#imagine dying knowing they thought you were capable of the worst action they could think of

[courteous-cryptid]

Jason Todd as a character is deeply sad in a way I think a lot of us are afraid of. Imagine you were a child, taken in and more or less beloved. Things weren't perfect, even more at the end, but they were the best years you've known. Imagine you're growing up, youre changing and with how your guardians act, you're scared they won't love who you're becoming. Imagine that when it's at its worst, you're presented with what looks like a silver parachute. Sure, your dad didn't love you and your mom died and your guardians think you're capable of murder (and if they're willing to believe that, who knows what they really think of you. They definitely want to be rid of you.) None of that will matter if your birth mom wants you. And she does! You're so sure of it you fly to Ethiopia! And you meet her, and she's a little rough around the edges but so are you and she loves you! ...but she doesn't. It was all a trick. And you love her still, and you're so sorry she got caught up in your life because now she's dying with you and it'll be all your fault, but only if Batman doesn't come. And maybe he's been upset with you lately, and maybe he thought you killed that guy, but he doesn't want you dead. He doesn't want anyone dead, so you know he will save you. You believe that as a fact, it's not faith it's knowledge, he's coming and he won't let you die here! ...but he does. He's too late. You tell your mom you're sorry, right before the fireworks and then... nothing.

Until.

You're back, and you're not you, but it's okay because Talia is willing to bring you back (as a favor to bruce, who doesn't know you're alive) and then you're you again or sort of, you're different, you're wrong and you're so so angry and hurt. She brought you back for bruce, Bruce who wasn't fast enough, Bruce who has another kid in your boots, Bruce who will never killed the joker, not even for you . The world marched on without you, and now you're back like a piece of gum on their shoes, and youre pissed that's all you are so fuck it all you can at least become a thorn in their side, if you can never be their beloved soldier again, you can at least become a problem. While you're at it, you'll save all the people batman never could, you'll clean up the streets permanently because there's already blood on your hands and they already thought you were a murderer anyway. And in the meantime you'll scare that kid out of your boots before he goes and gets himself killed just like you did.

You don't know they want you back. You're too scared to hope. But they forgive you for the blood. They're willing to work with you. You didn't know. And somehow it's not too late.

[nejibaby]

The Sun

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Summary: If there’s two things common between you and Icarus, they’re 1) you both tried to get too close to the sun, and 2) you’re both mortal — vulnerable and susceptible to the pain that comes with it.

This is initially intended to be the second part of Burn, but this can also be considered a standalone fic. 😊

[I also tweaked the story of Icarus and Daedalus a little bit so they can fit the One Piece universe. Hope you don’t mind.]

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: So you see I’m trying out this new writing style, but I’m not sure if it turned out how I wanted it to be. But please let me know your thoughts about it~

Icarus.

Back when you still lived in your hometown, as a child, you have grown to like the tales of sailors who docked at your island. There’s this story about one of the first ever heard of uses of devil fruit powers.

It’s about a master craftsman named Daedalus imprisoned in some far away kingdom with his son, Icarus. With their cell up high in the castle and the ground filled with guards, there was no means to escape for an average person. But Daedalus was all sorts of things other than average; he’s a father, a genius, and a devil fruit user of the Doru Doru no Mi. And because of those, he has found a way to get out of the kingdom through something that only he can make: wings made out of candle wax.

“Don’t fly too close to the sun or else the heat will melt the wax and you’ll fall into the sea.” A fair warning from Daedalus to Icarus as he handed a pair of wings to his son, who only nodded in response.

Their escape went on without a hitch with the help of the wings. However, because of the delectable taste of freedom, the further away they had gone from the kingdom that constricted them, the more precarious Icarus got. He flew higher and higher and higher, until his wings started melting. And only when he was falling to the sea did he notice that the wings had melted off completely. Even Daedalus had noticed it too late, and all he could’ve done was lament for his son who didn’t heed his words.

“It was tragic,” the sailor once told you. But all you could ever think about back then was that Icarus was dumb. Foolish. Idiotic. Stupid. Moronic.

Why would he fly higher when he knew the risks? It just didn’t make sense. There was no rational explanation, no sensible justification for it.

But now that you’re older, you might have found a possible reason why he did what he did.

Maybe, just like you, he fell in love with the sun.

The Sun.

Icarus might have fallen in love with the sun. But who are you to judge him? The sun is bright, brilliant, warm, and enticing. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to be guided by its light, to bask in its warmth, to ever so gently be caressed by its flames. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to be nearer, despite the repercussions.

You can’t call him out because you did just the same. Ace was — no — is your sun.

With his charming and boyish smile that’s always capable of cheering you up, you can mistake him as the light. He’s like the sun peeking from the clouds after a stormy day, or the sun rising after the darkest night.

In his embrace, no matter how momentary, anyone would be able to feel his care. Hell, even with his arm slung over your shoulder or his mere presence beside you, you would feel a sense of security. Because Ace is also the warmth and the comfort. Pretty much like the gentle rays of the sun enveloping you with a blanket after a cold breeze.

But you also know that like the sun, he too is dangerous. The least he can do is to burn you. And at the very worst, he could be destructive.

The Fall.

When Icarus got too close to the sun, his wings melted and naturally, he fell into the sea. There were no stories about how he felt or what was in his mind when it happened, but recently you’d like to imagine that he was content.

Falling is scary, that much is true. But falling can also be exhilarating and thrilling — it’s feeling only your weightlessness, the breathlessness, the adrenaline flowing through your blood.

You’d like to think that as Icarus fell, his thoughts were about how he did not regret what he did. In the end, he got his freedom and then he made a brave choice of going after his love. Isn’t it better to have felt the burning light than never at all? Isn’t it better to have a taste of love albeit briefly?

You’re no Icarus. You’re not a child of a genius, and you have no wings that’ll melt once you get close to your sun. But for you, the answer to these questions is yes.

You’re grateful to have experienced being by Ace’s side. You’re happy to have seen his smiles and to have heard his laughs. You’re content to have been the recipient of his sparing touches.

And as you ran with bloodied hands and injured parts after escaping from the Blackbeard Pirates, you’re pleased that it was you in this predicament and not Ace. He’s safe and it’s because of you. And despite standing face to face with death just moments ago, you’re delighted because you accomplished your mission to get information about their plans.

If there’s one thing you and Icarus should regret though, it’s being vulnerable and susceptible to pain.

The Reunion.

Icarus did not live long enough to be reunited with the sun. But you did. Your body might have been littered with scars now, but the important thing is that you survived. You’re alive, you’re healed, and you’re at peace.

And you’re back with the Whitebeard Pirates.

Whitebeard, the Division Commanders, and the former members of the Spade pirates are quick to reprimand you for your rash actions once you board the ship. You listen to their sentiments quietly, understanding the severity of your decision, but you stand by your ground, telling them you didn’t regret doing it, especially since you’ve gotten valuable information about Blackbeard. And once you’ve relayed everything to them, they all quickly let you off the hook.

All except one, of course.

You’re just about to retire to your room when Ace softly asks, “Yo, can we talk?” once you pass him by.

The sun is always so inviting. It’s capable of luring you out of whatever cave you’re hiding in. That’s the aura Ace gives off when you turn to look at him. So you nod your head and follow him to a more private area on the ship.

At this moment, you can’t help but think that the sun and the planets are bound by the laws of science. Science tells us that planets orbit around the sun because of attraction, however, they must never cross the line. This has been your mistake in the past, but now you know better. And so now you try to physically distance yourself from him.

Ace doesn’t comment on the distance. You aren’t sure if he even noticed. Instead he asks, “Why did you do it?”

You raise your brow, “We wanted information, right?”

“I was the one who should’ve been doing that. I’m his Commander. I’m the one who’s supposed to be responsible for that.”

You scoff. “It’s done now, let’s not dwell on it anymore—”

“But you could’ve died!”

“So what? Would you rather it was you? Because I don’t! If you died… if you died…” you choked back a sob. You didn’t want to think about him dying. Just the thought of it is enough to tug your heartstrings.

The sight of you softens him up right away. “Hey, hey, hey,” he tries soothing you. “I’m not gonna die.”

“You say that, but even the sun will die eventually. And I don’t want to witness that tragedy.”

This shuts Ace up. He didn’t really understand how much he matters to you until now. Seeing you crumble with just the thought of him dying makes him realize that your confession to him before the two of you parted was indeed the truth. “You’re right. I’m sorry…”

You could only bite your lip to calm yourself down.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking when you were away…” Ace murmurs. “And my thoughts were always about you.”

You gulp as your heart rate accelerates. Will he be turning you down properly this time? Give you the confirmation and closure that you need?

If you focus on your thoughts, you can hear a chant in your head: The sun will prioritize light over love. The sun will prioritize light over love. The sun will prioritize light over love.

But you reason, that’s okay. The sun is bound by the laws of science and one of its main purposes for its existence is to provide light. And you will not hold Ace back from doing that. If he doesn’t love you, it’s fine, you’ll be fine.

“I thought… you didn’t like me,” Ace says.

This statement catches your attention immediately. You’re about to object but he continues, “Because you always called me ‘Captain’ and then ‘Commander,’ and never by my name. And I thought that that was you drawing the line between us.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not good at these things,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

But you remain tense, trying to comprehend what’s happening.

Ace takes a small step toward you.

And you couldn’t help but think that if Ace gets closer, you’ll burn once again.

Yet you watch with wide eyes, not stopping him as he gets closer and closer and closer.

At this point you can only hear how wildly your heart is beating across your chest.

And when Ace raises his hand to tenderly touch your cheek, you realize: The sun’s rays do not burn until brought to a focus.

Which could only mean one thing: his focus has always been on you.

“I love you, my angel,” Ace whispers as he presses his forehead against yours. “I’m in love with you,” and he seals his admission with a kiss.

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

Jean and Connie: The Path to Valhalla

Many people are upset at the fate of Jean and Connie, but, while I love these characters just as dearly (see: my username and icon), I really can’t think of a better conclusion to their character arcs than for them both to ‘die as a member of the Survey Corps’.

Maybe it’s because death is thought of nowadays as the ultimate evil that it cannot be seen as a positive thing. But for the majority of human history, a good death was every inch as important as a good life.

For the Vikings especially - and SNK is filled with Norse references - your entry into Valhalla is wholly dependent on the way you die, not the way you live: whether you die gloriously in battle, or wither away after cowardly retreat. No matter what mistakes you make in your life, all can be redeemed if you sacrifice yourself fighting.

Hange hates themself for failing to live up to Erwin’s legendary leadership, for killing their old comrades, and for losing control of Eren and allowing the Rumbling to happen. But in sacrificing themself, in dying fighting, Hange is welcomed into the hall of heroes in the afterlife.

Likewise, no matter how brave you were in a hundred battles prior, if you do not die in the flurry of combat, you cannot enter Valhalla.

Jean is tempted towards inaction, to allow the Rumbling to continue. His rationale is that by virtue of all his previous battles, he has accumulated enough honour for no-one to judge him in this regard. 

Yet he is judged, and he knows he is judged. He is judged by the Einherjar, the souls of the slain that dwell within Valhalla: his old comrades in the Survey Corps.

Only by fighting to the very end can one enter Valhalla. There is no room for quitters. Your true worthiness of character is determined in the moment of death, and only in that moment.

Jean is Attack On Titan’s Everyman: he’s the series’ example of how an average person who would prefer to run away and live a quiet life can nevertheless become a hero. No matter how scared or fragile they might be, they are always capable of doing their damnedest to fight back.

Jean is continually tempted away from this bloody path of the hero. He is tempted to join the Military Police and live in the Interior, to not kill another human being, to ignore the Rumbling and enjoy peace at last, to not kill Eren and his other former comrades. But every time, he has managed to triumph over those fears. And the greatest of those is the fear of death.

In his character’s flagship moment, Jean trembles as he declares his decision to join the Survey Corps. He’s terrified, because he knows that decision ultimately means death. But in protecting the lives of others, he has found something worth valuing beyond his own life.

The decision is not just made there, but continuously. The Rumbling was a potential ‘out’ for Jean. Had he stopped there, then, miraculously, his decision of certain death would have not cost him his life. 

But he did not stop, because then he could not enter Valhalla.

Lightning never strikes twice. Jean had a miracle offered to him on a plate and he turned it down. For his decision to carry any weight, the narrative could not have allowed him to survive this battle as well. It is essential that Jean made the choice not just to fight, but to die for the greater good. 

As Connie reminds him, that was the decision he made at the entrance ceremony, and that is the decision he has continued to uphold.

Yet, in contrast to the trembling Jean from back then, look how at peace he is in his last moments. He’s calm because he’s made this decision twice now. He is dying ‘as a member of the Survey Corps’, the fate he knew was inevitable after signing up for not just one, but two suicide missions. He has not betrayed Marco by backing out halfway through. By fighting to the bitter end like Marco did, he has earned the right to stand alongside him in Valhalla.

As for Connie, if you look closely you can see tears in his eyes. Part of this is because he has always been prone to tears, but he must also feel the bitter sting of irony in facing the same fate as Ragako village: the tragedy that has haunted him throughout the series.

Horrifying enough to think of. But despite facing the worst fate he can imagine, somehow, Connie shares in Jean’s sense of peace and playfully berates him for making him care about the world beyond himself. This is because Connie, too, is proud to die as a member of the Survey Corps.

Connie is another of the series’ ‘normal’ people - he joins the military for the common goal of making his family proud. Like Jean, he must fight his insular inclinations - a happy life with his family - to walk the hero’s path and join the Survey Corps, kill other humans, resist the Rumbling, and kill Eren and his old comrades.

But after the titanisation of his family, the betrayal of countless friends, and the death of the person closest to him, Connie is tempted to abandon this path which has cost him so much. He wants to stop being righteous and just be a normal idiot again - someone who values their own comfort over the lives of strangers.

So Connie is offered his own ‘out’ through Falco, and almost takes it. By resurrecting his mother, Connie could return to the family life he really wants, even if it would sabotage an alliance with Reiner and doom all life beyond the Walls.

But thanks to Armin’s intervention, Connie stops himself. He reaffirms his commitment to the righteous path, as Jean does in the very same chapter.

Both Connie and Jean sacrifice the peaceful lives they’ve always wanted in order to protect people other than themselves and their loved ones. Connie can share in Jean’s sense of peace when the time comes because he has already placed the hero’s path ahead of his personal desires. The moment he condemned his mother to titanisation for the sake of the greater good, he was willing to meet that same fate himself.

In choosing the self-sacrificial path of the Survey Corps over his own desires, Connie makes the decision Erwin made - and the decision Eren could not make.

Connie turned down his ‘out’. He could have avoided the death sentence of joining the Survey Corps just like Jean, but he decided to uphold his oath instead.

That moment made his death inevitable, as well as his entry into Valhalla. Although he jokingly complains, his pride at having the job of ‘saving humanity’ is clear. He has become a soldier his mother could be proud of.

They die as members of the Survey Corps, doing what the SC have always done - entrusting their comrades to make their sacrifice mean something.

The efforts of Jean and Connie may have led to their deaths, but it was only because of their actions that their comrades were able to save the world. By overcoming their individual weaknesses and desires, these two ordinary people now rank among the most special and indispensable people in existence.

In contrast to Keith’s earlier pessimism, special people aren’t born that way. They become that way through continuous struggle, sacrifice, and force of will. 

That’s why ordinary people like Jean and Connie are now worthy of entry into Valhalla. They stand next to the countless other ordinary people in the Survey Corps whose personal sacrifices led up to the outcome for which they had always fought: the salvation of mankind.

They dedicated their hearts to humanity.

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 139 Review Part I: On Eren Jeager and Genocide

Why?

Why is this happening?

Folks, I’m going to be honest here: there are no words for this. The main thrust of this chapter is completely inexplicable. It’s stupid. It’s ill conceived. FML.

Just…just the term itself is laughable.

Eren redemption arc.

Sksksksksksksksksksksk

After everything he’s done, everyone he’s killed, you’re going to try redeeming Eren in the final chapter?

Eren didn’t need to be redeemed. He was a bullheaded kid who didn’t let anyone stop him from doing what he thought needed to be done. He sees the titans outside the walls as enemies to be exterminated. When he learns that his real enemies are other humans, who have a right to freedom as much as he does, he can’t accept it and decides to just exterminate them too. That mindset led him down a tragic path of genocide.

That’s not a bad character arc!

In fact, I’d say it’s very compelling. Nonconformity and obstinance are often presented as virtues; flipping that paradigm on its head and showing the vices of those virtues was legitimately smart and provocative.

Making people rethink what traits are virtues and vices is a great moral to the story, and it paired well with the other moral of cooperation and loving your fellow people.

Then this chapter came out, and they threw all that away.

Eren’s arc once made me think of Aristotle, who argued that true virtue lied between extremes: neither too submissive nor too rebellious.

Now Eren’s arc makes me think of pseudointellectual 4chan philosophy, and dumb teenagers: “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just human!!!”

Eren’s motivations are a mess now. He had no free will, but he also had a plan, but deep down he wanted to do the rumbling no matter what, but actually he really wanted to be with Mikasa.

Oh, and B T dubs, he killed his mom too.

You can tell Isayama is desperate to make Eren as sympathetic as possible to justify making him the anti-hero because he’s throwing everything he can pull out of his ass at Eren.

Really, though, all he ended up doing was smearing shit on the character.

Eren’s plan was to kill a significant part of the human population so the world wouldn’t be as overwhelming a threat as before. Simultaneously, he planned (“planned”) for the alliance to become vaunted heroes to the world when they killed him, thus paving the way to peace.

This…makes no sense?

There is no reason Eren should have believed this would work. During the battle of Trost, Pixis asked him if humanity could unite if threatened by a common enemy. Eren said no.

Eren is a pessimist about people. He sees how much the walldians fought with each other and concluded that people would always be at odds.

And the Tybur family helped defeat the Eldian Empire, but only the Tyburs were seen as heroes by the Marleyans. That good will was not imputed from the Tyburs to the other Eldians on the continent. There’s no reason to think that would happen here when it didn’t back then.

I’m assuming, anyway, that the alliance becoming heroes is supposed to lead to a world where Paradis is safe since that’s supposed to be Eren’s goal.

I’m willing to grant that maybe this part of Eren’s plan was more of a hope on his part. Peace would come only after his death, so he can’t truly “plan” for anything afterwards.

I think it’s safe to say that killing the world’s population was the main part of his plan, since that’s the part he had the most control over.

To the extent he had any control over his actions, which brings me to the next point.

So, turns out Eren had no free will.

Can you not feel Isayama’s desperation?

After all the awful things Eren’s done, Isayama’s brilliant idea to make him sympathetic is to strip him of all agency.

This is done by two routes throughout the chapter.

The first is by building him up as a victim. Eren’s mind is fucked; he can’t really control himself. Any decent person would feel pity for him, which is reinforced by the sorrow Armin visibly feels for him.

Then, like a shotgun blast to the face, we are told that Eren killed his mother in a moment that is clearly supposed to endear us to him.

This is such a transparent appeal for our sympathy. Isayama’s desperation leaps off the page and mugs us of it.

The only thing that this revelation adds to the story is that it gives Armin a reason to take up Eren’s hand, and show him support. You can see Armin’s heart breaking for Eren in that moment.

That’s mostly why this is here: to give the mass murderer a hard luck story so our hearts melt for him.

The second route is that depriving Eren of agency absolves him of blame for what he did.

Eren beat Armin bloody, but you can’t really blame him for it. He was drugged out on the Founding Titan and didn’t want to do it. He was acting on impulse, just going with the flow, so he deserves, at the very least, some leniency.

Eren both having a plan and not having much in the way of free will is contradictory. Everyone still talks about Eren as if he’s someone who is doing stuff even though we’re told he’s not really capable of rational decision making.

I’m going to be nice and assume Isayama’s intent is that when you parse this all out, you end up in a place where Eren is not truly responsible for what he did, and in any event this all ended with the titan curse broken and the world at peace, sooooo break out the champagne everyone, we achieved world peace!

…

Yeah, bub, I’m not partying right now.

Isayama’s ploy to absolve Eren of blame didn’t work. Eren is still responsible for the people he killed and his Founding Titan lobotomy counts for shit. Turns out it helps to know how free will works when you’re writing about free will.

Free will is the quality of being in control of your actions, at least to the extent necessary to be held responsible for them.

Eren was just going with the flow (wonder what Annie thought of that…), acting on impulse, and getting dragged along by fate, but that’s not actually important.

It’s been known for centuries that current events are caused by previous events and that the current events will bring about future events in a never ending chain of cause and effect. One domino causes another to fall causes another to fall and on and on. This is called determinism.

And that’s ok because we free will exists. It exists even if we can’t do anything other than what we are going to do. It exists in spite of, or even arises out of, determinism.

This premise, that free will and determinism are not mutually exclusive, is the foundation for a family of theories about free will called compatibilism.

Compatibilist free will is the most popular theory of free will. There are a couple of variations on the basic idea, but the gist is that free will exists when your actions can be linked to an aspect of yourself that you identify with.

For example, if you had no choice but to do something, but you’re ok with that because it’s what you wanted anyway, then you have free will.

Even if I didn’t know you’d stop me in the end, I think I still would have flattened this world. 

-Eren Jeager

That’s all I needed to hear.

EREN, FUCK YOU!!!!

Eren had free will, at least as much as necessary to blame him for his genocide.

Isayama threw this curveball at us and all it did was ruin Eren as a character while leaving him just as repugnant as before. Incredible. It’s the worst of both worlds.

Before this chapter Eren was a guy who believed in something and followed that belief no matter who got in his way. That was great! It was tragic and sad, but great storytelling.

Where does this chapter leave us?

What we learn in this chapter is that Eren didn’t really believe in anything. He may have free will enough to be a shithead for what he did, but that doesn’t mean he has free will enough to be an interesting character.

Eren coming to grips with him not being free, in an absolute sense, would have been so much more interesting than what we got. Eren started the series comparing humanity to cattle in a pen. He ends the series being literally sheparded by fate to his death like cattle to a slaughterhouse.

And yet we get no exploration of that at all.

It’s lame. Everything about this is lame. From a storytelling perspective, Eren was just along for the ride. Who would want to reread this series now? A story about a boy who’s quest for freedom neither ends tragically nor happily, but is just forgotten about by the end. What’s the point?

There is none.

Eren’s journey ends up lost in the author’s own ignorance of the very thing this is supposed to be about.

Unfortunately, SNK isn’t interested in 80% of the world being dead. If it were, Eren wouldn’t have gotten such a warm send off.

I was honestly shocked when I read this chapter.

I thought it had been made clear. SNK had come firmly down against genocide. I never imagined Isayama would try a 180 in the final chapter.

And, well, he did, and here we are.

SNK is pro-genocide.

To wit:

Once Eren’s abominable plan is explained to everyone, he is lavished with love and comfort by his friends.

Armin did punch Eren for being callous about Mikasa, but overall all Armin had nothing but sympathy and understanding for Eren. They held hands and hugged and gave Eren a tender farewell.

All they talk about is how great a sacrifice Eren is making.

Not the sacrifice of 80% of all people, but the sacrifice that Eren personally is making of himself.

I don’t know what deranged mindset Isayama has that made him think this was sensible, but no, Eren is not sacrificing anything. He was always going to die. We’ve known this for several dozen chapters. It’s not a sacrifice to befall the fate you were always going to suffer.

He lost nothing. If anything, he gained from this ending.

Eren died knowing he was loved and appreciated by his friends. What more could a dying man ask for?

Eren is rewarded by the story for killing 80% of humanity.

His ultimate fate was no worse than was expected even before he committed the genocide, and he went out in the knowledge that his friends loved him for it.

It doesn’t even make logical sense that his friends would be so receptive to what he did.

There is no difference between Eren’s plan and what we thought Eren’s plan was before this chapter came out.

Armin thought Eren’s plan was to murder humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin was appalled. Armin was willing to sacrifice his life to ensure Eren failed. He was truly acting for the greater good of humanity.

In this chapter, Armin learns that Eren’s plan is actually to murder most of humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin loves him.

Again, hand holding, hugging, “thank you.” No mention of the unfathomable harm caused. The 80% killed are not even a footnote in this chapter.

Even after the fact, Eren’s friends showed no qualms with Eren essentially winning and procuring their safety through genocide.

When previously the mere thought of that was what motivated them to lay down their lives to stop him.

I don’t think Isayama believes this genocide is supposed to bear on how we think of Eren. I say, having just read the chapter that’s all about Eren, in which his genocide doesn’t bear on how his friends think of him. At all.

Was that too great a leap in logic? I apologize if my rationality offends you.

Eren may have died, but he won in the end.

His friends are safe and the world looks set to conclude a peace treaty with Paradis.

I don’t buy for a second that the world is a threat to Paradis anymore, and I don’t buy for a second that there won’t be a peace shortly after the end of the story.

It’s very telling, to me, that it’s the world that’s come to grovel at Paradis’ feet, begging for peace, when previously it was the other way around.

The contours of this “peace,” if you can call it that, were made pretty clear in the epilogue. The world is in ruins while Paradis is stronger than ever, so the world sues for peace for fear of Paradis attacking further. 

This is the moral of the story. Frankly, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time.

How do you end the cycle of violence?

The answer is to win. To be stronger. More determined.

The only peace is enforced peace through domination.

Peace through the barrel of a gun.

To be continued in part II (and possibly part III)

[sundaysundaes]

A Shatter in The Dark

Mark Lee X Lee Donghyuck/Haechan, ft. Taeyong | NC-17 | Smut, Fluff, Action, Angst | Zombie Apocalypse AU

Summary: A lethal virus has killed 90% of the world's population and turns 9.8% into zombie-like, cannibalistic mutants who are extremely vulnerable to the ultraviolet rays in sunlight. And yet, Mark Lee's number one problem is trying to stop himself from staring too long at the way Haechan's jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Warnings: Smut, Major Character Death, Slight Horror and Violence

Also available to read on AO3 here.

It’s strange, Mark thinks, for him to not be able to remember how it all started. Perhaps it’s a way for his mind to release himself from all the traumatic events he has gone through. Perhaps he’s just too scared to even begin to remember the details. Or perhaps he’s just no longer human—not like the way he used to.

“Just keep going,” he mutters to himself—a habit that begins to grow more with each day passing by. It doesn’t necessarily comfort him but it keeps him sane. He needs to hear a human’s voice in his ears, even if that comes from his own mouth.

He has stopped counting days, just like how he’s stopped taking three meals a day. Both for the same reason: to survive longer. His backpack feels heavy on his back and his untrimmed bangs stick uncomfortably to his temple, but he drags his feet along the pavement that’s scorching from the heat of the sun. His throat blazes just as hot, his lips chapped and he needs something to eat.

Back when he was fourteen and his imaginations ran wild from reading too many Stephen King’s horror novels before his bedtime, Mark once imagined how would his town look in a post-apocalyptic universe. He’d visualized the sky with no clouds and thunderbolts striking endlessly. He’d imagined the cracks on the roads with long, tall wild grass growing out of them, as they seek for the sunlight that is now shining bloody red. The air would be toxic, he’d figured, killing everyone who breathes it in without a filter mask and the seas would be dry, making water everyone’s priority and causing civil wars just to get it.

Now that he’s living in a post-apocalyptic world, he notices that it’s nothing like he’d fantasized.

The city of Seoul looks fairly the same, albeit slightly abandoned. Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few months since the outbreak, but the neighbourhood still seems familiar. The plants are unkempt, the bags of dust on the floors are thick in layers, and the pavements are covered with dry leaves. But if Mark closes his eyes for a few seconds, the wind still feels nice on his cheeks, the air still smells like how it does during the end of summer, and he can imagine kids running around down the street. He doesn’t though, because no one around him is alive. He hasn’t met anyone for God knows how long and it’s making him insane.

It’s a fucking ghost town and Mark wishes he could just disappear like everybody else. A few months ago, it was stated that the virus had killed 48% of the world's population. The outbreak had started in Korea as well but his government was trying their best to isolate the island. That was the last news he saw on TV before his mother took the remote control with a quivering hand and turned it off. She turned to her son, eyes trembling in fear, and said, “Let’s pray together. Our Lord will protect us if we pray.”

But Lord’s protection only lasted for two days before his usually calm neighbourhood began to turn into an uproar. The virus had infected one of them and it traveled fast.

Those who had weak bodies, Mark noticed, died within seconds and he witnessed with his own eyes how his father, who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks before, began to bleed from his mouth, nose and ears. It happened so fast, as if something invisible was choking the life out of him and he exploded from the inside. He could remember how his father was reaching out to him, his son’s name on his tongue and Mark stood there in horror, watching his loved one silently screaming in pain with bloody tears running down his eyes before he fell down his chair, smashing his face against the cold floor and gushing out more blood that seemed darker than the night.

Mark didn’t scream even though his mind was so loud; it felt like his brain was going to burst. He thought the virus was infecting him too and it probably was, but as he kept his eyes shut tightly, heart slamming against his ribcage as he counted to ten, he noticed he was fine. He counted again to one minute, then two, then five and he was still the same.

He was… immune. Or at least so he thought.

That was when he began to cry. And when he thought he would stop crying, he cried even harder with his hand pressed against his chest and his mouth desperately gasping for air. He glanced at the way his father’s lifeless body began to rot as if his corpse had been there for days and felt his stomach hurl.

Mark scrambled to his feet, ran upstairs to reach the room at the end of the corridor, praying frantically for his mother to be alive. And when he found her body lying on the bed, he wasn’t sure whether she was. Her body was still warm, her chest was still heaving up and down with the slow breaths she was taking, but no matter how much he tried to shake her awake, she wouldn’t budge. No matter how much he screamed her name, she wouldn’t reply. And no matter how much he cried, she wouldn’t hug him to soothe down his pain.

Hours passed by with Mark sitting at the edge of the bed,  staring at his mother with lifeless eyes, and he realized that his surrounding was quiet. Eerily so. Even the dogs no longer barked. He took a look out of the window and shuddered at the sight. Most of the people he knew from when he was still a child, were lying on the streets with bloody faces, mirroring the way his father was on his kitchen’s floor. With shivering hands, he tried to call the police with his cellphone but he couldn’t get connected. The signal was down, both the tv and his radio no longer worked and it just really hit him that the world was ending.

It took him another hour to process everything, but only a minute for him to finally get up to his feet and walk downstairs. He had a shovel in his hand, and dried tears lining his cheeks.

He began to dig.

***

“Sorry for barging in,” Mark calls, but not hoping for an answer, after he kicked the front door open. The wooden floor creaks under his step, and it rings loudly in this empty neighbourhood that he’s not familiar with. But at this point, anywhere looks the same.

He knows he’s not the only person living in the world. If he’s immune to the virus, then there must be someone else—maybe even a colony—who survive as well. He just needs to find them. He always hopes that he gets to meet someone as he wanders from one house to another, but months have passed and he hasn’t seen a single soul except those who lurk in the night. Those with cloudy white eyes and rotten skin, snarling at the thought of consuming human’s flesh. Those he sees a lot, and he’s been trying his best to avoid them at all cost.

These creatures that wander after the sunsets are something that fourteen-year-old Mark would most likely call zombies. They used to be the monsters of his worst nightmares but after witnessing them with his own eyes, even standing up against one of them once in the battle of his life, Mark noticed that they were not as terrible as he’d guessed. Though they look human, they no longer have the sense of smell as they used to and they simply move based on instincts, triggered by the movements of their prey. But they’re freakishly strong and fast, and even though Mark’s pretty capable of handling his own fight during high school, these creatures can easily break his arm and leg at the same time before Mark can even begin. So he survives by keeping a safe distance, shooting them in the heads or right in their hearts—because those two are their only weaknesses—before they even notice him being there and just does his best to hide during night time.

Mark breathes in and curls his fingers tightly around his handgun. It’s really a blessing, he supposes, that he managed to find a handgun with enough amount of bullets in the drawer of his neighbour’s house. And he really does thank the Lord for giving him the chance to learn how to hunt birds back when he was young with his father during summer. He may lack physical strength, but he’s fast on his feet and good with his eyes. Combined with luck, it’s the very reason he’s survived all these months by himself.

Mark avoids dark places where the sunlight can’t reach at all cost, so he usually doesn’t barge into a house with wooden boards covering its windows and doors like this but he’s starving and this was the closest place available that he could get on foot. Maybe someone used to live here, hiding from them by making a temporary fortress of their own house.

He tries calling again, hoping that someone is still alive but he huffs in disappointment when nobody answers. “Better luck next time, Mark.”

He carefully looks around, making sure he’s safe and alone in the house as he steps toward the kitchen. When he’s certain that everything is under control, he places his gun on the kitchen’s counter and begins to check the drawers, taking every canned food and water bottle he can find into his backpack. He’s so happy to finally find something he’s been dying to drink—a canned watermelon juice—when an arm suddenly circles around his neck and a tip of a spear point knife pressed against his throat.

“Don’t move.”

It takes a few seconds for Mark’s brain to process that it’s a human voice and it’s already sending a relieved, almost joyful feeling all over his body before it finally sinks that this human is now about to slice his throat open with his knife.

“Don’t you think it’s impolite to barge into someone’s house and steal their food?” The human—a man with a voice sounding young enough to be around his age or perhaps younger—asks with a poisonous tone laced on his tongue. “Step away from the counter.”

But despite his snarky tone, Mark can tell he’s nervous from the way he breathes rather raggedly behind him. Mark has learned some basic hand-to-hand combat techniques during his scouting days and he figures he knows how to struggle himself free. He’s just lacking some practices, that’s all.

Well, there’s always a first for everything.

Elbowing the other man hard on the stomach, Mark dips his head down, freeing himself from the other man’s hold and lurches forward to snatch back his gun. Mark already has his gun in his hand but the man steps faster before he can point it to his face. He knees Mark on his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs and shoves him down to the floor, face first. He punches the gun out of his hand, turns Mark’s body around and straddles him by the waist. Grabbing him by the collar of his black shirt, he lifts Mark’s head high enough in the air so they’re face-to-face.

“Do you want to die, you little shit?!” He screams, knife pressing hard against Mark’s throat that it begins to draw blood. Mark winces from the pain but he takes a moment to see the other man’s face.

He’s young, probably is younger than he is, with a mop of messy ash grey with new brown strands growing at the roots. He has his bangs falling over his big, round chocolate dark eyes. His skin is sun-kissed, and though he sprouts expletives from his mouth, his voice is thin and a bit high-pitched. His features are a bit soft compared to his attitude, and it’s the way he stares at him that stops Mark from moving.

This young man looks terrified beyond belief.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, and he genuinely does feel so. “I wasn’t aware that someone was in the house.”

“I think I made that clear before when I told you to not fucking move.”

“You’re right. I guess my instincts just kicked in. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, though?”

He opens his mouth to retort but loses his words, and Mark smiles a little at him, earning a low growl and another shout from the other man. “Don’t you get all smart with me. Come here!”

Mark is being dragged down across the room by the back of his shirt, until the man finds himself a rope and ties Mark’s hands together behind his back. He pushes Mark down to the floor, tucks his knife safely to the back of his jeans and stares down at him with cautious eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Mark Lee.”

“You’re weak and skinny as fuck. How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess?”

“Lucky—“ He seems shocked at the nonchalant shrug Mark is showing him. “You’ve never met any of them, have you?”

“You mean other people?”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course Mark knows what he’s referring to. He just doesn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t go out at night,” he says, slightly shivering at the thought of doing so.

“No shit, Sherlock,” He mocks, squatting in front of him so they’re eye-to-eye. “Now if I haven’t made it clear before, this house is too small for both of us. I suggest you leave.”

That’s a generous offer considering Mark did barge in without permission to steal his things, but it’s been so long for Mark to finally see another human—one that does not bleed from their face or tries to eat him alive inch by inch—so he stays still and just gazes at him.

“What are you looking at, you little shit?”

“Are you alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to come together with me?” Mark asks, and before the other man looks disgusted with his generous offer, he adds, “Judging by the food you have left, you can only stay here for three days at most.”

“Longer than if I come with you, I’m sure.”

“Fair enough,” Mark chuckles and he’s surprised by his own voice. “But you never know, though. We’re stronger in numbers.”

“We’ll be targeted more in numbers.”

“I know how to hide,” Mark assures, and it sounds like a promise, which again, kind of surprises him. “I can keep you safe.”

“I literally just whooped your ass.”

“But I’ve survived this far. Trust me. It’s better if we stick together.”

It’s perhaps the certain, confident look in Mark’s eyes that makes the other man contemplates in silence, or maybe just something else entirely because he asks, “What kind of shit have you been through?”

Mark blinks. “Just like everybody else, I suppose.”

Mark can tell that he doesn’t agree with what he says, nor does he trust him, but Mark smiles again at him and asks, “Can you tell me your name? Or should I start calling you ‘little shit’ as well?”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. It looks kind of fluffy, Mark notices, like a furry dog’s coat, as if he washes his hair regularly. And maybe he does, judging by the honey-like scent that comes from him. That’s probably why he lost the battle. He was distracted. “Just call me Haechan.”

“That’s your real name?”

“That’s just how they call me.” He glooms a bit. “Used to, anyway.”

“Well, you can call me Mark.”

“Nah, I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘little shit’.”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” Mark throws back his words at him.

“I’ll grow on you,” he replies, smirking at him and Mark feels dazed for a second—maybe because he got his head slammed against the floor earlier. Maybe.

“All right, Haechannie. Can I call you that?” Haechan grimaces but Mark continues nonetheless. “Haechannie, if it’s okay with you, I’m starving.”

Haechan stands up, looking at him with a bewildered look on his face. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

***

It’s funny how different it is to make friends during the time when everything is okay compared to when it’s at the end of the world but Mark is enjoying Haechan’s company more than he thought he would. It’s true that he’s not the easiest person to be friends with but when you haven’t met someone alive for months, you’d take anyone you could get—even if that person is a devil in disguise who practically spits fire every time he talks.

Haechan, Mark learns after spending an entire week with him, is the type of person who says mean things but doesn’t really mean it. Who laughs when he’s hurting inside. Who bites back with venom when someone insults him in the slightest way. But also, who sees and cares deeply for others even when he, himself, is needing help.

Mark can tell with the way Haechan secretly throws a blanket over him whenever Mark falls deep asleep on the couch. Or with the way he casually glides a warm cup of coffee down the table for Mark to catch every morning. Or simply by saying, “Watch your steps,” or “Be careful, you idiot,” whenever Mark goes out of the house to find some food and supplies during the day.

After three more days have passed, Mark insists for both of them to move out and Haechan finally agrees, saying, “I hate this house anyway,” even though his eyes do a double-take before he closes the front door.

“Is this your house?” Mark finally asks and he feels sorry for dragging him along like this but it’s for the sake of their safety.

Haechan, to Mark’s surprise, shakes his head and only mumbles, “Just had some memory with it.”

Mark slings an arm around his shoulders. “Then let’s just make another one. A much more fun one.”

Haechan smiles, but it’s bitter.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve never even tried to drive a car,” Haechan says, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple as he tries to hotwire a car. His black sleeveless shirt is sticking to his skin, and his plump cheeks are painted with tints of red from the heat. Mark has to remind himself to look away before he stares too long at how the muscles on his upper arm flex whenever he hammers a flathead screwdriver into a keyhole.

They had to choose between an Audi and a Wrangler, and Mark loved the Audi and Haechan probably did too but he always picked the opposite of Mark’s choice to spite him so they ended up with an eight-year-old Wrangler with a lot of scratches on the side.

“Well, I love walking.”

“What a load of bullshit, Mark.”

“What—it’s true! And also, it’s expensive, okay? I don’t steal expensive things. It makes me feel guilty.” Mark tries to add some common sense which makes Haechan roll his eyes in return. “Besides, I don’t have a driving license yet.”

“Neither do I, wimp, but I still drive.” He chucks out his screwdriver with a proud smirk on his face. The car’s engine is running loud—too loud for Mark’s liking but as long as it’s daylight, they should be fine.

“Driving without a license is irresponsible.” Mark puts his seatbelt on as he sits next to him on the front seat with his backpack tucked between his legs. “And dangerous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I better stop before I get arrested by the nonexistent police officers around here.”

Mark sighs. There’s no winning an argument against this kid. They bicker more often than not, and just when they reach the end of their bickering, they will bicker again over a new topic and it really just goes endlessly but Mark is enjoying every second of it.

Haechan drives like a mad man to the point that Mark has to close his eyes and swallow the vomit that’s about to erupt from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Haechan-ah, shouldn’t you slow down a bit?!”

“Why, because there’s traffic ahead?” Haechan snickers, turning the car window next to him all the way down and smiling as the wind ruffles his hair. “Loosen up a little, Canada, you need to live and enjoy the moment.”

Mark wheezes and almost faints when Haechan suddenly makes a u-turn just for fun before he steps on the gas again, blasting through the empty road. They’re now crossing the Seongsu Bridge, which overlooks the infamous Han River and weirdly enough, the entire place is empty—not even one car in sight—and Mark remembers how the government tried to isolate the country and lock people in their own houses to contain the outbreak. That’s probably why.

“I am trying to live,” Mark says as he clutches his seatbelt tightly with both hands. “Which is the more reason why you should be care—BRAKES, HIT THE BRAKES!”

And Haechan does, almost at the last moment before their jeep jumps into the river. The rest of the bridge has collapsed and Haechan was too busy looking at how clear and big the river was to notice the part where they’re about to fall off the edge.

Well, fuck, Mark thinks, so this is why there are no cars around.

Mark looks at Haechan with the most menacing, sadistic glare he’s ever made in his life. The younger man, in return, only grins mischievously and says, “Oops?”

They begin their search for a place to stay with Mark sitting behind the wheel this time. Haechan constantly whines and whines and whines about his driving not because he’s bad at it—he’s actually pretty good though Haechan won’t admit—but because he’s too fucking slow.

“Who the fuck drives twenty miles-per-hour on an empty street?!”

“People who nearly died from driving too fast, that’s who.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll grow on you.”

They take a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank and Haechan steals three bags of Cheetos, four bottles of beer for himself and one bottle of mineral water for Mark because you’re the designated driver and Mark punches him on the shoulder.

***

“This house is nice.” Haechan settles down on the leather-clad sofa, throwing his bag on the floor and propping his legs on the table. “I think we should just stay here and never move out. Ever.”

It is a nice house. It’s not particularly huge, and it doesn’t have a second floor or a balcony which is completely fine. It’s safer that way, and it also has a basement with a comfy couch, a pile of board games, and a wine cellar. They can really use that to hide during critical moments, but he better checks it thoroughly first because again, those… things really enjoy dark places.

“We’ll see about that,” Mark responses, exhaling in relief when he’s sure that the place is safe. No zombies in sight. No trace of blood or human flesh. Just a nice, warm house with ultra-wide flat-screen TV and the latest version of PlayStation. Yeah, they probably should just stay here forever.

“Haechannie,” Mark starts but finishes early when he sees the young man sleeping with his puffy lips slightly parted. Mark smiles, he must’ve been so tired. They have been wandering for hours after all, trying to look for the best place to stay. But the sun is setting, and they have to cover all the windows and the doors to make sure that the zombies won’t be able to hear their voices or see their movements during the night.

“Haechannie,” Mark says, softer this time as he leans closer. “Haechan-ah, wake up. We still have work to do.”

There’s this sound that Haechan makes, somewhere between a soft moan and a sultry whine, that makes Mark feel a bit weird but he pushes the thoughts to the back of his head when Haechan slowly opens his eyes.

“Ugh,” he says, yawning, “You again.”

And Mark chuckles a bit. “Sorry, were you expecting someone else?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Haechan freezes at his words. “Haechannie?”

“What?” He asks, trying to act as normal as possible but Mark catches on. “Stop calling my name like that, it’s gross.” He stands up before Mark can blurt anything else and immediately says, “Come on, start working. I wanna sleep early.”

They sleep in different rooms like always, only this time, Mark spends his night staring at the ceiling and wonders whether he said something wrong earlier. But no matter how much he visited his memory and replayed the conversation, he still couldn’t find his fault. He remembered the hurting look Haechan had on his face, though, and it bothered him so much that he began to lose sleep.

The next morning, Mark feels even worse not solely because he didn’t catch much rest but because Haechan looks like he’s been crying himself to sleep.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, staring at the other man���s face as if Haechan is about to turn into a zombie.

“Are you okay?” Haechan is clearly trying to distract Mark away from him. “You look like you haven’t slept for years.”

“I was…” Mark fumbles with his words. “Distracted, I guess.”

“With what?”

He doesn’t answer and Haechan spends a few seconds analyzing him before he finally sighs and grumbles, “I guess we both have secrets. I’m gonna make some pancakes. Want some?”

Mark lightly nods though his heart still lays heavy in his chest. But if there are things he can’t tell, then maybe Haechan does too. Maybe all they need is time.

But time is limited in this world, even more so than before.

***

“Have you taken a shower yet?” Haechan asks with a towel hanging around his neck. His hair is damp and he sniffles with his nose slightly red from the cold. “No, wait, let me rephrase that. Have you ever taken a shower?”

Mark begins to count the little holes on the wooden floor  underneath his feet to avoid looking at the way Haechan’s jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips, or the droplets of water that drips from his chin to his bare chest.

“Get dressed, Haechan-ah, aren’t you cold?”

“No, the heater is on.” But he still sniffs as he picks up his hoodie. “Look, I know I’ve been calling you little shit but that doesn’t give you the authority to actually smell like one.”

“Huh,” Mark takes a hold of his shirt, sniffing against the fabric. “Wow, I do kind of smell.”

“Kind of? I’m shocked that these zombies haven’t found us already from how god awful you smell.”

“Don’t call them zombies, you’re being rude.”

“What the fuck do you call them?”

“Sick people?”

“Jesus Christ, I literally can’t with you.” He sits down next to him on the other side of the couch, pressing his back against the furniture and stares at the ceiling. “What are we having for breakfast today?”

“Canned food.”

“Dinner?”

“Canned food.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Wait, I think we can eat…” Mark doesn’t finish right away, making sure that Haechan has a hopeful look blossoming on his face. When he does, he finishes with, “Canned food.”

“Aaaaaah~” He whines in the way Haechan always whines which sounds kind of childish but endearing to Mark’s ears. “I’m so tired of having fucking canned foods every day!”

“Be grateful that we have food.”

“I’d be more grateful if we have real food. Can’t you make yourself useful for once and cook something?”

“We don’t really have the ingredients.”

“Then I guess, we’re going shopping.” Haechan huffs before he glances at the slightly taller man. “After you take a goddamn shower.”

Mark can no longer remember when was the last time he took a shower—and a nice, warm one at that—so he almost weeps in joy when the warm droplets rain down on him, washing all the dust and fatigue away from his body. He stands still, enjoying the warmth before he reaches out for some soap and lathers it down his skin. He notices he has some bruises along his arm from where he tripped down the stairs yesterday, trying to help Haechan carry a medium-sized cupboard to cover the front door. I can’t believe you couldn’t even keep yourself up even when I’m practically handling all the weight, Haechan scolded him with both hands on his hips and it makes him smile at the thought.

But the bruises remind him of the pain he felt and pain reminds him of his mother. Of the way she suddenly jolted her eyes awake after five days had passed. Of the way she bared her teeth, lurched herself toward him, and tried to bury her fangs and peel the skin off his body. Of the way he shook in horror, screaming in pain and the way he begged her to stop.

And of the way he sank the kitchen’s knife to her chest and kept it that way until she stopped moving.

“What took you so long?” Haechan asks when Mark finally steps outside the bathroom after half an hour has passed. He observes the look on his face before he adds, “How can you look even shittier after taking a shower? Your eyes are swollen.”

Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I kinda cried while in there.”

“Because the shower was so good?”

“Sure.”

And Haechan doesn’t contribute any further, perhaps because of the way Mark looks like it’s something private they should both leave out of the conversation. Or maybe Haechan simply doesn’t care, Mark can’t be sure.

Mark doesn’t recognize the neighbourhood they’re in, so he lets Haechan leads the way to the nearest supermarket. The morning sun is warm on his skin, the leaves on the trees are turning orange and Mark can finally smell autumn after so long. He has grown tired of summer. It’s about damn time.

“Oh, I actually know this place,” Mark mentions, as they park their car a few feet away from the building.

“Congratulations, you just won at life,” Haechan utters flatly, taking three sheathed knives from his backpack and places them around the belt of his jeans.

“Must you be so rude all the time?”

“Just messing with you, Canada. Chill.”

“Why don’t you take any guns with you?”

“Because guns run out of bullets pretty fast. And these,” he stops with a smirk on his face, twirling a pocket knife around his fingers, “don’t.”

“Can you teach me sometimes how to use that?”

“And what do you have to offer, may I ask?”

Mark contemplates in silence. He really doesn’t have anything that might interest him, so he decides to joke about it. “My body?”

To his surprise, Haechan’s eyes grow wide and he doesn’t speak a word and it’s so weird because it’s supposed to be a fucking joke.

“I… I was just—” Mark splutters, blushing at his own antic. “I was just kidding.”

“It’s not funny, Mark.”

“Sorry.”

And Haechan lets out the loudest sigh ever before he steps down the car, leaving Mark inside looking like a goddamn idiot that he is.

“Okay, so,” Haechan straightens his posture, standing in front of the entrance door with his machete lays firmly on his hand. “Do we need a plan?”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” Haechan whines. “Yes, I know we can barely get any sunlight inside the store but we’re not going to take long. We’ll just grab some things and run back here. Even if there are zombies in there, they’ll be burnt to a crisp the second we’re outside.”

“But—”

“Marrrrkkkkkk.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Mark pushes his hair back with one hand in defeat. “I’ll go first,” he says, cocking his handgun. “You watch my back.”

“Why do you have to go first?”

“Because I’m older.”

“But you’re shittier than me.”

“With a gun on my hand? Not as shitty as you’d think.” Mark smirks, and he thinks he sounds cool but by the way Haechan is staring at him, he realizes he’s not. A flashback of Haechan completely overpowering him even when he had his gun came back to his mind and he winces at the thought. “Okay, so, you wanna go first?”

Haechan sighs, taking a step forward. Mark trails after him soon after.

Mark remembers this place, knows every aisle like the back of his hand from how often he accompanied his mother to stock up their groceries every weekend. It doesn’t look like what he’d committed in his memory in the slightest, though. The lights are still on, but they’re flickering here and there and ceramic tiles are mostly covered with liquid stuff coming from bleachers, oils or something Mark can no longer tell. Most of the shelves are empty and a lot of goods are thrown all over the place, but  fortunately, they’re not ruined.

Mark analyzes the place as best as he can with Haechan leading the way, doing the same. Everything seems fine and he can see Haechan’s shoulders relaxed a bit after a while. Swirling his knife around his fingers, he says, “I guess we’re alone.”

Mark nods. “All right,” he puts his gun on safety. “Let’s shop.”

Haechan says he wanted to eat some pasta for a change, and Mark follows with a hum. Anything other than canned foods sounds good these days. They stroll around the aisle, taking the necessary ingredients into their bags along with some toiletries and an abundance amount of water bottles.

Mark notices some board games when Haechan is busy flipping through pages of a Playboy magazine and he takes one that suits Haechan’s taste so they can spend more time together.

Mark freezes at the thought. Since when did he begin to want to spend time together with this pain in the ass?

“Yo, little shit,” Haechan calls, and Mark sighs. “Come here for a sec.”

Mark sneaks a glance over Haechan’s shoulders and feels his heart stops for a split second. “That’s—”

“Blood,” Haechan finishes, exchanging glances at him. “We’re not alone.”

Mark is still processing it down when a loud noise suddenly comes from two aisles behind them. With his heart jumping to his throat, Mark keeps his hands steady and points his gun forward. Haechan looms behind him, taking a long knife from the back of his shirt in another hand and stands alert.

“If it’s more than one, we run.”

“Don’t order me around, you little shit.”

But at this point, Mark knows how much Haechan depends on him and will follow his order in a heartbeat, which is kinda cute and reassuring, Mark thinks, as he swallows his breath. He’s prepared for the worst but what comes along is—

“It’s a dog!” Haechan claims, tucking both of his knives back around his belt and squats down on the floor next to Mark. “Come here, boy!”

It’s a Yellow Spitz, Mark notices, or a Nureongi people used to call. It has a short coat with patches of yellow and a melanistic mask on its face. By the sound of Haechan’s call, the dog comes running toward him with its mouth opened wide and its tongue lolling down.

“Ouch!” Haechan is laughing, enjoying the forceful tackle from the excited dog, and rubbing his hands along the fur. “Who’s a good boy?” He asks, rubbing the tip of his nose to the dog’s. “Yes, you are, you are a good boy—wait, no—“ Haechan grimaces when the dog licks his entire face, saliva blabbering over his skin but he laughs it off.

Mark stands on the side with a smile he secretly keeps to himself. He has never seen Haechan looking so young and open, like a child on his first trip, and it amuses him. “I didn’t know you could look like this,” he comments. “You should smile more often. It’s cute.”

Mark’s a bit taken by the look that fleets across Haechan’s face for a split second, and he swears that he just saw him blush but it’s too short to be sure about it.

“Maybe if you grow some fur, I will,” Haechan merely comments before he sticks his tongue out at him.

Mark only playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“Can we keep him?” Haechan’s asks as he cups the dog’s face and nuzzles their noses together. “You are so cute!”

“No. What happens if he barks?”

“But he doesn’t bark.” The dog suddenly barks two times and Haechan immediately wraps his fingers along its jaw to keep its mouth shut. “Or I can just do this whenever he does.” The dog growls, trying to wiggle itself away from Haechan’s grip. It suddenly looks nervous, almost terrified.

“Haechan,” Mark insists, “He’ll only attract attention. You know we can’t—”

“MARK, WATCH OUT—”

It happens so fast that by the time he realizes what’s happening, Mark is already on the ground, his back pressed against the ceramic floor with a zombie on top of him, baring his teeth and clawing at his skin. It’s in the form of a middle-aged man, in a cashier uniform with cloudy white eyes and dark veins covering his skin.

Luckily, Mark already has his hands in front of him, pushing that thing as far away as he could manage but it’s too strong. The zombie roars, spraying saliva mixed with blood onto his face and Mark immediately throws his head to the side. “Fuck!” He hisses, kicking it several times with his knee but it won’t budge, until suddenly a knife makes it way to its head, pushing through its brain and ending its life for good.

Haechan stares at Mark with horrified eyes, before he kneels down in front of him and immediately checks his face.

“Did you get his blood in your mouth?!” He asks frantically, worried to death by the look of it, almost like it was him who just got sprayed with zombie’s blood.

“I don’t think I did,” Mark says, still feeling quite dizzy.

“Spit it out!” Haechan shakes him desperately by the shoulders. “Spit everything out! Now!”

Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so afraid—because aren’t they both supposed to be immune to the virus?—but spits out a few times just in case. He rubs the back of his hand against his mouth before he turns toward the other man. “Thanks for saving me.”

And Mark thought that Haechan was going to sigh loudly at him and call him an idiot little shit for a few times on their way home, but what he does is lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around Mark’s shoulders.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs almost in a whisper, before he pulls back, clears his throat and adds, “You little shit. You’re lucky you have me saving your ass.”

Well, Mark supposes, he’s partially right about his thought. “I am.”

Haechan blushes again, but he doesn’t let Mark see.

“Come on, we should get under the sun,” Haechan says, offering a hand which Mark gladly takes. “If there are more of them, we should be safe as long we’re outside.”

“Still want to take that dog with you?”

“Shut up, little shit.”

***

“Come on, you have to pick truth,” Mark says, with a guitar on his lap, playing random chord that matches Haechan’s hums. It’s still two hours away before the sun sets and they have been spending the entire day just lounging around watching old movies and playing stupid board games. “It’s called Truth or Dare for a reason, Haechannie, and I’m already out of ideas of what kind of dare you should do because apparently, you have no fear—or shame for that matter—when it comes to it.”

“You’re just not creative enough,” Haechan says, smirking to himself because he’s undefeated when it comes to taking a dare. Whenever Mark tries to humiliate him, it ends up with Haechan humiliating him instead. “Okay, fine, truth it is. Give it to me, you little shit.”

“You do realize that I’m your hyung, right?”

“Well, then, give it to me, Little Shit-hyung.” Haechan snickers and Mark throws his shoe at him.

“When’s your birthday?” Mark asks, munching a chocolate cookie.

“That’s your question?” Haechan exclaims. “Shit, Mark, I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I just want to know you better!” Mark laughs when Haechan starts throwing Cheetos at him. “What is so wrong with that? You know you’d never tell me these things if I didn’t force you to do it.”

“Fine, geez,” Haechan succumbs, “Sixth of June.”

“Wait, let me put that in real quick.” Mark takes out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. It can no longer make calls or surf the internet, but it can come in handy to keep himself on track with dates and times. “Sixth of June,” he mutters to himself as he taps his thumb on his phone screen.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m adding your birthday to my calendar.”

“Yes, I know, Mark.” Haechan rolls his eyes impatiently. “I mean, why?”

“Why?” Mark laughs a bit, looking at him bewilderedly. “‘Cause we’re friends, you idiot.”

“We are?” Haechan dramatically gasps, which earns him a kick on the knee and he whines loudly about it.

“I just think we should celebrate it together,” Mark continues without a care. “Well, starting next year anyway, since we’ve both passed our birthdays by now. One sec.” He holds up a finger, running his thumb on his screen again. “Sixth of June. Little Shit’s birthday. And save.”

Haechan glares but doesn’t make any remark on it. “What’s there to celebrate about?” He questions flatly. “The world is ending, if you haven’t noticed.”

“And that’s your reason to not celebrate birthdays?” Mark snorts. “I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Mark kicks him playfully on the knee again and they begin to wrestle until they become hungry. After quickly heating up some leftovers from the night before, they head toward their bedrooms.

“Stay quiet, little shit,” Haechan says, as he leans against his doorframe. “And if you’re gonna jack off—“

Mark throws a pillow on his face. “Just go to bed!”

“Okay, okay,” Haechan chuckles. “See you soon, Mark.”

“See you soon, Haechannie.”

Before Mark knows it, those words they say to each other become some kind of habit that they do every night. And the more they say them, the more they become like a promise for one another. It’s something that Mark needs, he realizes, because now he has someone to look forward to see in the morning. Someone with smiles as warm as the sun. And Mark can forget, at least for now, the fact that he’d lost everything and try to stay alive for another day.

***

Autumn is about to end and the weather is terrible for  Mark during the night, as he can barely stand cold. He can turn on the heater, of course, but it will probably make too much noise so both he and Haechan agree to just slip under the duvet, and wrap as many blankets as they can find around their bodies.

Mark jolts awake when he hears his bedroom door being opened with a soft creak. His ears are now trained to keep himself alert at night, even with the slightest sound. He has one leg down the bed, ready to do whatever it takes to survive if a zombie comes barging in. His handgun lays safely under his pillow and it will only take a second for him to grab it. He had tampered his window with wood boards on the first day they’d settled here, but the moonlight still somehow sneaks in between the tiny spaces, giving very little light into the room but it’s enough for Mark to notice that it’s only Haechan, standing with his pillow pressed against his chest, a blanket around his body, and a pale look on his face.

What happened? Mark asks, moving his hands and fingers in a sign language they have both learned to survive. Is something wrong?

I can’t sleep. Haechan says, and Mark can’t really tell within the darkness of the room whether it’s a blush appearing on his cheeks or it’s just the moonlight playing tricks on him. Can I stay here with you?

Mark nods, and Haechan walks close, settling himself down on the carpeted floor next to the bed. Mark taps his shoulder and when Haechan looks over, he nudges his head toward the bed.

Come up. It’s cold.

Haechan nibbles on his bottom lip, hesitation in his eyes, but he finally stands up and wiggles himself under the blanket. Mark scoots over to give him as much space as he can, and they both end up staring at the ceiling, awkwardness and silence filling the air.

It seems like a minute has passed by but it feels like forever and Mark is about to throw up from how fast his heart is beating and he’s asking himself why the fuck am I feeling like this when Haechan suddenly turns over to his side and whispers his name.

Mark can feel his own body stiffen but he tries his best to relax. He turns to his side as well, facing him. “Hmm?”

“Can I move closer?” He asks and Mark’s stomach does a flip. “So I can hear you better, I mean.”

“S-sure.”

And Haechan moves close—close enough for Mark to breath in his scent, to know that he uses the same shampoo as he does even though there are three different kinds of bottles in the bathroom, and it somehow smells way better on him and Mark doesn’t know what to do with it but it distracts him so much.

“You okay?” Haechan’s voice is soft and lacks the usual snarky tone he usually laces his sentence with. Mark nods, a bit shakily and the younger man giggles quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable sharing a bed with another dude but bear with me this time, will ya?”

“It’s…” Somehow, Mark’s throat feels like burning. “It’s not uncomfortable.”

Something gleams in Haechan’s eyes and Mark has to look somewhere else so he doesn’t fall deeper into that pair of chocolate brown eyes more than he already does.

“So, uhh,” Mark clears his throat. It’s weird that even when he’s whispering, his voice still breaks from how nervous he is. “Is there a particular reason why you can’t sleep?”

“Why so formal, Mark Lee.” Haechan snorts. “Must there be a particular reason for us to sleep together?”

Mark almost chokes at Haechan’s poor choice of words. Almost.

“How many hours left till dawn?”

“Umm,” Mark checks his phone, making sure he covers the light with his pillow. “It’s actually around two hours from now.”

“Well then, you’ve slept enough,” Haechan says, propping his chin on the pillow as he stares at him. “Accompany me till morning?”

“Sure, why not.”

And so he does, exchanging whispers in the dark and changing topics from one nonsense to another. Talking with Haechan is relaxing, Mark notices, though more often than not, it ends with an argument but he enjoys arguing with him. It feels like he’s learning more about him, more about the real Haechan—the one who is acting almost as young as a child—and not whatever it is he’s trying his best to be. And Mark is always happy to learn something new because he’s been studying Haechan’s figure over and over for the last few days and it’s tiring to be distracted by the shape of his pretty lips, or the cute tiny mole he has on his neck, or the sway of his hips when he walks.

“Are you sleepy?” Haechan asks after silence starts to grow within them and Mark curses inwardly. How the hell can I sleep when I’m so distracted with the way I can feel your breath on my neck is what he has in mind but on the outside, he just gives a nonchalant shrug and says, “Not really.”

“Good then.” Mark swears he can feel Haechan’s smile in his words and he can also feel the way he snuggles a tad closer, seeking his warmth. “Hey, Mark?” Mark hums in response. “How come you’re alone? I mean, someone as nice and frail as you can only live so long in a world like this without company.”

“I’m not sure whether you want to compliment me or insult me.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

It’s sincere and genuine, the way Haechan says it, and Mark raises an eyebrow, finally looking into his eyes again. “That’s a first. I thought you didn’t care about me.”

It’s Haechan’s turn to break off their gazes. “Believe me, I don’t. It’s just out of curiosity. Wha—is it so wrong? Stop looking at me like that!”

Mark bites his bottom lip to contain his laughter. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up!”

“Well, if you’re so curious about it,” Mark teases and Haechan pushes his palm against his face to wipe off his grin. Mark wraps his fingers around Haechan’s wrist to keep him away but he holds it a little bit longer than he’s supposed to before he lets go.

“I was staying with my parents when the outbreak happened,” Mark begins, locking his eyes at the ceiling and he can feel Haechan’s gaze scanning his face but he doesn’t dare to look. “Someone near my house got infected, and it traveled so fast that by the time I realized that the virus was airborne, people were already dying. And I—” Mark stops to take a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as the flashback hits him like a wave.

Haechan doesn’t say a word, but he reaches out to tangle his fingers around his under the blanket and Mark blinks at the touch before he smiles to himself.

“I watched my dad died,” Mark finally says, and it’s easier than he expected to be, probably because Haechan’s warmth is seeping into his skin. “It happened so fast. He was sitting on the dining table, already looking pale because of cancer that took him apart day by day, but the second he got infected, it was like something was exploding within him. And I watched him crumble, watched him reaching out to me for help and I just stood there. Watching him.”

Haechan holds his hand tighter. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Mark smiles weakly at him. “Thanks. I just wish I did something for him, you know? Like, hold his hand and tell him I love him, or something.”

“You were stunned.”

“I was just weak and afraid.” Mark unconsciously curls his fingers a bit harder that Haechan begins to wince but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I was so afraid that I’d die, just like him. It was until I found out I was immune that I began to cry and regret the whole thing. I’m the worst, aren’t I?”

Haechan shakes his head, whispering, “I would’ve done the same. Maybe even worse,” he adds a chuckle and it’s so genuine that Mark begins to feel like the heavy pain in his chest is being lifted little by little. “And your mom? What happened to her?”

It’s the question he’s been dreading the most but Haechan’s voice is silky smooth in his ears, and his touch is scorching against his skin, and as Mark breathes in his scent, everything becomes clear.

There’s a first for everything.

“My mom—” It still feels like he’s suffocating, so he intertwines his fingers with Haechan’s a little better to distract him from the pain. “When she got infected, she fell into a deep sleep. Like she went into a coma or something. And I was relieved because I thought she was going to wake up and smile at me again. I thought that her body was healing. I didn’t realize that she was… turning.”

Haechan’s breathing is steady while Mark’s is catching fire. “Mark, look at me.” And when Mark is too lost in his own thoughts, Haechan cups his cheek and forces him to look at him. “You’re okay. You’re with me now.”

Mark’s eyes are shaking but he gradually finds back his pace, finally able to catch his own breath. “I’m with you now,” he whispers back and Haechan smiles.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Haechan says, rubbing comforting circles on the side of Mark’s face with his thumb. “And I kinda have a hunch on where this story is going.”

“You—“ Mark wets his lips. “You do?”

Haechan’s gaze is intense but gentle enough to wash Mark’s anxiety away. “All I have to say is,” Haechan starts, “We all have our sins. What you did was based on instinct. You were trying to protect yourself. Anyone would’ve done the same thing so stop blaming yourself.”

Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until Haechan wipes a tear away from his cheek. “You’re innocent, Mark Lee,” he assures, smiling at him. “You’re just living in a shitty world, that’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark says, smiling a little to himself as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, washing all of his tears away. “Who are you and what have you done to my snarky-ass Haechan?”

“Your Haechan?”

Mark blushes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Haechan’s eyes gleam in a teasing manner. “What way then?”

Mark clears his throat. Hopefully, the night can cover how nervous he looks right now. “So, what about you?” He begins, putting his best effort to change topics. “What kind of sins have you committed that you start getting nightmares at night?”

The easy-going, reassuring facade Haechan tries to put on all night falters within an instant and this time, in the darkness and the silence of this room, he chooses to be honest.

“No,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “Nightmares happen only when you’re asleep. What I have happens when I’m awake.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s not something I want,” he murmurs quietly. “But I guess, it’s something I need. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy. I am going crazy.” He locks their gazes together, smiling like he’s on the verge of crying. “Would you mind hearing me out?”

Mark will listen as if his life depends on it and he promises him that in his heart. He nods.

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

Another nod.

“Promise you won’t leave me behind?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Haechan still looks unsure, but the more he takes in Mark’s feature and every detail of his expression, the more he wants to let go—to finally succumb to his sin, to hear someone say, “It’s okay, I forgive you. We all have our sins. We are not different.”

So in shaky whispers, he begins to tell the story and Mark listens.

Haechan was not alone before he met Mark. He had a family. He had a sister, only younger than he was by two years, and he’d loved her. He’d loved her so much that when his parents started to collapse, he took a hold of her hand and drag her to run without looking back even when his mother was still screaming his name, asking him for help. He knew it was too late to save them, but saving his sister was not.

Her sister, just like him, was also immune to the virus and Haechan thought everything was fine. They could still live and be happy together. So they began to wander during the day, and hugged each other to sleep during the night at an abandoned house, sharing headphones to mute down the snarling sounds of the creatures lurking around under the moonlight. They were okay. They were alive.

Until one day, when Haechan was too busy getting supplies from the kitchen, her sister wandered by herself toward the basement of a new house they found. Haechan didn’t know about it, wasn’t careful enough to check, and when he heard her scream, he realized it was too late.

There was a zombie, trapped inside the basement that crawled out when she opened the door. It was so fast, jumping on top of her and ripping the skin on her arm with its teeth. Haechan was so frantic that he began to stab it multiple times on the face, tearing its face apart again and again and again until his sister embraced him from behind and begged him to stop. Haechan held her in his arms like he’d never held anyone before and he thanked God for letting her stay alive, though badly injured.

Because he thought her injury would heal.

He thought she wouldn’t get infected because she was immune.

But when she became paler and paler with more days passing by, Haechan began to worry. Her skin began to rot little by little, and her stench was so strong that Haechan began to hold his breath whenever she was close. Black veins were creeping up her skin and she lost her beautiful brown eyes soon after, having them changed into a pair of cloudy white eyes.

Haechan was so afraid by the look of her that he began to apologize. Sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me, he said again and again as he wrapped a scarf around her mouth, stopping her from calling his name. She was begging for him to spare her life and yet he held his knife firmly with both of his shaking hands, and he plunged it toward her chest.

She died in his hands, along with a part of him.

“She was still human when I killed her,” Haechan confesses, his voice quivering. “She kept asking me why, why are you doing this but I kept going. I can still remember how warm her blood was on my hands. I was so afraid. I was so afraid of her.”

Mark does not speak during his story and he finds himself lost for words when Haechan grows quiet. The silence is deafening and he knows he should say something, anything, but he’s busy trying to understand the look on Haechan’s face.

Their breathing matches each other’s and Haechan quietly laughs, “You know, it’s weird. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry but—”

And he breaks apart in the way Mark never sees anyone does.

Haechan’s whole body shakes as he gives his best effort to muffle his scream by biting his lower lip hard enough to the point it almost draws blood. He covers his face with both hands, sobbing furiously to his palms and even if he tries his best to be quiet, Haechan is still making noise.

And Mark wonders whether it’s because of that very reason of survival or it’s just really something he’s been wanting to do every time Haechan beams at him with that blazing smile of his, but he finds himself reaching forward, tangling his fingers around the strands of Haechan’s hair and pulls the other boy forward until their lips meet in a frantic kiss.

Haechan’s eyes grow wide for a good couple of seconds and Mark finally comes back to his senses when he notices the way the other boy stiffens in his arms. Haechan has momentarily stopped crying due to the sudden surprise, though the tremor of his previous sobs is still there and he’s looking at Mark with these huge, mesmerizing round eyes, with nothing but confusion and shock on his face, and Mark begins to ask himself what the fuck did I just do.

“Fuck, I—” Mark has never struggled this hard to find the right word in his entire life. “I didn’t know why—”

But he probably doesn’t need to say anything, because Haechan is taking the rest of his sentence into his own mouth, and tasting Mark’s feelings directly with his tongue. He’s being forceful, pulling Mark close with all his strength until the other man stumbles upon him and they’re pressed together chest-to-chest. Haechan has his hands circling around the collar of Mark’s shirt, smashing their lips together and they kiss hard and fast, tasting each other’s—owning each other’s—mouth until Mark is breathing his breath and Haechan is breathing his.

“More,” Haechan gasps, teeth nibbling against Mark’s bottom lip. “More, Mark, please.” And Mark just crumbles, moaning against his mouth and takes every soft whine that comes from Haechan into his memory.

None of them care at this point if they’re being too loud, so it’s really their luck that the sun has risen outside, its light seeping through the window, basking them with warmth but none of them need it. Not with the way Mark is hovering above him, his hands slipping under Haechan’s sweater, running his fingertips along the golden skin and emitting more moans from the other man.

“Haechannie.” Mark has his earlobe between his teeth and he sucks at the soft skin, before peppering kisses down the column of his neck. Haechan arches his back, grinding their hips together and begs him to, “Take my fucking clothes off, Mark.”

Clothes are scattered on the floor within an instant, and as Mark sits on his lap just for a few seconds as he pulls his own shirt over his head, Haechan is already latching his mouth on his stomach, licking a stripe up his chest before he pulls Mark down on top of him again.

“I want to feel you,” Haechan breathes out between gasps, “I want to feel all of you.”

“Calm down,” Mark says, softly smiling against his forehead “I’m not going anywhere.”

And they stop just to take a thorough glance at each other’s face now that the light is bright enough for them to see properly. Haechan traces his fingers on the side of Mark’s face, as if he’s a sculpture waiting to be adored, and it takes all the control of his body not to kiss him again right then.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he whispers as he brings his lips to Mark’s, pausing momentarily, just to add, “You little shit.”

And Mark laughs into his mouth but only for a moment before passion starts to take control of him again and he’s moaning, “Haechannie, Haechannie,” directly to his ear as they rock their hips together.

***

It’s already midday when Mark opens his eyes, sitting on his bed with a blank stare as if his soul just left his body. He thinks he just had the most pleasant dream he’s ever witnessed in his twenty-one years of living, but when he notices how his pillow smells like honey, realization hits him like a wave.

It’s not a dream. Haechan was really here.

So he jumps down his bed, trips over his own clothes and swears under his breath as he tries to dress as fast as he can. He stumbles out of his room, running toward the kitchen where he finds Haechan sitting on the kitchen’s counter with his legs dangling in the air.

Haechan’s eyes slightly grow wide at the sight of Mark standing gawkily in front of him with his terrible bed hair, but he quickly gains control of himself. “Morning,” he casually says, raising the red colored mug he always uses, “Coffee?”

Mark curls his fingers around the fabric of his sweat pants. “Okay.”

It’s awkward. It feels so, terribly awkward that they begin to tense every time one of them breathe a little too hard, or sip their coffee a little too loud. Mark is sitting on the opposite of Haechan on the dining table, like how they usually do, but it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole.

“Haechannie!” Mark begins, a little bit too loud that they both flinch at the sound of his voice. “About last night—I-I mean, this morning—when we—”

“Do you regret it?” Haechan’s voice, unlike Mark, is much steadier, almost too formal, even. But after spending months with him, Mark can tell that he’s about as nervous as he is.

“Reg—no, of course not!” Mark has his eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you?”

Haechan looks away, taking a sip of his coffee as he murmurs quietly. “No.”

And silence comes in again like an old friend and Mark despises it so much because it’s making him insane. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Haechan sighs, scratching the back of his head and Mark finally notices that oh, he’s just embarrassed about it.

“I don’t really know how to face you,” he admits, blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I didn’t think we’d end up that way.”

Mark opens his mouth but unsure of his words. “Then…” he whispers, uncertainly, with throat feels like blazing in flames. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Haechan seems taken aback. Shocked, even, to hear Mark proposing something like that. Scowling a bit, he places his mug on the table with a loud thud and walks closer.

“Haechan—”

His kiss is more teeth than anything else and Mark freezes, not knowing what to do as Haechan climbs into his lap, twisting his hair around his fingers. It’s suffocating, the way Haechan kisses, but Mark likes it so much that he doesn’t mind if Haechan takes all his breath away with his.

After a good minute has passed, with a string of saliva connecting their parting lips, Haechan asks between heavy breaths, “Do you want to pretend this never happened?”

“Fuck no,” Mark replies in an instant and this time, he’s the one who takes Haechan’s breath out of his lungs.

They sleep on the same bed every night but only embrace each other during the day because Mark is getting exceptionally good at it and Haechan is having trouble keeping his moans to himself. They still share kisses in the dark but Mark always places his palm over Haechan’s face and pushes him away whenever it gets too much.

They haven’t moved out of the house even after the season has changed and Mark is getting an eerie feeling of being followed. “They’re triggered by movements and sound,” Haechan comforts him as he sits crossed-legs on the couch with a game controller in his hand, “So as long as we’re dead quiet during the night and stay out of sight, we’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” Mark agrees, though his heart still feels heavy in his chest. “I don’t know, I just… I can’t help but worry, that’s all.”

“Yes, because that’s you. All you do is worry.”

“I have been doing something else in the last few days, actually,” Mark says, suddenly leaning forward from behind the couch and whispering close to his ear, “Or rather, someone.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan says but his lips are turning into a cheeky grin. “Keep doing that, and I’ll attack you again.”

And Mark teases again because they both know that’s what they want. It’s funny how the world is ending and yet Mark feels like he’s complete. As if everything just fell into places. And seeing Haechan writhe underneath him, as he thrusts in and out, is something he could never even dream to have in his previous life.

Haechan is quite possessive, Mark learns, by the way he nips at the juncture of his neck until purplish bruises bloom along his skin. Mark knows how much Haechan likes to sink his teeth on his shoulder when Mark hits that spot deep inside him, and he loves it when he can make Mark groan at the pain, muttering, “Fuck, that’s so hot—you’re so hot—” before he takes Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth again. It’s as if he wants to make it known to the world that he belongs to him, even when they’re the only two people in the world.

“Donghyuck,” Haechan suddenly says, out of the blue as they share French toasts for breakfast.

“It’s Mark, actually.”

“No,” Haechan laughs, almost spilling his coffee. “My name, you idiot. Lee Donghyuck is my real name.”

“What?!” Mark complains, feeling utterly betrayed. “After all this time, you’re just telling me now?”

“Well, I like the way you say Haechan,” he explains. “So I don’t mind if you call me that. I just thought you should know.”

But Mark is still kind of upset about it and he still does for the rest of the day, until Haechan sits on his lap that afternoon, attempting to wash the pout off his face with something exciting and Mark leaves no time to waste. He calls Haechan’s name—his real name—whenever their hips meet together and Haechan blushes and begs him to stop, telling him it’s weird, but Mark still continues because somehow he can feel Haechan tightening around him when he does and Mark likes to see him crumble into a moaning mess that he is now.

***

“You’re shit at cooking, Mark,” Haechan grumbles with his eyes still bleary from sleep. He stabs his fork not too gracefully to something that Mark called as a decent-looking sunny side up. “Look at this.” He glares at the burnt white egg. “I mean, seriously, what the heck is this?”

“It’s food. Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Okay, Mom.” Haechan rolls his eyes, grimacing dramatically at the man who sits opposite him when the piece of food enters his mouth. “Yuuuuuummmm.”

“Shut up,” Mark shouts but he can’t stop himself from laughing. Haechan is so annoyingly hilarious and he whines about Mark’s cooking every single day but never even tries to offer any help or take charge of the cooking duty for him.   Mark never gets upset about it, though, because Haechan looks cute when he pouts and if it takes one plate of his bad cooking to see that adorable pout on his face then Mark will serve his decent-looking sunny side up every day.

They eventually stop conversing to be able to chew on their foods properly and Haechan has his eyes busy scanning the PlayBoy magazine he stole from the supermarket the other day. Mark has his gaze on his plate  as he plays with his egg’s yolk using his fork, but his mind is somewhere else.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I love you.”

Haechan’s fork flies out of his hand and ends with a clatter on the floor. Mark’s terrible fried egg is still half-chewed on his now half-opened mouth and it’s not an attractive sight in the slightest but Mark looks at him as if he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I—Y-you—” Haechan, the sharp tongue Haechan, never stutters in his twenty years of living and Mark is somehow proud of himself for being able to drive him to this point. “What the hell are you talking about—why—”

“Because I do.” Mark’s tone is so serious that it feels like he’s reading the news or reading the result of the latest presidential election. “I have been for quite some time. I just wasn’t sure you felt the same so I kind of keep quiet about it.”

And Haechan can only stare, and stare, and stare until he realizes that it’s better to just stay silent and do what his body tells him to do.

Mark is forced to stand on his feet before a pair of plump lips attack his own in a mind-numbing kiss. It’s a bit messy and Haechan tastes like the breakfast he just ate but Mark sighs against his mouth and lets him pull his shirt over his head.

Mark pushes his plate away from the table so Haechan can sit on the edge and tangle his legs around his waist and when it slips down to the floor, porcelain breaking into smaller pieces, he pays no mind because Haechan is now laying down on the dining table with his shirt going up to his chest. He pulls Mark down by the neck, and forcing him to grind his hips against him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Haechan gasps into his mouth, running his teeth along Mark’s lower lip. “Couldn’t you have picked a better moment to say that?”

“Sorry.” Mark’s lips part in a silent moan when Haechan slips a hand underneath his sweat pants and teases him over his underwear. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I woke up and it started driving me insane so I just had to say it.”

“Fuck, Mark, you’re so unfair.” Haechan takes a hold of Mark’s hand, leading him to where he wants to be touched and softly whines when Mark indulges him. “Tell me more,” he gasps, clawing against Mark’s skin as they rub their lengths together. “I want to, ah fuck, hear more, Mark, please.”

And Mark doesn’t hesitate one bit when he praises him, complimenting every little part, every little detail. I love you. I love your honey-like scent. I love your smile, and this mole you have on your neck. I love the way you say my name.

Haechan is powerless under Mark’s words, begging and writhing for Mark to pound into him until he sees stars and Mark is more than eager to comply. I love the way you moan. I love the way you arch your back. I love you, I love seeing you like this. You’re so pretty, Haechannie. So fucking beautiful.

And Haechan comes hard on his stomach with his teeth sinking at the crook of Mark’s neck, muffling his moan and he pushes Mark back to his chair, crawling between his legs and taking Mark deep into his mouth.

“Fuck.” He takes a handful of Haechan’s ash grey hair, slightly thrusting into his warm mouth and whimpers at how sexy Haechan looks on his knees, cheeks hollowing as he sucks him hard and fast. He has surprisingly long eyelashes, Mark admires, with small tears trapped between them from how hard Mark is hitting the back of his throat.

Mark’s about to come undone, low groans appearing at the back of his throat when Haechan suddenly stops and takes him out entirely, only giving kitten licks at the tip. Mark mewls with his eyebrows knitted together, begging Haechan to stop being a fucking tease and Haechan just grins against his skin because that’s simply what he is—a tease—and Mark is conflicted between loving and hating that trait of him at the same time.

Haechan eventually stops torturing him and sucks deep and slow the way he knows Mark would like it until Mark is spouting nonsense from his mouth, pushes himself forward abruptly and comes into his mouth. Haechan exhales heavily as he waits for Mark to finish, enjoying the low grunt he’s emitting before he swallows everything down. A little bit of his essence drips down his chin and Mark immediately apologizes with a stutter, pulling Haechan carefully into his lap and wipes his mouth with gentle strokes of his fingers. “You all right?”

Haechan looks up at him from under his bangs, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he takes two of Mark’s tainted fingers and places them between his lips, licking every bit of him with his tongue. Mark is looking at him with unblinking eyes and jaw hanging slack on his face.

Haechan leans close to embrace him, wrapping his arms around his neck and he sighs, kissing one of Mark’s shoulders. “I love you too,” he whispers and even though Mark can’t see, he dares to bet on his life that Haechan is now blushing mad at his own words. “But don’t get too cocky about it, you little shit.”

Mark chuckles because this is so Haechan. He pulls back so he can look at him in the eyes and Haechan is indeed blushing—even to the tip of his ears. “I won’t,” Mark says, letting his lips linger on his forehead. “I won’t, so stay with me, Haechannie. As long as we’re alive, don’t ever leave me.”

Haechan smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

***

“Okay, ready?” Haechan asks, a knife sits firm on his hand. “On three. One, two, three!”

Mark kicks the front door open, inviting himself to a new house he’s not familiar with. They both run out of food so it’s about time to search around again. It’s the only house in the closest neighbourhood that they haven’t ransacked yet, and it’s because the windows are covered with cardboard, and the sunlight cannot penetrate in. And the number one rule of living in this world is that you have to be in places where the sunlight can reach.

It’s dark inside the house—so, so dark, in fact, that Mark has to place a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “See anything weird?” He asks, as he observes as much as he could himself.

“Nope, they would come out by that ruckus we just made if they were here so I think we’re safe.” Haechan points his finger toward the kitchen. “Jackpot.”

“Stay close to me,” Mark reminds him and they both walk side by side with their weapons still aimed. There’s a window above the kitchen counter that Mark immediately tries to punch and kick through but to no avail. It won’t budge.

Turning to Haechan, who’s in charge of bringing weapons, “Do you have something to use to break that open? We need sunlight.”

“Okay, wait, I’ll—”

It’s faster for Mark’s eyes to process what is happening compared to his ears and what he sees is Haechan being tackled to the ground by a woman with cloudy white eyes and rotten flesh. And before Mark can even shout his name, he can feel his own body slammed against the wall, and a pair of large hands trying to rip his stomach open.

There are two of them and they’re both stronger than he could ever be.

Mark can hear Haechan shouting his name, but whether it’s because he’s trying to save him or screaming for help, he’s not sure and he doesn’t have time to think so. Mark lands a kick to the living corpse’s chest and it stumbles a little but enough for Mark to aim for his chest. He takes a shot, the sound of his gun thundering in the air, and pulls his trigger again to lands a bullet on its head. Mark quickly aims his gun at the female corpse next, missing his target by a few inches but enough to distract her enough so Haechan can slice her throat open with his knife.

“Haechan!” Mark immediately runs over to his place, pulling him up by the waist and drags both of their bodies  until they’re outside the house, where the sun is blazing over their heads. Both of them are lying down on the empty street, breathing hard and feeling adrenaline slowly rushes out of their veins.

“Fuck, we almost died,” Mark says, turning over to see the younger man who’s wincing from the pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan hisses, “But I think my hand is—” The rest of his words hang in the air. “Mark.”

Mark follows his gaze and shudders at what he sees. There’s a bite mark just a few inches away from his wrist, and it’s deep enough to draw blood and nearly rips his skin apart. And if Haechan’s story was true, then—

“Stay away from me!” Haechan nearly trips over his own feet from how fast he tries to get away from him. He’s standing on his feet with his arms reaching out to keep their distance apart. “Don’t you dare get close to me, Mark.”

“What—” Mark jumps to his feet as well, stepping forward and Haechan points a knife to his face. “Haechan, calm down.” He raises both arms in the air, trying his best to stay sane for both of their sakes. “Let’s think this through.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “You need to stay away from me—”

“Haechan, we’re immune—calm down—”

“Not if we’re bitten, Mark! Fuck, didn’t you hear what I said back then—”

“Yes, but we’re not sure whether you’re going to. Maybe it’s different for everyone—”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not taking any chances,” Haechan hastily insists. “Go back to the house, Mark.”

“No.”

“Just go back to the fucking house!”

“And where are you going then?!” He’s shouting back at him at this point, his voice sounds thick with desperation. “Huh?! Just where are you going to go?”

Haechan grits his teeth, desperately looking for an answer himself. “It’s none of your business—”

“No fucking way, I’m coming with you.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me—”

“Because you’re not making any sense, why would I listen to you?! Just get back here, Donghyuck, and we’ll think about it when we get home!”

It’s tempting, especially after he hears his real name coming from Mark’s mouth but it’s not right. Haechan knows it’s not right. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mark.”

“Nobody is going to get hurt, so please…” Mark lowers his voice, taking a careful step toward him. “Please, Donghyuck. Come back to me. I don’t want to be alone, not again.”

Haechan has tears forming in his eyes as he brings his head up to face the clouds, and he stands still when Mark wraps his arms gently around him, pulling him close. “I’m scared, Mark,” he whispers, emitting soft sobs from his mouth and Mark nods, saying the same thing and they both just stand there in each other’s arms with Mark running his fingers up and down his spine to soothe him down.

“Let’s go home,” Mark says, cupping Haechan’s cheeks  with his palms and forces him to meet his eyes. “Okay?”

Haechan nods, sobbing quietly. “Okay.”

***

Two days have passed and Mark doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do.

Haechan is dying, and he dies little by little with every second passing by. It’s so apparent and fast, the transformation process, that when Mark fell asleep on Haechan’s shoulder just for a few minutes, he woke up with a jolt, noticing how paler Haechan has gotten and how rotten the smell that came from his skin.

His golden skin is now blotchy, black veins appearing underneath it and he looks ghastly.

“Mark…”

Mark can no longer recognize his voice. It’s more like a croak, as if his vocal cords are thinning into a small string that’s about to snap. Every time Mark holds his hand, and winces at how freezing cold it is, Haechan tries to pull it away with the little strength he has left and whispers for him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you,” Mark always whispers back, and they both know it’s a promise. Haechan just wishes Mark would break it, because keeping it will only mean death for both of them.

The house that used to be so lively during the day and silent during the night, feels like a tombstone for every second that passes by. Mark hasn’t gone out of the house for a while, and he’s only eating one meal per day and drinks as little as he can to save every little food they have left. He forces Haechan to eat as much as he can, though, but the latter usually denies, telling him that he’s about to vomit when he has food on his tongue.

Mark carries him to his bed every night like usual but he no longer wraps his arms around him, otherwise he’d be shivering to death. Haechan’s skin is ice cold, and although he’s breathing very, very slowly, the puffs of air that flows out from his mouth do not feel warm in the slightest.

“Mark…” Haechan whispers into the night and Mark can’t contain the sadness that blooms in his heart when he hears how broken his voice is. “There are so many things… I wish I could say to you…”

“Mean things, I suppose?” Mark tries to keep it normal but the air still feels tense. “Donghyuck?”

Haechan’s chocolate brown eyes are gradually turning into silver and in the darkness of the room, they almost glow. “Thank you… for staying with me…” he murmurs and Mark can tell that Haechan is on the verge of crying, but he doesn’t. He’s no longer able to.

“It’s an honor, Haechannie.”

***

Mark hasn’t slept properly for three days and it’s taking its toll on him. He’s either staring at the ceiling, trying his best to count Haechan’s breathing and making sure that it doesn’t stop or waking up every few minutes with cold sweat, thinking that Haechan is leaving him for good.

So at one point, his body can no longer take it and he falls asleep with his head on Haechan’s shoulder. They’re sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall, facing the front door. Mark has his handgun ready on his side, along with some of Haechan’s knife, but they haven’t been touched for a while. And Mark is not planning to touch it in the near future.

He wakes up with a heart attack when the front door is opened with a bang, and with bleary eyes, Mark sees several figures entering the house at once. He reaches for his handgun by instinct and aims it toward the crowd, but—

“Wait!” A man’s voice booms through the air. “Don’t shoot!”

It finally sinks in that it’s daylight and Mark is seeing people—actual breathing people who look just as weary as he is though not sleep-deprived—coming into his house. They have weapons in their hands, from crossbows to shotguns, but a man, who looks like he’s in charge, steps forward with both arms raised and sends him a reassuring smile.

“Calm down,” he says, “I’m human, just like you.”

Mark, who stands in front of Haechan by instinct to protect him, can’t believe what he’s seeing and he’s calculating whether it’s really just a dream but another man, a taller one with sharp jaws, points his gun at Haechan and Mark snaps back to reality.

“Taeyong-hyung,” the man says, “That one is turning. We should kill him.”

“NO!” Mark has his gun raised again, ready to pull the trigger. “Put your gun down or I’ll shoot, I swear to God, if you touch him—”

“Jeno,” the leader—the one who’s called Taeyong—waves a hand, suggesting him to drop his weapon down. “It’s okay. Let’s talk about this first.”

Mark drifts his eyes from one man to another, carefully reading their faces. “Who are you?”

“A survivor,” Taeyong smiles and it seems genuine but Mark doesn’t trust him in the slightest. “Like you.”

His heart is beating like crazy and he’s so amazed that there are, in fact, others like him who appear to be in much better condition too. “How many are you there?”

“Hundreds. We’re looking for more people to join our colony. We believe there are more survivors out there, and we can fight back if we grow in numbers.”

“Fight how? There’s no cure.”

“We’re immune as long as we’re not bitten.” Taeyong spares a glance at Haechan and Mark almost growls at him. “We’re harvesting our own foods, as well. You should come with us.”

“Can he come?” Mark nudges his head toward Haechan.

Taeyong has the audacity to look sympathetic, unlike his friend Jeno, who is still glowering at Haechan as if he’s a prey to be eaten when it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I wish I could say yes,” Taeyong says, “But I don’t think he can.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Taeyong sighs, but he keeps a gentle smile plastered on his face. “Can I, at least, know your name?”

Mark hesitates and he knows he’s being too cautious about everything, probably because Haechan is being targeted. Under different circumstances, he would’ve taken Taeyong’s hand in a heartbeat. “It’s Mark.”

“It’s nice to see you alive, Mark,” Taeyong says, offering his hand and Mark deliberately takes it for a handshake. “Is that your friend over there?”

Mark turns around, glancing at the man and he sees Haechan staring at him with soft eyes, his breathing slow and maybe he tries to smile but all he does is breaking Mark’s heart. “He’s—” Mark’s breath gets hitched on his throat. “He’s my family.”

Haechan closes his eyes, lips turning slightly upward.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I really wish I could help, but there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing you can do. It’s already too late.”

Mark knows that, he’s been telling himself that, but having it told directly to his face still hurts like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “I know that.”

“I think he wants you to come with us too.” Taeyong walks closer to Haechan but still maintaining safe distance so Mark won’t aim his gun toward him again. He kneels in front of him, gently asking, “Isn’t that right?”

Haechan’s eyes are moving slow, searching Taeyong’s face and maybe his vision has already become blurry from the way his lenses are turning silver, but his gaze is firm when he nods.

“Please,” Haechan says, softly, quietly, and heartbreakingly, “Take him with you…”

Mark can hear his own heart shattering. “Haechan—”

“You sure?” Taeyong confirms and Haechan gives the slightest nod of his head. Mark’s not sure whether it’s because he’s too weak to move or he just doesn’t want Mark to go. Mark wishes for the latter, but Taeyong is waving one hand and the next thing he knows, he is being dragged across the room.

“No! Wait—don’t touch me—” Mark struggles, kicking all over the place as he is being held down by two guys who are way more muscular than he is. “Don’t you fucking touch me—”

“Mark.”

Mark freezes, his stomach flips at the sound of Haechan’s voice. It’s louder this time—loud enough for everyone to hear and for Mark to have his heart crushed to  pieces. “Just go.”

“It’s better to live than to die, Mark, even in a world like this.” Taeyong says, wrapping a hand around Mark’s wrist and this time, Mark follows. It’s as if all the strength of his body is leaving him and he’s not able to stand on his own feet if Taeyong doesn’t pull him up.

And as he walks away, Mark keeps his eyes on Haechan, still asking him why are you doing this? But Haechan only smiles and mouths something that makes his eyes widen. He’s saying the words—the promise—they usually share with one another, but this time, Haechan doesn’t have the power to make it come true. But he still says them, because that’s his final wishes before everything turns dark.

See you soon, Mark.

***

Mark’s first day in the colony feels like the world is ending, which is saying something because the world is ending but he just really feels like it is the second Haechan is out of his grasp.

Taeyong has offered him more variety of food than he has seen for the past two months and he still stares at his plate like it’s empty and he doesn’t know what to do with it. The place is safe, guarded with tall gates and watchmen, and there’s a campfire near the tent he’s staying. Mark knows how Haechan would’ve loved that. He would probably be dancing around it, telling Mark to play another Michael Jackson song with his guitar—Billy Jean, maybe—as he busts a move. And Mark would most likely have a hard time pressing the chords because when Mark dances more with his hands, Haechan dances more with his hips and he’s so naturally good at it that it makes Mark suffer from his longing to touch him. To wrap his arms around his waist, to mold his lips against his full ones, to peel every piece of clothing off his body so he can rake his fingers along the smoothness of his spine.

There are so many survivors around him, and people like Jungwoo and Lucas do smile brighter than the sun but Mark just wants to lurk in the dark. He already has his sun once, and that sun is dying.

“Mark,” Taeyong calls, sitting next to him in front of the campfire that dances in Mark’s eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Mark doesn’t answer, and it’s probably unfair because Taeyong has been nothing but good to him but he no longer cares.

“Look,” Taeyong exhales, placing a hand on Mark’s back. “I know how you feel but—”

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” Mark snaps, slapping his hand away. “Don’t tell me you know how I feel. You don’t.”

And Taeyong gives him a minute to catch his breath because it’s true. He’s breathless. He’s been feeling like he’s suffocating from the first time he took a step out of his house and into Taeyong’s van. But no matter how many hours have passed, he still couldn’t breathe.

“We need every survivor we can get,” Taeyong softly explains. “We can survive longer if we cooperate. Protect each other. And I really think it’s the best choice for both of us, but if you feel like this is not for you, then I won’t hold you back. That’s your decision to make.”

Mark looks up at the sky, which is painted in orange as the sun’s about to set. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Sorry for being such an asshole and taking all of this out on you.”

“Most people act the same when they first got here, so I kind of get used to it by now.” Taeyong chuckles. “We all have our stories, Mark, but whether we end it and start over with another page or dwell with the ending too long is our choice. And as you can see here, we’ve all made our choices. We chose to flip a new page.”

Mark takes a look at his surroundings, really observing every detail and he knows that the happiness around him is real. These people appreciate life more than they did and they find comfort in each other. Even if the world is ending, it feels just like another day of a new world for them. Another day to start over. Another day to appreciate joy if you give it a chance and look close enough.

“Have you lost someone close to you?” Mark asks, almost in a whisper and Taeyong spares him a glance.

“More than I can count,” he answers and if Mark listens very closely, he would notice the shiver in his voice. “I had someone before. Someone that I really loved. Almost like what you two had.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Taeyong exhales into the evening sky. “Like everybody else, I suppose. He died.”

“From what?”

“From a bullet to the head.” Taeyong breathes heavily. “My bullet.”

The silence hangs in the air and it just dawns on him that of course Taeyong has lost someone to the virus. Of course he knows how Mark feels. He’s been through a lot more than Mark ever did.

Taeyong told him that his name was Jaehyun but he always told them to call him Jay because it felt cooler that way. Mark witnesses how a longing smile appears on Taeyong’s face every time his mouth forms Jaehyun’s name but it doesn’t stay long. “He was bitten when he tried to save me,” Taeyong mentions, fiddling with his own fingers. “I thought he would heal, but—”

“He didn’t.”

Taeyong glances at him, at how Mark is fighting back the tears that form in his eyes and he exhales, puffs of air flowing from his thin lips. “He didn’t,” Taeyong finishes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mark has to say after a while and that’s enough, it seems, by the gentle smile on Taeyong’s face. The older man lands a hand on Mark’s dark locks, patting his head like a father to his son, before he stands up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Talking from experience,” Taeyong says, walking away. “He still has at least a day.”

Mark knows he’s talking about Haechan, just like how he’s been thinking about him himself even during Taeyong’s story, and he notices something slips out of the pocket of his jeans. “Taeyong-hyung, you dropped something.”

“No, I didn’t.” He throws a mischievous smile over the shoulder. “Good night, Mark.”

It’s a key. Taeyong’s car key, Mark remembers, as it had jiggled around his hand when he took him in before. And Mark knows that it’s all up to him now, whether he stays or he leaves. Whether he chooses to stay with the living or vanish with the dead. Whether he chooses a few splitting moments with Haechan, or live properly for years with Taeyong.

And the answer is clear.

It’s only been a day. A whole fucking day. But Mark steals Taeyong’s car as expected and rides out the first thing in the morning as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does, because Haechan is his life and he’s losing his light like a dying star.

And if Haechan turns into a black hole, Mark doesn’t mind being sucked out of his life to join him in an eternity of darkness. There’s no light without his sun anyway.

It takes four hours for Mark to drive back to the house he’s grown to love, and he’s already driving as fast as Haechan usually was. The sun shines rather warm on his skin, but he still shivers from the autumn breeze. His heart is thumping so loud in his own ears that everything else feels like a whisper.

“Haechan-ah!” Mark shouts the second he barges into the house—the place they both call home. Please still be here. Please be alive. And he runs from one corner to another, looking for the man who owns his heart, and he can feel his feet crumbling under his own weight when he notices the sight of him.

Haechan is standing in front of the stairs that lead to the basement, and there’s a little part of Mark that wonders perhaps he had been staying there to avoid the sun but he ignores it. He doesn’t care. Mark doesn’t give a fuck if his transformation is nearly complete because when Haechan looks at him, his mouth shaping his name, Mark is already running towards him before his entire mind can process.

Haechan lays still in Mark’s arms as he embraces him with all his strength. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” Mark says, slipping his fingers around Haechan’s ash grey strands that are browner than the first time he met him.

Haechan can hear Mark whispering his name over and over and he notices he’s crying, clutching to him as if he’s the rope that’s saving his life. “Mark…” Haechan buries his face in the crook of Mark’s neck which feels both familiar and distinct at the same time because Mark can no longer smell that honey-like scent Haechan usually has, he can no longer feel his warmth seeping through his clothes, he can no longer hear the playful whiny complains he usually makes.

But he’s still Haechan and that’s what matters.

“Why… did you come back…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mark answers, shaking his head frantically. “I couldn’t, Haechannie, I can’t leave you. I don’t care if all we have left is just minutes or even seconds, I just want to be with you.”

Haechan grabs the back of Mark’s shirt, making a sound between a sob and a choke and he probably wants to cry, but he can’t. His skin is rotting, his bodily function has stopped working, and he knows he looks unbearably disgusting but the way Mark holds on to him still makes him feel wanted. Makes him feel loved.

“Mark,” Haechan croaks, pulling away and Mark nearly breaks into tears again when he notices how much paler Haechan gets, even if they’re only separated for a day. The black veins are more prominent, painting his face and his skin like a horrifying tattoo and the lens of his eyes are completely white now,. “Mark, you have to kill me.”

“What—no—”

Haechan pushes the machete he’s been holding in one hand to Mark’s chest. “I’ve tried but I’m…” His cloudy eyes seem to scream in agony. “I’m too afraid… Please, Mark…”

“No, there’s no way—”

“Mark!” Haechan’s paper-thin voice suddenly booms through the air, sending shivers down Mark’s spine. “I can feel it. I’m losing myself and…” There’s this glow in his eyes that forces Mark to take a step back, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “I’m so hungry.”

And it’s not human food he craves, Mark knows that for sure.

It’s frightening, the way Haechan slightly bares his teeth at him, and every inch of his body screams for him to run but Mark plays deaf. “I’ll wait until it’s really over,” Mark promises him. “I’ll wait until you’re really gone. I’ll kill you when there’s no trace of you left.”

But Mark’s not sure whether he can keep his promise even at that point.

Haechan eventually agrees with a tired nod because they both know Mark is much more stubborn than he looks, and he begs him to tie him up so he wouldn’t be able to attack the second he loses control and Mark follows. Haechan sits on the floor with his back pressed against a huge pillar that supports the house and waits as Mark circles a rope around his waist a few times before he ends it with a knot.

“Is it too tight?” Mark asks, worriedly, and it’s so Mark to ask a half-transformed zombie that question so Haechan smiles weakly at him and answers, “Not tight enough, you idiot.”

Mark falls weak at the sight of Haechan’s smile that he loves so much and he leans in to kiss him but Haechan immediately brings his face away.

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, though he’s about to be consumed by the same desire, “You’ll get infected.”

But Mark cups both of his cheeks firmly with his hands, whispering, “I don’t care,” directly against his mouth, not caring about his icy cold skin, or the awful smell of his rotting flesh because underneath all of that, he’s still Haechan and he loves him. So painfully and earnestly so.

“I love you,” Mark whispers between kisses, “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you. Haechannie…”

And Haechan closes his eyes, he can no longer breathe in Mark’s scent like he used to a few days ago and it’s depressing, because Mark always smells like summer and Haechan loves summer. But within a few hours from now, there will only be the darkness that welcomes him like an old friend. And if he’s lucky, if Mark really has the heart to kill him, then he’ll be swallowed by that darkness and it’s okay, as long as he doesn’t bring Mark with him.

Because Mark deserves the light, even if that means taking his own.

And so they wait. They wait with their bodies seated side-by-side, with their fingers intertwined, with Haechan’s head falling on Mark’s shoulder. “Tell me more,” Haechan begs, his eyes heavy and the pain in the pit of his stomach—this craving of blood and human flesh—is maddening, growing and consuming him from the inside. “Tell me why you love me…”

And Mark does it with no hesitation because what he feels never changes. He still loves Haechan’s hair, loves his eyes, loves his voice, loves his touch, no matter how different they are now.

“And I love how you always say I’m a bad cook,” Mark chuckles softly, “but you always eat like it’s your last meal.”

“Because it… could’ve been…,” Haechan’s voice is weak and sore but there’s a tint of humor in his tone. “Your cooking was so bad… it could’ve killed me…”

And Mark laughs, airily and young, the way he always does and Haechan wants to cry because he most likely won’t be able to hear it soon.

“I love how we fight from time to time, with you pouting every time I win an argument,” Mark continues as he gently smiles to himself, “I love how brave you are, how you tend to not overthink stuff and just go with the moment. I wish I could live like you.”

Mark’s voice begins to break the more he speaks, hot tears forming in his eyes. “And I really,” he breathes out between soft sobs, “I really love hearing you sing. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard and I wish I could…” His entire shoulders begin to shake. “I wish I could hear you sing again, Haechannie…”

Haechan’s breathing becomes slower as his vision starts to fade away. Mark sounds like he’s talking from a distance, as if he’s murmuring underwater. And Haechan feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit, a monster waiting underneath and suddenly he’s just…

Gone.

“Hae… chan…?”

Mark’s eyes grow wide as he feels Haechan’s teeth sinking into the skin of his neck, gnawing against his flesh before he peels it away with his fangs. Mark’s entire body jolts in pain, sending electricity down to his fingertips. He crawls away from Haechan by instinct, his blood splattering down his shirt and to the wooden floor below him.

Haechan’s eyes are entirely clouded in white, saliva  mixed with Mark’s blood dripping from his mouth and he snarls, baring his teeth like a hungry wolf.

Mark tries to call his name but it’s no use. Haechan is something else. Something entirely different. And although the transformation process progresses little by little, once it’s complete, it still takes the air out of Mark’s lungs.

Haechan is struggling to break himself free, his fingers clawing the air, reaching for Mark with such desperation of a starving lion. Mark’s gun feels heavy on the back of his jeans, he knows what to do. He just doesn’t have the will to do it.

“Haechannie—it’s me—please, it’s Mark—”

Haechan roars, dark blood splattering from his mouth as he claws and claws with his legs kicking all over the place. The rope around his waist is the only thing holding him still, keeping them in a safe distance but Mark knows it won’t hold long.

Haechan is frighteningly strong.

Mark’s blood is gushing out of his wound, painting his  arm red and warm and it’s starting to make him feel lightheaded. At this point, he realizes he’s going to die by Haechan’s hands or going to turn into the exact creature snarling in front of him now.

Mark hooks his finger around the trigger, aiming the gun at Haechan’s head and he feels like he’s on the verge of vomiting his entire organs.

How can I shoot him—

But he tries. He tries because he has promised the man he loved he would do it. He tries because the world does not deserve seeing Haechan like this. He does not want anyone to look at him and think about him simply as a mindless, flesh-eating zombie when Haechan was so, so much more than that. Haechan was sweet, he was kind though he did have his own mischievousness from time to time and he shone so bright, almost blinding every time Mark looked at him.

So he takes aim and he misses because his hand trembles at the last second. The bullet that sinks to the pillar behind him only makes the creature growls at him louder, and the rope begins to tear apart.

Mark still can’t shake the memory of Haechan’s face when he told him he loved him too, or simply the memory of him—of how he used to. But the monster that he is now is not him. Mark just has to convince himself that.

He’s running out of time.

He takes a closer step, close enough that he won’t be able to miss, and he takes in a deep breath, aiming at Haechan’s temple. He steadies his hand as best as he can before he closes his eyes, feeling hot tears running down his cheek and he whispers, “See you soon, Haechannie.” And he pulls the trigger.

The room quiets down in an instant where Mark can only hear his own frantic breathing, but he doesn’t stay still for long. Not looking at Haechan’s body, he quickly loads his gun with another bullet—his last one—and presses the tip against the side of his head. It feels hot, almost scalding his skin but he doesn’t let himself think. He doesn’t let himself breathe. He doesn’t let himself feel.

And with the click of his gun, he finally smiles.

We’re together now, Haechannie.

***

[rainbowsky]

The Wolf Reviewed

Spoiler-free section

My life is divided into two eras: ‘before seeing GG as Ji Chong’ and ‘after seeing GG as Ji Chong’. I will never be the same.

GG is magical in this series, and Ji Chong is among my absolute favorite characters of all time (I am actually in love with this character, which is heartbreaking given the fact that he’s fictional). The show also has many interesting characters and some exciting storylines, and in spite of some of its flaws this series is quite good. Highly recommended.

Of course there’s a lot more to it than that, but I can’t give a full review without spoilers. Here’s the rest for those who have already seen the series.

Spoilers under the cut

OK, where to start?

The Characters

There were so many great characters in this story and overall I found the performances of all of them well-acted and exciting to watch. I especially loved Ji Chong and Yao Ji. Both were complex, mysterious characters who stole the show every time they were onscreen.

Ji Chong was incredible. Everything about him was over-the-top amazing. I can imagine that GG must have identified a lot with Ji Chong because he has a similarly gallant, charismatic and kind personality. Seeing GG perform a character like this was mind-blowing because of the harmony between them in spite of their physical differences.

I could go on and on about how much I love Ji Chong as a character but if you’ve seen the series you already know how great he is. I truly fell in love with that man. He was everything I love in a person, and in such a beautiful package. I loved his nimble mischievousness, his rebelliousness, his fierce independence, his devotion to those he loves, and above all, his integrity.  With one exception that I’ll get into later, everything he did in that series was consistent with the image I had of him and it made my heart melt.

And it was pretty insane to see GG go from the thin, twinkish, bubbly and somewhat diminutive Wei Wuxian to the rugged, masculine, mature and level-headed Ji Chong. Not only because of the personality differences between the two characters, but also because of the physical differences. They look like two entirely different people. Ji Chong looks so tall and imposing in the series!

It’s impressive to see GG’s acting ability shine through in these roles. He has such a gift for acting, and for drawing viewers into the hearts of the characters he plays.

Yao Ji was another character that really impressed me. She had so much intensity and complexity, and her character arc was so strong. She was also just incredibly well styled and she looked breathtaking in every single frame she appeared in. The various headpieces and hairstyles she wore were stunning, and her sidekick Zi Shen was an aesthetic marvel.

I also really loved Ma Jing. Despite the fact that she was often used for comedic effect, her character was quite nuanced and multidimensional. I loved her loyalty and strength, and the depth of the love she had for Ma Zhai Xing really shone through in every scene she was in.

The entire Night Fury group was also amazing. I loved them as a team and as individuals, and the trajectories their characters went through were interesting and engaging. I was really invested in what became of them. When Wen Yan died I was gutted, and I was grateful that Hai Die and Mo Xiao had such a satisfying conclusion to their story.

I also adored Butler Shi. What a great character. He reminded me of one or two guys I know hehe. He had such a warm, endearing quality about him.

I’m realizing that I could sit here and name almost every character in this series. Despite some of the problems that I have with it, I’m reminded that the characters are exceptionally well-realized in this series.

The Story

Overall I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by the story. It was exciting and engaging, and there were some very interesting side conflicts and intrigues. There was an overall sense of adventure and plenty of action, some really emotional moments and even comic relief.

When you think about it, almost every character had something deeper going on outside of the main plot, and those side/back stories were really interesting and varied. There was complexity to the characters and their motives and experiences without it overcomplicating the plot.

The romances were not my cup of tea. I’ll get into that later on. But despite being the thread that ran through the entire story, they really didn’t feel central to it and it was easy to simply enjoy the show while putting aside the annoyances I had with the romances (I did this primarily by consciously choosing to take the story at face value, and choosing to believe that Ma Zhai Xing really was through with Prince Bo).

The show did a great job of getting me engaged and keeping me interested, giving me a story that was complex without being confusing, emotional without being too sappy (with some exceptions). The action, fight scenes, battles, etc. were exciting without feeling fake and cliche. There were some well-choreographed scenes.

I really can’t complain about much. I mean, there were times when I was watching this series that I thought I hated it, but in retrospect I can see that I really loved it in spite of some of the flaws, which I’ll discuss in a moment.

The Soundtrack

The soundtrack was quite good, even if it felt repetitive when I was bingeing the show. So many songs have stuck with me since I finished the series. I especially like Backflow by Jolin Tsai (second-last song on the playlist I linked). Of course I would have loved a song or two with GG, but the soundtrack we got was memorable.

What I hated

I really struggled with some aspects of this series.

I found Bao Na mostly unwatchable. She was incredibly annoying. As a character she had all the traits I dislike. Whiny, stalker, demanding, emotionally immature, jealous... I really couldn’t stand that character for a lot of the series.

It’s true that she started to redeem herself a bit through the course of the series but she never really evolved into someone I wanted to see more of. I definitely had some moments where I liked her and sympathized with her, but mostly she grated on my nerves.

I also hated Prince Bo through most of the series, and found it insulting that I was expected to view him as the protagonist and cheer for him to win the princess’s heart. I felt that the ‘love-hate’ thing between Prince Bo and Ma Zhai Xing was overplayed to a point where I lost all sympathy with Prince Bo and desperately wanted him to die a horrible death through much of the series.

His behavior didn’t reflect someone who was in love but wanted to protect her. Much of his behavior was excessive and gratuitous, much worse than was necessary to achieve its stated goal. He was incredibly emotionally and psychologically abusive toward Ma Zhai Xing to a degree that was often really hard to watch. Especially his near-rape of her.

This is a man that I didn’t want to see redeemed. This is a man I wanted to see burned alive. No one who truly loved Ma Zhai Xing would be even remotely capable of the actions Prince Bo took.

I will admit that he did begin to redeem himself in my eyes a bit later in the series, but not to where I could ever see him with Ma Zhai Xing. I don’t think that’s the sort of treatment one can ever redeem in a relationship. He might be able to redeem himself, but not the relationship. There are some lines, once crossed between people, that one can never come back from.

I actually felt that Yao Ji was a much better match for Prince Bo than the princess was. They were true equals with similarly difficult pasts, and similarly dark deeds to redeem themselves from. They were in so many ways perfect for each other.

Ji Chong and Ma Zhai Xing were a better match because they were more natural equals in terms of personality, values and life paths. There were tremendous parallels between the two of them. Although I ended up feeling she didn’t deserve him.

So for me, it was really difficult to get invested in the love stories I was presented with. Ultimately I found them all very unsatisfying. The people I wanted to see together were treated as unsuitable for each other in ways that were completely unbelievable, and the people I was expected to want to see together had unconvincing chemistry and incompatibilities that I couldn’t overlook.

Seeing Ma Zhai Xing die in the end was an OUTRAGE. Especially when I read about the director’s rationale for that decision.

“Her thought process on killing off “Zhai Xing” was that “King Bo” had done so much for her that it was time for her to do something for him. “Her character had matured the most in the series. Dying for Wolf Boy is the best ending for this identity of hers. To me, this perfect ending is even more in line with her character’s growth.””

I found that shocking. I couldn’t disagree more with this sentiment. She wasted so much of herself and her life for Prince Bo. He treated her like crap, and he didn’t ever truly do anything to redeem himself from that behavior. He should have been the one to die.

In my opinion, REAL character growth for Ma Zhai Xing would have been to see her overcome the fixation with Wolf Boy and with Prince Bo and just move on with her life.

I will say this, though: By the time Ma Zhai Xing died in the show, her character had already been so utterly and thoroughly decimated beyond all recognition via the Prince Bo housewife trajectory that there was no point in her surviving.

The absolute worst moment for me, though, was Ji Chong ending up with Bao Na. Talk about adding insult to injury. This is the one thing that Ji Chong did as a character that ran against my understanding of him as a character.

You could have done anything at all to Ji Chong, including killing him or turning him into a villain, and it would have been less of an insult to me than putting him with Bao Na.

I do try to interpret his invitation for them to travel together in a non-romantic way (despite the fact that in the world of the show there’s no way that a princess is going to go traveling with a prince without her reputation being ruined unless they are a couple). But when I tell myself that he took her traveling to get her away from court and give her some life experience - as friends only - then it becomes less of a bitter pill to swallow. I could see him doing that for her, and I could see them developing a strong friendship through their travels.

I just can’t see them as remotely romantically compatible. Not on any level.

I found it completely unconvincing that the most emotionally mature, honorable person in the entire series who had the healthiest boundaries and a lot of worldly experience and intelligence, would have any interest whatsoever in someone as emotionally immature, childish and inexperienced (and with no boundaries whatsoever) as Bao Na.

I would have preferred it if they’d framed that whole thing as him being a sort of big brother/mentor figure to her.

I felt like I saw chemistry and compatibility between Bao Na and Fourth Prince Chu You Ze, and I would have loved to see them end up together. They were much more at an equal footing. I was expecting that to be the outcome and it would have been a sweet one. They would have made a cute couple.

Final thoughts

The romances in this story seemed fixated on unhealthy, often misogynistic power imbalances and they were really, really hard to watch. Not just in terms of Prince Bo and Ma Zhai Xing but also the ugly Ji Chong and Princess Bao Na hookup they tried to get me to swallow at the end. I hate that kind of ‘love’ story. I prefer seeing actual equals find each other in the great wide world.

However, pretty much everything else about the series was excellent. Ji Chong owns my heart and I only wish I could see more of him. GG completely blew me away and far exceeded all of my expectations.

Overall, I really love this series and will definitely be rewatching it.

[purplesurveys]

1165

survey by xxbieberburnham

A - Accidents

Have you ever been in a car accident? Very minor ones that only caused small dents, and nothing that wrecked either car or put someone in the hospital entirely.

Do you have a lot of scars? I have some, not a lot.

Have you been in a fist fight with someone? Nope.

Have you ever seriously hurt someone by accident? I remember striking my ex in the face accidentally while we were horsing around. She was wearing glasses at the time so she ended up getting a cut in the area in between her eyes.

Have you ever had stitches? No and like I always say, I hope I’ll never need to get them.

B - Beauty

Would consider yourself beautiful? Not beautiful, but I will feel pretty on some days. Not always, though.

Are you self consicous of how you look? These days not so much, because I don’t even get to go out in the first place and there’s been little need to fix myself up most days unless I’ll get on a video call for work. I don’t get self-conscious around my family either.

Do you wear a lot of make up? I never wear makeup.

Would you ever consider getting plastic surgery? Nope. I considered having my breasts done when I was a teenager, but the thought literally never crosses my mind anymore.

What do you think makes a person beautiful? Physically, I think it differs per person. More than that, it’s the things they do when no one is looking.

C - Consequences

What is the longest you've been grounded for? Maybe around a year? Due to issues at home and, honestly, poor parental skills on my mom’s end, I ended up being a rebellious problem child and wasn’t the easiest to temper or raise.

What would you do if you became pregnant? Keep it and try to seek support from family and friends.

Do you ever think about how your actions affect people? Always a people pleaser, y’all. Of course I do.

What do you think is the worst punishment someone could give you? I guess anything that involves taking away basic essentials, like cutting off access to food and water.

What is one thing you wish you didn't do because it wasn't worth it? Stayed in a relationship that I knew was going to end at some point. She always made it clear she’d end it one day and I was just too afraid of confrontation to face it sooner (and too stubborn to handle the truth).

D - Dealing

When you're mad at someone how do you show it? Cold shoulder.

Name a time when you had to be strong. The week of my grandfather’s death, wake, and cremation was on the same week of my entrance examinations for several universities, including the two toughest ones. I had already been in the headspace to just focus on the exams and shut out everything else for the meantime then the death happened, so my life turned into a rollercoaster of emotions quickly. I ended up entertaining relatives and fervently going through my review modules at the wake.  

Have you ever dealt with divorce? Well I’ve never been married and I also live in a country where divorce is illegal, so no.

When people don't accept you, how do you react? It will definitely affect my self-esteem to an extent. I imagine being bothered by it.

Have you ever lost someone to death? Yes. Just yesterday I found out one of grand uncles did from Covid. We are very close with that side of the family, so I am still in shock and have yet to process it.

F - Family

Is there anyone in your family you don't talk to? I barely talk to one of my uncles and only do so when we greet each other at family gatherings. Still, I haven’t looked him in the eye for years now.

If you had to choose: friends or family? Probably my friends.

Do you have any siblings? Yes.

How often do you spend quality time with your family? Pretty regularly now with Covid still on the loose. We have dinner together every night, then after that we usually hang out in the living room doing our own thing. Also breakfast on weekends.

G - Growing

How tall are you? Do you wish you were taller or shorter? I’m around 5′1″. I’m fine with this height.

Do you think you've grown up in the past year? So much. I think my surveys show that too.

Do you think you're mature for your age or still childish? I want to say I’ve matured in some ways, but I don’t think I’m fully there yet. For one, I’m still scared to learn how to cook lol and I can’t even light up a match.

Are you scared to think that one day you'll turn 30, then 40 & 50? Sometimes I’ll get in those moods because it makes me realize how fast life is and how quickly people turn old. But I hate getting stressed and mulling over things I can’t control, so I also immediately return to the present and just enjoy where I am now.

Do you believe you still have a lot to learn? I’m barely in my mid-20s, so I know that for a fact.

H - Hope

Love - real or not? I want to say it’s still real. Some people just get lucky early, I guess.

Are you a pessimist or an optimist? Realist.

Do you believe in fate or that everything happens for a reason? I believe whatever things that happen are consequences of, or are at least linked to, what’s happened in the past – wherever that falls under.

Do you believe that after we die, your spirit is still alive? I don’t believe in spirits, so no.

What gives you hope when you just feel like dying? My next paycheck. Hahahaha

I - Idols

Who is your idol? I don’t have any.

What makes this person an idol to you?

Has this person done anything good to help other people?

Does this person have good style?

What does this person do for a living?

J - Jokes

Tell me an inside joke between you and your friends. “Packs a punch” is one of mine and Angela’s long-standing inside jokes. I think I’ve shared this story before, but basically in one lunch break in high school I was tasting this juice that one of our friends brought; I remarked that it “packs a punch” which no 16 year old Filipino student uses in a casual setting, so it quickly became a hit in our circle and now Angela brings it back semi-regularly to tease me.

Are you usually the person to make people laugh or the other way around? It’s mostly the other way around but occasionally I’ll be able to blurt out a joke that ends up working well.

Do you cry when you laugh hard? Haha yes. That’s the best kind of laugh.

Do you get in trouble for laughing or talking in class? Almost never. I hated causing trouble, and if I was ever called out in class it was always a classmate talking to me that I was just too shy to ask to keep quiet.

Are you good at making jokes? Depends on the person. I hold back if necessary.

K - Knowledge

The prupose of school: learn, hang with friends or cause trouble? Learn and gain new experiences, then gain friends.

Do people refer to you as dumb, smart or average? I dunno, you’ll have to ask them.

What kind of grades do you usually get? I mostly bummed around in high school just because I didn’t think grades from that early on in life wouldn’t matter in the long run, but I still did well enough to pass all my classes. I exerted a lot more effort in college since that’s when educational backgrounds start to matter, and got even better results from there.

What is your favorite subject to learn or talk about? History.

L - Love

Are you currently in love? Nope.

Do people around you show a lot of love? The people in my life who’ve chosen to stay, yes.

Is love worth it? Not always, but yes, mostly.

Do you hate it when people say "I love you" & they've been dating for a day? It might confuse me a bit since I personally don’t take that phrase lightly; but I wouldn’t be one to judge.

Does it take a lot for you to say you love someone or is it just a word? Like I said, it takes a lot for me to be able to say it. The two times I dated my ex she was always the one who ended up saying it first.

M - Money

Do you believe money makes the world go round? Yes, and that it can buy happiness.

How much money do you have on you now? I’ve been using paper money less and less frequently now, actually. I’m all cashless these days, so my wallet is literally all out of bills and the coins there are probably just piled-up centavos I’ll never use.

Are you saving up for anything? My birthday treat. I already somewhat failed lolol - I got BTS coffees, Ivy Park shoes, and four boxes of wings just this week, but I told myself I am no longer touching my bank account until it’s time to pre-order food for my birthday.

Would you rather win 1 million dollars or find true love? Give me the million dollars. 50 million pesos would last me like ten lifetimes.

On a scale 1-10, how important is money to you? 10.

N - Nothing to lose

Would you ever go on a game show? If it’s a game show I enjoy watching, like Jeopardy or Family Feud. I might not be interested  if it’s anything else I’m not too familiar with.

Do you play the lottery? Never.

Ever been to Las Vegas? Nope.

Have you ever made a bet and then lost? Nah, I don’t really make real bets; I just use the saying with my friends but we never follow through with real money.

Do you give your all in a relationship? To a fault.

O - Openess

How long does it take you to open up with someone? It depends on how long it takes for me to be comfortable with them...some people can seem standoffish, so I’d be wary about opening up about my life to them out of shyness and uncertainty if they’d be down for such a conversation. Then others can be rays of sunshine who are very easy to talk to.

What does it take for you to fully trust someone? If they’ve proven to be reliable in crises. I’ve always said I’m more of a follower than a leader, so if I see that someone’s capable of handling any sort of issue that I can’t find a way out of, I will find it a lot easier to start trusting them.

Do you trust people too easily? Probably.

Are you comfortable with everyone? Definitely not. I like keeping my circle small.

Do you tell your parents and friends everything? Just my friends.

P - Positive

Is your outlook on life positive or negative? I like to keep it positive but still grounded to reality at the end of the day. I don’t wanna drag myself down with my mindset, but I also don’t want to give myself exuberantly high expectations.

Have you ever had a moment with someone & it didn't end positively? I’ve had very few negative one-off experiences with some strangers, but yes, they’ve happened.

Do you agree with: best to have loved than never loved at all? As negative as my experience turned out to be, I still think it’s better to experience love. I grew up in a lot of ways and also learned new things about myself because I loved.

Do you see most things as negative or positive? Idk, depends on how they realistically look like.

Has anything bad happened but something good came from it? Yes.

Q - Questions

When faced with a problem, do you solve it on your own or ask for help? Ask for help.

Do you like to take quizzes? Maybe not quizzes but surveys.

If you could ask the president one question, what would it be? When he plans to stop being a disgusting misogynist pig. And also if he has an actual Covid response action plan because I am not seeing anything fucking moving in the last year.

When someone does something wrong do you ask them about it or let it go? Depends on how close I am with them, or how attached I am to the issue.

Do you own plaid shorts? Not shorts but skirt, since I had to wear a school uniform in my old school and our school skirt was plaid.

R - Respect

How do you show respect for someone? I talk nicely about them, even (and especially) behind their backs. I also refuse to act or talk like a superior around them.

What can someone do to lose respect for them? If their stances on politics and certain advocacies are questionable; if I see them treating any employee under any industry shittily; and if they excessively badmouth people behind their backs.

Do you respect your parents, teachers or authority? Yeah. I’m afraid of getting into trouble and being reprimanded, and I always like looking good in superiors’ eyes so I’ve always been a bit of a goody two shoes.

If you're disrespectful to your parents, whats your punishment? I’m 23, have a full-time job, and give them a portion of my salary twice a month so they know they can’t really do anything about it anymore lmao. I’ve definitely noticed they’ve cut back on sermons directed to me. The most that can happen these days is that I would get a mild scolding, but that’s it.

If someone is mean to you, are you mean back? Of course, but I do it very passive-aggressively. I want to make sure I get the last laugh.

S - School

If you're still in school, what grade will you be going into? Not in school anymore and no plans to apply for a postgraduate course any time soon.

When will you graduate high school/college? I graduated high school in 2016, college in 2020.

After high school, what do you plan on doing? I went straight to college, as is the common practice here.

Do you like or hate school? I honestly enjoyed it for the most part; the only thing I really had a problem with was the demanding schedule and workload – back in college, I frequently had classes at 7 or 8:30 AM (which required me to start driving by 5 or 6 AM) and then I had extracurricular activities that would end at 10 PM at the very latest; meaning I was usually in my university for 17 hours every weekday. 

The upside to all of this is that I got to attend my dream school and was surrounded with my close friends, so despite the taxing schedule I have little to no complaints about my college experience, even in retrospect.

Have you ever been expelled or suspended? Never.

T - Temptation

Have you ever done something wrong but inside it was okay? Sure, I’ve definitely had my sneaky moments. Some of them I felt guilty doing and decided I’d never repeat, like cheating on a test; some of them I felt like needed to be a part of my youth years to enjoy life a little bit more and so I was ok doing them, like skipping classes to go see my girlfriend at the time or hang out at a bar with friends.

Has anyone ever pressured you to smoke or drink? I never like using the word pressured because my friends were nothing but. They did invite me to try out drinking and smoking, but they never forced me to do anything I was uncomfortable with. My decisions were always mine to make at the end of the day.

Did you ever cheat on someone? Never.

Do you give into temptation easily or are you independent? I think I’m a good balance of it? like I will say I’m influenced easily, but I still have the self-restraint to refuse things I’m adamant about avoiding.

U - Unique

Do you do a lot of things because your friends are? That’s the case sometimes, but not for all.

Do you follow trends or do whatever you want? Again, I can be both. It’s nice to like things that can be my own thing, and it can also feel cool to follow trends because it’s easier to relate to others who are into the same things.

Do you give in easily to peer pressure? No.

What makes you different from people your age? I dunno if there is anything that sets me apart. You’d have to ask other people.

V - Value

What's the most expensive thing in your room? Right now, probably the laptop I was given by my employer for work. I never use it though because my laptop works just fine, and I’m already used to how my own laptop works like and feels like; I have little time to get accustomed to a new laptop, given how hectic my work schedule is. It’s also an older MacBook Pro model, so I don’t want to use it even more than it’s already been used by past employees. I had to sign some contract that basically tells me I have to pay for it if I ever do some damage to it, and the current value is a little above P50,000.

What's more valuable: your life or the ones around you? Others’. But I’m also slowly learning to value my own as well.

What's something you value? Not because it’s expensive but it means a lot? Handwritten letters and notes from friends. Ever since I got a corkboard for Christmas last year I’ve been saving up the ones I’ve received and putting them up on the board; I hope to one day fill it up.

If there was a fire in your house/apartment what would you grab? Kimi. Someone else in the family is in charge of Cooper.

Do you think the past or future is more valuable? I think the present is, actually.

W - Wishes

If you had three wishes, what would they be? A sushi platter, a box of macarons, and my bank account replenished hahaha.

Would you rather wish yourself to be happy or others? Again, others’.

Do you believe that wishes come true if you really believe? Sure, but you also have to do something about them if you really want them to come true. Things won’t always come your way.

Have you ever had a wish come true? Yes.

Do you find wishing on things to be a waste of time? Not really; it makes me feel hopeful and gives me a reason to keep doing the things I’m doing.

Y - You

Are you more independent or social? Social. I love being around people. But I also like recharging by myself.

What's something that makes you mad when you see it? Animal abuse, more than anything.

Do you have potential to do anything you want? I hope so.

Do you believe people are born a certain way? No.

What color are your eyes? Dark brown.

Z - Zest

Are you currently happy with your life? I could be doing more if the pandemic wasn’t around, to be honest. But given how much has happened and what I’ve been through, I’m still happy with what I have for now.

When change occurs, do you get scared? Yeah, I’m very resistant to change and I try to avoid or outright deny it as much as possible. I know it’s a problem point of mine that I have to fix.

Do you like to try new things or meet new people? Try new things, yes always. Meet new people, not all the time.

What is the most motivational thing on earth? Money.

Do you have a motto? Nope.

Last questions

Do you hate how the letters on the keyboard aren't in ABC order? No, I’ve long been used to the QWERTY order and never found myself complaining about it either at any point.

Do you drink water? ...What?

What did you have for breakfast? I skipped it today, but this morning I did have a box of these chocolate Korean snacks that was part of the ~care package~ she had sent over to my house last Thursday.

Do you like convertibles? They’re cool. I don’t need to have one of them, but they look nice.

Do you like the American or British way of spelling words? I don’t have a preference in the sense that I dislike one of these, but I tend to follow American spelling.

What colors are on your country's flag? Blue, red, white, and yellow.

Can you skateboard? Nope, I haven’t even tried getting on one.

Do you like long hair? Sure, but not too long.

Do you like Fiber One bars? I’ve never tried them but judging from the name I doubt they would be favorites of mine.

What does your sleeping bag look like? I never need to use a sleeping bag, so I don’t have one.

Do you like to save your results after a survey? Yep, which is why I opened a Tumblr for it.

Do you like Sour Patch Kids? Just some flavors. I leave the other ones because I find them too sour for my liking.

If you could have your own show, what would it be about? Fooooooooooood triiiiiiiiiiiiiiip.

Ever rode on a jet? Not yet.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 36

Read along on AO3 here

<< Previous Chapter <<   >> Next Chapter >>

This time: The confrontation aboard the Compass reaches its peak.

Next time: Victory has a cost.

-/

When confrontation arose, Vah'nya danced through it. She'd seen it coming, her Sight strong and sure, leaving her aware of her enemy long before it had ever laid eyes upon her. There was a tempo, a rhythm to the altercation that only she knew.

The Grysk was easily four times her weight in their armor, dwarfing her thin frame in width though they were only slightly taller than her in height. They swung at her menacingly, but she saw the move before it happened, ducking under a thick arm to slip both behind and further away.

As her enemy staggered forward empty-handed, bending awkwardly to keep their balance as the deckplates beneath them rumbled and shifted from external plasmasphere impact, Vah'nya spun to face their back and extended her hands. The Grysk spun around as well, putting their back to the rest of their enemies, but it was too late. As if seeing the space between atoms, she charged the air with elemental energy. Ions rearranged themselves and the bolts that coalesced in the expanse between them glowed a searing blue- white, crackling ominously with contact.

Vah’nya’s foe dropped, their body seizing with electricity that ricocheted through the gaps in metal armor. It was a force of nature, a seemingly unnatural thing, and yet the Navigator glowed in its wake. Her skin held a healthy, cerulean-cream shine, her eyes were sharp and ethereal: cognizant of what she'd done, but aware that protecting the lives of her people had been far more important.

Un'hee hadn't needed to see it. Not with her eyes. She could see it in her mind, feel the way Vah'nya's spirit sang as she moved, the absolute sureness of her actions. She understood that there was more to it than sight. More to it than the Sight, in any form.

Vah'nya had instilled sureness, had always led by example. Un'hee might bicker with her ceaselessly, but they were sister-Navigators, and Un'hee could admit her admiration and awe. She should have known that she would not be the first.

She was relieved, if she were to be honest with herself. And that relief felt refreshing, awakening. This great and terrifying power she had discovered was not just her own. All of their sisters could be capable of this. And like she had been shown, after she had seen the way to help save Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Vah'nya would again guide her. Guide them all.

Eli, too. She could feel his heartbeat, muted through his armor, but steady: like a wardrum within his chest. He was calm. This was no surprise.

Of course, she thought. Because Eli had known as long as Vah’nya had. And, more than Vah’nya, Eli knew- No. That line of thought wasn't important, she told herself. What had happened was over now. He had recovered. They both had, and they were here now, fighting.

She could fight, too.

They needed her. Though Eli and Vah'nya were calm, they were the only ones. She sensed panic and fear like a tangible thing. Awe and terror, pride and uncertainty, all of it so very unsure. They had found others, she realized. She, Eli, and Vah’nya were not alone.

Had they found-?

Her memory, momentarily fragmented, disoriented by the subconscious use of her Sight, returned to her swiftly. Eli had helped her. She remembered him triggering Somnia, remembered him saying it was alright, but she needed to know. She needed to see for herself. She wouldn’t forgive herself for killing them, not even for killing the Grysk if it hadn’t been enough to save Thrawn, too.

"Thrawn," She called to him quietly, voice hoarse and dry from disuse and unconsciousness. They couldn’t hear her over the sounds of the dying Grysk and awed Chis. They must have rescueded others, though not many. Strange, it felt so loud to her while everything else was still so muted. She considered that it might be Eli. His close presence was soothing, enough to lull her back to a comfortable state of half-wakefulness, but she needed to come back now.

The thin black material - some synthweave blend that was soft to the touch - was balled in her hands. It took effort to twitch them, to force her tightly curled fists to relent. They did. She focused, looking for Thrawn without her eyes.

He was near to her - to them. Close enough to touch. In the space between awake and unconscious, she sensed his… Apprehension. Acknowledgement. A fear that was almost reverent. Something warily respectful.

Thrawn had seen this before, Un’hee remembered. It was not entirely the same - she’d heard the story of the creature he’d shot down from the sky, a being who called upon a great and terrible storm that did not distinguish between friend and foe - and yet it was. She felt him tense, closing himself off, and twitched again in Eli’s hold like an answer. Thrawn didn’t notice.

But Eli had. She carefully peeled back her covering, finding the halls of the Compass to be darker than she expected. Eli’s tan-skinned features were awash in the ambient glow. His lips curved into a half smile when he met her gaze. She could see the relief war with worry and anger. No doubt she was in trouble with him. She didn’t care right now, squirming, seeing fit to tell him so-

The human didn’t coddle her though. His expression - those deep, dark expressive eyes - showed understanding that outweighed his emotions. He eased her to the ground, assuring himself she was able to support her own weight before letting go.

Eli’s emotions were important, yes, but she had more pressing concerns in that moment. She took a wobbly step to the side and slipped her much smaller hand into Thrawn’s loose fist, half-clenched at his side. Her cold fingers uncurled against his palm, seeking purchase. He did not flinch. His fingers clasped hers in a gentle squeeze before relaxing, but to her surprise, he did not let go.

She looked up to him as he looked down at her, as stern and stoic as she’d remembered the first time they’d met. His eyes were different now. It was as though there was some shroud had been pulled back, though he was no easier to read this way. He felt worried, yes - she could imagine what he’d seen in his mind’s eye watching Vah���nya vanquish their shared enemy - but beneath that, there was something else. He felt balanced now. Balanced I'm no a way that someone didn’t know they could be until they achieved it. It wasn’t feigned or forced out of some sense of duty. It just was.

Un’hee was pulled from her thoughts by Vah’nya. Vah’nya, who refused to acknowledge her quarry beyond confirming it no longer drew breath. She rose to her feet and stepped around gangly, still-twitching limbs and immediately crouched in front of the young girl.

“What were you thinking?” The Senior Navigator bellowed. “You could have been killed!”

“I had to,” Un’hee said, pushing out her chin, her tone increasing in pitch with every word. “I knew I had to just like you. They would have killed him, and I-”

“Not now,” Ivant cut in, extending both his hands in a placating gesture toward the enraged woman. Un’hee couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen true fury in Vah’nya’s eyes. She barely kept it in check, but Un’hee knew fury was easier to channel than fear. Fear would drown them, if they let it. “Later. Mission first.”

Thrawn’s fingers tightened around Un'hee's hand again briefly before he let go. If he was concerned that she stayed all but leaning against him for the moment, he said nothing. She watched him meet Eli’s gaze over her head, saw the way they spoke without words in the two seconds that passed.

To Vah’nya, he began, “Are you able to call upon this... lightning,” He didn't stumble over the word, but the pause was obvious to Un’hee, “On demand?” That rerouted the conversation, the tension, all of it, in a matter of seconds.

Vah’nya pushed a flyaway piece of blue-black hair behind her ear and settled back into the coolness of militant discipline. She explained, “Yes, though truly controlling it is another story. I can see the paths it can take, but it is not a foolproof thing.”

Un’hee only realized that Eli had moved from beside them when she heard the clanging thud of the Grysk’s body being rolled over with his boot. He took a knee and inspected the corpse. Un'hee's forced herself not to look away. She'd done this, too. “It works just fine in close range, and when you focus,” Eli clarified.

Vah’nya inclined her head. "True, but ultimately it is more of a destructive power. It cannot manipulate fragile electronics."

Eli muttered something unintelligible. Not so loudly as to interrupt their exchange entirely, though he did draw Thrawn's sharp gaze. Eli didn't speak up or voice his opinion to the group, so the conversation moved on.

“And I would not not ask it of you,” Thrawn affirmed, shifting his gaze back to her. “But I would ask you to take an alternative route to the bridge.” He considered, “I believe the way you traversed the ship without detection.”

“Not a bad plan if we have something ready on the other end,” Mused Eli, who confirmed Vah'nya's cooperation with a swift nod. Then he rose from beside the body and addressed Thrawn, making it clear that he was the leader, not Eli. Un'hee had wondered. “Another grunt," He said. "I don’t think there’s any high-ranking ones beside that commander who demanded your presence." He toed at the dead alien's armor. "Worst of all, there's nothing we can tie back to our people. We're flying blind on that end.”

"Perhaps," Thrawn considered. “Their liaison with our people is too new for them to rely on a single individual or reveal their cards entirely. Subjugation was hardly their goal in this venture, nor was returning me to Emperor Palpatine, though both would undoubtedly be useful to their cause.”

“You’re right,” Eli agreed. He did not hide his anger now, Un’hee noticed. It was smooth and slick and mostly unfamiliar to her. She knew he did his best to mask his temper, especially with her sisters, and thus was not used to seeing it so close to the surface. “They’re just doing this to show they can. To show how deep they’ve inserted their influence.”

“It will not be tolerated,” Thrawn swore, like a vow. Un’hee believed him. His disdain curled like a predator beneath his skin, though she did not fear the violence he'd bring. Unlike their enemies, his anger and Eli's had a sharp edge. They cared little for conquest. They were driven by their desire to protect.

-/

There was only one way onto the bridge. As such, it had been a no-nonsense, straightforward approach. It has been an offensive that started as stealth, making as little noise as possible, then turned into an all-out assault as they reached the last stretch and passed the point of no return.

Ezra had been surprised by the amount of resistance, and even more surprised by the number of drab-looking Chiss that fought with the same cold fury that his own allies did. They had passed several Grysks that were not the commander. Ezra's allies had keen eyes, but through the Force he had sensed a sort of blank servitude within them as well, so similar to the enemy Chiss forces. It was disturbing.

Even more disturbing was their present situation. Approaching the bridge head on - as was their only realistic option - had left them trapped between the majority of enemy forces aboard the Compass. Ahead of them, the larger contingent fired at them indiscriminately. Behind them, a slow trickle of support crept in to pick them off. Ezra tried his best to see them coming, but they were so flat and unobtrusive, in addition to that usual slippery feeling Chiss had in the Force.

The Chiss beside him, the small team who had suffered losses and were supposed to be better protected because they had his assistance, were tired. Ezra was tired too. They'd been in this killbox for a while now, their enemy just waiting for them to make a mistake. Though he didn't know them well enough to get a good read on them, they were far more open to him in the Force - accepting, perhaps - than their enemies. They were grateful for his intervention, albeit rattled by his abilities. They had never fought with a Jedi. And Ezra hadn't fought like this since he was a rebel and Thrawn his greatest enemy.

He clenched his fists. He missed his lightsaber and its protective hum. There was nothing for it now. He didn't need his lightsaber to be a Jedi.

Reaching out, he felt for the incoming blaster bolts that targeted his comrades and nudged them to the side. He felt something else, too. Something directly above him.

Vah'nya.

She wasn't like Kanan or Ahsoka, wasn't like a Jedi at all. And yet, whenever he extended himself mentally, especially after they'd taken to meditating together on occasion, she always reached back. He wasn't sure if she knew she was doing it, but it didn't stop him from sending his own feelings - relief especially, that she seemed to be alright - her way.

She didn't answer. She could project emotion, any being could, but she couldn’t pointedly target him in the Force. It simply wasn’t like that for her. He shifted focus. Beside him, one of his allies paused, their eyes briefly pausing on the grate that covered the life-support's ventilation shaft over the enemy's head. Chiss could see in the infrared, Ezra knew. If there was someone up in that ductwork, they'd be obvious against the cool backdrop of silver-blue.

They couldn't draw attention to her, and he didn't dare mention that he suspected it was her aloud. Still, he had to do something. He raised his hand to jerk their enemies by their weapons, anything to keep their attention away from what was happening above them.

The first stun bolt nearly grazed his cheek. The coils of overwhelming energy expanded as they traveled over his shoulder, striking one of their assailants in the chin and dropping them with a strangled hiss of contact. More followed, sailing by him and his allies.

Footsteps followed and Ezra picked out at least five pairs of footsteps. “Set weapons to stun,” Called the familiar, authoritative voice and Ezra felt himself relax ever so slightly.

Beside him, one of his allies tipped their head to look behind them with hardly any concern for the rank of the one they spoke to. “Are you crazy, sir? They’re shooting to kill.”

“Hardly,” Thrawn’s voice came again, as Ezra flicked the mechanism on his own blaster to follow Thrawn’s instructions. He grew louder with every word, the sharpness of his command tone leading one of his other allies to toggle the stun setting on their weapon as well. “If the need to take life arises, so be it. Now is not that time. There are enough of us to neutralize this offensive.”

The captain did not retreat into cover when the shots came again. Athletically, he dipped and side-stepped them. They were coming slower now, the enemy forces slightly dismayed by the development and weakened significantly with the first round of the newcomers’ incapacitations, but it didn’t detract from the skill the older Chiss exhibited amongst mostly younger comrades. He raised his blaster again and took out two with pointed stun bolts to the chest before they could lock onto their target’s quickly shifting position.

Ezra stepped out of the hatchway he’d been using as semi-decent cover and took a lower stance, firing in tandem as the rest of their forces fell in. The already accumulated forces stayed low, firing from their positions dotted along the hallway in similar doors and ancillary alcoves like Ezra had been while Thrawn’s people stayed predominantly in line of sight for their enemy, providing heavy rings of cover-fire.

Ezra let Thrawn step in front of him protectively as he dropped his depleted blaster pack and took the one Thrawn indicated on his belt. He recognized the weapon and its backup and had to ask, “Where’s Captain Ivant?”

“His portion of the plan is in motion.”

“Oh good,” Ezra breathed in relief, then added, “Hopefully it’s a better plan than your last one. No offense, but that one was kriffing stupid.”

Squeezing off another shot, then three more in quick succession, Thrawn said, “It is good to know you are uninjured as well.” It looked like he might have made another statement, or possibly asked a question about the status of their remaining troops as the battle began to turn in their favor, but his head swiveled quickly, his expression changing from one of untouchable stoicism to a stern frown.

“What?” Ezra scrambled to his feet. “I don’t like that look,” He said.

“The ship is moving.”

“Moving? How can you tell?”

Thrawn’s concentration was absolute, though he was still able to multitask. “I can tell.” He looked to their comrades. “They’re engaging the Steadfast. We must move quickly to retake the bridge.” He plucked a comm from his belt and brought it to his lips. “Navigator Vah’nya, do you have confirmation?”

The sound of the comm device was muffled and metallic sounding. “Confirmed. Proceed as planned.”

“Very good.” Thrawn stalked up to their defeated enemies. Most were dead, but there were still some who might be saved. Though he did not prefer casualties, Ezra could see the flare of his nostrils, the utter contempt he had for them. “Set up a defensive perimeter to the sides of the blast doors. They will explode outward. Drag any prisoners who are alive out of its direct path.”

The questions came quick, albeit with more respect than the original outburst.

Thrawn confirmed his orders, “The Commander will not seek to harm themself, but those not sealed in with will be considered acceptable collateral. The doors will be rigged to damage any approaching forces in the event that the remaining crew attempted to thwart their plans.”

“I liked the Grysk better when they offed themselves before we got information,” The smart-mouthed woman who had sassed Thrawn earlier said.

“Only the lower-level Grysk do that,” A quieter voice came. Ezra didn’t recognize the man, but judging by his bloodied, disheveled uniform, he’d already been aboard the Compass. “This one wants to live.”

“This one wishes to take this ship as a trophy and display our vulnerabilities, both on a military and personal level,” Thrawn corrected. “Whether he desires to live is irrelevant. Our duty is to regain control of our vessel and neutralize the insurgent threat.” He looked at the group. “Once the doors are blown, you will wait for Navigator Vah’nya’s signal to storm the bridge.”

“What signal?” Another of Ezra’s comrades asked.

“You’ll know,” Thrawn said darkly.

Yes, Ezra supposed they would.

-/

Commander Faro jumped up from her console, already sending the communiqué to Admiral Ar’alani’s datapad and the Steafast’s bridge speakers even as she spoke. “Admiral, I have Captain Ivant.”

“The encryption?”

“It’s secure, ma’am.”

The admiral whirled around from the command walkway to face her. “Send it through, Commander.”

“Sent,” Faro confirmed crisply.

Ar’alani barely heard her, focused on the man aboard her rogue capital ship. “Ivant,” She demanded.

“Admiral. I have Un’hee in custody.”

“And the others?”

“It’s a bloodbath,” He said seriously, voice offset by static. “Captain Thrawn was kept with Un’hee. At last check, the survivors indicated one navigator and Senior Captain Khresh were still alive.” He paused, breathing hard. He’d likely been running, Ar’alani suspected. They were all running out of time, both literally and figuratively, she supposed. “Have you gotten anything from our friends?”

It was a crude but inconspicuous way of asking if House Chaf had provided them with any information. She appreciated his discretion. “It is too soon,” She said tightly, then redirected, “I am more concerned with the field of battle. Your former ship is being brought to bear against mine.” Her annoyance was obvious.

“Captain Thrawn is working on that.”

“Captain Thrawn,” She said carefully. She knew his objective, but refused to satiate her curiosity on the subject. There were more pressing matters to be discussed. “And what are you working on?”

“Leveling the field.”

Scoffing, Ar’alani said, “You sound as though you intend to do something foolish.”

“You might say that,” He supposed. “Can the Steadfast run interference?”

Snappish, she retorted, “You understand what you are asking me to do?” Ivant’s request would put her between a confirmed enemy Commander with his warped mockery of Chiss warriors and a Grysk capital ship that could have even more Chiss with inside knowledge of their ships, their tactics, everything. If the Compass wasn’t brought under control within minutes of Ar’alani turning her back on it, their enemy would know victory.

“I know it’s a risk,” Eli agreed. “But I need a guarantee that our enemies cannot escape. There is security footage that cannot fall into enemy hands. External comms should still be down, but there’s no way to confirm at this point without retaking the bridge. Thrawn will come through with his half of the plan,” He said confidently. “We will disable the Compass by any means necessary.”

Growling out a sigh, Ar’alani turned to her bridge crew. “Helm, take us in,” She demanded of them before speaking to Ivant once more. “If the Compass rams my ship, it will be your head, Eli’van’to.”

“I accept full responsibility,” He confirmed with confidence. He had the presence of mind not to comment that if the Compass got that close, there was little chance any of them were going to make it out of this engagement alive. “Thank you, Admiral.”

“Do not make me regret this,” She said, and ended the transmission. A glance at the tactical made her snarl beneath her breath and look to the helm. “Bring us to full speed,” She urged them. “It won’t do us any good if they’re too fast for us to catch.” Then, to the sensor officers, she commanded, “You will report any fluctuations in the Compass’s readings directly to me.”

The officer flushed, untested and timid, but set his jaw and inclined his head. “Yes, admiral.”

-/

She didn’t like this. She looked down at the scene - what she could see of it, anyway - and it only made things worse. Ke’hala was crying. She could hear the girl’s tiny snuffling sobs interspersed with the sound of wet, strained breaths and knew without any shadow of a doubt that it was Khresh, bloodied and propped precariously against one of the monitoring stations. Taking great care to remain quiet, she began loosening the bolts that kept the access register locked in place.

The bridge was a hub of activity, the Grysk commander standing boldly on the command walkway while meek, out-of-place Chiss carried out orders. Very few of the Chiss here wore CDF uniforms. And even if they did, she swore it felt like a tangible entity sucking the free will from them.

How could they think this was right? They were engaging in open warfare against their own brothers and sisters, slaughtering them openly. Would she and Un’hee be enough to convince them? Vah’nya knew she could kill a Grysk, regardless of their rank. She didn’t care about killing a Grysk. She cared about her people, about making sure this never happened again. About making sure those who thought this was an acceptable practice, a way to make some political statement or another saw that they did not need to enter into the service of an enemy to recognize their full potential.

It was already at hand.

She clenched the bolts in her fist, twisting the final one free. She just needed to move them all to her belt pouch where they wouldn’t make sound and she would be ready when the time came. She could hear the commander snarl over the reports that their forces outside the bridge had been thwarted. She just needed to see the explosive device pressed against the blast doors.

At this angle, it was nearly impossible. Carefully, she shifted in the metal shaft, doing her best to angle herself away from the slotted vent to avoid enemy detection, especially in the infrared. It was no use.

She pushed herself flat against the bottom of the narrow shaft and listened some more to the crew's off-putting chatter. The Steadfast was changing course, effectively trying to cut them off. They recognized the potential for a multi-faceted attack, and wanted to root out the remaining opposition aboard this ship first. Good.

Cautiously, Vah'nya chanced another glance down through the grate, eyeing the commander from behind. Something nagged at her. She was missing something.

Navigator Ke'hala wasn't crying anymore. Vah'nya swung her gaze back to Senior Captain Khresh. She couldn't see more of his face than the curve of his chin, tucked against his chest. But she could see his hands. They were redirecting the crying Navigator's face away from her, and she could see his chin move as he said something she couldn't hear.

There came a dull scrape against the bottom of the ventilation shaft. Ke'hala was not the only one who noticed, Vah'nya realized, as it steadily grew louder. The durasteel was too thick to be penetrated by blaster fire or even the concealed knife she knew the commander wore, but the infrastructure of the ductwork had its own disadvantages.

Most pressing of those disadvantages was the quiet snick and rising beep of a magnetic grenade not far from where she was concealed. The tucked her head beneath her arms and drew her legs up beneath her as the grenade blew. Her ears rang, though it wasn’t nearly as loud as the blood pumping furiously in her ears, warning her of danger.

The warning came too little, too late. There was a thump that she felt through the vibrations of her compromised vent shaft. Then, a large hand wrapped around one of her ankles and yanked.

Vah’nya twisted her body, kicking with her other leg, seeking out her assailant. She heard Navigator Ke’hala let out a strangled cry, turning into a sharp gasp when Vah’nya’s boot met the temple of the Chiss that had pulled her from the blown-out section of ductwork. She lurched sideways, back hitting one of the consoles. She didn’t have a blaster, but she did have something else.

She slammed her hand against the nearest enemy’s thigh, digging her fingers into their grayish coveralls and letting herself feel that white-hot fury. It would be excruciating, she knew. But she’d seen the path the current took, following flesh and bone only from the leg down. It wouldn’t be fatal. They cried out in agony, jolting upright before falling to the ground, making several others nearby reach for their blasters as they twitched and screamed.

It didn’t matter. Vah’nya saw their blows coming with the kind of awareness that, of those among them, only Navigator Ke’hala could fathom. She twisted her torso, ducked, stepped back to miss the assault with a poised grace that left them cursing her.

Good, she thought, taking the holstered weapon from the belt of the client she’d injured. The Grysk was making their way toward her from the other side of the bridge. She met his dark, beady eyes, raised her pilfered blaster, and fired.

[bigskydreaming]

tremsing82 replied to your post:

Feeling a mood to write some...

I would love for Jason to find out about Bruce’s abuse to Dick. Like Jason is from a abusive household and after he returned as red hood Bruce didn’t hold back but for Jason to find out the abuse Dick received from Bruce outside of the mask would be interesting to read.

This won’t be a prompt I use for this, solely because this is actually a BIG thing with me, and something that pops up a lot in various of the longer projects I work on off and on in my spare time. Mostly in a series of one-shots that are meant as a BFTC fix-it, that pretty much revolves around the idea of Dick and Jason eventually reconciling in the aftermath of Bruce’s perceived death, and bonding over the idea that they’re pretty much the only two people in the world who knew Bruce the way they did - at both his best and his worst. 

How to grieve for someone who at times you both loved and hated, who helped you and who hurt you, who was everything you wanted to be and everything you never wanted to be, all at the same time, at different times, at the strangest times.

So Jason finding out about the things Bruce has done to Dick, like in NTT #55, is of course a central part of that, as is Dick finding out the specifics of what happened between Bruce and Jason in UTRH (because I firmly and forever believe that Dick has zero idea about the batarang to the neck, just like I have trouble seeing any way in which Dick would have known about RHATO #25 before being shot and not had a serious reaction with Bruce). To me, a huge central part of these two brothers’ conflict in specific, is this perception they both have (with valid reasons) that the other has at various points had a relationship with Bruce that they would kill for.....even while being perfectly aware that at other times, their relationship has been nonexistent. 

But these specific actions of Bruce would inevitably be the cold shock of reality to them both, because I firmly believe this is the thing they could never explain away or justify to themselves.....they can reconcile the idea of Bruce hurting them on specific occasions, and not deem it abuse even as intimately acquainted as they are with the realities of abuse given everything they’ve lived, seen, and fought against in others....because they don’t want to accept that Bruce is capable of that, that they’re capable of....’submitting’ to that, so to speak, without leaving him behind...a huge part of them needs to keep him on a pedestal even when they’re furious at him. He played such a large role in shaping their lives in ways that they are grateful for that they have trouble juggling that with this perception of him too.

And due to their own individual self-esteem issues and negative self-perceptions (as well as desperate need for his approval, even when they vehemently deny they need or want it)....they’ve always been largely able to justify to themselves, or explain away his worst treatment of them.....but only so long as they’ve been able to convince themselves it was just them. That Bruce was only this way with them. 

Because one of Dick and Jason’s commonalities is that their self-deprecation is only the equivalent of their willingness to throw themselves under the knife for someone they care about, and that their negative self-perceptions are constantly being reinforced with what they perceive as additional evidence that various others are better than them. Do deserve more than them. Don’t deserve to suffer the things they’ve suffered. So IMO, my take has always been that Dick and Jason deep down love Bruce and the specific image of him they want and at times even need him to be....to such an extent that they can justify or explain away most anything he does to them at his worst....but I don’t believe for a second that either of them could ever do that if confronted with some of Bruce’s worst behavior with the other, or someone else they cared about.

So, the illusion born of their best memories of Bruce and that has so much to do with their inability to call him out on his shit even when faced with the reality of him in their worst memories of him.....can only hold, so long as they’re both one hundred percent convinced that it was just them. No one else. Because they must have deserved it. But that’s not an argument they’d ever make for anyone else, especially not one of their brothers.

But yeah, so this is a topic that as you can see, I’ve thought a lot about, lol, so its definitely something I’ve written about in depth in various WIPs that will at some point see the light of day (I’m posting WIP-phobic these days, due to uh....several years between updates on various published WIPs). Like I said, mostly the BFTC fix-it fic, but it pops up in various other things as well. There though, it has a super large presence because I personally can’t imagine all of that not coming up in their grieving processes for Bruce, because as much as most of us would like to romanticize deceased loved ones at all times, and never think of them without rose-colored glasses on, I can only draw upon my own experiences and its been mine that this isn’t always true, even when you really, truly and deeply love the person in question. Grief is an ugly, messy process, and it dredges up a lot. You’re often confronted with everything you don’t want to remember every bit as much as the stuff you fight to hold on to. 

So I’ve always really wanted to tackle that, as well as the dichotomy of being an abused kid who loves their abuser as much as he hates them, because with parents its just not as simple as pretending that the good emotions don’t exist, or ignoring the memories that truly are positive and had a positive influence on you and who you became, the parts you’re genuinely grateful to them for and wouldn’t want to imagine being without, even if you could. Its not easy to love some people, but its no easier to hate them, and to me, that’s Bruce and his relationship with his two eldest in particular, to like a T. 

Plus, I’ve always really liked the idea of exploring what kind of relationship Dick and Jason could have if these two brothers whose relationship at so many points has been largely at a distance and based off hearsay or imagined beliefs....like, in the aftermath of a tragedy like this, only finally started to really get to know who the other was, as adults, once the illusions they’d both been clinging to about their varying relationships with Bruce was finally stripped away. Also, I really wanted to explore the family dynamics that would result from the two of them specifically, with their contentious relationships with Bruce at some of his worse moments...like, forming a united front to kind of ‘protect’ Cass, Tim and Damian’s perceptions of Bruce, because for the most part at that point in time Bruce was still their hero, for all intents and purposes. Tim hadn’t yet IMO truly been disillusioned with Bruce at that point, Cass certainly hadn’t, and Damian might not have perceived things in the same way the others had, even if he had been fully aware of everything, but Bruce to him at that point was still kind of...a larger than life, mythic kind of figure. 

And I wanted to delve into the idea of Bruce’s two eldest children, who perhaps deep down wished that they had been left with just their cherished childhood memories of him and never had to remember the times that made them feel disillusioned with their father, like....the two of them acting in concert to kinda...protect their younger siblings’ own various cherished views of their dad, like....I just see that as being something very important to them, for reasons they’re not entirely clear on (or perhaps just don’t want to examine too closely).

Plus, of course, Bruce eventually returns as we all know, so.....holy conflicting emotions, Batfam.

But you’re absolutely right that Jason does and will have a LOT of thoughts and a lot to say on the subject of NTT #55′s events, both to Dick, to Bruce eventually, his therapist, etc.

Because not only does Jason NOT like the idea of his second father having abused his elder brother at all, to any degree, for any reason.....

You better fucking believe it that IMO, Jason Peter Todd has a fucking LOT to say about their dad using HIM, the child he ‘saved’ from an abusive home, as his EXCUSE to abuse his other child.

"Oh, I’m sorry, you were so fucked up about your previously-abused-kid dying that you thought a good way to handle it would be to abuse your other kid so that maybe when one day he died too, he and I would finally have some things to talk about? Yeah I think the fuck not, Pops!”

Anyway. Like I said. I obviously will not be expanding on that particular topic at this point in time.

Obviously.

Not even a little bit.

[trophywifejimgordon]

the old guard + singing

joe has the best voice. andy and nicky have the worst. i’m just gonna state that upfront as immutable fact

it’s like... he predates the renaissance by over three hundred years, but joe really is a renaissance man. What Can’t He Do. singing isn’t one of the artistic pursuits to which he dedicates the most time, but when he does sing, it’s a beautiful thing. 

everyone knows this.

he could do opera, were he so inclined.

booker easily holds second place for two centuries before nile. his voice isn’t, like, technically perfect like joe’s, but he can carry a tune and is good at belting out lyrics when he’s in a particularly good mood. it’s kind of like... he’s got a good voice for pub singing. not perfect, but comfortable and strong. you love to hear it.

nile might give him a run for his money when she shows up, though.

by sound alone, nile is better than booker. it just takes them a long time to actually figure this out, because she hasn’t sung outside of the shower in years, and before that, the most public she’d ever gone with it was church choir. she’s been complimented on her voice, but mostly by like, family and close friends. it’s just not something she ever really thinks of when she thinks about her strengths.

one night after a mission that goes particularly well, what’s left of the old guard ends up in a bar somewhere, celebrating with cheap drinks and karaoke. everyone urges nile to get up on stage, but she declines. 

so really, she brings it on herself when andy gets up in her stead

the thing about andy is that she sings like a dying cat

she KNOWS this

she does not care.

it’s especially tragic when you think about how many songs andy still remembers that no one else on the planet has heard... but the only one capable of sharing them mangles the tune so badly that you’d wish the song had stayed dead.

not to mention, can you imagine how annoying it would be to get a fragment of a song stuck in your head that’s in a language no one speaks anymore? immortality SUCKS!

finally, to put everyone else out of their misery, nile takes the stage from andy and finishes the song. and she’s really good! the others tell her so when she gets off stage, and that kind of makes nile proud because she knows by now that these people are so old. they’re polite, but they don’t bother with empty compliments. so hearing that, it kind of makes her feel special.

nicky’s somewhere between “actually good” and “andy.” he’s not the worst--his voice itself isn’t bad--but he’s tone deaf and can’t carry a tune.

unlike andy, he acknowledges this, and usually politely excuses himself from action when there are attempts to cajole him into showing off.

joe still likes his voice, though. sometimes, when it’s just the two of them, or when the group has had a few bottles of wine between them, he can be convinced to sing a few bars of some sappy italian love song from the 16th century. joe finds this incredibly endearing every time, everyone else throws things at him until he stops.

all in good fun, though. they love him.

even with his terrible, terrible voice.

nile really started singing when she was a kid because she loved watching musical movies with her mom. mostly her mom’s favorites--things like jcs, the wiz, joseph and the amazing technicolor dreamcoat, dreamgirls, etc--but also some disney stuff, particularly princess movies. and the ‘97 cinderella.

also into musicals, surprisingly, is booker.

it started because he has been a fan of les miserables since DAY ONE (and we’re talking 1862, here) and he’s kept up with every adaptation he can get his hands on. when he learned, in the early eighties, that they were doing a musical... well.

he enjoyed it so much that curiosity necessitated he branch off into some other musicals. i think he’d like some pretty basic ones; grease, phantom, maybe little shop.

me, projecting? whaaaaaat?

les mis is his bread and butter, though. he’s got Thoughts and Opinions and makes a point of preferring the lyrics in their original french.

All This To Say...

consider: pre-betrayal, joe with his lovely voice and booker with his intense adoration of les mis getting up on a table and doing a lively rendition of the confrontation. joe is valjean, booker is javert.

we love to see it.

that’s all i’ve got for you tbh, thank you and goodnight! 

[writing-appreciation]

His Legacy

Paring: Peter Parker X Stark!Reader X Platonic!Harley

Warnings: ☡ ENDGAME SPOILERS ☡, Slight language

Synopsis: The reader is concerned for Peter becoming the "new Ironman."

GIF NOT MINE: @tomhollandnet

DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN ENDGAME: FINAL WARNING!!

He was distraught. We all were. Anthony Stark's sacrifice destroyed us all in many ways.

Pepper lost the man she loved.

Morgan and I lost our father.

Rhodes lost his best friend.

But Peter. Peter lost his second father figure. And that hurt him in ways that his Uncle Ben's death didn't.

I was depressed for a couple weeks. Part of me felt that it was my fault. I helped Tony figure out how to fix the snag in the Time Heist.

--Flash Back--

"D'you want washing or drying?" He asked me as we both apprached the sink.

"Drying, definitely drying." I responded, already picking up the dish towel.

"Alright, but if you accidentally end up soaking, don't be complaining to me about it later."

And a few minutes later, he did "accidentally" spray water on me, the ceiling, and a collection of photos near us.

"Dad! Ugh, I'll get the mop." I carefully walked away.

He just smiled and looked at the photos. First observing a picture of his father. Then he pulled a different photo from behind it, taking the time to gently wipe away the water droplets on the frame. He looked hurt.

I walked back over to mess. I managed to sneakily catch a glance at what photo he had: the one of him and Peter getting his "internship."

It made me want to cry. I know he felt bad about Peter dying. It's just the way dad rolled. Everything is his fault.

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look into the calculations about Scott's Time Heist." I slowly suggested, now staring at the photo of Peter smiling. I missed him.

My dad constantly teased us on "being oblivious to one anothers' feelings." Feelings or not, I knew I missed him. When dad told me he hadn't made it, we both cried for an hour.

"What did I tell you about easedropping young lady?" He feigned suprise. He took a deep breath and cleared his voice of any emotion other than sarcasm.

He wrapped his left arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

" It's too bad you suck at quantum mechanics too badly to help with any of it."

I scoffed at his insult, knowing I was fully capable of keeping up. I was a Stark, it's in my blood.

So we went to work. Busting out every computation of every calculation we could think of.

"This is impossible. I told them Tiny's stupid hesit is physically impossible."

I chuckled at his codename for Scott. It helped relieve some of the tension in the room.

"Okay, so the calculus works, we can agree on that?"

He nodded.

"So we just need a workable shape to bend time around and to morph ourselves around?"

I layed my face in my hands and thought of the shapes we hadn't tested yet.

"Yes, Einstein, we do. But We've tried every geometrical postulate imaginable. I'm sorry kid, it's not hap..."

"Mobius strip." I whipped my head out of my hands and looked at him.

"FRI, can you run the calculations with the Mobius strip?" He asked, desperation clinging to his voice.

I didn't have the energy to make some snarky remark on how he took my idea. I just wanted to see if it worked

I moved to where my dad was standing, also waiting with anticipation. I felt him glance at me. He wanted this to work because he knew I needed it to work.

The moment we saw the green loop appear around the stip we both fell backwords into our seats.

"Shit." Be both said in unison, stares not breaking from the display.

"Shit!" We heard a little voice behind us.

We turned around to see Morgan happily sitting on the stairs, watching us.

Dad made some quippy remark about having important shit to do, which caused Morgan to frown/smile. He then took her up to bed, but not before getting them icepops.

I turned back to the display. The green line still surprised me. I half expected it to disappear in the time we looked away.

This was gonna work. We were going to get them back.

-------

I blamed myself for it. I should've just let it go. We were happy. We had a family. We were good.

But then I remember the billions who dusted away. It was the right thing to do. It just hurts.

But Peter's pain was significantly worse. He was hard to trust. After Ben's death, he found it hard to trust people, especially any father-figure he became close to. Understandably dad's death destroyed his limited trust capacity.

We could tell it was destroying him, Happy and I. We saw it firsthand.

Fury was pushing Peter. What with his constant calls, and even him hijacking our Summer vacation. Fury wanted the new Ironman and he was deadset on it being Peter.

It made me mad a first. Fury believed I was envious of the offer being given to Peter. But it was more concern than envy. Peter was Spiderman, not Ironman. He can't be both. And nobody could ever replace my dad

Plus people overlooked the obvious choice here: Harley Keener.

He was 16, and a new student to Midtown Tech. He was the perfect choice to carry on dad's legacy. It's not like Harley had other heroic prior commitments like Peter or I did. Plus we got along great.

My dad connected us one year when we all went down to vacation in Tennessee and met his family. I immediately gravitated to Harley. Seeing as he was only one year older than me, a sort of summer fling also sprouted between us. It ended on good terms. We kept in touch, agreed to hang out every once in a while, and had a fun tendency to provoke my dad.

But when I apprached Fury about this he struck it down before I even got to mention Harley. He insisted that Peter become the new Ironman. Which was weird.

The next step was to try to convince Peter which I felt wouldn't be too difficult. He was cracking under the pressure.

But seeing as we were currently going head to head with a giant water monster in London, I figured it'd be best to table the the discussion for a later time.

So we did. Just at a different time when Harley showed up at the rebuilt HQ (the old Stark/Avengers tower) just after we got back from vacation. It was 9:30 and we both just wanted to sleep for days.

Peter went into full defense mode the moment he saw Harley sitting in the corner. In Peter's defence, Harley did look pretty shady.

The whole squabble was resolved when I pushed past Peter and welcomed Harley with open arms.

"Hey, if it isn't my second favourite Stark!" He exclaimed as we embraced.

Though he kept it silent, I could sense Peter's jealousy.

"Hey, Keener, nice suprise, but what are you doing here?"

"Well, I thought we were going to talk to Fury today, so I just figured I would come in. I heard you guys were getting back today." He smiled.

I smiled back. It was truly nice to see him again. The last time I saw him as a few days after the Funeral when he dropped the news that he'd be attending Midtown Tech. I wasn't exactly a happy time, but it was mosty better now.

"Um, I'm sorry, but can you please explain who this dude is, (Y/n)?" Peter broke our little bubble of joy.

I noticed Peter even gave Harley a side glance of disgust and distrust. This should be interesting.

"Peter, play nice. This is one of my old friends, Harley Keener. I'm not sure you two met at the funeral, but basically he was a fellow mentee my dad sort of trained. He just moved here, and he'll be a Junior at Midtown Tech in a couple weeks." I politely explained to the disgruntled Spiderboy.

"And she wants me to be Ironlad."

Oh, this can't be good.

"Ironlad?" Peter questioned, now meeting Harley's gaze. Posture suddenly taller. Was he challenging Harley?

"Yeah, (Y/n) here called me about it a while back. I already have prints for a suit and she said she'd help me with it." He replied rather egotistically.

Peter looked hurt. He looked to me and back to Harley with definative anger. He began to walk away.

I quickly hit Harley's arm in frustration.

"What the hell, Keener? I was going to tell him gingerly!" I whisper-yelled at him as I began to follow Peter. He started to suit up.

"Peter." I called to him.

"Peter!" I called a little louder.

"Peter Parker!" I jogged up to meet his fast paced walk and pulled his arm.

He pulled away forcefully. He looked pained. His eyes were showing early signs of crying, but his actions showed anger.

"Leave me alone, (Y/n)." He proceeded to walk briskly to the edge of an open window.

I followed him to the edge.

We made brief eye contact before he jumped out.

"Spidey, don't make me do this!" I shouted in his direction.

No response.

"Alright, he forced my hand." I muttered to myself.

"FRIDAY, do me a favor and don't send my suit after me, okay?" I asked the A.I, knowing she'd be listning.

So I jumped out. Completely suitless. Pepper was going to kill me.

Either I end up on th street as a not so pretty decoration, or Peter'd save me. We'll find out soon enough.

I felt the wind swishing through my hair and my clothes puffing in weird directions around me. I saw the points on the ground becoming more clear. I was getting to close for comfort. This was it. Peter was actually going to let me die because he's mad at me. Talk about petty.

Suddenly I felt a familiar tug on the back of my shirt. He really waited until the last last second to web me up.

I braced myself for the intense g-force I'd experience while being pulled back to the sky.

Before I knew it, Peter and I stood on the roof of a building near the tower.

"Do us a favor and don't throw yourself off of any more buildings." He said not even prying his eyes off of the ground. He was about to take off again.

"Peter Parker, I will keep launching myself off of buildings until you and I talk!" I yell at him.

He looked at me like I was insane. Which, jury's out on that one. I might be.

"What." He stated, again not looking at me.

"You can't be the next Ironman." I said simply.

This caused him to look up. Again, he looked like I just told him the worst news in the world.

"Peter, you can't be the next Ironman because nobody can be the next Ironman. He's irreplaceable." My voice began to crack. I was definitely going to cry. No preventing that.

"Tony Stark was an enigma. He was the best and worst man. Did I ever tell you the reason he took on Scott's Time Heist was because he looked at a picture of you two? Peter, he wanted you to live, not to crack under the pressure of being the next Ironman. If he could see you now, he'd..."

"Hey, (N/n)," He began to interrupt. But I wasn't having any of it.

"Peter, I don't even know what he'd do, but I just know he would disapprove of you trying so desperately to be the 'new Ironman.' Damn what Fury says, all he cares about is finding replacements! He wants you because he knows he can control you. Hell, he already replaced Natasha with another former assassin. He doesn't care about our wellbeing. I just know you would've been too excited to recognize you were being used, so I thought if I brought Harley in, he'd help me show my point. Peter, trust me he's great, and..."

Peter shut me up by pulling me into a tight hug and shushing me. This caused me to let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in.

"I get it. I miss him too. And you know he wouldn't want to be jumping off of buildings." I felt his chest vibrations. They were oddly soothing.

"Excuse you Peter, he's the one who taught me that trick." I smiled and sniffled. He wiped my tears away and just held my face.

"Uhmh."

We both jolted around to see Harley, now decked out in his Mark I Ironlad suit.

"I hate to break up this tender moment my ex and my soon to be best friend are having, but you guys SUCK at the whole secret identity thing."

"Ex? So you two have a history?" Peter asked, looking at me awkwardly.

"I was 14, I had bad judgement."

This caused an offended noise to leave Harley's mouth, but a laugh to exit Peter's.

Yep, these two were going to be good friends.

"Alright, we should probably all head home and sleep. School starts soon." I, being the mature teenager I am, suggested.

Harley took off.

Which left me and Peter on a roof.

"So..."

"So." I smirked. "You should probably get going. May's gonna be worried."

"Yeah, well sure, but do you like need a lift or..?" His question trailed off. Suddenly it clicked when my dad would tease him about being awkward with me. Does Peter Parker like me?

Instead of a response, I tapped the edge of my glasses and watched Peter watch as my suit began flying out the tower and to me.

"I'll be fine, Parker." I smiled, though it was hidden from him.

"Tell May I said hey." And I took off towards our house.

When I landed Pepper was out, waiting for me.

I tapped the edge of my helmet and the suit began to return to its nano form.

"What's this I hear about you jumping out of the tower?!" She yells at me, obviously playfully.

"What? I needed a way to get Peter's attention." I breezed past her.

"I swear you are jus like your father! You're aging me prematurely."

"How premature can it be?" I quip back sarcastically.

I hear an offended gasp followed by a chuckle.

I went up to my room, deciding I was too tired to take a shower. I just wanted to go to bed. So I proceed with my Nighttime routine and in no time was cozy in bed.

My window curtains were drawn back. As I began to close my eyes, I swear I saw the outline of the infamous red snd blue suit watching me...

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and sent a quick text to Peter.

He almost fell from the roof he was on. But recovered quickly. He stood and waved goodbye as he swung off into the night.

PETER'S POV

I just wanted to make sure they made it home alright. I knew Mr. Stark would never let me live it down if I didn't. Besides, I knew they were beat after the vacation, so I was afraid they would mess up the directions home, or something; but part of me just wanted to see them one more time before I called it a night. So I sat on a roof parallel to their bedroom window.

I waited until they got into their bed, and was tucked under the covers. They looked ready to go to bed, but they suddenly grabbed their phone off their nightstand.

I felt my phone vibrate. I pulled it out, suspecting it was them.

'My hero, making sure I got home safely. Go get some sleep Peter, I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight x.'

I slipped when I read it. The 'x', that meant a kiss, right? Oh my God. They called me their hero. This is so much to take in.

I looked up again to see their beautiful (E/c) eyes one more time and waved them goodbye.

I jumped off of the roof and began swinging home, thinking about what adventure we'll have tomorrow. Hopefully a good one.

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

A/N: Hey, so here's a thing. I got the inspiration of the Far From Home Trailer. I'm trying to get rid of some of my lost Endgame depression, but this actually made it worse wow.

Anyway, hope you enoyed this crappily slopped together thing I wrote during school.

[theselfhelphipster]

DON’T DATE (A) ROY ANDERSON

Upon reading this title you might think “but Lianne, surely, with the plethora of cringeworthy and awful characters from the Office US, this is a joke.

You can’t possibly mean that Roy Anderson, the hunky beefy warehouse worker, is the worst possible man to have a relationship with from that show?

Um, actually I do. I really, really do. There are few things I stand by with more of a passion than my deep dislike for Roy Anderson in terms of relationship-material.

Dying alone is much, much preferable than living a life with Roy Anderson, or a Roy Anderson-type. Please, please please: Don’t date Roy Anderson, or a man like him.

I’ll explain why. Some Office spoilers ahead, obviously.

Roy Anderson Has No Idea Why You Are Dating (Anymore)

The Office starts out with Pam & Roy being together; they started dating in high school. There is nothing wrong with that in and of itself, but a few episodes in it becomes abundantly clear that Roy and Pam are together…just because at one point in time they got together.

Now, Pam is just as much at fault here. She could have realised herself that their reasons for dating (young, in each other’s proximity, attracted to each other) are not enough anymore and ended up. But Pam is a very meek person as the Office starts out, so she’s not capable of that (just yet). Point is, they are wildly unsuitable for each other.

Because now, Roy is a meathead who likes basketball, hockey, jet skis and beer. So if he paid any attention to Pam, who likes drawing, art, pranks, reading and staying in, he would have maybe scratched himself behind the ears and thought: “Gee, that sure’s different from my interests.”

But you can bet your ass that it never even crossed Roy’s mind to ask himself why he’s with Pam.

And not just they have the same ideas about romance and relationships, if they have the same future plans. But why is he dating Pam Beesly? Why THIS person? What is it about this person that makes Roy want to be with them?

He wouldn’t have an answer. Except maybe “she has such low standards that even though I took her on a date to a hockey game WITH MY BROTHER and then LEFT WITHOUT HER she agreed to a second date.”

Don’t date Roy Anderson, because he doesn’t know why he wants to date you. Specifically.

(Honestly Pam, if it weren’t for your character development over seven seasons I would like to slap some sense into you.)

Roy Anderson Is Not Interested In You As A Person

You can tell from the way Roy is portrayed on the Office that he doesn’t ask Pam any questions and doesn’t really engage in conversation with her if he can help it.

In fact, in the first season at some point he says to Jim (who is head over heels in love with Pam because of who she is, not because she wasn’t mad at him when he accidentally left her in a hockey stadium) that he likes it when Jim & Pam hang out because Pam doesn’t talk as much when she’s back home after.

I mean…the audacity. Can you imagine your boyfriend or girlfriend rejoicing because you’re all talked out so they don’t have to talk to you when you get home?

Plus, he does not want her to follow her dreams with designing and art as he actively discourages her from applying to the Dunder Mifflin designer program.

Sorry, but I’m not about that life and you shouldn’t be either. Don’t date Roy Anderson, because you will not be celebrated and you will be kept small for the sake of an average man.

Roy Anderson Is Not Particularly Interested In Your Relationship Either

When the Office starts Roy and Pam are engaged. FOR THREE YEARS. It gets to four years over the first few seasons until Roy, drunk and inspired by a great(er) man*, decided to set a date.

Now the story of their engagement is unknown unfortunately, so allow me fill in the gaps:

At one point in time Roy proposed to Pam because he felt that he had to…but he doesn’t actually care about getting married. Which is fine, marriage doesn’t need to be your thing. But Roy didn’t actually think it through, what that could mean for your relationship. He just did it because it seemed like he had to do it at some point, and now he has, so nobody can complain about it.

In fact, Roy doesn’t really care much about his relationship beyond knowing that it’s there. Roy would frown when you would ask him to describe his relationship with you. He would shrug and he would say something about your appearance. And that it’s nice to have a woman around the house.

Roy Anderson Is Passive In Your Relationship.

Roy Anderson is in a relationship with Pam Beesly, but takes no action to keep it that way. He does little to nothing to make her happy or do the things that would bring them closer.

Look, there is nothing wrong with a long engagement. There is something wrong when one person doesn’t take any steps to either a) maintain a happy relationship b) improve a relationship or c) move the relationship forward in whatever way, shape or form.

The four year engagement is a symbol for the fact that Roy does not make moves that are necessary or beneficial to Pam or their relationship.

And I think women shouldn’t be with men who don’t put in effort, who don’t proactively do things with and for their relationship and their significant other.

CRAZY HIGH STANDARDS, I know.

Don’t date Roy Anderson, because he was never taught to aspire to a good relationship in the same way you were.

Roy Is Trying. So As A Woman You Feel Like You Have To Give Him Credit For.

One of the best and most poignant scenes in the Office is when Pam has an art expo and Roy goes to see it.

This happens in season 3, where Pam and Roy have gotten back together for all the wrong reasons (Pam was feeling alone and Roy just hadn’t found another Generic Woman To Date).

First of all, Pam has to coax him to go by saying “You have to do stuff I like too this time.” I mean, that’s what ROMANCE is made of right?

Second, when he does go he actively asks to be complimented about going to the art show by saying: “Hey, isn’t it funny that none of your coworkers are here and I am?”

Third, when he leaves, and this is both so try-hard and empty that it breaks my heart every time I see it, he says to her:

“Your art, was the prettiest art, of all the art.”

It couldn’t be clearer that Roy has no idea what to say, but he KNOWS he should say something nice to Pam right now. And so he comes up with this horrible empty but so well-intended statement that you can see Pam die a little behind the eyes. You can see her thinking: “This is the best he got…

So I should be nice about it.”

Which is also the problem in this situation. I really believe this was all Roy Anderson had to offer Pam Beesly. And Pam, even though it wasn’t enough for her by far, took it because she knew that.

And this has a bit to do with the way women can be in relationships: We assume good intent and we want to give someone credit just for that. Pam does exactly the same thing in this situation, and I feel very strongly we as woman should not put ourselves in that spot.

Just because he means well, just because this is the best he can do, just because he TRIED? That’s no reason to settle for it.

Roy Anderson Cannot Talk About His Feelings And Acts Out

What I hate most abut the different ways boys & girls are raised is that boys aren’t taught more about feelings and expressing them. Girls are often much better in detecting emotion (in themselves and others) and expressing their emotions or letting others express theirs.

This is a sweeping generalisation, I know. I am aware that slowly but steady this is changing, but I sometimes find that men have only two settings when it comes to emotion expression: Neutral (which is happy and neutral) and frustrated (which is EVERYTHING ELSE). With sometimes the bonus of ‘wronged’ or ‘pouty’ when us women don’t do what they want.

Roy Anderson is a typical guy to which previous statement applies. Instead of being able to talk to Pam about all the things that go wrong during the first seasons of the Office, he acts out.

When Pam breaks off their engagement the first time, he spirals out of control and ends up drunk driving like some sad cliche.

When Pam confesses that she kissed Jim at some point in the past, he FUCKING DESTROYS AN ENTIRE BAR out of anger.

And then goes to the Office to punch Jim in the face.

Don’t date Roy Anderson, because you can’t have a normal adult conversation with him about difficult things like relationships and feelings.

TO CONCLUDE

And the reason that a type like him is so dangerous, is because he is not a terrible person per se. He doesn’t abuse you physically or emotionally, he doesn’t have any horrible flaws that make your life difficult in a very obvious way. He doesn’t clean out your bank account, he doesn’t destroy your family, he doesn’t outright disrespect you.

But all the things above take away precious energy and take a toll on your self-worth, and there are thousands and thousands of guys out there just like him.

Roy Anderson is asleep at the wheel in your relationship, does not really care for you or your interests or ambitions, can’t talk about his feelings and wants all the brownie points just because he’s trying to be a good boyfriend.

Don’t date (a) Roy Anderson (type).

(Oh and before you come at me with his transformation in season 9: Please. The fantasy that the right woman can change a man like that into that version of himself is not worth your time.) 

*Another sub reason to never date a Roy Anderson: He only really gets motivated, moved or persuaded by other men, not by something a woman does or says.

[bluehhj]

listen to me — chapter 45

LISTEN TO ME — 0045

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 2.3K

Sae Murase was the name of the surgeon who patiently explained Jinah's complex case to her friends. She detailed the diagnosis without haste, letting the group absorb each piece of information carefully, even pausing to ask if they understood or wanted her to repeat it using more uncomplicated words, but, sometimes, she was barely answered, given that no one seemed capable enough to focus on her words and enjoy the gift of speech at the same time.

Suddenly, Murphy was right when he said that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, at the worst possible time.

"Not to say it was all bad, maybe Jinah was a little lucky," the doctor continued her report, finally removing the white mask that still hung from her chin. "The two fractured ribs didn't compromise any of her vital organs, that already cheers me up. In fact, I noticed a tourniquet¹ on her left leg and I can bet that, by the obvious improvisation, it wasn't the ambulance crew who put it there." the doctor, then, looked at Seungmin, who swallowed the excess saliva. Just as Jeongin was Chan's internship instructor, Sae was his, and let's say shaming in front of her was the last thing the younger Kim needed at that dawn.

"She was losing a lot of blood," he said, a little shy. It's okay that a dirty piece of jeans and a half-burnt twig weren't the best options for rescuing someone in serious condition, but Jinah survived, at least. "I couldn't keep pressing her belly and leg at the same time, I had to improvise."

"I'm not scolding you" Sae's smile was so slight it hardly even appeared, but she was pleased with Seungmin's attitude. "Actually, you did very well. Congratulations."

The pride of himself after receiving a compliment was present in the form of a grateful gleam in Seungmin's eyes. He opened a smile as lightly as the surgeon's when Chaerin discreetly touched the base of his spine, congratulating him as well. It was something so small, especially compared to how important the rest of the situation was, but it still made him a little happy.

"What really worries me is the trauma," the doctor confessed, suddenly more tense. "We have done the tests, but it's not possible to predict exactly how she will react when she comes out of the coma."

Seungmin bit his cheek inside, remembering the blood covering Jinah's hair, the bruises on her face and how it terrified him — not from the image itself, but the inevitable consequences. There are cases when a coma can become worse than death itself. Seungmin, then, found himself saying a silent prayer that it would be different with Jinah.

"But will she wake up?" Jade asked, clinging to any loose thread of hope. "There are people who stay like this for years and years. Please, she can't."

"I have to be honest with you," Sae let out her breath slowly before continuing. "And I say I don't know when Jinah will wake up, but I know that if she does someday, it may not be as reassuring as it sounds. Brain injuries are cruel. Maybe she can wake up and stay the same as ever, but maybe a only thing out of place can make her a completely different person than she was before."

"Different in what way?" Changbin wanted to know.

"At best, there is often some long or short term memory loss, personality change and a bit of logical dysfunction" tired and with a headache from not sleeping well for days, and carrying all the daily pressure on her shoulders, the doctor surrendered to the wear and sat on one of the chairs. "At worst, however, it is possible that there is partial or complete paralysis of the limbs, as well as loss of sight, difficulty in speech, among others related to the senses. And of course, we also have the worst of worst, which is when the patient doesn't even wake up."

Woojin slowly shook his head up and down thoughtfully. "If your intention was to reassure us, congratulations, doctor. You did it right."

"Sorry for scaring you all with all these things that might not even happen" although her words said otherwise, Sae wasn't sorry, still holding the same serious look and soft tone of voice. "But it is my duty to keep you aware from now on."

Hyoyeon nodded without much force. She had listened everything with her eyes fixed on the floor and only raised her head again when she assumed that the Japanese girl had nothing more to say. "Are you doing everything for her, doctor?" she asked, then, and Sae didn't need much to understand what she meant.

After all, it was a private hospital. Everyone was aware that the state-of-the-art treatment offered there wasn't paid for on its own.

"I didn't want to get to that part today," she admitted, running a hand over the back of her neck in a shy gesture. Sae imagined that it must be horrible to have someone important going through such a difficult time and still be financially charged, as if the obligation of doctors were to pluck people's money for simple favors, and not save them for the sake of the profession. "But the answer is yes. I thought it wise that all treatments for her to recover faster should be started even before consulting her family. The decision to continue or not, however, is still up to you."

It wasn't a question of wanting or not wanting to continue. From what she had heard from Jisung, Hyoyeon knew that Jinah's parents lived in a dignified manner, but lacked a favorable financial position to handle the situation properly. Chan, Felix, Jade, Changbin, Woojin, and Seungmin could also fit into the same picture. In that circle, only Sooyoung, Chaerin, Yoorim, Hyunjin, and Hyoyeon herself had good money to help without affecting anything. However, though not in the same material proportions, but with the same goodwill and determination, the collective exchange of glances, leaving no one out, made it clear that the eleven were more than willing to do anything for Jinah.

"I'll pay her first night," Hyoyeon offered. It wasn't as if she wanted to completely lift the weight off Jinah's parents, but at least until they arrived in Seoul, she wouldn't mind taking over. Moreover, she wasn't only doing this for Choi, but also for Jisung, who could certainly take no other action.

"That's great," Sae even got up, smiling a little more willingly than last time. Later, she would remember to make everyone aware of the importance of having a health insurance, because it wasn't always you found friends as true as this group. "I shouldn't even thank you, but thanks."

Hyoyeon also opened a mild smile. "It wasn't us who just spent hours doing miracles to save someone's life, doctor."

"Thank God it wasn't us," muttered Woojin, then received a weak elbow from Felix on his back. "What? My body is just dust now, I'm dying of tiredness."

"It's almost five in the morning and you guys still have to go to college." Hyoyeon covered her mouth with her fingers, as if only then did she remember that. However, the rest didn't show much excitement to attend class in a few hours.

"I'm not leaving," said Jade, affected. She was so worried about Jinah that, if she could, she would live in the hospital until she recovered. Chan and Changbin also declined at the same time.

"Guys, you guys spent all night here" Sae watched the tired faces and the growing dark circles. "I'm not asking you to go to class, but at least go home and get some rest before you get back. Jinah's condition is serious, but she's being well cared for, I promise."

Faced with the silent reluctance that ensued for the next few moments, Sooyoung, though she knew no one but Hyoyeon, pressed her lips into a thin line before daring to complete: "I know how worried you guys must be now, but I say, from own experience, that Jinah's life has stopped doesn't mean yours need to stop either. I've been through this same situation with my ex-husband and spent three whole months by his side, unable to do anything. I was so happy when he woke up, but then I saw the confusion that my life changed because of carelessness and I still got anemia because I didn't take proper care of myself."

"Exactly," agreed Hyoyeon. "What she means is you all here all the time won't improve Jinah's health but only worsen yours. And I bet that, as much as you want to stay, no one wants to get a low grade in college right away now that you're about to graduate, and don't lose your job either."

There was a moment's thoughtfulness until Hyunjin sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "They're right," he concluded. "We can take turns and, if anything happens, and I hope not, we'll call right away."

"Anyway, I'll stay here until Jisung wakes up," Hyoyeon said, sounding more sad this time. "He'll suffer when he finds out about Jinah. I want to be around to hug him."

"I think we'd better leave, then," Chan suggested. "Seungmin and I have to come back in the afternoon because of the internship, so, you guys can work normally without having to worry too much."

Jade was the one most unwilling to give in to the rest her body and mind begged for, but even she had to agree that standing still and at the mercy of unwanted thoughts was far worse. The agreement, then, was collective.

"We'll be back early in the evening," Yoorim promised, already leaning toward leaving the hospital with Hyunjin and Woojin by her side. "Anything just call, don't forget."

Seungmin nodded with a weak and equally comforting smile. "We won't."

"You can go too." Hyoyeon softly addressed Sooyoung.

"Don't you want me to be with you?" the other woman replied.

"It's up to you, but I imagine your puppies are very hungry by now."

Sooyoung thought about denying it and saying it was all right, but the memory of not leaving even a little bit of ration in the bowls almost made her despair. "My God, I had forgotten about that! But I'll be back later, okay? Eat a little bit at the diner and take care of yourself."

Hyoyeon could barely answer before Sooyoung ran out of the hospital reception. The thought that she took care of the puppies as if they were her real children was something that always made Hyoyeon laugh. In her view, there was no one more amazing in the world than her little sister, and it was great to have her so close again after so many years away.

Hyoyeon set aside her fraternal sentimentality when she noticed that Chaerin and Seungmin were also leaving. She, then, called the couple back and, when they turned to look at her, Hyoyeon released a long breath and stretched the corners of her lips in a grateful smile.

"Thanks for everything. I thought you two were the last people in the world who could do such a thing, especially for Jisung. I think no thanks is enough to make up for it."

"You don't have to say thank you." Chaerin flashed a smile similar to hers, but it was obvious how embarrassed she was. Her mind had created a sequence of possibilities of what would happen when she met Hyoyeon again and none of them ended with her ex-mother-in-law treating her so well. Not that she was complaining, of course, but she was embarrassed. "And since we're here..." she hesitated, squeezing Seungmin's hand that was intertwined with hers. Chaerin got a squeeze back, as if Kim were encouraging her to continue. "I wanted to say I'm sorry... For what happened at the beginning of the year."

"Don't" Hyoyeon shrugged simplistically. "Jisung is better without you, just as you are better without him. In the end, you did what you had to do."

Chaerin didn't think Jisung was doing that well, at least not with Jinah in a coma; Hyoyeon thought the same, but she believed that this obstacle would be overcome and soon things would get back on track. Thus, the Canadian didn't retort and preferred to believe too. So they said goodbye, both keeping positive thoughts, since these were never too much and Jinah more than anyone deserved them.

Outside the hospital, Jade and Changbin, who walked in silence all the way, finally turned to each other. Their hands were no longer entwined, but any layman would be able to see the almost palpable difficulty they were having to widen the short distance between them. The mood wasn't completely strange, nor too uncomfortable; they just seemed to have lost the ability to communicate verbally. Perhaps this was because they were unsure what to say given the circumstances in which they met again, but the silent support they had offered each other in the last few hours was enough to replace any messy dialogue.

"Take care," Jade finally said, almost in a whisper. Changbin watched her for a few more seconds until he answered in the same tone.

"You too."

Hyunjin was already waiting for the american in the car while Woojin decided he'd get a ride with Seo this time around — or was just kicked out of the front seat when Yoorim, in her own words, said "near my man, only I sit". Jade and Changbin, then, said goodbye with a small smile and each went to one side. But they didn't care much about it, since they both knew this was far from the last time they had run into each other, both in the hospital and elsewhere.

The walk could be long and complicated from now on, but they had each other anyway, plus a dozen friends.

Step by step. One day at a time.

Tourniquet¹: First-aid procedure adopted to stop bleeding that couldn't be stopped in any other way. A piece of cloth or twine is placed around the injured limb, between the wound and the heart, tightening the binding as if strangling the limb, so that the arteries are compressed and the blood doesn't continue to flow. A branch or bar may be used to facilitate tightening of the tourniquet and maintaining proper pressure. It must be used as a last resort and, only, to control bleeding from serious injury to the extremities, when all other control methods have failed.

a/n: my cousin is studying nursing, so this week i heard her talking about this tourniquet and i thought it was useful to put it here hehehehe but really, it's very nice to see them doing it, but it has to be in case of a very emergency because it can hurt and cause a lot of issues if you don't know how to do it right

listen to me is also culture, okay

and i may be inside the biological areas, but i don't know everything either eh talking about the chapter now, i found it really shit lol but on the one hand it was good, as it is important nonetheless and i also found it right to let you guys breathe before coming back with the bombing (yeah folks, it's not over) tsk, do what

i'm leaving now, bye <3

[thejollyroger-writer]

Odd Choice of Dying Words

Summary: Based on this post. Emma is reminded of a terrible first date. Thankfully, her bartender has a son who would be the perfect fit for her. 

Tagging:  @thesschesthair @winterbythesea ​ @distant-rose ​ @shireness-says ​ @kmomof4 ​

Also on AO3!

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbles, running one hand through her hair while the other manages to not slam her phone down on the bar hard enough to shatter it. She was enjoying her night alone, slowly sipping on her second glass of whiskey while she scrolled through Instagram when the notification popped up: “New email: Walsh Oz. Subject: Notes from Our Date, 9 February 2019”

At first, she wasn’t going to open it. Honestly, she didn’t even remember Walsh at first, just another meaningless name added to the list of incredibly shitty dates she’d been on in the last few months. She’s not sure what it is about her that seems to draw in assholes recently.

Okay, not recently. Her whole damn life, actually. Never, once, has she been in a relationship with a decent man, and the one person she thought was decent turned out to be the worst of them all.

That’s the last place her head needs to be right now, she tells herself.

Looking down at the words on her phone once more, she finishes the rest of the glass and sets it down on the bar, perhaps a little harder than she anticipated, and she doesn’t fail to notice that she’s caught the attention of the bartender, a rough-looking older man with short grey hair, a trimmed grey mustache, and a dot on his right cheek that Emma originally thought was a mole, but has since realized is a small black heart tattoo.

“Another?” he asks, and she knows the answer should be no, but there is something about the man’s sweet smile that makes her say yes. When he comes back with the bottle, giving her a bit more than a single shot, he leans against the bar, his still-toned forearm pressed against the shining marble. “Something the matter, sweetheart?”

She shouldn’t tell him. There is absolutely no reason that she should burden this wonderful older man with her problems. But sitting here, drawing her refilled glass back into her hand, that’s exactly what she wants to do. She taps the edge of the glass against the bar a few times, pursing her lips for a moment before she turns her eyes back up to the bartender.

“A few weeks ago, I went on this date with this total idiot that I met online, his name was Walsh. He was the rudest man I’ve ever met, the worst conversationalist, and it became the absolute worst date I have ever been on. So bad that I completely forgot about it, until about three minutes ago, when the bastard emailed me a list of things I did wrong on the worst date of my life.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, in absolute disbelief of her words, and she sets her phone down on the bar to show him. He does not read the whole thing, but enough to get the point, his eyes wide with incredulity when they turn back up to her. “Darling, this man is an insolent sniveling pup and I hope you ignore every single word on this email,” he says, then smiles at her again.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, pulling her phone back across the bar, and when the bartender walks away, she is so distracted by the words on her screen that she doesn’t realize he has pulled out his phone and is quickly typing out a message on it, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.

The night passes slowly, the minutes ticking away as songs blasting out of the crackling speakers. Emma has finished her third glass and has moved on to her fourth when she feels someone slide into the seat beside her, the seat that has somehow managed to remain empty throughout the night. Was she just that unappealing, that no one wanted to sit next to her, even in a packed bar? Was it her resting bitch face?

“Rough night, love?” he asks, his voice low and thick with an accent.

Not your love. The words are on the tip of her tongue, her mouth open to say them, but when she turns and looks at the man that has taken a seat next to her, her words stop dead in their tracks. Because there, sitting next to her at the bar, is the most beautiful man she has ever seen. She’s half-tempted to reach out and touch him, make sure that he is real, but when he cocks his eyebrow in response to her silence and her agape expression, she knows that there is no way that he could have come from her imagination. She’s simply just not that good.

“Uh, yeah,” she chokes out finally, choosing this moment to take a sip from her glass only to realize that her hands have started shaking.

“In need of someone to complain to?”

She should say no, turn him away, tell him to find someone who might actually be interested in him. But she raises her eyes and meets those of the bartender, delivering a drink to the man next to her, and he winks at her, a soft smile on his face — for some reason, the bartender brought this gorgeous man to her, and he has never let her down so far.

“As a matter of fact,” she says softly, turning on the barstool to face him. “Since you offered, I do have a few things I’d like to get off my chest.”

He takes a long sip of his drink, and for a moment, Emma thinks he might regret his decision to become acquainted with her, but when he sets his glass down and the bar and turns his full attention towards her, all worry melts away.

“Hit me, love.”

She takes a deep breath, then does exactly that: “A few weeks ago, I went on the absolute worst date of my life. All he did the whole time was talk about himself, save a few questions that I was absolutely not going to answer on a first date. He was an absolute cheapskate, ordered a side salad and a water, then got mad at me when I offered to pay for my own meal. It was terrible, the worst night of my life, and there have been more than enough awful dates. And I forgot about it completely, not even caring to think about Walsh anymore.”

She pauses for a moment, taking another sip of her drink, and she does not fail to notice that his eyes are wide with interest. His blue, blue eyes, a color so piercing that it cannot possibly be natural.

“Until earlier tonight, when he had the audacity to email me a list of things I could have done better during our date, including my wardrobe, my lack of make-up, and my dinner choice.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” she replies, pulling the email back up on her phone before setting it on the bar between them. “Here, read it in its entirety. It’s terribly poetic, an excellent way to make someone want to go on a second date with you.”

As he reads through it, Emma does the same, overcome by another wave of anger by it as she does so.

 Hello, Emma.

A few weeks ago, you and I went on a date, and I figured you were wondering why you hadn’t heard from me yet, so I would like to explain. There were a few things you did on the date that I didn’t much appreciate, and while I apologize if any of them offend you, I think I should let you know what you did wrong.

 Your natural dark hair would look so much better with your facial structure, especially if you grew it out more. Long hair is much sexier

You have such a great body but you wore jeans and a leather jacket? That was a huge turn-off for me

Your face would have looked much nicer if you used a little bit of make-up. Just a little cover-up, some concealer, some color. Just so I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you.

You seemed a little unsure of yourself the whole night, you should learn to be more confident. Confidence is sexy!

You ordered a burger. I shouldn’t even need to explain this one, it was just unappetising to watch you eat and you could have gone without that many calories

Diet Coke would have been a much better choice as well

You kept ignoring my questions, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about your life but I didn’t expect you to avoid talking at all

You think I didn’t see you roll your eyes while I was talking? That was incredibly rude

Even though I told you all about my job and how much money I make you still offered to pay, like you didn’t think I was capable of it, and it made me feel like shit

I tried to compliment you so many times and you didn’t try to return them even once

Not to mention I made so many jokes and you didn’t laugh at a single one.

Not only wouldn’t you kiss me, but you jumped back every time I so much as touched you, which tore a large hole in my ego. If you’re going out with someone you should at least let them touch you

But you also wouldn’t even give me a kiss at the end of the night. I thought we were doing well before that but you really made me question whether I wanted to see you again

 I will give you a month to take these into account and decide whether you can become the right woman for me. I hope you take these all into consideration in the future.

- Walsh

 He is silent for a moment, most likely trying to come up with some sort of response, and the one that he finds does not disappoint.

“Odd choice of dying words,” he says, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

While Emma understands what he means, she still wants to know why this is what he decided to comment with. “What?”

“Well, obviously, you’re an incredible woman and a bit of a fighter, and if I were you, I would find that absolute tosser and beat the daylights out of him.”

“I appreciate that compliment, but I think the best plan of action is to just stay here and drink until I forget about him again.”

“Would you like a companion?” he asks, and when she turns to him, she is ready to tell him that he is under no obligation to stay here with her. But there is something about the smile on his face and the sparkle in his blue eyes that stops her words again.

“I would really appreciate that, actually,” she says, a smile of her own growing across her lips. “I’m Emma.”

“Nice to meet you, darling. I’m Killian Jones.”

 The night passes as they continue to chat with each other, recalling memories of other bad dates, but Walsh takes the cake — even compared to the woman who asked Killian to come home with her, only to remember as she unlocks her front door that she’s married and has a family. But the end of the night approaches much faster than either of them anticipate, and before they know it, the bartender is announcing last call, only a few patrons left at their seats.

Emma’s face falls, honestly not ready for the night to end, but Killian just smiles at her, winking as he pushes his barstool away from the counter. “No worries, love. I have an in.”

Emma has absolutely no idea what he means, but watches as he makes his way around the bar, kissing the bartender on the cheek before grabbing one of the rags. “Hey, pa, I’ll take it from here.”

The man wraps his arm around Killian’s shoulders, squeezing him against him.

“Thanks, son. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a seat here next to this lovely lady.” When Emma realizes that he is talking about her, she blushes softly, not for the first time that night. The older man smiles widely at her before removing his apron and hanging it on a hook on the wall, coming around the front of the bar to take a seat next to her as Killian begins to sweep behind the bar.

“I’m Teddy, by the way. I’m hoping that my son provided much better company than that dolt that emailed you earlier.”

Emma can’t help but smile in return.

“Did you tell him to come to the bar tonight?”

“You looked like you could use some company, sweetheart, and he’s the only cavalry I have left. I’m hoping that he proved himself to be the perfect gentleman.”

It may have been the glasses of whiskey that she’s been slowly downing all night, or the sincerity in the man’s eyes, or some mixture of both, but Emma leans closer to Teddy and mutters in his ear, “I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.”

When he turns to face her, his eyes are wide with excitement. “Is that so?”

Taking another sip from her glass, she nods at Teddy, smiling at him again, and she realizes that she does not want the night to end.

So it doesn't. Killian offers to walk her back to her apartment, just a few blocks away, and before he can even ask her out on their first date, a joke about making sure it's not the worst of her life on the tip of his tongue, Emma reaches out and grabs him by his leather jacket, pressing her lips against his.

It is, without a doubt, the best first kiss of her life, simultaneously soft and passionate, and much like that night, she doesn't want it to end.

When they pull away from each other, it is only enough to keep their foreheads against each other.

“Come upstairs with me,” she breathes, at the same time he says, “Go out with me.”

“Okay,” she responds, noticing that he does not respond right away.

“Emma,” he whispers after a moment, raising his hand to press his palm against her cheek. “I don't — I don't want to rush this.”

“I've never met anyone like you, Killian,” she says, snaking her arms around his neck, his hands warm against her face and her hip, even through her jacket. “We weren't even on a date and it was one of the best dates I've ever been on.” She leans into his palm.

“Are you sure, love?” His expression is so serious, so caring, that it sends a chill through Emma's body.

“I've never been so sure about anything,” she says softly, smiling at him, and he returns it. “Make sure to thank your dad for me, too.”

[diwatang-sirena]

Food For Thought: Is it possible that Daenerys' storyline is going to go a similar route to Darth Vader's?

Now before you guys protest, especially the die-hard Dany stans, just hear me out on this. I’m a fan of both Vader and Dany, and as much as I wish that Dany will not turn into an antagonist, let’s not discount the possibility and try to look at her story in a different perspective. Okay? Then keep reading.

If you’re not familiar with Vader’s story in Star Wars (but how tho??), protagonist Anakin Skywalker started out as a poor, innocent slave boy who happened to have a very strong connection with the force. He’s even assumed to be the “Chosen One” from the prophecies that would balance the Dark and the Light sides of the Force. So he ends up training to become a Jedi with the hopes of freeing his slave mother whom he left behind in Tattooine, his home planet.

Eventually Anakin grows up to be a good but slightly arrogant teenager who is manipulated further by Emperor Palpatine (who’s posing as a good guy in the Senate). And because he’s fully aware of his natural talent, he’s even pushed further by the fact that the Jedi Council does not fully acknowledge his merits when he deserves them. One of the key moments in his transition is when he finds his mother murdered, which led him to his first act of madness when he massacred the tribe that stole her away.

But the final straw was when he dreamt that his secret wife, Padme, might possibly die through childbirth. This made him seek even more power to save his wife and unborn child, of which he was unable to do with his mother, and it eventually blinded him from seeing the good that his comrades and loved ones were trying to do to help him. 

At this point, he concluded that by being the most powerful, most fearsome Jedi on earth, he can prevent every terrible fate that could happen to the ones he loved. So he helped the Emperor massacre the whole Jedi Council, including the innocent children, in order to be stronger using the dark side of the Force. And you know the rest, his wife died in childbirth, indirectly because of his actions, and thinking that his mentor and brotherly figure Obi-Wan betrayed him and left him to die, he eventually became reborn as Darth Vader, now completely overwhelmed by hatred. 

And it’s not until the last minute when Luke, his son with Padme, helped bring him back to the Light when Vader chose to protect his son with his life instead of letting Palpatine kill him, ultimately fulfilling his prophecy as the Chosen One.

See the pattern here? Daenerys seems to be following quite a similar path, with her initially being a poor, helpless girl with a very tough upbringing who eventually gained power to protect the common folk. Not only that, but she also has something to do with the “Azor Ahai” Prophecy about the “Prince/Princess that was Promised”, although whether or not this means her, Jon, or their future child is yet to be seen.

Unfortunately, just like Anakin, Daenerys has been shown to have lingered in between the light and dark at times, such as burning her enemies or using fear to bend people to her will when her patience runs out. Of course I won’t deny that some of these actions are considered necessary considering that some of her enemies don’t do well with peace pacts or respectful discussions, most especially when they go through lengths to disrespect her as a woman.

But as much as I love Dany, I can’t deny that some of her actions, regardless of where she came from and how she came to be, are not doing her any favors with the Westerosi. Like Anakin, she has been slowly losing sight of what has been her main goal in the beginning of her pursuit; to save the people who suffered like she did and to find a place to truly call home. Now most of her focus is gaining her right to the Iron Throne, while slowly losing bits of emotion here and there especially when betrayal hits her at one front to another.

That is, until dear honorable Jon Snow came along.

Just like how Anakin and Padme’s forbidden love story ended up changing the Jedi forever, Jon and Dany’s love story seems to be a must in breaking the wheel of the current world, not just in politics, but the fate of the world itself. After all, Melisandre has prophesied that both of them have a very important role to play in the Azor Ahai prophecy in stopping the Night King.

Whether you ship them or not, you can’t deny that these two were bound to have a special connection thanks to their parallel journeys and their secret Targaryen relation. It’s interesting to note that in the beginning, all that Jon ever wanted was to become acknowledged as a Stark, arrogantly thinking that he had it worse than everyone else. Now that he’s constantly given all these burdens and high positions, he’s become more humble and doesn’t enjoy being the leader that people turn to.

Dany, on the other hand, was a meek and afraid little girl, having no idea in the beginning that she was capable of becoming more, no thanks to Viserys’ abuse. But as time went by, she began to grow as her own person and became more and more powerful, which unfortunately led her to become quite arrogant at times. 

While Jon’s been shown to have a harder time killing more and more people out of duty, especially when he began to realize that not everything is in black and white, Dany has been shown to be having an easier time disposing people who defy her, even the ones who used to be on her side. It’s not to say she hasn’t tried doing things the gentler way, but a lot of if not all the peace talks she’s attempted with her adversaries have never really gone smoothly. Not to mention, most of the people she had placed her trust in in the beginning have either betrayed or left her at some point.

To be fair, we can’t have two exact copies of “Jon Snow” in the GOT world. That wouldn’t make much of an interesting story now can it?

With that said, it seems possible that Jon’s role in GOT is quite similar to Luke’s trope as the reluctant hero of the story, the one who saves the whole world by saving their loved one from being completely immersed into the Dark Side.

Of course, we haven’t seen Dany turn completely mad just yet, and I personally hope it would never happen. But the first two episodes of Season 8 has compelled me to imagine the uncomfortable possibility of what it would be like if Daenerys does end up becoming a villain. Her thirst for the crown has been focused on too many times to deny in the first two episodes of the final season, and it seems that not even her love for Jon would let her set aside her quest for the crown completely, at least not yet.

But there’s also a possibility that their future child, if the constant foreshadowing in Season 7 comes to fruition, might also be a strong factor in changing her mindset, just like how Vader’s love for Padme and his children compelled him to eventually turn away from the Dark Side. Most importantly, their child might also have a huge role in stopping the second Long Night from happening, however possible that is, if he/she/they have something to do with the prophecy.

Another interesting possibility that’s been pointed out by some fans is that the only person other than Jon that might stop Dany from her road to Mad Queen status is the woman who currently checks up all the boxes of said status.

Cersei may not have the pure intentions that Dany has, but they do have a common factor of wanting to gain and remain in power no thanks to their past experiences of having their father/brother control most of their lives in the early parts of the series (Tywin with Cersei, and Viserys with Dany). I’d personally wager that Dany is still far from Cersei’s “Mad Queen” level, because at the very least Dany still has a few good and true comrades to help keep her feet on the ground. As Tyrion told Cersei, at least Dany has enough brains and empathy to listen to their advice at times, whereas Cersei would never do so unless it benefits only her.

This Cersei-Dany parallel would be a pretty similar situation with, again, Darth Vader and Luke. Just when Luke battles with his father and was almost on the verge of killing him, he stops when he sees his father’s robotic hand, realizing how similar they actually are and how much the Dark Side has affected Vader in the worst ways, which he himself almost fell into if he didn’t see the truth with his own eyes.

After the Battle of Winterfell is over, and Daenerys sees the remnants of the Night King's power while also coming to terms with Jon’s status as the rightful heir, perhaps Dany might reconsider and reflect on her true purpose in attaining the Seven Kingdoms. True there's also a huge possibility that she'll turn even darker than before, especially if her close comrades die/leave her, leaving her feeling more alone and out of place. But perhaps after seeing Cersei the way she is, with no true friends, no family, and no love left in her except the crown on her head, this might lead Dany to see the hard truth; The Iron Throne isn’t worth her humanity.

With that said, whether or not Dany turns into a true antagonist is yet to be seen. Contrary to some fans' predictions of her dying in the end, I actually believe that she'll survive, but not without huge consequences of course, which is carrying the guilt with her for the rest of her life. For some people, continuing to find the will to live can be much harder than dying a quick death. 

Having her killed off easily as a villain without redemption or in childbirth for me is a very big disservice to those who have watched/read her whole journey since Season 1 and the 1st book. I doubt that George R.R. Martin created Dany only to make her a Cersei 2.0 in the end. It would be the such an injustice for the series to conclude with Dany’s faults completely overshadowing the many good things she has done for the ones without power, especially during her time in Essos.

We have yet to see how low Dany would go to seize power as Vader would, and I’m extremely worried about how much it would affect everyone’s view of her till the very end, especially as a character that was so beloved for the whole 7 seasons, only to have her hated by most without proper redemption at the final season. Yes, as a GOT fan I’m glad that Dany’s being given a wakeup call that her idea of ruling has its flaws and does not suit everybody. But if she is really meant to betray Jon and the rest, I seriously wish that whatever payoff the writers have for Dany will be worth it in the end. Especially when there’re only a handful of episodes left.

And if people really think that Jon would easily leave Dany just like that, then boy, have they not been paying attention to Jon’s character development. Jon has already chosen duty over love several times, with one of those choices leading indirectly to his first love’s death. I highly doubt that Jon would ever leave Dany alone like that, even with all her faults, especially if she’s with child and if they do get married even if out of duty.

Just like how Padme never stopped believing that there is good in Anakin till her dying breath, it’s in Jon’s persona that he would do everything in his power to keep Daenerys from falling completely into the dark and feeling alone. I won’t be surprised if Jon would choose to take the fall for/with Daenerys if she is to be punished for whatever wrongdoing she’s about to do. That’s just the type of guy he is.

With that said, we have no choice but to wait until Episode 3 and 4 to really see where Daenerys’ morality will be going. As with every season, with every new episode that comes out, anything is possible. I still hold onto the hope that the writers know exactly what they’re doing with Daenerys and that it’ll be true to what George R.R. Martin really intended for her, although I’m already a bit wary at how they’re currently handling her responses. If her path is to go the same way as Vader’s like I guessed, I can only hope that they can do enough justice to make her memory worthwhile.

If not... there’s always hope for the books. And fanfiction.

[vulpinesaint]

Nyctophobia - Ch. 6

Sebastian trusts one person entirely and completely-and it certainly isn’t the strange boy who washed up on the shore of his island kingdom.

After a disastrous turn of events, however, the pair are forced off on an adventure through a land that neither of them know anything about. With a bard, a spy, and maybe a bit of magic, they’ll have to fight hard to get back home…

Wherever home is.

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Chapter Six - The Boat In The Ocean

In the whole time that the boat floated aimlessly across the water, Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Robin had fallen asleep a few hours before midday. In the time before that, Sebastian hadn’t said a word. His mind raced, attempting to process, trying to understand.

He’d been prepared for this. Theoretically. The possibility had always been there, but it had never felt real, not until it had actually come to pass and he was woefully unready.

He’d never considered it to be a real possibility, he supposed. There were things that were real—the castle, the sea, the people who wanted to kill him. Death. Plans of escape. An attack on the castle had always been inevitable, and when he was incapable of stopping his own worried thoughts, he would run through plans in his mind; a sort of rehearsal where he killed intruders and stood his ground next to his mother, fighting alongside her to protect their title and their lives. On particularly bad days, when he couldn’t imagine any way that their defense would word, he would imagine an escape. Two people, in a small boat, headed to the mainland to regroup.

It looked like he’d imagined. The boat. The sea. The only thing wrong with the picture was the other person in the boat.

He hadn’t thought that his mother was capable of dying. The two ideas had never gone together. Sebastian felt sick, and it wasn’t just the rocking of the boat.

His grip tightened around the hilt of the dagger, still in his hands. He swallowed, and looked up at Robin.

His companion slept soundly, slumped against the side of the boat. They both sat on planks that served as benches, facing each other with the solitary sail between them. Robin had adjusted in his sleep as so not to fall out of the boat, but he hadn’t done anything to block out the sun. His skin had already started to redden. Sebastian remembered what it had looked like after his last boat trip. It had to have been extremely painful; the redness had been sensitive to the touch, even after the blisters had faded.

Sebastian felt something like a twinge of guilt for letting Robin sleep while he burned. Methodically, almost reluctantly, he leaned over to retrieve the spare shirt from his pack and carefully laid it over the young man’s face. He did his best not to wake him.

He didn’t know just how susceptible Robin was to the sun; his own skin was darker, and he didn’t need to worry as much. He figured that the long night clothes that Robin wore would protect him enough for the time being, but he really didn’t know. He resolved to ask him when he woke up. He’d let him sleep while he could.

Skies, who knew what they’d face on the mainland?

Sebastian felt numb, detached. The waves gently tossed the boat back and forth, over and over again. The smell of salt was almost overpowering. He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen. It didn’t feel real. He knew, somewhere deep down, that it was true; but it didn’t feel that way. There had been plans for this situation, but Sebastian had never gone through those in his head. There had never been any need. He’d never even considered it, even on the worst days.

“Sebastian?”

He started, gaze pulled up to Robin. The young man wore a bleary expression as he pulled the shirt off of his face. He winced as the fabric rubbed against his skin. An experimental touch to his cheek resulted in another slight wince.

“I’m burned, aren’t I,” he said, dismayed and resigned.

“Cover your face,” Sebastian told him; his first words in hours. His voice was rough. Robin obliged, pulling the shirt over the messy light brown of his hair. He looked a bit ridiculous, but Sebastian wasn’t in the mood to laugh just then.

Robin looked as if he wanted to say something. He got a look of pity and concern on his face that made Sebastian’s stomach turn, and the latter turned to redirect his attention to the sea. He clenched his jaw.

“Do you know?” At the sound of his voice, Sebastian turned back somewhat reluctantly to face Robin. The blue of his eyes held uncertainty. It almost looked like fear. “Where we’re going to end up?”

Sebastian shrugged, noncommittal, ignoring the small twinge of sympathy that shot through him. The life had left his own expression. His face had never been characterized by joy or by excitement, but by determination—and even that had gone. “The mainland, probably.” He kept his answers short. He didn’t want to talk. He felt trapped in that space, by the size of the boat and the presence of another person.

It had occurred to him that if they had set off at an unfortunate angle, it was possible that they could bypass the mainland entirely and just float on forever, until they drowned or starved or died of dehydration. He said nothing of it. In fact, he attempted to ignore the thought himself, reaching under the bench to take a drink from one of the water flasks that had been stored there.

“Oh.” A series of emotions flickered over Robin’s face, unidentifiable. He moved his gaze down to his shoes. Sebastian couldn’t help but watch his expressions; he was so open, so easy to read. Robin knew how to hide his emotions. He knew how to guard his expressions, Sebastian knew that from the time they’d spent together, but the young man had never made any attempt to do that when it was just him and Sebastian. What did that mean? That he didn’t care what Sebastian saw?

Sebastian’s heart squeezed when he realized that it meant that Robin trusted him. That odd protective urge rushed over him again.

“A bit ironic, isn’t it?” Robin asked, voice soft and careful. Sebastian leaned down to replace the water flask, tilting his head slightly in question. “Your…” he drifted off for a moment, eyes flicking down as he searched for the word. “Your ancestors, I suppose. They came from the mainland, right?” He looked back up at Sebastian, almost tentative. “They left all those years ago. And now you’re going back.”

Sebastian absently hummed his agreement, looking back out to his right at the ocean. He didn’t think about his lineage often. History bored him, and he had no reason to care about the actions of the dead, besides where it had placed him in life. He was the last, he realized, of his family tree. The final descendant of a line of people hundreds of years old. It had only been his mother and him for so long, but now…

He felt isolated.

Hours passed as he grappled with the unspoken issue. The sun set.

“Sebastian?” Robin’s voice carried the same soft tone. In preparation for sleep, they sat at the bottom of the boat, backs up against the boards they had sat on earlier. It was neither comfortable nor convenient, but it was the best they could do just then. Robin had Sebastian’s spare shirt behind his head as a sort of pillow.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments before he responded. “Yeah?”

“The history book said that you left the mainland because of religious tensions, right?”

Sebastian nodded. The use of ‘you’ to describe his family line as a whole felt strange, but he said nothing about it. His head rested against the side of the boat, and his vision focused in on the grain of the wood. He was tired; it had been a long day, and his head felt foggy from fatigue.

“So…” Robin didn’t sound sure of his next words. Sebastian’s gaze flickered over to the young man. “You don’t believe, then. In the Lady?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed, and he raised an eyebrow. He didn’t recognize the term.

“The mainland religion,” he clarified.

That was strange. Sebastian didn’t think that he’d seen any mention of the deity being called ‘the Lady’ in any history book he’d been forced to read. Then again, he couldn’t remember any alternative. He shook his head. Another beat passed. The sound of the waves lapping against the side of the boat padded the quiet. “Do you?”

Robin got that conflicted look on his face again. “I don’t know,” he said, sounding pained. “I might, but…” he drifted off, shaking his head. His plaintive, wistful expression conveyed more than his fragmented sentences. “It feels like it should be important,” he confessed. His voice was soft. Vulnerable.

Sebastian felt another twinge of sympathy, and got a strange idea. He shifted to sit up straighter. “Do you—” he cleared his throat. “Do you want a hug?” The words felt foreign in his mouth, and he suddenly felt extremely awkward.

Some mix of surprise and confusion flashed across Robin’s face before grateful relief. He nodded.

Sebastian avoided his eyes until they’d moved to a position where they could hug without tipping over the boat. Robin ended up on Sebastian’s side of the vessel, and before he knew it, Robin’s arms were around him, face buried in his shoulder. It took a moment of hesitation, but Sebastian reciprocated.

Robin’s hugs and his mother’s were very different. Ceola’s hugs were strong, tight, as if she were afraid of losing her son every time that she pulled him into her arms. She had always held him as if he would fall away once she let go. It had always made her son feel safe, secure. Robin, at first, had felt as if he were grounding himself as he held on to Sebastian. After a few moments, his arms relaxed, and the action was warm; not as strong, perhaps, but warm. It was comforting.

It was almost a strange feeling, Sebastian thought. Not many people actually touched him, and even his mother used physical contact sparingly. It took a bit to adjust, but it was nice. Far preferable to sitting alone, anyway. He closed his eyes and let his chin rest on Robin’s shoulder, sinking into the feeling of comfort and trying to block out the thoughts that had plagued him all day.

“It’s alright to be sad, you know.” Robin’s voice, soft and muffled against Sebastian’s shirt, broke the gentle rhythm of the waves against the boat. “I know you’d prefer not to talk. That’s alright, but…” he broke off, as if unsure, and tightened his arms around Sebastian. “You’re allowed to grieve.” His voice was still so open, so empathetic, so caring...

Something twisted in Sebastian’s heart, and before he could stop it, he started to tear up. An involuntary sob racked his body, and he held tighter to Robin. He fought hard not to cry. It didn’t work.

He hated crying. He hated it. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. He didn’t even allow himself to cry when he was alone, much less around others. This time, though, he felt powerless to stop. Every thought in his head was pushed aside by how alone he was, how powerless he felt, and skies, how much he missed his mother.

When he finally managed to pull away, he wouldn’t meet Robin’s eyes. He wiped the tears away and did his best to maintain a stoic stare out at the reflection of the moon on the water. The feeling of crying hadn’t entirely dissipated.

Blessedly, Robin said nothing else for the rest of the night. Sebastian was loathe to admit it, but he was glad when Robin made no move to go back to the other side of the boat. The other young man’s presence to his left was sort of comforting in itself. At the very least, he felt more like a companion than simply a witness to his weakness.

When Robin woke up the next morning, the sky was still dark, and his head rested on Sebastian’s shoulder. He was the only one awake. Bleary and tired, Robin went back to sleep, leaning into the warmth of Sebastian’s body next to him.

Sebastian woke as sunrise broke over the horizon, sending beams of gold spilling into the water. The sudden light momentarily blinded him as he opened his eyes, and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes. A sudden rush of panic came over him as he realized that he wasn’t in his bed, and that there was someone next to him, touching him. He tried to breathe slowly, calming his heartbeat as he remembered where he was.

Robin slept on against his shoulder. Sebastian did his best to stay still.

The stubborn part of his mind reminded him that he didn’t need to care whether Robin slept well or not. A different part, a louder part, reminded him that he wanted to protect Robin. He let his gaze rest on the young man’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful. Far more so than usual, anyway; there must have been some permanent melancholy in his face when he was awake. Sebastian, loathe as he was to admit any softness, didn’t want to disturb him.

Besides, it was kind of… nice, to just be close to somebody. Especially Robin.

Sebastian muttered a curse under his breath. He despised feeling sentimental, emotional. He wasn’t supposed to care about people. He wasn’t supposed to get attacked. That sort of thing made you weak, got you killed; his mother had been very clear about that.

He trusted Robin, though. It was hard for him to admit, but he did. They were out in the middle of the ocean, anyways. What was the harm in letting himself rest for a moment?

As he looked out to his right, he got the sense that his mother would be disappointed in his actions. He felt guilty. The view in front of him was nice, but he couldn’t appreciate it. Not right then.

He watched the sun rise and tried to block out his thoughts.

It didn’t take long for Robin to wake up. Sebastian avoided his eyes once more. He hated what he’d done the night before. Trust or not, emotional weakness was not something that he liked to or was supposed to display. He heard Robin inhale and tensed, bracing for any comment concerning his breakdown.

Sleep blurred Robin’s words as he sat up. “The sunrise is rather pretty, isn’t it?”

Sebastian relaxed slightly. He couldn’t see him, but he could hear Robin’s quiet breathing. “Yeah,” he agreed, though he hadn’t taken even a moment to actually appreciate the sunrise. It had been a distraction. Gaze still focused on the sun over the water, he let himself take in the sight. It really was beautiful, he supposed.

“Yeah,” he repeated, softer.

A touch on his hand startled him, and his gaze immediately flicked over to Robin. The young man smiled, somewhat sympathetically, but Sebastian could see more than the pity that he’d seen in Marin’s face when his father had died. Robin curled his fingers around Sebastian’s. It was more than pity. It was care, Sebastian thought.

He turned his hand in Robin’s until he could truly take his hand. He offered his own small smile. His sorrow wasn’t lessened, but he felt as though he could manage it when he looked into the blue of Robin’s eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t alone in this. Maybe, since Robin’s arrival, he’d never been.

They were still holding hands when land appeared on the horizon, and both young men let out a breath of relief. They approached a wide beach, devoid of people. Sebastian didn’t know how to get the boat to shore. Robin didn’t either. They allowed the vessel to float closer to shore, and once the water was waist-high, Sebastian jumped out to pull it the rest of the way to shore. Robin protested and offered his help, but Sebastian chose to ignore it. There was no point in getting the young man’s clothes wet when he could pull the boat through the water on his own.

He felt something of a rush, doing this. He was on the continent. He was somewhere that he’d only ever heard about in dismal lessons with his tutors; somewhere he’d never actually expected to be. He was away from home, away from all of the resources that he’d always had access to, away from the life that he’d always known. Skies, who knew what the continent was going to be like? He was left to fend for himself, all alone—

No. He looked up at Robin, who gathered up their things before disembarking on the sandy shore. He wasn’t alone.

He got that guilty feeling again, as if he were dishonoring his mother. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing the thought aside. He couldn’t focus on that right then. He had to do what his mother would have wanted for him, first and foremost. He had to survive.

“I think I got everything,” Robin told him, holding up Sebastian’s pack and the canvas bag that held their remaining rations. He looked sort of ridiculous, in sleeping clothes and boots, standing in the sand of a beach. Sebastian couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It faded soon after. Robin looked around, and Sebastian followed suit; the beach bled into an expanse of grassy hills, and for how unsettlingly foreign it was, the whole scene looked strangely like the isle. “Where to now?”

Sebastian stood next to him, searching the landscape for any sign of civilization. He couldn’t see any buildings. No plumes of smoke signified a town, which wasn’t strange, considering the warmth of the spring day. It felt strange, being outside with noone around for what must have been miles.

There was a breeze along the beach of fresh spring air. It felt colder against Sebastian’s clothes, now wet. He realized with considerable distaste that his boots were being coated with sand. It would dry off eventually, but sand had a nasty habit of getting everywhere possible.

After a few more moments of staring, he made an arbitrary decision, pointing up and to his right. “That way.”

When he glanced back over at his companion, Robin nodded in agreement. Sebastian set off in front, and Robin quickly caught up. He looked hesitant, as if he wanted to do something.

“I can take my pack,” Sebastian told him, extending his hand. Robin handed it over. Once Sebastian had swung the pack onto his shoulder, the young man held his hand out, a tentatively questioning look on his face. After a moment’s hesitation, Sebastian took it, and they continued to walk, side by side.

He could do this. He was going to get back to the isle, avenge his mother, and take back his place as ruler. A flare of burning anger at those responsible for the death of his mother accompanied the thought. He was going to kill them all. He would raise an amy, if he needed to, to get back there. The first step was to learn everything that he could about this new environment. He would survive. And then he would do whatever it took.

And with Robin’s hand in his? With that, he felt a strange spark of surety that he could do anything at all.

-

hey, everyone! i finished another chapter!

hopefully this chapter was gratifying for you, too. it turned out a lot cuter than i was expecting it to be. you should have seen my first attempt at writing this chapter: sebastian almost single-handedly destroyed his relationship with robin, and that was muy no bueno.

anyway.

i’ve got some more stuff for you today! that’s right, even more stuff. i don’t think any of you on here have read my stuff before, but i make playlists for all of my books, and—special for this book—i have a world map that i totally forgot to share on this platform. anyway. here they are!

Nyctophobia Playlist (Spotify)

world map

hope you enjoyed, everyone! see you next chapter!

~ love from rai ~

TAGS: @virgils-jacket , @nemothesurvivor , @deathshadowrules , @yayroos , @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars , @rainykingdoms