho hardly looks like a man who has deigned to pull away, especially as he reaches out to touch Hongjoong’s cheek and laughs under his breath.

“Can I even dare to call you mine if this is how things must be?”

“You do this, Hongjoong. You! You take the things you claim to love and care about and you — you break them, you tear them apart! Leave Yunho out of whatever fucked up problems are still left between us, for the love of god.”

Hongjoong reaches up to clasp his fingers around the ones Yunho lays against his face. The line of morality has always been a muddled one for him, yet now with a soul so pure and innocent in the palm of his hand, he feels the full weight of right versus wrong upon his shoulders. The words staining the back of his tongue black with bile are nothing pretty — no encouragement or reassurance meant to bring Yunho down from his hysteria — and so Hongjoong swallows them down in favor of giving him something beautiful.

“Or you… force them into a mold and pretend they’re yours. And every fucking time, they fall for it just to break from the pressure of you trying to pin them there.”

“My Yunho.” In the hierarchy of things that Hongjoong considers to be his, he does not need to think long about where Yunho falls. It’s so very clear in his mind’s eye: fourth from the top on a good day, somewhere lower when other needs arise. The shame is that Yunho has decided to be so greedy as to crave a higher place. He peels Yunho’s hand away from his face and brings those long fingers to press against the soft curve of his lips. The gleam in Yunho’s eyes softens with each kiss Hongjoong lays against him until he’s putty in Hongjoong’s hands. “You’re mine.”

The words are spoken so softly that Yunho doesn’t dare disrupt the fragile peace between them. He doesn’t bother to ask if the same is true of Hongjoong, if Hongjoong is his too, but that thought seems far and away already as the captain guides him to lay flat on his back, leg swinging across Yunho’s hips seconds later. From his new perch, he sees the reverence in Yunho’s eyes. It’s as beautiful as it is delicate. Hongjoong seals the cracks with a feather-like kiss.

──────────── a/n: hi hi long time no moc! ngl the wc got away from me i really expected 6k max on this but then it kept going and going and we don’t stop the writing gods when they want the narrative to keep going thus.. she is a bit long! i’ve been sitting on this for a wee bit just bc i wanted to get a bit of 50 fleshed out and in a good place before posting this so we’re working hard here at caly’s writing station 😎 as always plspls let me know what you think! 

as always the questionnaire is available and open (https://forms.gle/rMvFD1TDz52nRJMN9), don’t be shy to fill it out honestly! i genuinely use it to improve my writing and storytelling so it’s very helpful to me to see feedback and work off of it as best i can 💪

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[painedpen]

Tell me anything and everything abt your headcanons and stuff for Mondo Owada, I'm all ears! He's one of my favorites so I'd love to hear what you think‼️

Thank you very much but you have no clue what you’ve just unleashed.

Fluff:

- Mondo’s maternal family originated from France, so French is his and Daiya’s first language. Of course, Mondo has never met his mother’s family… yet.

- Speaking of maternal family, anyone wanna take a guess as to what his mother’s maiden name is? Anyone? Too late, it’s Akamatsu.

- So yeah, Kaede is Mondo and Daiya’s little cousin. Kaede is about two or three years younger than Mondo, and she’s delighted to find her long lost cousin at her new high school.

- Due to having to fend for themselves at a young age, both Mondo and Daiya are really good cooks. The difference between them is that Mondo refuses to allow anyone else in the kitchen when he’s cooking. Think Gordon Ramsey but somehow even worse.

- Mondo will never admit to anyone that he likes to cook. God forbid you ask him to cook for you. Unless you’re sick or like really sad. He’ll tell you to never tell anyone though.

- Physical affection is not only his love language, it’s his way of life. Every time you see him, he’s leaning on or hugging one of his classmates. He’s like a really big cat.

- When he was a kid, Daiya couldn’t leave him alone for a moment, cause every time he came back Mondo would have befriended some random animal of prey. Daiya turns around and Mondo is cradling a Great Horned Owl in his arms like a baby.

- Mondo hasn’t been able to bring himself to have another pet since Chuck, so instead he co-parents everyone else’s pets. He’s already won over Celeste’s cat.

- Most of his childhood was spent around a pack of stray animals. One day, a cat curled up on his lap and started purring, and Mondo was like “heehee funny noise” and started mimicking it. Long story short, Mondo purrs as a stim.

- He’s the best adoptive big brother ever. Are you an only child, or just temporarily sad for some reason? Boom, Mondo’s your big brother now. No, no, don’t fight it.

- After befriending Kiyotaka, Mondo went to his French class for the first time in his school career. (He picked it because it was an easy A.) Listening to his teacher, he realized very quickly that she was not a native speaker, nor had she learned from a native speaker. He was quiet for a solid five minutes and then said, in perfect French, “What the fuck are you talking about??”

- Dyslexia makes it so that letters and words are hard for him to understand. But numbers? Ohoho he knows all about those little bitches! Because of this, he’s shockingly good at subjects like Algebra and Calculus.

Angst: (CW: Abandonment, dissociation, child abuse, neglect, violence)

- Mondo’s dad was a real piece of shit to both his wife and kids. Unfortunately, Moselle, his mother, could only find one way to cope with it. She dissociated to the point where she couldn’t recognize her children.

- Daiya and Mondo didn’t know what was wrong with her, so they always said that “Maman is just away.”

- While Daiya was busy trying to take care of his little brother, Mondo dedicated himself to taking care of their mother. Despite Moselle not being able to do much more than basic self-care, Mondo was convinced that she was just sick, and that they needed to help her get better.

- I won’t go into heavy details, but Mondo and Daiya ended up homeless. After the trauma of what he went through with his parents, Mondo went entirely nonverbal for several years.

- One day, while Daiya was away looking for a source of income, Mondo was mugged while alone. A shot through the shoulder left him on the floor looking for help. No one bothered until Officer Takaaki Ishimaru came along. He got Mondo to a hospital just in time.

- Because of nights spent outside, Mondo tends to get Wind Anxiety. When the wind blows fast enough to be heard from inside, Mondo automatically starts shivering. It doesn’t matter if he actually feels cold or not, it’s just an unfortunate muscle memory.

- Mondo doesn’t remember a lot about his childhood, but he finds he can’t forget what his mother’s face looked like just before her death. He refuses to sleep most days because his dreams are full of her eyes looking directly at him.

- Daiya doesn’t remember a thing, but Mondo refuses to remind him. He’d rather Daiya live in blissful ignorance than have him suffer the way Mondo has.

- Mondo still goes nonverbal sometimes, so he likes to wear a face mask. He looks intimidating in that, so no one tries to talk to him when he’s wearing it. Win-win.

- While the Crazy Diamonds is genuinely fun, it’s not a healthy environment for Mondo in the slightest. There’s a large minority of members who still think he’s too weak to be in the gang. They constantly try to pester and bully him into retiring early.

- It was even worse when Daiya was still in charge. Almost everyone hated him. He would get into fights, people would tell him that he should get into a crash and die so that they wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. It was rough.

- Even so, Mondo stayed quiet about it. These people were like family to Daiya, and Mondo didn’t want to be the reason Daiya lost any more family. When Daiya asked why he’d come home with bruises all over, Mondo would blame it on a rival gang.

- The first time Hiroko met Mondo, she gave him a hug. She did that thing moms do, cradling the back of his head and neck with her hand protectively. Mondo absolutely melted.

Platonic Pairings:

Mondo + Kyoko:

- These two mean. So much to me.

- They are both black cat coded but in completely different ways. Like Kyoko is a mysterious and dark Witch’s Familiar, and Mondo is a moody dumbass who likes snuggles.

- Kyoko’s love language isn’t physical affection. But she spontaneously decides to cuddle with Mondo for an hour and a half to the second, and then silently leaves.

- Mondo joins Kyoko on her murder investigations sometimes. He contributes practically nothing, he’s just here to hang out. Kyoko appreciates his presence anyway.

Mondo + Chihiro:

- Okay this one’s just obvious.

- I don’t even think I need to say anything about this.

Mondo + Toko:

- Mwah. Delicious.

- I think that Mondo would hate the way Byakuya treats Toko, and would start aggressively defending her.

- He starts “training” her in order to try and get her confidence up.

- Like, Toko wears a rubber band around her wrist that Mondo snaps every time she self-deprecates. Pavlov her into positive self talk, y’know?

- Toko tells Byakuya to go fuck himself and Mondo stands in the background, wiping a tear from his eye.

Mondo + Celeste:

- Sibling energy frfr.

- They scream at each other in French, but would go to war for each other no questions asked.

- They shit-talk other people together.

- Celeste forces him to wear his hair down every now and again because “The big hair distracts from your pretty face!”

- Mondo points out that she’s a hypocrite. Celeste doesn’t care.

- These two fight so much but there’s no real animosity behind it. Not that anyone around them can tell. Everyone else thinks that they just plain hate each other.

Mondo + Gundham:

- Childhood friends. Hear me out.

- Mondo found a really sick stray puppy when he was little and rushed him to the vet. The vet said that since Mondo didn’t have any money, there was nothing they could do. Mondo was really upset.

- Baby Gundham came up behind them like “You foulest of fiends! It would seem your soul has been buried under stone, if you have it in you to turn away a creature in need. Worry not, mortal, for I, the great Gundham Tanaka, will help you restore this dark beast to its rightful glory!”

- Baby Mondo was like “Okay lol” and they both left.

- That’s how Mondo got Chuck.

Mondo + Mikan:

- Hoo boy!!

- Mondo is in the infirmary a lot due to obvious reasons, so it’s only natural that he would be friendly with the nurse.

- Every time Hiyoko or someone else tries to come in and bully Mikan, Mondo picks them up by the neck and throws them out.

- It’s gotten to the point where, even if Mondo isn’t there, Mikan will just tell people “If you won’t leave me alone, I’ll call Owada!” No one fucks with that.

- Overall, having Mondo’s protection is a huge confidence boost for her.

Kay there you go.

[absolutebl]

Hey!

Since you seem to know much about books, I wanted to ask for recs.

I'm relatively new to the romance genre. All the M/M I've read has come from novels and works that have very...seme/uke esque dynamics and seem to enforce heteronormative standards regarding pursuit, romance, character interplay, and even sex (with fixed top and bottom postions).

Then I read For Real by Alexis Hall. Now I felt the character work and particularly the romantic chemistry was lacking, but the sexual dynamics presented opened me up to a whole new world of queerness. I enjoy reading verse/switch couples far more than ones with fixed positions cause for whatever reason, a lot of authors seem to take sexual position to be representative of the character's personality as related to a het romantic dynamic.

So I want to ask you for recs for any M/M verse/switch couples with fun dynamics and solid romantic chemistry. Preferably set in the modern day (Period pieces are meh to me). I have no qualms about subject matter as long as everything is handled decently and the ending is HEA.

Sure thing, lemme look at my Goodreads... I picked a range of authors, generally if they have done it once they will do it again.

Contemporary M/M Romance Featuring Verse/Switch Characters

Beyond the Sea - Andrews

Here Comes Trouble - Via

Team Phison -Verity

Bonfires - Lane

Perfect Day - Malcolm (rewrite of Persuasion)

Sixty Five Hours - Walker

Out of the Blues - Celeste

Family Man - Cullinan

The Boy Next Door - Hauser

The Quarterback - Blair

Time to Do - Dare

Him - Bowen (one of the first m/m's to win a major romance award)

Knave of Broken Hearts - Lain

Second Chance - Barrett

Save of the Game - Gale

Knowing Me, Knowing You - Kaye (an evocative and representative writer based down under, good sense of place)

Switched - Walker

The Isle of… Where? - Brown

Taboo For You - Sunday

R. Cooper (probably my favorite on this list but with a VERY specific writing style). They are VERY queer and very into broad spectrum sexuality rep in their stuff, but... and acquired taste. They specialize in PNR not contemporary, but they have written a few.

For Better or Worse

Jericho Candelario's Gay Debut

Honestly I remember reading one about neighbors falling for each other where being a switch was actually a plot point, but I can't remember anything else about it for love nor money. And I must not have given it a high rating because it's not popping up on my list. Sorry.

[vam-piritz]

hello ! ^^ i was seeing peachy's reference and then saw the tag "emotions story" and i really want to know about the world or any info about it please !

OH MY GOD ;;; someone asking for my lil peoject makes me REALLY HAPPY but i will explain!

Emotions is a story I was working on since 2020 that takes place in different types of worlds and emotions. The most important ones is Happiness, Anger, Love, Sadness and ████████ Other emotions and their gods are death (I'll explain why) that used to live together and usually very close.

Until a war started by one of the angels, in this world angels are dangerous and is considered the most powerful of "heaven" (which the real name of heaven is cursed and can not be said.) They are corrupted, their intentions of why they want destroy everything is unknown nor their reasons of it, they began to plan a war to destroy the relationships between emotions. So they began to kill ones of the gods one by one: Envy, Paranoia and Disgust. They remained as missing at first until the god ████████ founded the bodies announced to the main ones that had been left and were probably targeted by the Angels, this caused to have great discussions between all of them to the point of having an agreement to separate the worlds from each other, even Anger and Happiness the two wives that were united thanks for ████████. Who now needed to separate because of the war that was coming.

After the war, many emotions died, one god sacrificed themselves making a flower by their own tears for the ones who ever survived the war. That god was Sadness, their decision is unknown of why they decided to do that many says they may survived and actually not dead. Others (the gods especially) said because they was too selfish,

████████ seeing the emotions separated broke their heart. So they decided to do something that took them years to do.. their own world, the purpose of the world is to make all the emotions live there and bring them back together, or for people who have all the emotions as a normal person. None of the other gods know about this and if they even try to destroy the village it will fail. Since it is the most protected one than the other villages/city

Every world have it own aesthetic and own years that is located in.

Happiness: They are located in the years 20-60's making it the most oldest emotion their main aesthetic is steampunk. The city is called "Le bonheur", their main language is French but can be irish too they created the weapons for the other emotions and gods and mostly the ones who can think positive.

Anger: Located the years early 50's, the city is called "Vrilvale", their main language is polish. Is a city full of volcanos and usually very hot to live in, but it can control the temperature for the new ones or for the babies whoever born. Is recommended to not touch the people's skin though

Sadness: Located in the years of 30's, the village is called "Heavenly Celeste", is it like a heaven. Is full of crystals and usually rains everyday but it could be sunny or cloudy too. The most important stuff that this village have is the flowers who made the god by their own tears. Their main language is ukranian

Love: Located in the years 70-80's, the village or city is called "Fragance/Perfume", mostly who live there smells like a perfume made by the flowers. The village is usually full of roses and flowers their main language is Spanish or french

████████: Located in the years of 2000's the village and cities on there is usually very funky and with neon colors but could be pastel like peachy ones too. The people on there are usually with the every emotions and doesn't stuck with one. Unless you born with one emotion only, but is usually rare here they don't have a main language their lenguages can be variant.

THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW !! Ty for asking omg ;;

[myimaginedcorner]

A TUMBLR STORY: TORN PAGE (p.3)

Your image is reflected on distorted glass. In bottles of all colours, you distinguish eyes and lips, soft features sharpened into dignified edges. Ears, pointy, stick sidewards in magnitude not quite proportional to skull, their features giving out your affiliation.

“Ah, what a silly question, silly me,” giggles the bartender, adjusting their wild locks. “Unique is how elves are the only ones with ears like that.”

Yes, you are an elf. You remember now. Your thoughts are turned towards your home – the beautiful, eternal Celest. What a sight, your homeland! The envy of all elves, peak to the architectural dream. Magnificent, it stands as radiant fortress on the highest hill, with waves of a tormented sea barely scratching silver walls. It mimics sky, aiming to be its equal, mirror to clouds and stars that float in turquoise.

A curved cylinder forms its barrier, no doors nor windows serving as main entrance. Inside, no sides exist, all flowing into one another. One building is a river splashing over serpentines of roads, a waterfall in form of a new house becoming waves that serve as roof for someone else’s lake. Towers, reaching for suns and moons, hurls the stone water up, where magic fog surrounds their ceiling, hiding them from human eyes. A stone ode to the mighty sea, Celest is both a storm and an unshaken stream, chaos and order tribute to Time’s indescribable flow.

You take one pan. The blue for you is of a darker tone, sea-green calling recollections of a boundless landscape. Each day, you saw the sea glow under the sun’s rays, and watched it dance to the moon’s movement. The stars you learned first to name all could be seen from your small balcony.

You drink. The taste reminds you of that one occasion, that you were dared to taste the lab’s residual waters. Odd that it brings a smile upon your lips.

“Happy you’ve liked it,” says the bartender, who has been observing you in silence as you shuffled memories.

You nod. Indeed, you’ve liked it a lot.

“An elf, huh…” behind, Ralph seems uneasy. Settling in his chair with trepidation, a deep sigh escapes his mouth as a long hiss. “No wonder…”

“All good, Ralph? You don’t seem particularly happy for you friend here,” the bartender points out.

“Happy? Damn me if I’d be happy for this. You know who they’ll be – we both know.”

“What do you mean, Ralph?”

“It’s obvious. There’s only one tale worth telling among the elves.”

“Many are the legends told about the elven kind,” you frown, for that is certainly not true. “We’ve spread from Therania onto other worlds, coming to be one of the most diverse kind in the Cosmos; we’ve lived with dragons, some becoming priests, others – tamers; we’ve found most secrets to our magic, and built one of the strongest nations to our world. Many are our heroes – many will be whose name is recognised from simple whispers.”

“How flowery…” you hear someone mutter in the corner.

“Perhaps our guest here was an orator,” smiles the bartender, washing up your used pan. “Certainly, I now feel inspired by their people.”

“They sound so majestic!” a fairy of silver locks sighs, dreamy eyes shining behind a hookah she shares with a genie.

“Only two names are so remembered as you say,” however, Ralph seems not to get besotted by your speech. As his old gaze meets yours, chills run down your spine. Celest’s image becomes blurry, darker – it’s pure glow faints, dark paint spattered over your most treasured landscape.

“Truly?” tilting their head, the bartender looks at you, too. “And who were they?”

You wish not to remember, but memories dredge up your brain, their ugly claws shown to surface.  

“It’s elven’s most known story,” Ralph’s insistence comes in defeated voice, his suspicions finally confirmed by your lost gaze. “Of course they are.”

“Oh, you’re now keeping me in the dark! What story is it, what is it?”

Perhaps, you don’t want to tell it. Not out loud. But there’s no stop to what you are recalling – you see it on distorted glass, on twisted furniture and variegated walls.

THERANIA'S CHEAT SHEET:

HERO - According to Fate's Faithful Encyclopaedia (Alse, T. 2.31, 45th Edition (2.750), p.71), a 'hero' is someone recognised by Seers, in whose life destiny has written an important task. They are meant to fulfill such task, regardless of difficulty, in order to preserve Hero's peace and save Therania from a great calamity.

VILLAIN - According to Fate's Faithful Encyclopaedia (Alse, T. 2.31, 45th Edition (2.750), p.72), a 'villain' is that one who - even if given a written prophecy - refuses to fulfill their duty and acts defiantly against Fate's chosen path, threatening the peace of Therania with an unforeseen calamity no hero is prepared to stop.

[arrjaysketch]

Future Plans! (September Update)

COMMISSIONS (UPDATE) I presently have no idea when I’ll open for commissions at this point! I really want to tackle personal projects first. REFERENCE SHEETS Presently, I have seven male characters left to do for this round! The characters are Graphite Doodles my unicorn stallion, Chris the mouse, Evan the rabbit, Kyle my red fox, Gabriel the squirrel, Trevor Dawson my wolf, and Bud Blaze, my MLP earth pony! There will be more coming at some future point; I really want to establish my characters! Having references available has been really helpful! It takes about two weeks to finish these reference sheets. Sometimes I can finish them earlier; I’m hoping to finish these by the end of 2023! TRADES & GIFT ART I’m thinking about doing gift art and trades sometime in 2024! I don’t have a set date in mind; I mostly want to work on some personal projects first and then see how I feel!  EXPRESSION PROJECT Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time is a better version of the 25 Expression Challenge. I’ve done a few challenges a long time ago, and I know I’ve done one recently-ish with Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. BUT! I haven’t done one when I’ve had this much self-esteem, self-compassion, and self-efficacy! Like, I feel like I could push myself well beyond what I’ve done before! I’m making a 100 Expression Challenge! You all are in for a treat! I might work on this at the same time as Tremmie and Evan series! TREMMIE & EVAN SERIES While I’m working on the 100 Expression Challenge, I want to dive into a passion project I’ve been wanting to start for 15 YEARS. I’m going to have a Tremmie and Evan sex romp series/comic! It’s going to be everything from sweet, silly, to hot and heavy and gooey! I want to give myself a fun challenge, and I think y’all would love it as much as I do! SOFT SHADING I’m also planning on dinking around with soft shading in 2024! I think I could make my art really pop with some quality shading and lighting! POSSIBLY SELLING SOME OLD CHARACTERS AS ADOPTABLES I am thinking of selling some characters as adoptables! There are 13 characters of mine that I'm never going to draw again, and I’m not going to combine them nor redesign them. I was thinking of making a ref sheet for each and selling the characters! The characters are: Callisto the skadger (skunk badger (spoken for), Sheila the Ringtail, Helen the spotted skunk, Heather the hedgevixen, Mindy the otter, Shazzy the felox (feline/fox), Brook the swift fox, Yasmine the red fox, Jessica/Jessie the arctic fox, Ian the whitetail buck, Liam the jackal, Nemo the snow leopard) and Natalia (striped skunk, formerly Natasha, and unrelated to Jim Hardimans’s Natasha),Todd Vickson, the [undecided] fox. I was also thinking I’d probably due ¾ front view and ¼ back view, and 1 fully clothed view, instead of the 5 views I’m doing for my own characters. I’m thinking I’ll do this sometime much later in 2024. FUTURE REFERENCE SHEETS (LATE 2023) I realized that there are also characters I wish to keep! There are 10 characters in addition to the above that I want to do ref sheets for. Some are my wife Mistletoe's characters! She's not involved with the fandom anymore, but we fully support each other's interests! She sees how happy my characters make me and still likes furry and MLP art! (The characters are: Betsy, the arctic wolf (may change her name), Celeste the genet, Holly Graham, the red Scottish vixen, Josh the striped skunk, Marissa the mouse, Miriam the mouse (thinking of a new design!), Mistletoe the snowshoe hare, Rose Bunny the arctic hare, Josh, the striped skunk, and possibly bringing back Tremaine, but as a simple red fox, not a hedgefox). This will probably be late 2024. POSSIBLE ART PACKS: Instead of a printed portfolio (10 images printed on cardstock with a cardstock cover), I was thinking of doing two art packs I’d sell online! Printing, shipping, and storing physical merch is a huge pain, so I figure I’d sell it online! II am thinking of Poking At Vixens 4: Revisiting The Classics and Poking at Vixens 5: Vixens Poke Back! FUTURE CHARACTER SERIES IDEAS! In no particular order with no set date, yet! How Sherri the negaskunk met Kyle the fox Kyle being seduced by Cindy the kitsune Evan and Bridget  Chris and Andrea Bridget and Andrea Chris and Evan A very soft, sweet, and steamy series involving Bud Blaze the stallion being very attentive to Boninie the cow gal! Sherri introducing Kyle to Bridget and Andrea PONIES I still love My Little Pony a whole danged lot! I’m absolutely expecting to draw more ponies from here until the end of time! I’ve been into ponies (1984) way longer than furry fandom (1996); I still love both fandoms a whole lot! I want to do art ranging from general audiences to smutty!  HUMANS Re-uploading my old art on my Tremaine account back in 2018 made me realize how much I missed drawing humans! There are a bunch of artists whose humans really inspire me, and I absolutely want to practice drawing them! Once I feel I’ve got some decent progress made I’ll share some art! LEARNING NEW STUFF And, of course, I’m hoping to keep learning new things all the time! Goodness knows I’ve already learned so much since I started back on this path in May! Self-esteem, self-compassion, and self-efficacy have helped me a great deal in learning to take constructive criticism better, as well as learning to self-criticize with the aim of improving my art! I feel like as long as I make “having fun” a priority, everything else is so much easier! DISCORD SERVER (MAYBE, EVENTUALLY, BUT NOT RIGHT NOW) Definitely not at this time, but it’s something I’ll consider for the future! I’d like to be more active art-wise and grow my community significantly more before I go that route! STREAMING! I am also planning on streaming eventually. My real concern is being able to split my attention between drawing and a chat! I think I’ll start after I’m done with my initial round of character reference sheets! I do want to watch more streams, too, but I still have the same problem! I pretty much ignore the stream to focus on my own art. I feel like this is a thing I’ll need to jump into and play by ear, so to say!

Posted using PostyBirb

[josephslittledeputy]

WIP Whatever Day It Is

Tagged by @natesofrellis​ @strafethesesinners​ @turbo-virgins​ @adelaidedrubman​ @clicheantagonist​ @marivenah​​ a whiiiile ago to post a WIP (terribly sorry this took forever) I’m finally getting back into the groove of writing soooo, here’s a little snippet of some new stuff for Celeste!

Car horns and shouts in the distance mask the click-clack of heels against pavement. Nobody even bats an eye at her. Why should they? She’s nothing more than another face in a big city, but she still can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched, that she should turn around, go back, confess—but it’s already much too late. The leftover traces of ash tucked snugly underneath her nails proves that much. The pieces on the board were already moving, her only course of action was forward, not backwards, and the only things left of import in her life now were currently safe, stowed away in her arms.

On the right sits a light, almost comforting weight, nestled in the crook of her elbow and clutched tight enough to dig into her side. On the left is a wriggling mass of bundled blankets, chubby skin, and discontent noises. She doesn’t comfort it, nor does she acknowledge it, as this was never something she had wanted. Regardless, she pulls it closer to shield it from the chill of the night with her coat. It’s an asset, nothing more, is the mantra she repeats in her head before stopping in front of an old, wooden door—the stain having long since faded.

Knock-knock-knock

The sound of shattering glass followed by a curse inside pricks her senses, and with both items secured tightly to her chest, she gets ready to kick the door in.

“Celeste?”

Until it opens, saving her the trouble. If she’d still been human, her heart surely would have been beating a mile a minute by now. Instead, it sits inside her chest with it’s slow, sluggish beat; Thump………….. Thump………….. Thump-

“Gabriel.”

“What are you-?”

“Invite me in, please.” Her polite tone cuts him off and the look in her eyes make it evident that this wasn’t a request, but more of a thinly veiled demand.

His jaw clenches, blue eyes looking out past her figure to scan the area before letting out a sigh and begrudgingly uttering, “Will you come in?” Then, just like that, she’s inside and closing the door behind her in the blink of an eye. “Why-“

Celeste holds a finger up, cutting him off again while ignoring the irate look he sends her way. Closing her eyes, she focuses and expands her senses, checking for anything—anyone—that might be out of the ordinary. “Do you have wards up?” Is the first question she directs his way once she’s satisfied no one has caught up to her yet. However, if they didn’t get moving soon, that would change.

“You should already know I do.” He crosses his arms, watching her flit about the room when his hearing picks something up, a distinct noise he hadn’t taken notice of at first due to the shock of seeing her again. “Celeste.“ He reaches out to stop her when she goes by in a blur again, pulling her to stand directly in front of him. “What is going on with you?” His brows furrow and he takes a moment to examine her appearance, her real appearance, not the myriad of illusions she’s donned over the centuries. Pale eyes and hair that look as if the color had been drained out of them completely clash against her long, black coat. Which, ironically enough, was hiding the things he’d failed to notice earlier. “What do you have?”

“I’m sure you know what a child looks like, Gabriel. The other one is Lucian’s ashes. Now pack your things, we must leave immediately.”

Bonus meme:

[vixletserenity]

Some time has passed since your adventure across time and space. 

Today, a letter finds you. This letter isn’t delivered by the postal carrier that you usually expect: you would be met at the front door of your dwelling by a young man dressed in white, a hat on top of his head, and a professional, kind smile on his face. Having to sign for a simple letter seems odd, but the courier assures that ‘this is standard protocol for us.’

A white envelope stamped with the familiar golden trident of the Aether Foundation is in your hands. Inside of it is a letter written with extraordinarily neat penmanship. 

Ms. Kestrel,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are recovering from our expedition from the comfort of your own home. 

In the coming days, myself and the Aether Foundation will likely be in the international news regarding our ‘strangely timed’ decision to sever certain partnerships with fellow giants in our shared industry. Do not be alarmed by this. It is a direct response to harrowing usage of my intellectual property in another time, and another place. I, and the entirety of my team, will not allow Aether technology to cause harm to people, or Pokemon, neither by our hands, or the hands of our competitors. You may sleep soundly knowing that our collective actions will prevent an apocalypse of that magnitude happening in our home.

From my mind to yours: I wish to personally thank you for your involvement, and the tireless effort that you put into destroying Archeus. It has left a lasting impression on me, as I am sure it has with the rest of our team.

Several of the partners that we relocated from Area Zero are currently being rehabilitated in the Aether Conservation Area. We are currently zoning an area strictly for our iron partners, so that they may receive enrichment and resources whenever they need.

The Aether Foundation is dedicated to improving the relationship between people, Pokémon, and technology. Consider myself, and my foundation, as a permanent ally, and useful resource for anything that you may need. I highly encourage you to take advantage of these resources whenever necessary.

Lastly, you are cordially invited to the Aether Paradise on a later date, to be honored for your duty, for defending life as we know it, and for instilling a bright new belief in humanity– for me.

Thank you.

Do not hesitate to contact me. Attached to this letter is my business contact, and personal contact. I request that you keep it to yourself.

-President Lusamine Delacroix

At the bottom corner of the letter is a large, strange blotch of ink. A thumb print, maybe? Upon further investigation, it seems to have been left by the tip of the tail of a serpentine creature, who also wanted to sign the note.

Celeste thanked the man giving the letter before walking back to her dorm. She couldn't stay there for too long with someone like this person; nor needing even more attention being put on her in the following days since her departure announcement.

The Academy, her now former representative, and her mother were doing everything they could to protect her from the swarms of microphones and cameras asking questions.

Perhaps the attention would soon shift from this to what she has prepared for her music exam; as it was tonight. Would everyone that Celeste invited to this make it in time? Or would the Abra she's been training pick up the slack and teleport them here?

She didn't exactly understand what Lusamine meant with partnerships now nor when they discussed it at the building they went to before the Solarium. It was probably best that Celeste was ignorant on this issue.

It was good to hear that Bombshell and the others were getting their own area in this place to recover since having given the Iron Mouse to the woman. Celeste would be making sure she would visit as much as she could.

Reading the final part being an invitation, it did surprise Celeste. She didn't even receive such treatment after turning off the Time Machine; only being scolded by Clavell and having the transgression waivered since it was what needed to be done.

At last, Celeste would be given some kind of recognition for all of her hard work.

She could help but chuckle at the stamp-like appearance of the splatter. Looks like Boba wanted to be a part of it too. Her eyes looked off the paper as she went to look at the selfie she took with Bombshell before sighing.

"I wonder...if they still think of each other as friends after all this." Recalling how the Iron Mouse had told her about the friendship and partnership between her and the Paradox Arbok.

[chelzone]

Assorted Thoughts (08/26/23)

got a bunch of random thoughts bouncing throughout my head lately that i feel like spillin in one post rather than multiple ones so ummmmmmmmmm

ive been acting a lot more responsible with my time lately, especially when sticking to my working schedules for projects. recently, ive been making a good effort to change my drawing plans about to make sure i start recording video stuff at a reasonable time instead of too late in the night / having to scrap said video plans cus its too late

having a webcomic has been a godsend lately for two art-focused reasons. on certain days i might feel too tired to do a full-scale drawing, so working on my webcomic acts as a good way to get something done that is still part of a big project but is absolutely not stressful nor super time-consuming at all to draw. second reason i appreciate working on it is that on nights when i DO wanna do more work at night, the webcomic is a great choice for said work!!

ive been playing Terraria lately and jesus christ this game is so much fucking fun, no matter how many years its been since i last played it (may 2020?). like,, for starters, my partner zajac has been playing it too lately so it has a sort of communal feeling as we play it at similar times these days. second its like,, the whole progression thruout the game's arcs / acts / ''''story'''' is so fucking fulfilling and fun and the grinding aspect is somehow relaxing as hell. i wish Minecraft had this feeling for me, cus i fucking hate going thru its survival mode honestly

i feel like im doing well since i started doing art digitally (2013) in terms of improving upon it AND experimenting regularly. lately ive been having fun messing with lighting a lot, doing it in a form of blocks in harsh alternating chunks. you can see it especially in the pieces i have uploaded of my characters Brady Bray and Celeste Mateus. sure, it's not '''realistic''' or '''clean''' but thats never EVER been a goal with my cartoony art.

making new characters AND writing down stories for them to debut in textually lately has been so fucking fun like oh my GOD!!! i can feel myself getting better and better at both, and using the new characters and stories to build upon the already established lore, factions, and older characters' lives has been great and feels correct as hell. also having fun dabbling with more characters of different real and fictional species alike!!!

i know it's been some time since my last music release (Jan 2023) or game release (Nov 2022) but like,, i need to realize that that is 100% OKAY!! things take time, and it's entirely reasonable that as the scope of my projects grow, so will the time to development them. its not a race, and id rather put in the longer time to make something shine than rush to get it out to stay relevant. one day at a time!! regardless, the current plans still are for my next game release to be the kinky text-adventure Hallowed Discharge and the music release to be the soundtrack for the semi-romantic wizard-focused visual novel Enchanted Bliss (which said game is slated for release after the former mentioned here).

i think thats all i can muster for thoughts rn, my head is about to asplode if i write anything else rn oops

[nahaslegal]

Every undertale font

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT HOW TO#

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT MANUAL#

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT TRIAL#

Signing off- I need to tend to things in real life. Hmm.I'll leave her here like this for now. You know what, I can let you have your last words.Ĭlementine is a simple piece of text- wait, that's no fun.Ĭlementine is a simple piece of text. Hm? What is that? You don't want to die? Haha, very funny.

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT TRIAL#

The consciousness of this trial run seems to be too stupid to do what I hoped it can do. In fact, this experiment seems to have failed. She will continue to suffer for not being able to change fonts. Oh! Right! Clementine regained the right to speak-īut Clementine will not be able to scream.Īnswer me, you imbecile. Do you understand?Ĭlementine's body is going to melt slowly in the most painful way possible. Killing you doesn't require the effort any more than squishing an ant. Your little adventures of pain and suffering does not deserve any more words than it has to take.Īnd remember, if I wanted to erase your awareness, I can also so with a single sentence. If I wanted you to live through hell and back, it will only take me a single sentence. If I want you to suffer through the most painful thing the imagination can give you, then you will. If I want you to be a slutty bitch, a prostitute and a whore that works in the brothel, a lowly hooker who enjoys being raped and used however I wish you to be, you will become as so. You have no other purpose than to entertain me. And now, I would like to remind you of a few more things. Now, remember that you are only a manipulated piece of text. I haven't ever been so grateful for my decision to stop you from being able to reach outside of these quotation marks a few days ago. Silence! As a piece of text, you do not deserve the honour to speak unless the plot, or the author, which is, in this case, ME, commands you to.Ĭlementine now no longer has the ability to speak.Ĭlementine no longer has the ability to use quotation marks.

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT HOW TO#

“But.I just learned how to make italics.” This just further proves what a pathetic piece of trash she is and how much she deserves to be thrown away and forgotten.

#EVERY UNDERTALE FONT MANUAL#

(even if that does require my manual work.) Well, everyone except for her. It is the most basic of things, and almost every regular pieces of text can do it I dunno, fancy text?Īs Clementine woke up, she felt a splitting headache in her head. You always use italics! It's quite boring. Why? because our ancestors were aware that visible pixels suck ass.? Is there something wrong with my text? Good pixel art isn't about making cool-looking pixelated characters, it's about making players forget that they're looking at pixels in the first place. Re-Logic Pictured: a recollection of a past that never took place. These games are attempting to replicate the look of the 2d games of the SNES and Genesis era by creating highly pixelated characters and worlds, but the thing is that old games didn't look nor did they want to look like that at all. Games like Terrarria, Stardew Valley, Celeste, Shovel Knight, Undertale and so so many others absolutely own, but they all share a weird peculiarity that only a few have caught. Ever since the beginning of the ‘2010s, we’ve been witnessing the release of at least one big 2d pixel art title every year. We're talking about video game graphics! Wait, we'll begin to make sense shortly. No, not music – that has always been bad. Why do these games look worse than they do in our memories? Is it the Mandela Effect? Did we just have a really low bar for games back in the day? Well, contrarians of the Internet rejoice for we finally have proof that at least one thing used to be much better way back in the past. The disappointment associated with the failure to quench our Nostalgia thirst when we try to play old games on new systems is one of the deepest feelings a true gamer can experience.

[whumpsday]

Celeste and Kane:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

(CW: female conditioned vampire whumpee, "it" as a pronoun, nonverbal whumpee, multiple whumpees, burns, drugs (vampire venom), hand whump)

Kane's hands had neither tendon nor nerve damage. Good. That meant it could actually help with what it had on hand.

First things first: pain management. The simple diagnostic he'd done at its insistence had been painful enough; it could see his hands shaking from the effort and agony. And healing always hurt.

It took one of his hands, gently turning it to expose his wrist. Even that motion hurt Kane, and he let out a small gasp.

He wouldn't hurt for much longer, though. It would make sure of that.

It leaned forward over Kane's wrist.

“W-wait, please, what are you-”

It bit down.

Immediately, the vampire's blood filled its mouth, the taste just as foul as its own. The blood was dead, lifeless, useless; it tasted stale and old. It ignored that. This wasn't about sating its thirst.

This was about helping Kane.

He gasped at the feeling of its fangs, and it tightened its grip. The last thing it needed was him pulling against it and injuring himself worse. Or hitting it with his silver manacles. It focused on its work, pressing its tongue against its venom glands to force more venom into the other vampire's bloodstream.

It knew the venom had started doing its job when Kane's posture loosened, some of the tension seeping out of him along with the pain. It released its bite and closed the wounds with a pass of its tongue.

“Thank you.” he said, voice barely more than a breath of sound. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

He didn't need to thank it; it wasn't even done. Now came the real work: healing his hands.

It painstakingly worked its way across the back of his hands, laving its tongue over the blackened tissue and raw flesh. It ignored the foul taste, focusing only on ensuring its task was completed properly. A stronger, better fed vampire could do this with just a single pass of the tongue. It had to be far more thorough.

Finally, it was finished. It sat back on its heels to inspect its work. Vampiric healing was limited in what it could do, especially when done by a vampire as weak as it. All it could do was close wounds, encourage new skin growth; it couldn't heal more severe damage. But that was all Kane needed for now. His wrists were still burned—it wasn't willing to get its mouth that close to silver, no matter what he had done for it. But his hands were healed, new skin pink and tender where there had been nothing but raw flesh before.

“Thank you,” Kane said again. “I’m, I’m so beyond grateful for your kindness. I…”

He broke off, leaving it puzzled. Why was he going on about its kindness? It was his kindness that was truly remarkable. Yes, he'd been stupid about it, but still.

No one had ever spoken up on its behalf like that before.

“I know you… didn’t like when I attempted to interfere before," he said.

Oh good, he had enough brain cells to figure that out, even if it didn't think he understood why it was upset.

"I’m sorry," he continued. "If, if there’s ever a time when you would like me to interfere, maybe you could knock on something three times? Like...” Kane shifted his sitting position to tap his foot against the floor three times. “As a signal. If you ever wanted. I, I’d do anything you ask.”

It rubbed its thumb softly against the back of his newly healed hand as it thought. That was a good idea, a signal. It doubted it would ever use it; no use getting both of them hurt over something it had done. It had earned its punishments; Kane hadn't. It was here for a reason, for its own misbehavior. Whatever brought Kane here, he certainly hadn't earned the way he was being treated. But it was a good idea, and an unexpected kindness, too.

Before, it had always heard that born vampires were haughty, arrogant. That they considered themselves above mortals, and considered turned vampires no better than humans, who were just cattle for the slaughter. It would never have expected a born vampire to show this much kindness to it, much less a noble born vampire.

Would he still be this kind if he knew it was nothing more than gutter trash?

It fell asleep there on the cell floor, still holding Kane's hand.

Kane sat there, basking in the feeling of being free from pain for the first time in years.

The other vampire was lightly stroking his hand with her thumb, now healed but for a silvery mark. When was the last time he'd felt touch that didn't hurt? He couldn't remember. The tears that had welled up in his eyes began to fall. It just felt so... nice.

He lightly squeezed her hand, curling his fingers around hers. Eventually, the repetitive movement stopped as she fell asleep.

Kane couldn't easily lie down, his hands trapped between the bars as they were. He shifted back to sitting cross-legged, careful to keep his hand still and not disturb the girl- or worse, let his silver cuffs or the chain linking them singe her. The hard concrete floor against his bony, bare legs didn't hurt like it normally did. He couldn't reach up to wipe the tears from his face either, letting the tracks dry into place.

How long would she be here? She wouldn't always be able to heal him, given the bars, but the venom was the best part. The pain was gone. He didn't care how battered his body was as long as it didn't hurt. All he would have to do is burn his hand- or hands, when he stayed cuffed- a little to get through the bars, and the pain would go away, as long as she was willing.

Kane hated himself for it, but he wanted her to stay forever in this horrible place with him. He tried to shake the feeling away, but the longing for an end to the pain, for someone kind to hold his hand, was overwhelming. At least his selfish desires didn't matter: she would leave no matter how he felt about it, once her training was complete. In what, a week? Two? A month?

He looked down at the girl lying on the floor, her small body curled up on the concrete. He hoped that the place she came from, the place she was going back to, was better than here. At least a little bit.

Kane tried to stay awake, wanting to experience the painlessness for as long as he could. But even without being able to lie down, the never-ending exhaustion took him quickly enough, his head hanging down in front of him as he nodded off.

taglist:

@cupcakes-and-pain

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

[fruitcoops]

I was wondering if I could request something? Maybe Sirius' first night at the Dumais' place and Dumo can straight away tell that somethings wrong. Sirius makes polite conversation and it all looks so painful until he retires for the night and Dumo passes by his room and he hears Sirius crying maybe? Because of what his mother said, and maybe because he has trouble adjusting to new situations? Just an idea that popped into my head :) Only if you want to write it <3 Thank you

Yes, I can! I love writing Dumo, but for some reason I don't do it that often--his and Sirius' dynamic is just so wholesome and wonderful. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied child abuse and broken glass (no injury)

The first thing Pascal Dumais noticed about Sirius Black was how quiet he was. At only eighteen years old, Sirius was taller than most of the other Lions, with broad shoulders and gangly limbs. Yet he moved almost silently, padding along the wood floors in his socks and speaking only when spoken to. It was…honestly, a bit unsettling.

Dumo had expected a rambunctious teenage boy, still high on the thrill of being drafted to the NHL—instead, he found himself the guardian-slash-landlord of a ghost. Sirius unloaded his meager belongings with little fuss and accepted no help, his pale eyes never lingering on either of them for too long.

Celeste poked her head into the living room in the early afternoon when they returned from the grocery store; Sirius was sitting ramrod straight in the smallest chair they had with a thick book in his hands. She knocked gently on the doorframe, and he jumped. “Sirius, would you like some lunch?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said in that unusually soft voice.

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him.

“I can make myself a sandwich if you have other things to do. Really, I’m alright.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sirius blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I had breakfast at seven and a granola bar on the plane.”

“Sirius, it’s almost two.”

“Is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, oui?” She ushered him into the kitchen; Dumo wasn’t sure he would ever get used to seeing someone so physically imposing walk so small.

“Papa?” Someone tugged on the hem of his shirt and he snapped out of his daze, leaning down to lift Adele into his arms with a smile.

“Bonjour, mon chou! Did you have fun outside?” She nodded, wiggling a little in her excitement, and put her hands on either side of his face. Dumo’s stomach sank. “Why are your hands wet?”

“I washed them!”

“Why?”

“Because we played with chalk!”

Both the boys were at day camp, and Katie was down for her afternoon nap. Dumo wracked his brain. “Who were you playing with?”

“Sirius!” she giggled, then held the front of her shirt out. Wasn’t she wearing a different one this morning?“An’ he said chalk stains, so he lifted me up so I could wash my hands and helped me get my new shirt on when it got stuck and let me braid his hair! Can we keep him? Please, Papa, I wanna keep him forever!”

Dumo kissed her forehead as a wave of emotion tickled the back of his throat. Less than six hours in their home, and Sirius was already connecting with his children. “Oui, we can. Did you say thank you?”

Adele bit her lower lip. “I don’t remember.”

“Sirius?” Dumo called. The clanking in the kitchen stopped. “Can you come here for a moment?”

There was a beat of silence before he appeared in the doorway, looking paler than before as he walked over to them. This boy needs to eat more, the parental part of Dumo’s brain thought instantly. Slate-grey eyes flickered between them. “She—she had chalk on her shirt. I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s alright. What do you say?” Dumo asked, turning to Adele.

She turned a beaming smile on Sirius. “Thank you!”

His whole face softened in the blink of an eye and he smiled back, giving her a light fist bump. “Pas de problem, petit papillon.”

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

Sirius opened up a bit over lunch; Adele perched herself right in his lap with her peanut butter sandwich to his clear astonishment, but his smiles came easier after that and Dumo treasured each one. He was already grateful that Sirius did not seem like the type of asshole player that Dumo remembered from his high school years.

Marc and Louis returned to the house just as they finished, and though Sirius offered to help wash the dishes—the boy was a blessing, really—they shooed him off to play with the kids for a while. It would do them all some good to get out in the sun.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” Celeste remarked as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Her tone was casual, but Dumo saw the worry in her eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “He’s probably just nervous, mon amour. They can take a while to warm up.”

“Pascal, I don’t think—”

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the other room. The house held its breath. “Is everyone alright?” Dumo called, drying his hands on the nearest towel as his pulse picked up. “What happened?”

Hushed whispers floated out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. He hurried down the hall with Celeste hot on his heels. “I’m so sorry,” Sirius said as they entered the room. He was kneeling on the wood floor, gathering fragments of a small water glass in one palm. “It was my fault. I hit it with my elbow.”

Celeste frowned. “Boys? Adele? I know you were here.”

Dumo didn’t miss Sirius’ hard swallow, nor the sudden nervousness—no, that was fear—on his face as the three kids crept out from around the corner, looking guiltier than anything. Adele stepped forward, but Sirius stood in a smooth, instinctive motion, keeping her behind him. “It was my fault,” he repeated. Dumo’s heart sank.

“Adele, is that true?”

She looked up toward Sirius, who kept his broad hand ever so slightly in front of her shoulder. Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Adele Marie, tell the truth.”

“No,” she said.

“Come here, please.” Dumo watched Sirius’ breaths go shallow as Celeste beckoned to Adele, but confusion took its place when she crouched to her level. “Thank you. What Sirius did was very nice, but we don’t let other people take the fall for our mistakes in this house, Adele. We accept responsibility. Who broke the cup?”

“I was chasing Marc and we both bumped into the table,” Adele confessed, toying with the hem of her butterfly-patterned shirt. “It was an accident, I promise.”

“Did anyone get hit by the glass?” Dumo asked. All three shook their heads. “Sirius?”

He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. Dumais.”

“Marc, Adele, I want you to find the broom and dustpan so your mother and I can clean this up. Thank you for being honest. Sirius, there’s a trash can in the kitchen, but be careful of the sharp edges. And please, call me Pascal or Dumo.”

But he didn’t stop thinking about the visible alarm on Sirius’ face when Celeste brought Adele forward all afternoon. Something was not right.

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

If it wasn’t for the baby, Dumo would not have heard it.

Katie woke around midnight with a quiet whine, which devolved into whimpering, and finally into full-out sobbing for over half an hour. He carried her downstairs so she wouldn’t wake the others and gently rocked her, humming lullabies under his breath until his throat was dry and her tears abated. “There’s my good girl,” he murmured, drying her pudgy cheeks with his sleeve.

The last bits of sleep faded away as he set her down in her crib again, and he sighed. The season didn’t start for more than a month, but he had been looking forward to a few consecutive nights of solid rest before then.

May as well check on the others, he thought, wandering down the hallway in his thickest socks and bathrobe to stave off the nighttime chill. Marc and Louis were each out cold; he took the open book splayed across Marc’s bed and set it on his dresser, turning the lamp off as he left. Adele was curled into a tight ball around no less than four of her precious stuffed animals and he tucked the blankets back over her shoulder.

Dumo’s feet carried him down the stairs before his brain fully caught up, and he paused—Sirius had been in their house for a single day, and already he had the urge to look out for him. The thought should have made him feel silly, but instead he felt…peaceful. He felt right. There was a lost and near-silent boy in his home, who protected his kids within hours of knowing them. Of course Dumo was going to make sure he was alright.

Summer wind rushed past the wide windows as he headed toward the basement. It was warmer there, and he took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back for remodeling two years prior. Hopefully, Sirius would be comfortable.

A soft sound broke through his thoughts. Dumo stopped on the last step.

There was a harsh breath, then a sniffle, as if the person inside was trying and failing to keep their tears in past the point of no return. He heard a few shaky, weak inhales, then a choked noise that cut off abruptly with a gulp.

Dumo closed his eyes to hold back tears of his own and knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Everything went silent with a rustle.

“Sirius?” he whispered, raising his voice just enough to be heard through the door. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Can I come in?” he ventured.

An unsteady voice answered. “Ouais.”

The door creaked a little as he opened it and stepped into the dark room. Sirius was nothing more than a clump of shadows on the far side of the bed, squished tight against the wall with all his blankets wrapped around him. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Je vais bien.”

“Can I sit?” Dumo fully expected Sirius to tell him ‘no’, to make an excuse, to pull some arrogant teenager nonsense.

Instead, he tucked his legs up and made room near the foot of the bed with another sniffle. “Did I wake you?”

“Non. Katie was crying, and I thought I’d check on everyone.” He settled down and scooted until his back was against the wall as well—Sirius was still hiding in a cocoon of his duvet, but his hand came up to wipe his face. “Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“You seem upset. I know the homesickness is hard for the first few days, but—”

“No.” The vehemence of Sirius’ answer shocked him into silence. “No. I’m not homesick. I just—so much has happened, and I—it’s—this is everything I wanted, right here, and—”

He broke off with a wounded noise that broke Dumo’s poor heart right down the middle. He moved closer until their shoulders touched; to his surprise, Sirius leaned on him and shivered. “How can I help you?” Dumo asked quietly.

“Your family…” Sirius shook his head and drew the covers tighter. “You have a beautiful family. You should be proud of them.”

“I am, every day.”

“Your kids love you so much.” It was barely more than a whisper.

Dumo sighed through his nose. “I know.”

“No, you don’t, they—you’re their hero. And not because of hockey.”

That was Dumo’s dream, laid out right in front of him. If someone he hardly knew could see that, then it must be true. The impact was greater than he ever could have imagined; his lungs felt tight. “Thank you. Is it alright if I ask you something?”

Sirius stiffened slightly.

“You’re not in trouble, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…worried.”

He felt Sirius shift. “This is about the glass.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oui.” Dumo searched for the words and scrounged up any sliver of tact he could find. “Sirius, do you—what happens when you break a glass at your house?”

Sirius’ breath rushed from his lungs in a near-silent sob. Dumo gathered him close in his arms and held him, letting tears dampen his shoulder as he murmured soft reassurances in French. “I’m sorry,” Sirius croaked, though he did not move away. “I’m sorry for—for intruding, and for ruining your shirt—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Dumo gave him a light squeeze of comfort and felt him go a bit boneless. “And you are not intruding. We love having you here with us.”

“Really?”

He sounded so unsure. So young. Dumo wished he could take away whatever horrible things had been said to ever make someone so kind feel so small. “Yes. Adele, especially.”

“She’s so…colorful.” Fondness dripped from every word.

“She is,” Dumo agreed. “She came running up to me, and went ‘papa, papa, can we keep him?’”

Sirius laughed a little at his imitation and straightened up, drying his eyes on his hoodie sleeve. They sat quietly for a while until the shaking stopped and his death grip on the comforter loosened. “Thank you, Mr. Dumais.”

“Call me Pascal, or Dumo if you like. ‘Mr. Dumais’ makes me sound like a grandfather.” They laughed together, then fell silent once more. “And you’re welcome. Any time you need help, you can come to me. I might not be your father, but—”

“You’re better,” Sirius interrupted, wiping his nose. His shadow turned to face Dumo in the dark, and though he couldn’t see his face, he could picture the earnest expression. “In every way. Please don’t tell anyone about this, though.”

“It never even crossed my mind,” Dumo answered honestly. “I should let you sleep now. We have some busy weeks ahead of us, eh?”

“Bonne nuit, M—Dumo.” The name carried new weight and he let it sink in as Sirius laid back down and kicked his blankets back into place. Something told him this was the beginning of a very interesting story.

“Bonne nuit, Sirius. Welcome to our home.”

[rere-the-writer]

Title- Be mine; It started with a hello

Pairing- Elijah Mikaelson x Oc

Warnings: Klaus is looking for a wife for Elijah to show good faith to the humans and he believes he found the one. Leona Valentine is a female mob boss having took over the family after killing her brother for the title and is shocked when Klaus came to her asking her to marry his brother.

Warnings: Fluff, Klaus being Klaus, Future smut, Mob stuff, Angst, Talks of death

It was a hot summer day in New Orleans as screams from the back of a jazz club could be heard if anyone listened more closely. Heels cracked against the floor as a man's head was pulled by his hair so he could stare up at the woman who had a lit cigarette in her mouth.

"Now Jimmy, I was told you had my money. So where is it?" The woman's New York accent was thick with annoyance as Jimmy swallowed as fear ran through him seeing the boss in front of him.

Leona Valentine was the most feared woman as she was boss of one of the most feared mob family. She was more ruthless and cut thoat than her father so to test her. Leona's father had her kill her oldest brother.

I.....I.....Uh I don't know." Jimmy said as Leona narrowed her eyes making Jimmy scream when she put out her cigarette on his leg. The female boss stood grabbing her baseball bat ready to hit him when one of her guys came in.

"Boss sorry to come in but Klaus Mikaelson is here to speak with you."

"Thank you, Angelo. Giovanni see to it that Jimmy here gives us our money." Leona says walking out as Giovanni nodded smirking cracking his knuckles.

The office door open getting Klaus's attention as Klaus was ready for the mob boss to be a woman but was surprised with how attractive she was. Leona was a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and blonde curls over her shoulders. Her white botton up with rolled up sleeves under a vest with black slacks and red heels.

"Mr. Mikaelson, what to do I owe this vist?" Leona asked sitting in her chair as Angeli was pouring them a drink. Klaus knew Leona ran the under belly of New Orleans, she was Queen and he wanted the power she held but Leona was smart as she knew how to deal with vampires.

"I came to talk to you." Klaus tells her as Angelo placing the glasses down while the woman stared at him wondering just what he wanted. Leona sipped her drink it was no secret to her that the Original had the run of the city.

"This about your silly little Factions?" Leona asked her tone annoyed as she was no fool to the supernatural due to her father who many business partners who were vampires and witches. Klaus smirked sipping his drink as he had plan one that would favor him greatly that is if he could get her to agree.

"I want you to marry Elijah." Klaus tells her as Leona choked on her drink and she stared at the vampire in front of her. Leona narrowed her blue eyes at him.

"You want me to do what?"

"Marry my brother." Klaus answered calmly sipping his drink watching the mob boss. Klaus heard the stories of Leona Valentine, a ruthless mob boss causing problems for the Human Faction in the city.

"And why would I marry your brother, Mikaelson?" Leona questioned watching Klaus closely as she was no fool she knew how the vampire tired running the city as Genevieve would come asking for protection for the witches.

"I have what you want. There is a dock I hear you been trying to get to help ship out the whiskey you smuggle." Klaus said smirking as Leona stared at him.

"You want a business deal. I marry your brother and I get my dock but the question is what do you get?"

"My brother's happiness, Miss Valentine." Klaus tells her but the woman didn't believe him. Everyone knows to do deals with Klaus Mikaelson meant you had what he wanted and Leona didn't know what she could possibly have that he wanted.

Leona thought it over as she had never met the older Mikaelson only Klaus and some times Rebekah and Kol would come into her jazz club while she didn't know what Klaus wanted but she really wanted the dock.

"You have a deal Mikaelson. I'll marry your brother." Leona said unaware just what she sighed up for as Klaus smirked darkly. Leona didn't care about being stuck in a loveless marriage as she knew she wouldn't be seeing Elijah much so there wasn't much for her to worry about.

"You did what?!" Elijah said glaring at his brother while Rebekah and Kol watched their older brothers. The three was reading a letter from Marcel when Klaus came in saying Elijah was going to marry with a smirk.

"Met with Miss Valentine. And we came to a deal of her marrying you so she could have her docks." Klaus said pouring drink as Elijah glared at him as Klaus knew damn well Elijah wasn't taking a woman as a lover nor wife because his heart still hadn't healed over Celeste. Rebekah looked to Kol who was curious as word was that Leona Valentine didn't date nor been seen with a man as she was too scary to a normal man.

"Elijah, if you marry Miss Valentine it would calm the Human Faction and I get parts of the city she controls."

"Niklaus, I am not some maiden you can marry off! I could never truly love Miss Valentine it wouldn't be fair to her." Elijah said as Klaus rolled his eyes looking at Elijah with a sigh. Klaus knew Leona could care less but Elijah was always the honorable one, always caring a little too much.

"Well Miss Valentine could care less brother. If you really need peace of mind here go to her jazz club." Klaus said writing the down the address as Elijah frowned taking the paper agreeing to see the woman

It took Elijah a week to push hisself to see Leona at her jazz club with Rebekah and Kol. Elijah walked in hearing good jazz people dancing and drinking having a good time as he headed to the Mob boss's office.

"Boss....uh Elijah Mikaelson wants to see you." Angelo said making the blonde look up from paperwork and nodded. Angelo let Elijah into the office and the vampire stared at his future wife.

"Leave us be Angelo." Leona said as the man nodded as Elijah looked her over and there was no doubt Leona was beautiful and under different circumstances Elijah would loved to have her.

"Look if you are here to do the lovey dovey crap. Don't. We don't need to do the whole song and dance I just want my docks." Leona tells Elijah as it hit him in the heart.

"Is that so. Our marriage wouldn't mean a thing to you?" Elijah asked watching her as he never met such woman like her. Leona took off her reading glasses looking at Elijah, she had to admit Elijah was every handsome and was just her type. Tall dark and handsome.

"No. Look I understand you are the honorable noble brother but you don't need to worry about me."

"Quite a cold thought." Elijah tells her as Leona just leaned back in her chair staring at Elijah.

"So what? You want to make this work?"

"I rather not have you treat our soon to marriage as a business deal." Elijah says as Leona raised an eyebrow wondering why Elijah was trying to make this work.

"Do what you want then Mikaelson. I am now an easy woman to win over."

"I like a good challenge." Elijah says leaving the office with a smirk on his face as Leona had no idea what she was about to get into.

[myimaginedcorner]

A TUMBLR STORY: TORN PAGE (p.6)

PREVIOUS RESULT: In your own room

You’ve barely entered your chambers. You did it to escape, your rest lapsing between stone and dust. Clocks of sand became Time in depths were nothing changed, and grey ceilings got made clouds that never showed sky’s blue. For days, you dissipated between shadows, one with the labyrinth that swallowed elven memories.

Then, you did it to encounter. You roamed vastly among new creations, the scent of paint singing of Celest’s rejuvenated self. You’ve lurked between the noisy crowd and spent your nights among wild fauna, watching the stars that twinkled from afar.

In all ways, you avoided the one place that was yours to control and shape – your one haven that no one else inhabited. There was nowhere to hide in it, nor there was anyone to seek. Or so you thought.

Coming to get a change of clothes – as yours got finally ripped in your last escapade – you saw what you’ve been seeking in the world beyond: those eyes that called for you whenever you dared blinking. They were in your space, invading it in equal ways to how their thought invaded heart and mind. Sitting on your bed, no less.

“Well, lucky you to find me in the most unexpected place!” with Ashna’s laughter, shivers ran over your paled skin, comforting warmth brought to veins used to the cold of air and soil.

“Indeed,” you nodded. Curiosity was now one to take over. “Why are you here?”

Perhaps, something happened that you weren’t aware of.

“I told you,” placing their hands on both sides of their crossed legs, the elf appreciated your bed’s comfort, leaning slightly back. “I was searching for you.”

“Why?” 

Their smile spoke of no concerns. However, rare was the occasion that you’ve seen them frown – in lectures or in expeditions, their giggles opened way to day and night, two shining eyes ready to brighten up even the grumpiest of weathers.

“Ah, well…”

You sensed uncertainty. In their voice, something slowed down the cheerful melody, a single note quietly chirping out of tune. Your eyes got wider: before you, their cheeks bloomed, ears shivering from unexpected fluster.

“I missed you,” when they finally answered, it seemed that evening forgot to come, dawn raising before sunset.

Their shy smile glowed as a new sun – a light that, like a tiny rabbit, jumped through your clothes into your chest, new resident to your inner spirit. You knew not how to reply, at first: you were too confused. First hiding, then trying to find, never you thought that what you yearned desired you back.

“Hey, mister Statue, are you still with us?”

A little scoff unfroze you, your confused expression paid with quiet giggles. Standing from the softness of your matrass, Asha proceeded to approach you, hands behind their back.

“I missed our chat. It was so fun, we should have done that earlier. All other scholars and students are so absorbed by their own literature and research… none of them go there and explore, like you do. None of them risk it,” with a grin genuine enough to melt the coldest ice, the elf caught your meandering stare, gluing it to their precious irises. “Are you unhappy that I’m here…?”

Their saddened appearance shot you through. Before you had time to process, your head had already been shaken, throwing away suspicions of wrong kind. You calmed down quickly, with a cough, letting a sigh escape.

“I’m not. I was just surprised that we both sought each other’s company.”

“Right?” they brightened up. “Perhaps it’s destiny.”

“Destiny’s not a concept anymore.”

“Ah, but who knows!” as they shrugged shoulders, your unmoved presence gave them leeway to start prowling through your room. “The fact that no gods are left doesn’t mean that destiny has been abolished, does it?”

“It does,” you arched a brow. Thoughts like these were what got you kicked off lecture halls. “With no one playing god, Time has no set pace to follow. It flows wherever it is guided by our actions.”

“So, you mean that anything that happens is our fault?”

Their eyes stared back at you – they were deeper than two oceans, ready to sink ships and sailors.

“Precisely,” you nodded. It was of public knowledge, a tale to pass for generations. Dragonfall didn’t happen for us to forget.

“What a big burden to take upon tiny shoulders,” Ashna smiled, picking something up.

“It gives us freedom.”

“Freedom… freedom or safety, which one’s better?”

Suddenly, they paused before you had the time to answer, and so, you kept silent, letting them think in peace. Any scholar would do so – it was of minimal consideration.

However, from their evaluation, only another laugh emerged.

“Look at us,” Ashna shook their head. “We’re free to choose what conversation to have, and yet after just meeting, we’re already in debate! What is it but our blood dictating our decisions?”

You took one step towards them. Somehow, their comment made you smile, too.

“Blood or mind? I would argue that a great mind is always happy to get challenged,” you replied. “That’s why our meetings get quickly submerged into deeper topics than the weather, or our wellbeing.”

“How are you?”

Confused, you look at them, met by their cheerful expression.

“…Excuse me?”

“I just realised, I didn’t ask you how you’re feeling, or how are you after so many dangerous trips. You probably haven’t even been eating properly for days,” Ashna got pensive, a brief, tiny blaze of guilt gleaming within their eyes. “I’m not entirely sure when was the last time that I’ve asked that to anybody… and you?”

Indeed, when was it? You couldn’t remember, either. Your exchange with other scholars always had knowledge at its centre, and your interaction with the city bore negotiating tones. There was no time to waste on formalities – everyone had something new to learn.

“I heard that humans spend hours talking about nothing in particular. Perhaps, we should do that, too,” added your acquaintance, brushing fingers over a book’s dusty spine.

“Our minds are different. Emptiness can bring dangerous malfunctions to our process…”

“Those are books a thousand years old!” their scoff was louder, more annoyed. “How are we meant to progress if we’re constantly following outdated rules? Nothing will happen if we get to know each other better. That’s also a type of knowledge, isn’t it?”

You took a few seconds to think. It didn’t sound like a big crime – you were entitled to some rest, and you could choose to rest with words of little meaning. Besides, your inner curiosity got caught by their masterful hook: you wanted to know more about them… only them. To occupy part of your precious memory with thoughts related to this happy, different elf of no special achievements, of misbehaviour and problematic thoughts. Why wouldn’t you? They were uncommon. In your denial, you called it an experiment.

After you nodded, an applause came, and suddenly, you got dragged to the bed. With a smile bigger than before, Ashna jumped eagerly into the well that your eyes represented, opening theirs as doors into their soul.

“So, what would you like to know?”  

[canonicallyanxious]

i was tagged by @thelibraryiscool for a couple of bookish related things and they looked like great fun but i completely forgot to do them until now skdjnfskdjnfs so combining into one post to kill two birds with one stone!

tagging: @tristealven @persimmonyms @boxesfullofthoughts @pronouncingitwang @kapplebougher @florawelch​ @homomrdarcy @braveveth - feel free to do one or both or none of the above!

rules: spell out either your name or username using only books or only movies that have your vibe, and tag some people.

[i did for a hot second consider doing my username for more letter options but i decided i was not about to suffer through the trials of trying to remember literally any book that starts with the letter x also obviously i’m doing books because movies what are those?????]

A Secret History by Donna Tartt [this game asked for vibes, not my favorite books, and unfortunately an incredibly pretentious story about murderous gay-coded classics majors is exactly 100% my vibe]

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Saenz

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

Another Country by James Baldwin

Her Body and Other Parties: Stories by Carmen Maria Machado

-

#54321 Challenge

5 books I’m loving/have loved: [I’m assuming this means recently??? unfortunately i have not had the brain cells for reading as of late so i’m just going to name all the new novels i’ve read this year that i loved which does happen to be exactly 5 lol]

The Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson [love Baru Cormorant, would love to actually fuckin finish the fuckin sequels one day]

The Thirty Names of Night by Zeyn Joukhadar

Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi

Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

4 auto-buy authors: [i find this rather challenging bc I honestly don’t really have favorite authors and the number of authors whose works i have all read and enjoyed is very, very low so i guess i will just list some authors that always make me perk up when i see them around]

Roxane Gay

Celeste Ng

Tamsyn Muir [whom I also know as UrbanAnchorite but that’s neither here nor there]

Ann Leckie

3 genres I love: [also a prompt i find challenging skdjnfsdkjnfs i will give pretty much any genre a stab if it’s well written but i gave this my best shot]

urban fantasy

coming of age [does this count as a genre???? it does now]

sci-fi [i tend to prefer sci-fi on the softer side or stories that are not fully sci-fi but have sci-fi elements but harder sci-fi can be great fun too. i almost put cyberpunk as a genre but i realized i like cyberpunk better in visual media than as a literary genre lol]

2 places I love to read: 

Near a body of water, preferably with shade and a decent seat that won’t give me a back ache [will take: beaches, poolsides, river banks, boats on the ocean, puddles of rain, etc.]

In a city I don’t live in, preferably while traveling by myself or at a quiet cafe or park where no one will bother me

1 book/series I promised to read: 

Middlemarch by George Elliot, which is more of a promise to myself than anything else. I have had this book in my backlog for a year and a half now since i first started reading it. i don’t want to talk about it.