#my ass acting like i can offer any sort of criticism to what is still an extremely popular movie

[bittersweetblasphemy]

aight i guess this one is on my ass knowing him more as a wind deity who protects against demons like Lamastu but looks like he was also considered a dangerous demon himself

confession time. i have never watched the exorcist. but im watching it now and my husband is listening to me yell about the "archaeology" going on.

WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE SLEDGEHAMMERS AND PICKAXES

kid shows up "they found something... small pieces" YEAH I BET EVERYTHING IS IN SMALL PIECES

no wonder this demon is pissed. people hacking apart their ancient site of worship instead of caring the tiniest bit about preservation

[sharonisthebettercarter]

we need to have an honest conversation about hostile attribution bias, honesty, and bullying.

@deliciouskeys i've had enough of this shit. you wanted to piss me off. now i'm pissed the fuck off.

hey, hiiii. friends of hers? critics? whoever you are reading this and willing to hear me out, i just wanna start by saying don't hate on her or anyone for this. don't send harassment, don't send anon hate, don't even unfollow her if you do read this all the way and find yourself upset with the topics discussed or her actions.

or maybe you wouldn't anyway, and you've already decided i'm insane, fine. but if you are friends of hers, don't barrage her with verbal abuse of any kind even if you are disappointed or disgusted, i'm not about that. and good friends won't just coddle and take your side to enable the bullshit, but they won't try to hurt you when you're down either

and to clarify what this is? it is a harsh criticism of ongoing behavior i have faced from her behind the scenes. or out in the open i suppose but mostly unseen or dismissed.

yes, i have the motherfucking receipts. i've tried to condense them to what i found most relevant to the topics at hand without clipping the interactions so much that they would give a biased misrepresentation, but all conversations as of this moment and to the best of my knowledge are still available to view in full context. mine certainly won't be deleted.

i may have some bad takes sometimes cause i'm as perfect as anyone, which is to say NOT AT ALL. but i'll readily admit that and the fact that i work on it, CONSTANTLY. and before anyone decides to dig through my shit to see if they can find dirt on me IRRELEVANT to this situation to DISTRACT from what's being called out?

all i ask is a fair chance and moment of your time to show you what i've been through, because it's something she never gave me from day one. and bear in mind please, that i am pissed off because it's gone on long enough and now she's trying to drag my friends into it while CONTINUING TO LIE BEHIND MY BACK and feign fucking ignorance.

no more.

deliciouskeys? you. yes you, i am addressing you directly this time. i gave you a peace offering with the mike sully meme, and you just kept going.

since i poked my head into the boys fandom, you have been hostile to me, LIED about me, put words in my mouth, accused me of hostility towards you, assumed my intent while not only withholding the benefit of a doubt, but consistently. consistently putting me down and insulting me as some sort of estranged fandom villain who only exists or popped up to oppose you or ruin everything.

i'm not a fucking cartoon character, i am a person. i do not exist to supplant you or whatever weird shit you keep imagining me to be that makes you act like this.

almost every single thing i say to you, instead of actually LISTENING or i dunno, READING IT AT FACE VALUE, you take. hyperanalyze. and immediately give it the WORST interpretation you can. and that's if i'm lucky.

i'm not here for fandom wars and shipping bullshit. i'm not here for your false dichotomy fantasy. i'm here to be a bullshit shipper and have fun and try to get others to be more open and have fun too. maybe throw in a psa here and there for the things i find important.

i'm not here to get fucking bullied either or to watch others get bullied. you can take your assumed hostility and narcissistic PROJECTION and shove it straight up your ass if you think i'm going to tolerate it.

and what is 'hostile attribution bias'? it's this shit.

oh, and you don't have to assume it anymore. i'm fucking hostile. why am i hostile? oh... at this point, i KNOW you KNOW. but not everyone else does, so let's just lay it all out and let others draw their own conclusions. hm?

this was what set you off, right? the automatic assumption that this was someone i knew, looking out for me? i suppose that's possible but that doesn't mean i know exactly who it was or that i put them up to it.

and y'know, i might have even said that anon was a bit harsh and still given you the benefit of a doubt. anon was ANGRY and that's clear, but plausible deniability is so wonderful, isn't it?

but you've gone beyond that point. it wouldn't be the first time someone's noticed your behavior, and i can guarantee that. our first conversation was on my post about the comics and what they meant to me, sparked from an interaction i had with another fan of the show who refused to read the comics but still insulted them directly to me.

the bottom piece is from the post, the top would be the snippet of conversation with the other person prior. all of these are highlighted with slightly adjusted coloring for ease of understanding who's who. and granted, you could argue that i jumped the gun in my first response to you, but then you accused me of being hostile towards people who allegedly read and disliked them. and i had done no such thing, i literally was not addressing those people at all.

that was the first time you put words in my mouth, lied about what i said, and 'villainized' me for 'attacking people' made of straw i might add, when the post itself SPECIFICALLY STATED:

MISCONCEPTION.

so not the people, but the IDEA. an actually legitimately incorrect idea given context. i could go into a rant about how the comics cover one of the single most important and detrimental concepts to humanity (the war machine) and how american media is so piss watered down, propagandized and censored for babies and pearl clutching old people (and before you clutch your pearls over me 'attacking' babies and the elderly, i am not. i am criticizing AMERICAN MEDIA and PURITAN MENTALITY) that the comic itself was relatively tame outside of the american world view bubble, but that's not the point here, is it.

the 'many many' actually refers to people off of tumblr too, though i'm sure there's a fair share here of that mindset as it's found everywhere with everything. even then, i don't condemn the people. minds can be changed for ideas, that was what i was trying to do. maybe i need better methods and i can admit that.

still you chose to lie to my face or what, attempt to gaslight me?? whatever it was, it was enough for someone ELSE to step in and literally ask if you were BULLYING me.

and me, being the naive fucking moron that i am and thinking we ended on a nice punny note and the conversation wasn't so bad STILL gave YOU the benefit of a doubt.

did you extend the same courtesy to me later on? well, let's see.

no. no you did not. snippets of a convo from an anon ask you got on a proposed canon butchlander from when i tried to join in, you immediately accused me of things i have never said or done or even implied. and when i called you out on it, you immediately apologized (good on you, not included here but i DO acknowledge it and DID appreciate it) and i thought, "oh cool! we must be explaining ourselves to try and better understand each other so this doesn't happen again."

only for you to then backtrack and jump back on that ASSUMED HOSTILITY shit you seem to just LOVE huffing. but just for me i gather. maybe a couple others that i haven't seen or don't know about.

considering this is just the stuff i DO know about.

moving on.

you have questions? oh, what a cowinkydink, i have answers. if only you had just ASKED ME DIRECTLY INSTEAD OF PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH AND LYING.

but to give some clarification to the numbered ones.

love the framing here. OF COURSE, WE are ONLY here to be a NUISANCE. must be nice being a real human who can interact with others instead of solely "bother" them. if you'd actually read the post, you might have seen it was about the BULLYING itself, not the bullshit that apparently makes you rabid enough to be a bully. great use of being obtuse.

stop putting words in my mouth. stop fucking lying about me. stop assuming my intentions. stop painting me for your weird ass personal agenda or vendetta. stop making up bullshit about me when you haven't taken two seconds to get to know me. i did no such thing as 'slur the cishets'. proof is in the fucking pudding.

ahhh... i understand why you don't block people. and i think i'm understanding the insidious behavior and bullying too. you're disgusting to people who you don't want to see the content of so that they'll block you while you get to pretend you're still on your little high horse of being the "less petty" or "bigger" person. and that way you don't have to see their content anymore, right? having your cake, and eating it too. it's smart. it looks good on you as long as people don't see the behavior, like you might actually want to solve problems.

although, if i'm to understand all this correctly, you don't want to given the continued hostility towards me regardless of what i do or say. am i getting this, more of that delectable plausible deniability? or am i giving you too much credit? do you even want the benefit of a doubt at this point? because you stated before you'd rather be considered evil than stupid.

oh, my mistake, "disgusting" than "ignorant". let me not do what you do and put words in your mouth. clarify for me, if you want to.

personally, i think ignorance is more forgivable than malice because at least the uninformed can learn better, while those with ill intent will seek to harm again, but to each their own i guess.

and if you actually have brain damage over a nonsensical but ultimately harmless shit joke online, i'd suggest seeking actual help from a doctor because that isn't normal. but i'm going to be generous and say maybe it was a bit much or gave you a recurring nightmare or something, i don't know you, in which case yeah, get help if you need it. i take mental health very seriously so i'm not joking or being sarcastic here. happy healing and sorry for the trouble if that's the case on this specific thing.

but oh! you just don't want to see it, right? TOO BAD BITCH, I GOT MORE TO GIVE AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME!!

and i don't have a problem with you writing your personal views about a pairing, any pairing. if that were all you had done, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation or, if you don't care i suppose i wouldn't be screaming into the void.

but you explicitly stated your point of view was "pretty common", that defaults my view as "uncommon" or in other words, "others" me and those who like bottom billy. don't you dare deny that when you know for a fact it's true.

then citing reasons for why you believed your view was more "accurate". you then went on to claim you were "baffled" when if that were true and you were actually interested in TRYING to UNDERSTAND? YOU WOULD HAVE JUST FUCKING ASKED ME DIRECTLY.

not that i would owe you an explanation or apology, or anything. but i'd have been NICE enough to try and answer anyway to the best of my ability. here, i'll do it now.

i'm not a big fan of bottom homie for the same reasons i'm not at all a fan of (show) homewell. apart from the whole superdick/compressing anus thing, narcissistic abuse/grooming and exploiting someone's trauma for a toxic kink is not only a huge turn off for me, it's super fucking triggering based on my experiences and what i have been through. i've had enough people looking down on me and telling me they "know what's best for me" while trying to rob me of my humanity and use me for their gain.

the funny thing is that i relate to homie in that sense but consider myself a total bottom who also LOVES the 'dom mommy' in certain context, but i also share a lot of similarities with butcher as well and know they both have a lot of very intense differences from me. and homie has a fucking vibrator for a dick. you CANNOT make me want to miss a chance for that, it's just not going to happen. and if i ever want to explore any form of 'grooming' kink from a personal place? i'll stick to thanos and mistress death, thanks.

i also don't find toxic masculinity sexy, that's a red fucking flag for me more glaring than the entirety of homelander, i find POSITIVE masculinity far sexier and true 'top' like. MM has the most of that in my opinion and is the sexiest man on the show, besides the guy who plays black noir under the mask.

i also fully understand the kink on the other end, y'all wanna baby him cause he's never had a mommy and longs for some kind of nurturing parental love, and y'all also wanna fuck him cause he's hot. so ya smash the two together and embrace the infantilization kink (which is seriously not my thing)

and listen, more power to ya. if that's what you like, enjoy it. i'm not judging. i just don't have the same fucking taste and i'm entitled to that. i don't understand why you have to comment on it or be "baffled" by the idea that people can be different from you.

for the record, i don't want to smash the two ideas together, i want to help homie SEPARATE and DEMUDDLE the legitimate problems and confusion in his brain that makes him so vulnurable to women's manipulations, and help him grow the fuck up without wanting to fuck his own mother (if he hasn't already) or keep him baby minded forever. i want to untap his potential and see the man he can/would become depending on circumstance.

because i like redemption and character growth and am a sucker for second chances regardless of liking dark media, and there's a huge difference between "i like you" and " i like that you like me".

that requires a more careful handling than anything suface level, but regardless i don't enjoy exploiting trauma kinks or reinforcing toxic masculinity any more than i would enjoy yiff or snuff. i wouldn't judge someone for having the taste as long as no one real got hurt. but that doesn't mean i have to have their taste.

stop kink shaming me or being "confused" by my preference, i haven't done the same to you. and before you pretend you haven't or that i have.

if you were "seriously trying to understand" you would again, ASK ME DIRECTLY instead of this roundabout bullshit where you talk about it and 'how confused or tired' you are, but can't be bothered to take two fucking seconds to JUST ASK for a more serious answer beyond willem dafoe.

if i wanted to shame you for having a kink, i wouldn't be subtle about it. but i wouldn't anyway because i wouldn't even shame those who have a rape fantasy because i have one and have written and read plenty of it. i file it under 'horror pr0n' with a number of other things, and not every form or 'flavor' of horror pr0n that exists is going to be for everyone, much the same as fucking regular horror. but if it's FICTION, it shouldn't matter.

i understand that and if i judged others for having different tastes or acted... well like YOU, that would make me a hypocrite.

and your friend got it PERFECTLY on the first note. and then decided to enable the bullshit yet again by subscribing to the bane of human unity, tribalism. thanks for reinforcing the idea that this HAS to be a dichotomy WHEN IT'S NOT.

a little healthy teasing and competition? i'm game. it's too bad that's not what this was.

i am not your fucking enemy just because YOU decided i was, YOU do not get to decide that for me. but i'll give them the benefit of a doubt and say they were 'just joking', right?

that's ALL it ever is. "just jokes". but JUST when you or "your side" do it. it's not like you've ever been derogatory and petty about "your side" being the "good side" of fandom.

if you have to constantly reinforce and self assure how "good" you are compared to "others" specifically not part of your niche bubble?

you're an asshole who's not actually "good", full stop. if you have to measure your self worth based on what others do or comparing yourself to them, actually seek help because that's not healthy. just my two cents

but if you want to get technical, NO ONE IS RIGHT AND NEITHER BILLY NOR HOMELANDER IS TOP OR BOTTOM IN A TRADITIONAL SENSE, not just because opinions and preferences can't be right or wrong. because butchlander isn't fucking canon, isn't going to become canon, and as far as we know, both characters are confirmed 100% STRAIGHT within the show with toxic masculinity issues a mile long and would never wanna touch each other like that with a 10 foot pole, and homelander's shown exactly ZERO interest in actually being pegged thus far, so that idea's a headcanon.

even herogasm showed us that 3 on fucking 1 STILL wasn't enough to take him down and homie freaking out over a bruise from an unfair challenge of 3 on 1 because it had logically been a very long time since he'd been hurt makes reasonable sense on a basic surface level. he's then over it by the time maeve makes him bleed and carries on bleeding, and now butcher's dying and is the most vulnurable and literally weak because he's sick of the bunch, so... headcanons? headcanons are fine but let's not forget reality and then laugh at the people who remember it.

and if you had just asked me why i even brought up lovely amazing beautiful cishet women (not at all sarcastic, see above purple posts), instead of YET AGAIN. ASSUMING MY INTENT AND PUTTING A LOAD OF CRAP IN MY MOUTH. you can have that back by the way, what the actual fuck is wrong with you??

or for clarification on why i brought it up? i could have TOLD YOU MYSELF. because unlike SOME PEOPLE, when someone just ASKS a question or gives a neutral or even heated response? I DON'T ASSUME HOSTILITY OR TAKE IT PERSONALLY FROM THEM LIKE IT'S A FUCKING SPORT.

fact (and correct me if i'm wrong): majority of people participating in shipping fandom are cishet women.

this is a simple fact, it doesn't mean anything beyond that, i specifically said both times there's nothing wrong with this.

a majority of people are cishet, so this is to be expected. it still doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the people.

fact: society has issues, ideas, and expectations that affect and harm us all. cishet, or queer. and these issues will and do present themselves in fandom and fan fictions whether we realize that or not. heteronormativity would be one of those. misogyny is another.

and one of my kinks is challenging that, or at least the way i see to challenge that while dunking on redpill idealogy and toxic masculinity because i fucking can.

and i just LOVE how you tout about having the "pReTtY cOmMoN" perception which newsflash, YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO HETERONORMATIVE IDEAOLOGY IF YOU THINK TOXIC MASCULINITY IS A REASON A MAN WOULD NEVER BOTTOM. you'd be surprised what people could get up to behind closed doors. but then you turn around and not only put more words in my mouth, enable anon to put words in my mouth, discourage getting a direct answer from me, accuse me and my friends of being the type to randomly accuse someone else of doxxing??? wtf even is that.

and of course. given your 'pretty common' perception being the total opposite of heteronormativity, it MUST mean that society has resolved all of its issues and come to accept queer people exactly as they are in all forms with no expectations or interference whatsoever, oh yeah. places like florida or uganda just totally don't exist. the u.s. isn't on the verge of becoming an actual fascist hellhole for us, and it is TOTALLY just... no one oppresses us. no one.

ESPECIALLY not the cishets.

and despite all the evidence to the contrary, you especially have done nothing wrong here and its all in my head. is that right? can you clarify for me? do you think that my situations have put zero pressure on me in my day to day life? on my friends' lives? do you think you didn't add to that? do you think you and company are the only ones that feel or react like humans?

imagine being so far up your own ass you tell the queer HOW to queer. or at least be a GOOD queer, right?

oh, i'm sorry let me not put words in your mouth. you were of course only laughing at me behind my back for the 'anti-cishet' things i never said.

and no. OBVIOUSLY i wasn't saying any of the shit you accused. i was saying i prefer SUBVERSIVE themes when i do my tops and bottoms and a more detailed look at that can be found in my purple all over responses or just the posts themselves, but if you still want to ask me anyway, i'll answer to the best of my ability.

and what a coincidence that despite you understanding top/bottom not just being related to penetration and some people will feel certain dynamics may be reductive, how ironic that you couldn't possibly fathom that as one of my main complaints.

you don't WANT to actually understand. you just wanted a circle jerk of confirmation bias.

this anon hit the nail on the fucking head. and you wanted to fight them?? i could have overlooked this but i wanted to touch on something really important because i don't know what anon may have seen but i once saw you answer an ask about homelander's redeemability and you cited "tough love" as a means to get there.

and as a former addict and narcissistic abuse survivor (specifying for context), i can tell you first hand "tough love" is not a real thing, and it's not discipline either because that requires teaching and providing tools for rehabilitation. but don't just take my word for it.

from a psychological perspective and to hear actual professionals go over the concept? "tough love" not only DOESN'T work. it is an excuse to be nasty and abusive to someone under the guise that you are only doing it to help them, when all it really does is make you an abusive fuck.

this would be why the SHOW had HOMELANDER of all people saying it, why what billy did to ryan is presented the way it was with HUGHIE of all people, the guy who was at the time dealing with a huge wad of toxic masculinity issues up his ass, 'got it'. and even BUTCHER'S DAD is presented as the piece of shit that he is who gladly passed on his curse to butcher like it was a 'gift'.

even the comics got this when they present butcher doing his scumlord over 9000 move to hughie and annie saying "cruel to be kind" about his own bullshit. no. no no no. he did NOT do that for hughie's well being. he did it for himself because he was a selfish prick.

and i want to be clear. i am being an asshole here and i fully recognize that. that's for ME to feel better because i am fed up with your bullshit. because you have spent your time poking and prodding me for a hostile reaction. well congrats motherfucker. you got it.

and there ain't NO fucking love there.

i won't be your enemy. but i am NOT your friend either. clearly YOU wouldn't want that anyway.

but because i always have to add in that disclaimer for basic human decency? EVEN WITH HOW I FEEL and what the actual science says about "tough love", i would still never tell someone they can't use it in fiction, presented as a toxic kink or whatever the fuck else. even if it triggers me. even if i have a thousand different reasons to criticize it and voice that in a separate space.

people can do whatever the fuck they want and i can't control that. neither can you.

but i don't have to engage with the content or speak positively on it or keep my mouth shut, and i'm not gonna harrass people or pull the kind of insidious bullshit you do either.

at the end of the day, this is fiction. and if you feel the need to run an entire fucking smear campaign about me over fiction and preferences??

stop lying about me

stop putting words in my mouth

stop talking about me behind my back

stop predetermining who i am for me

stop assuming hostility when i will flat out tell you my intent and you can just ask, that doesn't just go for me.

stop fucking gatekeeping and gaslighting.

I DON'T HAVE A DISHONESTY PROBLEM LIKE SOME PEOPLE.

and fuck you.

neither me nor any of my friends or these anons are crazy and i will not sit around while you try to fucking gaslight me or anyone else. try it again, i fucking dare you.

bottom billy lovers existing is not an attack on you. it never was. you don't own the tags. FUCKING DEAL.

this behavior? is UNNACCEPTABLE.

as for fandom? a few more things i want to cover. i couldn't have said it better than a friend of mine who while a little hectic and crazy sometimes, has been nothing but a sweetheart<3 that i just want to encourage and motivate to art or post pictures of her billy butcher kitty babygirl incarnate but unfortunately due to circumstances may be regressing back into her shell.

a message i will never stop promoting, whatever iteration it comes in, whenever it comes up.

i may disagree with what you are saying or doing, but as long as you are not harming anyone, i will fight wholeheartedly for your right to say or do so.

that is the philosphy of true freedom, THAT is what i subscribe to. and it pisses me the fuck off when i see people trying to punish or hurt people for things that hurt no one. we don't get to decide how other people want to live their lives. we can only navigate and hope we might find a friend along the way.

and THAT is the single greatest picture of captain america ever fucking created. no i will take dissenting opinions.

in regards to assumed hostility or hostile attribution bias, a more lighthearted and easily digestable demonstration is below.

gais... just don't do it. don't automatically assume that someone means you harm or pain simply because they disagree with you. this is what leads to more problems. this is what leads to human tribalism. this is what divides us. this is what destroys us. this is what leads to wars. fandom shipping bullshit or otherwise.

the fucking stupidest invention of humanity, fought over goddamn unholy wads of paper and scribbles of ink because people couldn't accept that their ideas weren't accepted by everyone else, and anyone who didn't fall in line got the axe. or alienated. or excommunicated. or accused of being a witch. or whatever.

but this is the kinda shit we need to nip in the bud at the most basic level we can, every time we can.

it's called intolerance of the intolerant. and it's how we stop hatred from fostering and the intolerance being tolerated and eventually taking over.

because assumed hostility? it IS intolerance.

people are not made from ideas, it's the people who make or break the ideas, not the other way around. and ideas can change.

that should never be seen as a bad thing because it's necessary for positive changes and better understanding as time goes on.

challenge yourselves and the way you think, listen to newcomers and welcome them, have healthy discussions, learn to agree to disagree. it's not that hard.

and i know, i get it. it's not easy, not that simple either. everyone's on edge, people are sickly addicted to hatred and anger because they are EASY. giving in to them doesn't require self control or any form of discipline, it is as simple as instinct. it IS instinct. but if humanity has ANY hope of moving forward?

we HAVE to learn to give people the benefit of a doubt. we HAVE to learn to listen to each other, *actually* listen and hear *exactly* what others are saying. HAVE to learn to identify the difference between a differing *non-hostile* opinion and actual *intolerance*

because the world has already seen what happens when we FAIL and eventually we WILL run out of chances to get it right.

please at least TRY to give the benefit of the doubt in an appropriate situation.

i'll lead by example.

keys? even you. even now, i'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt DESPITE how you've treated me AND my friends now. because MAYBE you were actually key in the sketch and just having a bad day each time we interacted or MAYBE you have some sort of trauma getting triggered whenever you see my shit or we interact or whatever the fuck it could be, MAYBE you are feeling the pressures of a self discovery coming out journey and it's manifesting badly (yes i did notice that and if this is the case i would still wish you nothing but good will and luck with that, not sarcastic), or some combination, there's a million reasons and i don't know you, so i'm not going to assume or say anything for certain.

unlike some people.

but i don't think you're stupid. on the contrary, looking at your posts, my first 'assumption' was that you are actually very well educated and were just enjoying having fun and being silly. later and based on some things i saw, it occured to me that your education/upbringing may put you at odds or at a disadvantage with connecting with people online or having them understand you, that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you or them, it just means you're speaking different languages.

even the "tough love" thing could be a miscommunication/malapropism. it could also be internal denial because you had a loved one do that to you and still haven't come to terms with the actual abuse you were experiencing because "they knew best"

i've been there. but maybe i'm the one who's projecting just to give you the benefit of a doubt. is it fair for me to take out my own frustrations on random people? fuck to the NO. which is why i TRY regularly to keep that shit in line and my life private.

so i absolutely will not excuse you for being so blatantly dishonest about me either behind my back or to my face because even if you do think i'm being hostile (when i'm not), there's no excuse for that. no, i wouldn't excuse myself either.

that needs to stop in a general sense, and i know you KNOW you are doing that because you'd have to *actually* be the biggest fucking illiterate moron on the planet to not know at this point.

especially when i reached out to you before to try and resolve this calmly and you ignored me and then continued lying about me, yucking it up with anons and buddies like high school mean girls. officially. unironically. instead of doing an ounce of self reflecting.

and i didn't include those messages, but the continued disingenuity and callous misrepresentation is there. and especially the carving into my character to define me however you want without giving me a voice to speak for myself.

stop it. you know it. i know it. maybe you think i'm some country bumpkin cousin hick fucker who happens to conveniently be queer but is remarkably stupid or an easy target.

and maybe i am stupid for ever giving you the benefit of a doubt, but you don't get to rob me of my humanity or basic courtesy.

because YOU'RE human too. and you have a right to your thoughts and feelings and opinions, and i get that, and i support it

even if by some fucking bizarre coocoo for cocoa puffs alternate reality, butchlander were to become canon the way I saw it? i wouldn't gloat or celebrate or try to rub it in your face.

I would encourage you to keep liking what you like and keep being yourself, maybe even harder than before.

even knowing you wouldn't do the same for me. at least from personal experience. see any of the above. and if you think i'm a self righteous prick for it, so fucking be it.

but if you're going to be an asshole? at least own the fuck up to it.

oh, and by the way? i now headcanon that billy butcher once a month puts on a full body gimp suit and with ball gag to do some strange kinda unholy shit with fruit OR veggies (never both), and it HAS to be a waning crecent moon, because i fucking can. and you can't stop me. ;)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

gais... don't immediately assume hostility. please. i know tone can be hard to interpret through writing or typic and emojis help, and yeah, i know i can jump the gun too. but i try to take things told to me at face/basic value or read them in a neutral tone and i think it helps too.

but we should never be judging anyone before we know them.

[pumpumdemsugah]

“Why am I being encouraged to internalised something that isn't my issue” literally. As someone who was seriously looking into all that divestment shit (I’m not actually stupid but sometimes I dabble lol) before actually doing the research into black feminist history, my wariness started with becoming disenchanted with the way whites and self hating black women would discuss us online. I didn’t have the words but I knew they sounded stupid and ahistorical. And just nasty. They can’t hide the contempt they have for black women and even those of us who don’t know the ins and outs of why still know to feel off about it. Most people know when they’re being scapegoated or when they’re hated.

" I'm not actually stupid but sometimes I dabble " lmao you're so funny

It's frustrating when you know something is wrong and feels off but you don't have the words or background to say why and the only criticisms you see border on hatred but it offers something and that's sort of what the Black Femininity movement does. It scratches some itches Black women have about our image and not being treated right so I get why some land there

Right now, on social media Black women are in a rock and a hard place. I don't think how modern Black feminism exists online is remotely helpful and is expressed in a way that compounds stupidity instead of sparking curiosity. There is a specific way that if I see someone use the term womanism, I know she doesn't read and is talking out her ass.

The modern divestment movement is so much more toxic than what it used to be ( don't get me wrong I never liked it but my concerns were minor ). To top it off the people doing anti-racism keep saying race science shit about Black women's bodies. That environment makes turning to modern divestment and Black Femininity almost a given for any Black woman that's fed up because at least they're not acting like our bodies are biologically wrong and that's mentally easier to deal with because a Femininity journey isn't an indictment against our bodies or how we were made. Which isn't much but it's something

There is alot of contempt out there for Black women saying it's community and salvation when it requires us to lie about ourselves, condemn ourselves and have contempt for ourselves. Nothing that insinuates I was born bad is for me

I don't think you can solve a problem without correctly pointing at it and people have always been annoyed when Black women have analysis about ourselves that isn't useful to them.

[dragonofeternal]

So this year has been really, really good in terms of like... reminding/validating that I'm actually like smart and good at what I do?

Like.

First off, I got my new job which whips ass and is super fun and challenging and pays way better and where my ability to do nine million different things is like very valuable. Like oh yeah, I can reformat this word doc/that powerpoint. Do you want me to do a little bit of graphic design to make this actually look nicer? Oh, you need this video for a presentation but it's on a site other than youtube? Yeah sure, I'll rip it for you. And also just the day-to-day of being able to take good notes, and being able to help copyedit training materials, and generally being a pleasant and mostly on top of things person in the office.

THEN, I took one of Killian's creative writing classes along with them. Which, for one thing, was super fun, good teacher, nice to have an organized space/time to hang out and talk about writing. But also it was really validating to have someone outside of the internet/my inner circle of friends read and critique my work who was like... I dunno another adult/serious writer type person? Our teacher is a published poet -- Though more specifically she's prolific as a TRANSLATOR of poetry. A fair number of the translated Palestinian poets you've seen being posted around tumblr recently are most certainly her work. -- and when she realized the level I was writing at she started critiquing my work a lot harder. Still had nice stuff to say! Just also being willing to dig in and point out places where I could improve.

We actually hung out with her last night at a fellow classmate's band's show and she took both me and Killian aside for expanded critique/thoughts on our final pieces, and said some really nice stuff which included that she sees both of us as like professional-grade writers who should continue to hone their craft and who she really wants to see succeed/get shit published/etc. I'm currently letting a short story (that is... probably gonna end up as a novella orz) that I wrote for class sit before I do another draft of it, and then she's offered to do a more critical line edit for me so I can shop it around and get it published somewhere really good.

(Which is also interesting because I see myself as working very much in genre spaces and she's very in the "literary" sort of mode, and she said that she saw a lot of literary prowess and style in how I wrote which she could see getting it published in a more literary type journal. And that's like a weird/wild thought bc of my complicated thoughts on the way the literary/publishing world looks at and treats genre writing blah blah blah....)

At the SAME show, though, our teacher had brought along a friend, who is also a teacher at the community college. Said friend works for the theatre department and recognized me from volunteering to act at a one-day event last semester for Killian's playwriting class. Like this was an event where I was acting for MAYBE a grand total of fifteen minutes. And she basically said "HEY YOU'RE REALLY GOOD, WHY HAVEN'T I SEEN YOU AT ANY OF THE AUDITIONS?" So then I chatted with her some about how I've done a lot of theatre over the years but time/jobs/money meant I haven't had a chance to in a long time...

But now my job is a 9-5! So I gave her my number and I'm now basically the understudy for if/when someone drops out of the productions currently going on. Apparently they have a lot of issues with people dropping suddenly so it's likely that I'll end up doing something next semester! Which is good cuz like. Damn, do I love the theatre, and I've missed it A LOT.

I dunno just having two different people being really impressed about my creative work in a short time was really, really mood/ego boosting? I dunno. When I last did theater in Pittsburgh I ended up feeling really burnt out by the exhausting sense of always having to hunt for work, feeling like I wasn't good enough, etc... And last year I was struggling a lot with feeling like all my writing was futile/unwanted/etc... So having people remember me and be super complimentary was. Nice.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 36

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 17.2k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, psychological torture, mentions injuries/infections, mentions of past abuse ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧  act five ➻ part three

​​​​

“I need to talk to Jisung. I… I have some questions about my past.”

“I’ll go with you then,” Yeosang offers without missing a beat, and he steps into your space. “That Spectre can’t be trusted enough to be alone with you. It’s bad enough that he’s being left alone right now.”

“Just yesterday you were talking about how much you hate me,” you scoff, turning away from the door to stare him in the eye. “Now you’re wanting to protect my every movement?” A huff of air passes through the man’s lips. For a moment, he refuses to look at you, and you think he’s going to choose to ignore you rather than respond to the question.

“Having Wooyoung speak to me through you put things in perspective a bit,” he admits. He drags his tongue over the front of his teeth, then shifts to face you without resistance this time. “If there is even the slightest chance that your death could negatively affect Wooyoung, I have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Don’t worry, I still hate you. I can’t stand you one bit, and I wish that I had a damn guarantee that you getting hurt wouldn’t risk Wooyoung’s safety because I could care less about looking after you on top of all this mess. Besides Wooyoung — he asked me to look after you, and my feelings about you are meaningless compared to what he wants.”

You haven’t had much of an opportunity to think about all the ways in which you and Wooyoung could be connected. While there is no guarantee that harm to you would harm him physically too, Yeosang does have a point. Just the chance is enough to be wary about. The same could be true the other way around in turn — anything they do to Wooyoung could potentially hurt you too, but there is no possible way of confirming that at this point in time. All you can do is wonder whether you will be able to see him and the others when you sleep next, should you even be able to sleep because it doesn’t sound tempting at all after what you just had to go through.

Your dragging hesitance must bother Yeosang to some degree because he huffs out another sigh and steps around you to lead the way out the door. You shift to follow him, stepping forward into the corridor only to run face-first into the Elitist’s back in less than a second. One peek around the curve of his shoulder tells you why he’s stopped so suddenly, and it’s none other than Jongho who stands before the two of you in the hall.

“Oh good, perfect timing. We need everyone to the medbay immediately,” Jongho says with a short nod, looking past Yeosang to give you a glance as well.

“Did something happen?” You ask in response.

“Hongjoong woke up, and he asked to see everyone.”

“He woke up? Why? No, no — how is he up?” Yeosang is the one to begin rambling, and he doesn’t stop there. “There were no signs of changes in his condition. I thought Yunho said it could be another several days before he woke up?”

“I don’t know either honestly.” Jongho brings a hand up to drag his fingers through his hair, pushing the locks off his forehead for a moment before they fall flat against his face again. “I came straight away the second Hongjoong gave the order. I don’t even know what the situation is quite yet.”

“Your conversation will have to wait then,” Yeosang murmurs. The two of you exchange a small nod, although you can’t say you’re too upset about having to postpone the conversation with Jisung.

“Conversation?” Yeosang steps around Jongho as the Berserker asks the question, and you are left to regard each other with confusion while Yeosang starts a path down the corridor.

“I was going to talk with Jisung about some things,” you explain, ducking your head to avoid the look Jongho gives you. It’s not one that causes any discomfort — moreso there is too much sympathy in that expression he wears, too much underlying pity that makes the pit in your gut deepen further. “Later. It’s fine, nothing pressing.”

Jongho reaches a hand out and takes hold of your elbow. The touch is delicate, probably one meant to offer some sort of comfort and nothing more, and that’s exactly what it does. Moments later, you are walking after Yeosang with a much lighter feeling swelling in your chest that you can’t pinpoint or explain.

When the three of you reach the medbay at last, Yunho stands outside the doors, hands close to his chest as he wrings them together without cease.

“Why aren’t you inside with Seonghwa?” Jongho asks upon seeing the healer.

“Hongjoong asked — he asked for a minute alone with Seonghwa.” Yunho blinks furiously as he speaks, and the motion of his hasty blinks is nearly dizzying in its frequency. “Under normal circumstances, Seonghwa would be the one to inform Hongjoong of the situation but… but Seonghwa still refused to speak even after seeing Hongjoong awake. He — what the fuck happened to the two of you during the night?”

You know the question is directed at you, but it still catches you unaware nonetheless. You can do nothing but stare back at him with wide eyes as the words process along with Yunho’s shaken-up disposition.

“I’m not sure,” you mutter. Yunho purses his lips, and a small exasperated sigh slips through, enough to show his annoyance with your answer, but Jongho steps in front of you before the healer can say anything. “I recall having a nightmare of my own but Seonghwa wasn’t there with me — I, no, that’s not — I mean he wasn’t—”

“Seonghwa had a nightmare,” Yeosang interjects, saving you from the moment of panic and from further fumbling with your words. “I managed to coax a bit out of him while you and Jongho were talking with Y/N. He had a dream that he was choking which is why he stopped breathing, and because he was so deep in the nightmare, he couldn’t wake up when Y/N tried to get him up the first time. You ended up startling him out of the nightmare and back into consciousness.” It could be a complete lie on Yeosang’s part, but it is logical and adds up in your mind to make some amount of sense. It saves your ass for certain, and that’s all you could ask for given your awkward and helpless fumbling. Yunho, however, doesn’t seem pleased with the response based on the way he shakes his head.

“That doesn’t add up,” he mutters, arms coming to fold over his chest. “Whatever he was dreaming about had to have been more traumatic than that since he had no other symptoms that lined up with other causes of shock. Trauma is the only logical option given what state he was in. Shock… it’s not just a quick jolt, it’s a critical condition brought on by a sudden drop in blood flow through the body. So trauma, heatstroke, blood loss, allergic reactions, infections, poisoning, burns, those sorts of things. His organs were not getting enough blood or oxygen, but just physically I could not see any sort of physical causes proving that. I can run some poison checks, but that truly wouldn’t make any amount of sense.”

“Even if it was something merely traumatic, what makes you think that he would ever want to talk about it with someone who always seems to want to pick him apart for every decision he’s made in life?” Yeosang levels Yunho with a glare so intense that you can almost feel the spike of tension in the air between them. “He was unresponsive with you for a reason no doubt. Maybe you shouldn’t have criticized him so much for decisions that didn’t involve you.”

“He involved me the second he started complaining about the arrangement betwe—”

“That’s enough,” Jongho cuts in, and he lifts a hand to rest atop Yunho’s arm. “Let’s not get heated right now. I can confirm that the emotional aura coming off Seonghwa’s body was something far beyond even a moderate level of trauma. Just being with Hongjoong in there is already helping some, but it will likely take some time for him to recover.”

“This is the worst possible timing,” Yunho sighs. “With tensions already high and everything… right when we need Hongjoong and Seonghwa the most, things like this have to happen?”

“Hongjoong is up now though, so that won’t be as much of an issue any longer.” Yeosang has a valid point with that one. Although without Seonghwa… you don’t want to have to think about how things would be without Seonghwa in all honesty, and it’s hard enough to even conjure up the smallest of thoughts about it. “Has anyone had eyes on Han?” Jongho is the first to deny it.

“I still feel his aura in the spare room we gave him. He didn’t budge at all during the night prior to the incident happening so I don’t think he’s behind that either.” Jongho’s words are enough to bring an unsteady silence to the four of you. There is nothing that can be said really, and you understand that better than anyone. How could you even try to explain the things you saw in your dream? You aren’t sure what you thought you would say to Jisung either; that was moreso a spur-of-the-moment decision made in a panic, and it’s probably for the better that you don’t go see him now.

“I hate this,” Yunho mutters after the silence grows unbearable. “It’s too quiet without the others here.”

“We should enact a plan soon, especially with Hongjoong up,” Yeosang says back. “Seonghwa won’t want to take a break or any recovery time, so things should be business as usual from now on. Can’t we hurry this along a bit? I doubt anyone is going back to bed soon, so talking with Hongjoong now would be best, no? Discussing plans so we can catch up to the transport ship the others are on?”

“Just a moment, yeah.” Yunho dips into the medbay. When the door slides open, you catch a glimpse of what’s inside, for better or worse. Seonghwa resides on one of the beds, the one closest to the door actually, and Hongjoong is as well, body draped over Seonghwa’s like an extension of the man, It’s not anything inappropriate, nor does it seem to be in the way the smaller captain straddles his hips and clings to his lieutenant like his life depends on it.

Looking at them like this — something close, intimate, calm, peaceful almost — you nearly feel as though you shouldn’t be present. It’s a crawling sensation that spreads to your stomach and chest, eyes trailing over the places where one man meets the other, and if not for looking so intently at the scene before you, you would miss the hefty tear tracks over Seonghwa’s cheeks. One of Hongjoong’s hands curls through Seonghwa’s hair as the other wraps tightly around one of the lieutenant’s.

Hongjoong pulls his hand down from the other man’s head, brushing over the tear-stricken skin of his cheek. He is clearly looking down at the man but Seonghwa doesn’t look back. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut tight with a few tears spilling out the corners. And in the back of your mind, you barely process how much you hate seeing Seonghwa in such a state, broken and crying without relent, and you hate how you seem to be just fine in comparison to him. The two of you were in the same place, suffering the same fate of being put through nightmares, and yet you came out of it because Wooyoung saved you. Did Seonghwa have anyone there to save him?

It is pointless to think of that now, but it’s all that is on your mind as you watch Hongjoong’s lips move with haste, muttering words that must be meant to comfort under his breath. You are too far away to hear it all clearly, although a few words slip in here and there.

“You’re okay… here… we’re here… together, okay? It wasn’t real… trust… I’m here.”

Yunho clears his throat when Hongjoong still doesn’t pull his attention away from Seonghwa, but even that announcement doesn’t cause the captain to budge even a little bit. Instead, he continues his hushed whispers for a few more moments then lifts the hand that is still tangled with Seonghwa’s in a pausing motion.

“We’ll talk more about it later, yeah?” He murmurs a bit louder as he pulls back to glance over in Yunho’s direction. His gaze slips past the healer’s should to find you in an instant, and you duck your chin in a panic, eyes finding the floor. It’s the feeling of being caught doing something you shouldn’t or watching something you shouldn’t be watching, and seeing Hongjoong atop Seonghwa in such a way is the cause of that. Perhaps he expects you to be jealous and scowl at him, and perhaps that is exactly what you are supposed to feel, but frankly… it doesn’t make you envious in the slightest. You moreso feel content at the sight of them holding each other so closely, like Seonghwa is finally at peace with Hongjoong in his grasp and awake. Hongjoong is finally up, can finally comfort him, and Seonghwa can finally rest easier. Why would you ever want to take that away from him?

The sight of them so closely linked, however, brings up a fleeting memory from your foray in the Dreamscape.

“To think that at the time, my worst nightmare was merely existing.”

“And now?”

“Not being able to save Hongjoong from himself.”

Albeit briefly, you wonder if that might be what Seonghwa saw once the two of you were separated. Even moreso than that though, the more pressing worry on your mind is just how deep Hongjoong’s demons run for Seonghwa to be so concerned that it has become his worst nightmare. You don’t have any more time to think about it as Hongjoong slips off of Seonghwa’s body and props himself on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa moves to sit up as well only to have Hongjoong’s hand slap down on his chest and shove him back to the bed with little effort. They don’t exchange any words, but they don’t need to either with the way one corner of Hongjoong’s lips quirks up in a half-smile as he blinks down at his lieutenant. Perhaps Vladimir had a point in the backhanded comment he made in the arena — when you see the way Hongjoong gazes at Seonghwa, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen or experienced before, like Seonghwa could do no wrong in the captain’s eyes, and like he’s the most precious creature in existence. Hongjoong slips his hand down to the inside of Seonghwa’s thigh, resting his fingers against the fabric of his pants just above the knee. It’s nothing… lewd or suggestive, nor does Seonghwa seem to take it as such, moreso a touch of comfort and nothing more.

“Well, are you all going to get in here or not?” Hongjoong leans to look past Yunho’s shoulder, regarding the rest of you with a stare that is enough to cause you to step inside. Yeosang does the same and comes in behind you, but Jongho doesn’t budge even an inch. Instead, he stays in the corridor with arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting down the hall every so often like he’s expecting Jisung to come bursting out at any second. Hongjoong waits but you have a growing suspicion that he’s not waiting for Jongho to come in necessarily. “I asked for the whole crew, Yunho. Where are the others?”

Does he not… did no one tell him of the situation?

Yunho inhales sharply but doesn’t manage to do anything more than that, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Yeosang, however, doesn’t let any silence drape over the room in the aftermath of Hongjoong’s question. He takes the initiative and steps forward with an expression so flat and even that you nearly believe nothing is wrong in the slightest.

“During the mission at the arena, Mingi, San, and Wooyoung were all taken captive and are currently missing in action. Vladimir was used as an instrument to get the ball rolling, but someone else is behind the incident. The three are aboard a transport vessel that is on its way to Dorado, where Mingi will be sent to a recreational facility to reprogram him back into the Brute of Kebos. San and Wooyoung were not the initial targets, so their fates and what will happen to them are currently unknown. We — we have someone aboard who is acting as a mole for us and gaining information from Vladimir, Han Jisung. He’s also eavesdropped on several meetings to get information about the transport vessel and the plans.

“Oh, I know that part,” Hongjoong hisses through gritted teeth. A flash of panic crosses Yeosang’s gaze for a split second, and the two of you seem to instinctively share in that panic by looking towards each other.

“H-How?” Yunho stammers.

“Why do you think I’m even up in the first place? A certain Han Jisung came in here and woke me up.” Seonghwa sits up without hesitation and latches a hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. The captain doesn’t even have time to react before both Yeosang and Yunho are suddenly stepping closer to the bed and into his personal space as well. Your first instinct, on the other hand, is to twist at the waist and look towards where Jongho stands in the hallway.

“Did you sense anything? I thought you said he was in his room this whole time.”

“I… No, I truly didn’t sense anything. It must have been during the commotion in Seonghwa’s room. That—” the Berserker cuts himself short there, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he finishes the thought “—that was the only time I didn’t think to check for his heat signature. By the time I was certain the crisis was averted, Jisung must have gotten back to his room.”

Hongjoong shrugs Seonghwa’s touch off as best he can before pushes the man back to the bed with another gentle touch.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t lay a finger on me.” Even though the words are clearly directed at Seonghwa, they hold weight over Yeosang and Yunho as well, bringing both men a few steps back from the bed. “Han Jisung is the one you should worry about.”

And as much as you despise it and wish your brain did not catapult in that direction, you cannot stop the twinge of panic that surges through your veins. It must be strong enough to pique Seonghwa’s interest because however hard you try to conceal the emotion on your face, you cannot keep the Siren from sending a worried glance your way. You don’t wish to care for Jisung still, you wish you could just bury that part of yourself and focus on something else instead — something like Hyunwoo, who deserves more than what you gave him, but your mind clings to Jisung like a parasite. You aren’t sure it will ever let up.

“I left him with several pretty threats that were enough to deter him from doing anything foolish. But he in turn informed me of the situation from his perspective. I merely wanted to hear from you all to make certain he was telling the truth. So thank you, Yeosang, for sharing the information better than this Jisung character did. Although, he did tell me what they intend to do with Wooyoung and San. Wooyoung is set to be sold to the House of Lilies in the Upper Echelon of the capital, Lynder.”

“What the hell is the House of Lilies?” The name itself leaves little to the imagination, but you can’t exactly blame Yeosang for needing the verbal confirmation. This time it isn’t Hongjoong who answers, though, and for what seems to be the first time since waking up, Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s… a whorehouse for the top class of Lynder, typically only used by the military and head councilmen of the city.”

“It’s a fucking what?”

If they’re putting Wooyoung in a place like that, then you don’t want to imagine where they would put San.

“San. Wh-what about San? Do they plan to do the same to him or—”

“No, they have different plans for him,” Hongjoong interjects, cutting your thought into a silent breath of relief. “He’s slated to be put through regression therapy and built into the perfect assassin. After that, he’ll go into the military in the Upper Echelon of the capital. He and Mingi will be put in the same facility for their treatments, but Wooyoung’s deal is supposedly more immediate.”

“Regression therapy? That’s the worse possible treatment San could ever receive!” You don’t really need to hear the panic in Yunho’s tone right now; it only makes the gravity of the situation weigh heavier on your shoulders. If you could sink through the floor and disappear from existence entirely, that would be preferred, but alas, no matter how much you wish for it, you’re stuck in place. “That could undo every ounce of progress he’s made over the years! All that — everything, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong’s tongue flicks out for a second, stabbing the corner of his lips harshly before retreating back into his mouth. He presses his lips into a thin line after that and refuses to respond to Yunho’s words.

Regression therapy. You’d heard of it during your stint with the military, a thing that was merely used as a threat for rowdy and unruly recruits who refused to do as asked. Only a threat because of how awfully traumatic it could be and how inhumane the public thought such a treatment to be. But the point was not to be humane then.

“They’d… use regression therapy to undo all that progress for a reason,” you murmur. The heat of five stares hits your body, and it’s almost overwhelming for a moment but you push forward to finish the thought. “Breaking him down into the husk he used to be is only part of the process. Once he’s put in the military, they’ll just wipe him of it either way, but to seem like they’re doing it consensually, they have to get him to go in there by choice. That’s how things worked on Eros. They threatened to bring back memories from before the wipe if you stepped too far out of line. They’ll break him, turn him into what he used to be, make him as deprived and desperate for even an ounce of freedom, then offer to take it all away.”

You don’t realize how hard you are gripping the inside of your right elbow until the pressure stings, but the moment you release your arm, that temporary grip on reality slips away and you fall into a vague flashback.

“Things will be okay, Y/N, I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

Hyunwoo is the one to speak to you. Your attempts to reach out and grab him are futile as you quickly find that you are strapped to a cool metal chair that practically burns your skin. Hyunwoo reaches down, lips twisting into a soft pained smile, and he takes one of your hands in his own.

“It’ll only hurt a little bit. We won’t take much, just enough for them not to be able to track it back to you. If you don’t know then they won’t be able to pin the blame on you, and you’ll be safe. So we’ll only take what we need to, okay?”

“I-I don’t know who ‘they’ is.”

“You won’t need to know after this. Jisung is prepping the serum now.”

“I — Hyunwoo, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry. This was the only way I could save you all. Maybe one day you will get to see each other again, and you can tell him the truth. And he can tell you the truth.”

“What fucking truth? You can’t do this now of all times, Hyunwoo! It isn’t the time to be cryptic and mysterious!”

“You’ll understand one day, Y/N. I promise.”

You pull yourself out of the flashback there, mostly because you’re so startled and confused as to why that memory slipped in. You were certain that you shared that conversation with Hyunwoo just before he walked to his death, not strapped to a chair with him saying such startling things.

“You’re right,” Hongjoong mutters, tugging you back to reality so harshly that you flinch. “Once they get on Dorado and conduct Wooyoung’s deal, they’ll separate Mingi and San. Probably place them in separate rooms: San to an isolation chamber, a large one no doubt. Mingi will most likely be placed in a much smaller one that will resemble the underbelly of the arena he grew up in.” Hongjoong pauses his thoughts there and shakes his head. “Han Jisung seems to know far too much about these plans and exactly what is going on. Why isn’t he tied to a chair in the brig right now?” Seonghwa opens his mouth to reply only to have Hongjoong wave his hand and dismiss the question entirely. “That isn’t important right now. What’s important is that we must keep any and all information found from henceforth away from Han Jisung. No plans, no musings, nothing whatsoever. That all stays between us as we cannot trust Jisung no matter what. I would rather keep a gun stuck to the back of that man’s head at all times than risk failure at this. Emergency rescue and recovery mission. We’ll talk further over the details soon. It’s best to get more rest now though.”

“I’d like to run some sleep tests anyways,” Yunho chimes in, and he turns to you before you have a chance to duck out of it. “Both you and Seonghwa. Don’t think I’d let you get out of it. Please just let me run a few tests, if anything only to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fine,” you mutter. Yunho doesn’t wait for you to follow him as he leads the way to another bed further down in the medbay. Sleep is the last thing on your mind right now, but you don’t have much of a choice as the healer sits you down and starts pulling wires and electrodes out. Hongjoong continues to talk to Yeosang a bit more, no doubt to decide on what to do moving forward.

“I’ll be hooking you up to a telemetry machine. It’s just to monitor your heart and see if there are any irregular happenings during the night. I’ll use it mostly to make sure it’s all beating properly and such while you’re asleep, but I’ll also place some sensors on and around your scalp, temples, chest, and legs, along with a small clip on your finger to monitor the oxygen in your blood. I’ll be here the whole night monitoring you both if any issues arise, yeah?”

“Okay.” You don’t make any efforts to hide the slight exasperation in your tone, and Yunho has the decency to at least pick up on that as he connects more of those sensors to your skin.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, you know. It’s — I know I have a lot to be sorry for and this one shitty apology won’t do much, but I am genuinely sorry,” he murmurs quiet enough for just the two of you to hear. “For all the ways in which I have been immature and hurtful. I did not act as a responsible or good doctor shoulder, but also from a deeper standpoint, I didn’t act as a friend should either, so I’m sorry for that as well. I want to do better and fix those mistakes but I don’t know how to right now. With all the stress we are under right now, I don’t want to risk making things worse by any means but... I can promise that I’ll try to do better.”

“I’m not petty like that,” you huff in reply. “Just you admitting that you did wrong and want to do better is enough for me. Just trying is enough. Maybe… try not to be a defensive asshole next time?” You dare to look up at the tall man’s face to gauge his reaction and are pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a smile.

“My goal is to avoid doing that again, yeah,” he laughs. His grin falls within a second, however, and he next brushes a hand over your hair with a small frown painting his thin lips. “You really gave us a scare. Hearing you call us for help only to go in and find you unconscious on the floor? We thought Jisung had gone in there and attacked you both. It was something out of a horror novel.”

You turn away as heat rises on your cheeks, and the only thing you can do to cover your embarrassment is cough awkwardly.

“I-I must have been so stressed and tired that I passed out right after.” That isn’t wholly a lie seeing as that’s what happened to Wooyoung according to Yeosang. Still, that begs a more pressing concern of what exactly happened on Wooyoung’s side of things for him to leave so suddenly. Perhaps the only good thing that could come out of this sleep test Yunho wants so desperately is the possibility of checking on Wooyoung and the others.

“You’re all set up now. You shouldn’t notice a thing unless we run into any issues, but again, I’ll be here to monitor throughout the night, and I’ll write up the scans in the morning.” Yunho pulls back with a smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter, settling back onto the creaky bed without further ado, but you know that sleep won’t come any time soon. So instead, you resort to watching Yunho make his way over to Seonghwa’s bed and repeat the same process he just did with you on the lieutenant. Yeosang dipped out of the medbay at some point apparently because he no longer stands before Hongjoong at the foot of the bed, and Jongho must have gone with him because the doors are now snapped shut. Hongjoong has his fingers curled tight around Seonghwa’s again, and once again that sense of distant longing seems to fall over the captain. He remains silent as he watches Yunho attach pads and wires to Seonghwa’s body. The feeling that next creeps over you isn’t one of jealousy or envy.

Your mind conjures up the image of San sitting at the foot of your bed like Hongjoong does with Seonghwa. San reaching a hand out to take hold of yours as he blinks down at you with concern. San brushing your hair out of your face and murmuring soft encouragements to you. Cat-like eyes and a dimpled grin gleaming above you like a whisper of hope.

It’s a painful reminder of reality: how San isn’t here and can’t be either. It’s a painful reminder that causes the corners of your eyes to sting against your will, emotions welling up so strongly in your chest that you double over to alleviate some of the pain there.

When you dare to look back at the bed, Yunho has walked around the side of the cot to stand before Hongjoong. Hongjoong’s free hand moves up to rest on the dip of Yunho’s hip, falling down to the top of his thigh for a fraction of a second then finding purchase on the mattress once more. Yunho pulls a stool forward and seats himself before the captain.

“I need to do a few more routine checkups on you too, just to make sure you’re okay since you didn’t rest as long as your body wanted. Eyes okay?”

“I can see you just fine if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Any pain in your ears? Ringing? The vibrations from the bomb will have shaken you up quite a bit.”

“No ringing, no pain.”

Yunho lifts a hand and rests it against Hongjoong’s forehead, pushing the blue strands up to lay his hand flat there.

“No fever either, that’s good. How does your throat feel? Your body should have purged the majority of the dust and smoke you inhaled by now, but I’m worried your throat might still be scratched up from it.”

“A little sore but nothing unbearable,” Hongjoong hums. He tilts his head from side to side as Yunho continues to worry over him but other than that, he seems entirely unbothered by the healer’s fretting.

“Ribs hurting at all? And your right hip?”

“Ribs feel okay, hip hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah because you aren’t supposed to be moving around with a fracture of that degree.”

“I moved less than six feet.”

“You’ll move six feet under if you aren’t careful.”

“Because of the injury or because you’ll put me there for not listening to you?”

“I’m gonna write off that attitude as the concussion talking because I know you aren’t dumb enough to argue with me on this.”

“Head is fine too.”

“Then let me call Jongho back to help you get to your room. You can’t be walking that far on your own and—”

“I need to talk with Seonghwa a bit more first,” Hongjoong interjects, head falling in Seonghwa’s direction. Yunho cuts off with a small ‘o’, and his gaze flits over to where you’re reclining against the pillows of the bed. Hongjoong seems to pick up on that without prompting though. “She can stay in here, it’s fine. I doubt it’ll take longer than a half-hour, if you don’t mind waiting outside that long?”

Yunho pushes back on his stool, slipping away from the bedside. If not for looking so intently at the man, you would have missed the way his hands curl into tight fists against his thighs, but he doesn’t voice whatever is on his mind.

“Right, don’t take too long though; I know you’ve been resting a while but your body still needs to recover before you try to do anything drastic, and knowing you, that’s exactly what you plan to do as soon as you can. Y/N, Seonghwa — you two get some rest soon. I’ll be back to monitor in a bit.”

You don’t wait to watch Yunho leave the room because it doesn’t feel needed, but at the same time, you are trying your best to avoid any eye contact with Seonghwa or Hongjoong as not to intrude on whatever conversation they intend to have. You hear the soft click of the door and its scraping metal as it slides open, then a repeat of the same sound when Yunho steps out. The silence that falls over the room is so thick it could choke you. Hongjoong shifts on the bed again and scoots closer to Seonghwa’s head, a series of creaks following the movements. You crack an eye open to peek over at the pair. Hongjoong doesn’t lie down beside Seonghwa or anything, just sits there with a hand still wrapped around the other’s, and other than that neither move or speak. It’s only after the silence drags on for several minutes that Hongjoong decides he’s had enough and speaks once more.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“We should talk about the plan more first. If Jin is truly behind this, then we need something more… just something more.”

“He’s not. It can’t possibly be him behind this because he would have targeted you rather than going after Y/N. I don’t think he has anything to do with this, nor do I think he would stoop to kidnapping to get what he wants.”

“We are down three crewmembers and have an untrustworthy rat aboard,” Seonghwa hisses without missing a beat. “Jin could very well have eyes and ears on us and know how weak we are right now. You might be able to excuse him, but I know for a fact that kidnapping is not the lowest he would stoop to get what he wants. And I will not jeopardize your goals by being captured by him.”

Hongjoong extends his free hand to cup Seonghwa’s cheek, brushing over the smooth expanse of skin there with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t believe that would ever happen. He would sooner have to kill me than capture you.”

“I’m… yeah, sorry, I’m simply worried. We’re headed to Dorado after all. Lynder of all places on that godforsaken planet too.”

“Why are you worried, hm? We shouldn’t be going anywhere near the Lower Echelon.” Seonghwa responds with a sharp shake of his head.

“Mother moved up to the Upper Echelon, remember? Three years back?”

“Are you calling me forgetful then?”

“You’ve always been forgetful, and you know it. You wouldn’t need me around if you could remember things.” That comment earns Seonghwa a smack to the shoulder, but you hear the huff of a laugh fall from Hongjoong’s lips before the lieutenant continues speaking. “The risking of seeing Mother is so high.”

“Are you… still afraid of her?” The question is hesitant in the same way that one would walk around a wild boar, like Hongjoong is afraid to set Seonghwa off in some way with the small question. “Hwa, you’re trembling. Is it too cold in here? I can get you an extra blanket if you—”

“No, no, shush, I’m not cold. I’m n-not afraid of her, I… I don’t want to be afraid of her, but in all those fucking nightmares, all I could see was red. I wanted blood, I wanted to kill, I wanted my hands around her throat so I could strangle her. And in all those dreams, that little voice won.” Seonghwa pauses and lifts a hand to touch Hongjoong’s cheek now, reflecting the other man’s actions from earlier. “I fear seeing the crew fall apart and not being able to save you from yourself more than anything else. Yet in those dreams, it was me who unmade each of them and ruined you. I’m… afraid of going to Dorado and not being able to hold back. I’m scared of killing Mother in a fit of rage and letting the Lieutenant of Death take over. I’m so afraid of hurting anyone on the crew, and I’m so fearful that I’ll bring ruin to you. I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself if that happens.”

Hongjoong’s hand comes down hard on Seonghwa's chin, gripping the skin and bone between lithe fingers, and he forces the man to look him in the eye.

“I won't let that happen. There is no way in hell I would ever let that happen. Even if I have to pry you off your own mother, I will make absolutely sure that that voice doesn't win, that those people who make up those rumors and disdain you so much don't win. I won't let you do anything you regret, Seonghwa.”

“Ha, as though you can promise such a thing,” Seonghwa mutters through a bitter laugh.

“I know. I can't promise much of anything, but I can give you my word and hope. That's enough for now. If all I have to offer you is one more day of hope, then I will continue to give you that for all eternity.”

The shorter man leans over the space between their bodies and presses his lips to Seonghwa's forehead, parting the hair that lies flat there to touch his skin.

“Don’t you ever regret letting me join the crew?”

“When it comes to you, I don’t think the word regret exists.”

It’s spoken with such a raw conviction that you feel your own throat closing up around itself. As your gaze falls over Seonghwa, you can clearly see the way the words affect him, from the way his lips part in wonder as he stares up at the man above him like he hung every star in his universe in the sky. Words fail him, but that doesn’t bother Hongjoong one bit as the captain tries to leave him with one more soft-spoken comment.

“Get some rest.”

He moves to get up and pull away from the bed, but Seonghwa's grip on his hand pulls him right back.

“Please don't go. I... I have both of you here with me for once. Please don't deprive me of this right now. Not when I've gone this long without you.”

“Whatever you wish, Hwa.” Hongjoong doesn’t fight back as Seonghwa tugs him down to his side, resting his head against his lieutenant’s chest once their bodies are pressed close. You don’t know if they’ve fallen asleep — the lights are still on in the medbay so it would be hard to fall asleep anyways — but you rest in the quiet with clouded and foggy thoughts. Twisting to the side, you turn to face the wall rather than look at that vulnerable scene any longer than you have to. You wish that could be the end of it, that the dismal conversations ended there with the two of them going to sleep, but Seonghwa’s tone rising up again in the silence disrupts that hope too.

“How much longer do we have to keep doing this? I get more and more tired with each day that passes.” Hongjoong hums a bit, and his next words come out rather slurred.

“I’m tired too. We’ll rest soon.”

“Aren’t we too young to be feeling this old?” There’s some humor to those words, but what Seonghwa says next eradicates that levity in an instant. “Jongho offered to take it away for me. Jongho, our youngest. He shouldn’t even have to think about taking our burdens.”

“That’s not the world we live in,” Hongjoong sighs. “That’s not a luxury we can afford. There is no normalcy. We don’t have and never will have any sort of normal family.”

“Family? Is that what this is now? The one you talked of wanting to find?”

“Yes… of course, this crew is our family without a doubt. One day when this is all said and done, we can settle down somewhere.”

“But?”

“But can we ever really be happy and content with settling down? I’ve been flying around space since I was born and as long as I can remember. Suddenly not doing that would be odd, wouldn’t it?”

Seonghwa laughs a clear and ringing sound, then seems to catch how loud the noise is and quiets himself to a softer chuckle.

“Then you can fly around space for all eternity if that’s what makes you happy.”

The bed creaks under someone’s movement, and you can only assume that it’s Hongjoong simply because he’s the next one to speak.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Keep doing what?” Seonghwa echoes softly.

“Every time we have this conversation and every time we talk of the future, you talk about it as though you won’t be there for it. Like you won’t see that future with me.”

“Stop saying foolish things, Hongjoong. We should be sleeping.”

“Seonghwa.” This time, Hongjoong’s tone is different. It’s something you’ve never heard from the man: a fragile sound that is on the verge of breaking and one that holds unspoken warning to it.

“Sleep, Hongjoong.”

“Seonghwa.”

That’s your breaking point. It’s too much for you to handle, the tone of their conversation has taken a drastic turn and you don’t want to hear anything else out of either of them simply out of fear. Even though you aren’t tired, you squeeze your eyes shut and internally beg for Wooyoung to let you in tonight.

…

As it turns out, you get your wish. You come to in Wooyoung’s body with a jolt and a gasp, although that sound goes unnoticed because Wooyoung yet again has full control over his body while you are left to sit back and watch through his eyes. The cell you wake up to is starkly different than the last; it’s much larger and brighter, fluorescent lights hanging on the ceiling, but that isn’t what draws your attention. No, the wall that consists only of thick metal bars and rings with the crackles of electricity garners all your attention first simply because of how loud the noise is but also because Wooyoung’s eyes seem to instinctively flit over the bars before turning further left. They are, thankfully, no longer chained to the floor like dogs and now seem to only have wrist and ankle shackles. It’s a significant step up from their last prison, and when Wooyoung finally pushes himself to his feet, you catch sight of Mingi resting on a small cot.

Wooyoung steps over to the Berserker without hesitation, hand dipping into a small bucket that’s full of icy water, and he pulls a rag from the liquid, wringing it a few times before laying the cloth atop Mingi’s head.

“How are you feeling?” Wooyoung asks. Mingi murmurs something in response, but it’s largely unintelligible, and Wooyoung must not pick up on it either because he strains his neck to get closer to the man. “Hm?”

“A b-bit better.”

“That’s g—”

A sharp rattle interrupts Wooyoung’s train of thought, and he jerks to look over at the shock wall. The door at the center swings open without warning, two men stepping through with someone hanging rather limply between their arms. If your heart could plummet right now, it truly would, because you would recognize that patch of white hair anywhere. The two men — guards from the looks of it — shove San into the cell, not caring to be mindful of the sides of the bars before pushing him against them without warning. San’s shoulder knocks roughly into the edge of the fencing as he comes through, and a bolt of shock sears through his body with surprising haste. The force brings him to his knees. Wooyoung lurches forward, darting out to grab hold of his shoulders and keep him somewhat upright.

“Be fucking careful! Are you paid to be idiots?” He shouts as he pulls San closer to his body. The stockier of the two guards sneers back at him.

“You’re next, slave. Watch yourself.”

Wooyoung responds by hurling a glob of spit at the guard’s feet, eyes narrowed to slits.

“You can take me once I’ve seen to my crewmates.” That comment earns him a sharp smack to the side of his head. San curls his fingers tight around Wooyoung’s side.

“Don’t make a scene about it, I’m fine,” he murmurs under his breath. He is far from fine, that much is obvious, because he can’t keep his body upright and his cheek keeps slumping down against Wooyoung’s shoulder no matter how much he tries to keep it up. The stout guard steps closer, arm poised to deliver another blow to Wooyoung, but he’s caught by his taller friend, who grabs him by the wrist before he can do anything else.

“They all need to make it to Dorado relatively unharmed or prices will down and we’ll get less of the cut from Boss.” That’s enough to pull the man away from Wooyoung, and he retreats back to the outside of the cell with his partner.

“You have ten minutes. Five if you make any other snippy remarks.”

Wooyoung exhales a small sigh of relief when the door slams back shut. He helps tug San to his feet and guides him to the bed beside Mingi’s. You’re grateful that Wooyoung won’t take his gaze off him because it gives you a chance to fully examine his current state.

The bruising on his face has gone down quite a bit, and just from that alone, you would say he almost looks okay. Still, his body reeks of exhaustion, and he clutches the shoulder that knocked into the shock wall even as Wooyoung eases him down to the cot. His dark circles are so deep that they almost seem to hollow his face, and you have an instinct to comb your fingers through his hair if you could because it’s a mess and so unkempt that you can barely see the white patch in the front. Wooyoung keeps pushing him down until San lies flat on the bed, and he doesn’t hesitate to peel San’s shirt up to his midsection. It exposes the awful bruising underneath, a colorful array of blues and purples that are ugly to look at.

“They’re gonna snap your ribs in two if they aren’t careful,” Wooyoung grumbles, tracing over the outline of the bruise with his index finger. “It’s already damaged enough.” San chokes out a laugh that has to hurt.

“That’s only the half of it. They could be doing a lot worse. At the very least, they don’t know shit about torturing people. I’ve been through worse and... and seen a lot worse in the past.” San’s hand darts down to the dip of his hip, where there’s a thin scar just by the bone. You recognize it in an instant — the place where Cara stabbed him back on Echidna and left him nearly dead. “They’ll have to work a lot harder to get anything out of me. They don’t like how quiet I am.”

“That doesn’t mean they really should work harder. You won’t survive that much. Did you manage to get anything out of them this time?”

San shakes his head at first then grips the front of Wooyoung’s shirt and pulls him closer.

“They were fumbling a little when I asked what the plans are. Mean one — shorty — he tried to shut me up but the other started asking questions too. Said he was just as confused and didn’t know what the boss plans to do with the two of us. They know exactly what would happen with Mingi but had way too many doubts when it came to us. They had to have wanted someone else. Maybe Scourge since he was in the arena with Mingi?” Hearing San call Hongjoong by that name sounds so foreign and stilted, but you know it’s just a way to protect as much of their identities as possible. Wooyoung draws his lips together.

“That doesn’t sound right. They would have had a clear path to both Mingi and Captain in the arena. Why wouldn’t they grab him then? When… when they take me, I’ll try to get more out of them. Clean — if you can, please clean Mingi’s wound again. The infection is almost fully fleshed out and his fever will break soon, but without anything to sew it up, he can easily get a worse infection if we aren’t careful.”

“Should it be gone within the next two days?”

“That’s up to his body and how it reacts to the rest of this process. Why?”

“I heard them say that we’ll be landing on Dorado in three days,” San mutters. He glances over at Mingi’s reclining body, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “If he’s well enough within two, then maybe we can work out a breakout plan.” Wooyoung glances between the Spectre and Mingi without reacting for a few moments then gives a small nod.

“We’ll talk about it more later. I’ll try to get more information in the meantime.” Wooyoung moves to step away from the bed, but San keeps him in place, fingers curling around the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt.

“Just — please at least cooperate a little bit. You don’t have to tell them shit, but don’t put yourself in danger simply out of pride.”

“I won’t.”

That is what Wooyoung says, at least, but his next action is surely one out of either sheer stupidity or an obscene amount of pride. He steps over to the shock wall and raises a clenched fist to the metal. Without a drop of hesitation and without flinching in the slightest, he raps his knuckles against the metal as though it’s nothing. You would think it’s nothing too if not for the waves of electricity that cascade through his body and in turn, yours. If it were you, you would pull back thanks to the shock, but Wooyoung doesn’t and only wraps his hand around the bars.

“You gonna come get me or not?”

“Fucking brat,” the shorter guard mutters, but he does exactly what Wooyoung wants and approaches the fencing to let him out.

“Try harder on the fences,” Wooyoung remarks, daring to drag his tongue over the front of his bottom row of teeth — a show of smugness that drives the guard mad.

“It’s not meant to incapacitate you, simply to keep little brats like you in check.”

“That was meant to keep me in check? Come on, that little shock didn’t even make me flinch in the slightest.” That comment isn’t what gets Wooyoung smacked upside the head; rather, it’s the huff of laughter that falls from his lips right after that causes the first guard to elbow him in the back of the head.

“Get walking, fucker.”

“When you gonna let me see the big boss?” Wooyoung grumbles as the pair sandwiches him between their bodies.

“He’s not around to have any meetings, especially not with the like of you. Busy with work of his own right now. But maybe one day you’ll mess up enough to get a meeting with the lieutenant thought.”

“What? This disordered bunch of scoundrels has a lieutenant?” Yet again that draws the ire of the stockier guard, and the man slams the butt of his gun into Wooyoung’s stomach. The impact is enough to cause Wooyoung to hunch over, bound hands grabbing the other guard’s thigh for support. The force careens both into the wall on accident, but Wooyoung doesn’t stop there. He fumbles around until his hand slips into the man’s pocket. Cool plastic greets him, something flat and rectangular, and Wooyoung latches onto both that and something else that feels vaguely like metal before pulling his hand out the pocket.

“Stay up, you rat,” the taller hisses. When he knocks his shoulder into Wooyoung’s, Wooyoung lets his hand fall near his own pocket, pushing both items he just lifted into the fabric. You can’t be sure that he knows what he’s just taken or that he has any sort of plan for if he gets caught with the stolen items. He doesn’t let anything slip through his expression though and simply rights himself when the shorter of the pair nudges him forward, continuing to follow them through the narrow corridor. The longer you walk, the more the interior and layout of the ship become familiar to you — from the dark grey walls to the solid doors with no peepholes. Your growing suspicions come to a grinding halt of realization when Wooyoung is shoved into a dark room that has one yellow-tinted light hanging from the ceiling. It sits directly above a reclining chair, and that’s a sight you would recognize anywhere. From the straps on the side down to the flat metal headrest — they must be aboard a military ship, or at least a former one given the pirate crew running it currently. But that chair and this room resemble the one you had your memories wiped in with an uncanny certainty.

Wooyoung doesn’t have a chance to resist before the two guards are shoving him further in and pushing him down onto the chair. Rough leather straps wrap tight around his torso and legs, then two more for each ankle and wrist once the first ones are secured. That, however, is all the men do for the time being. It seems to shock Wooyoung as much as it shocks you because he shifts to watch them as they walk over to the side of the room and lean up against the wall.

“Aren’t you going to do anything else?”

“Be patient.”

Wooyoung squints. His wrists twist a bit in the restraints, testing the tautness of the material, and when it doesn’t give any budge, he jerks harder against them. Two clear and mocking laughs resound in response. Someone comes up on Wooyoung’s left, one of the guards moving without warning to lean over Wooyoung’s body.

“We’ll do a few tester questions just to see how willing you are to talk, how about that? So… who do you work for?”

“Go fuck yourself, how about that?”

“Oh come on, you’re a slave, aren’t you? Why be loyal to a cruel master? Can’t you answer one simple question?” The guard reaches down to toy with the collar around Wooyoung’s neck. In an instant, every muscle in his body seizes up, and Wooyoung goes so far as to stop breathing entirely with the barely brush of contact. The pirate doesn’t stop there, though, and he slips a finger under the metal collar to touch the skin underneath. Pressure invades your head, like someone is grabbing your skull between their hands and squeezing with an obscene amount of force. Wooyoung thrashes and tries to jerk away from the contact, but the guard just loops his finger under the metal and maintains that same level of contact. Your head — or Wooyoung’s rather — begins to tingle and throb, ears ringing loudly with white noise as something else creeps up on you.

Please!

If you had any ounce of control over Wooyoung’s body, you would jerk your head to find the source of the sound, but as it continues, you realize that it’s not real. Not something that is truly resonating around you in the room right now. The voice is too young, too child-like, just a wailing noise that repeats over and over again without cease. A constant prayer of ‘please’ that fades into the background when the guard above Wooyoung speaks again.

“Now who do you work for?”

Please.

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” Wooyoung grits out. “I have nothing to gain from speaking to you about anything.”

Please, please, please.

Finally, the hand slips away, and Wooyoung gasps for breath like he’s never had air in his lungs before. His head lolls to the side almost the same way a ragdoll’s would as a sharp slap echoes. Pain sears over your skin, resonating through Wooyoung’s body to burn you too.

“This is why you’re going to the whorehouse. They can shut you up permanently with other things.”

“That kind of threat won’t work on me,” Wooyoung manages to murmur. His eyes roll back in his head as he slumps back into the metal headrest, chest still heaving to bring in air. “I’m not gonna tell you anything. If your boss w-wants info so badly… he can come take it himself. What’s the point of this anyway? Bring me to a room and ask me pointless questions? You already said you aren’t allowed to hurt the ‘goods’ too badly. And if I’m slated to go to a whorehouse — messing any physical features up would lower your cut dramatically. But the boss probably doesn’t pay you to be smart, huh?”

Red flashes through your vision then a fist careens into Wooyoung’s nose so hard that you’re certain it’s cracked in two. Warmth trickles down his nostrils and trickles into his mouth, leaving the taste of blood on the back of your tongue. The second man in the room pulls forward. He grabs his partner by the arm and tugs him away from Wooyoung as best he can before taking up the same position over Wooyoung’s reclining form.

“Listen here, slave, I really don’t want to be cruel to you, but there are ways to make you talk, ways that won’t… damage the goods as you say and will instead mess up that pretty little head of yours, so let’s just cooperate while you can, yeah?”

A sneer tears through Wooyoung’s lips, but he doesn’t fight back any longer, letting his head drop back to the headrest without complaint.

“You know who I work for already so I don’t need to tell you shit.”

The shorter of the two guards takes another step towards the chair.

“That may be the case, yes, but we aren’t after your captain. We need information on someone else… someone who was seen with you in the streets outside the arena. Someone you seemed to be close to based on the way you were protecting her, and someone who looked an awful lot like the Ghost of Eros.”

You can feel the way Wooyoung’s eyes widen. The same shock that courses through his veins rushes through your own as well. His tongue darts out to moisten his lower lip, dragging over the dry and cracking skin until it stings. He tries his best to hide that shock, but it’s too late, and the guards have already seen the flashes of recognition across Wooyoung’s features.

“So you know Miss Y/N then?”

“Yeah, we’re closer than you might think…” Wooyoung mutters, glancing off to the side and avoiding their prodding stares as best he can.

“Where is she?”

“Hell if I know.” Wooyoung tries his best to shrug with the words, but the restraints around his arms and torso keep him firmly planted to the cold metal chair. “In case you don’t remember, you kinda kidnapped me while I was unconscious and couldn’t see shit. Amazing that you managed to grab my sorry ass yet missed your precious little Ghost entirely, huh?”

That pulls the second guard forward, and he steps into Wooyoung’s space with a sneer of his own that is so vicious it causes Wooyoung to flinch away.

“We weren’t the dipshits in charge of collecting the packages. The ones who were hit a snag.”

Wooyoung manages to roll his eyes even as the guard presses closer.

“There’s nothing I can do to help you then. Your people crushed my earpiece so I don’t even have a way to contact her.” A finger comes down to tap against Wooyoung’s temple. It’s almost gentle in the way it brushes over his skin, but each tap comes harder than the last and you aren’t too foolish to ignore the threat in the touches.

“You will cooperate though, and you will answer our questions. Otherwise, we’ll have no choice but to crack that pretty little head open and take what we need instead. Unless you’d like to arrive at the whorehouse as a husk? That would make your job easier wouldn’t it?” A cruel grin twists over the man’s lips, one that you can’t bear to look at but you don’t have much of a choice because Wooyoung decides to stare him down with equal ferocity. “Now, when did Miss Y/N join your crew?”

“Who knows?” Wooyoung shrugs within his constraints. “I’ve never been good at keeping track of time.”

“Then what did she do before joining the crew?”

“Never shared any details about her life before meeting us.”

The pirate lifts his hand, and you’re almost certain that he is going to hit Wooyoung again but instead, he presses one index finger back to Wooyoung’s temple.

“You know… the other one was a lot more intense about these questions. Thrashing, angry, fuming at every mention of her name, so upset that we would even dare to ask about the little ghost. Why is that? Are they close?”

Wooyoung arches a brow. It takes a moment for you to realize that this man is talking about San of all people, but when you do, a wave of guilt hits you square in the chest. The thought of San being strapped to a chair like this and probed for answers about you and your past — having to experience it through Wooyoung and knowing that this is all because they captured Wooyoung and San in your place… it’s brutal enough as it is. More than that, it brings you back to that conversation you shared with San in the aftermath of your shared torture — the one where you sat opposite each other on his bed and admitted how afraid both of you were. How you were afraid to ever see San in that position again, and yet somehow… somehow not seeing it is worse. Somehow knowing that he is being put through this sort of hell and you are powerless to do anything to stop it is far worse than lying across from him on a sandy floor in an old warehouse with a crazed Berserker over you.

“Am I supposed to know the intimate details of relationships now? Why does your boss even need to know something of that nature?”

“Quit asking fucking questions.” It’s the more violent of the two guards who says that, and he steps forward to slam his elbow into Wooyoung’s stomach. “Do you wanna know what we did with your friend? Put him on this very chair and told him all the pretty ways we could fuck up that head of his if he didn’t cooperate. People like him… they have a lot of baggage. They carry weights on their shoulders that last a lifetime, and if you know how to manipulate it, then you can get whatever you want from them. And you—”

The man pushes a hand up the expanse of Wooyoung’s chest until he reaches the band of metal around his neck. Two fingers slip under the collar. Wooyoung presses his lips together so tight that they tremble under the force, yet that’s still not enough to keep a whimper from slipping out. It’s a mirror image of the Wooyoung you met upon waking up in the medbay for the first time, a mirror image of the terrified boy who plunged an anesthesia shot into your neck, the one you were certain was weak and fragile. You hadn’t thought of Wooyoung like that since back then, never imagined him to be weak after Yeosang mentioned how much he’s gone through and after witnessing his drive to protect the people around him. But now?

Now it’s just Wooyoung. There is no one in his immediate vicinity to protect, nor is there anyone here to protect him as you are stuck being a helpless bystander with no power or control over his body.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you? Burden after burden on your shoulders. Pretty little traumas to keep you awake at night. That… tough guy act where you pretend to be better than your crewmates — don’t you know how easy it is to see through that? You know your own worth, and that worth amounts to being nothing more than a filthy slave who will soon sell his body to others to get a bite of food at night. Can’t you see yourself doing that for the rest of your life? Why else would a broken collar stay around your neck?”

Broken?

Wooyoung has grown dreadfully quiet, and that tells you that the pirate hit the nail on the head with too much ease. Yet now that you think about it, the collar around Wooyoung’s neck is most definitely a shock collar, but you have never once seen it glowing with electricity or power in the slightest, which can only mean that Wooyoung truly is walking around with a dead shock collar at all times. That reality is haunting on its own, but that coupled with the continuous and monotonous cries in the background that beg ‘please’ over and over only make matters worse.

“We’re getting nowhere with this one. The last one was much more responsive when it came to these questions. We should just bring him back in and leave this one to rot in the cell with the Berserker.”

“O-Okay… yeah… let’s try that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t make some great escape when they pull the restraints loose, and for the first time since waking up in his body, you gain the sense that he is genuinely tired of fighting back against their advances. He lets his body fall slack in their grasp, allowing himself to be pulled from the chair and dragged by the elbows between their bodies. Albeit faint and dying, you swear up and down that you can still hear that faint child-like voice ringing in your ears.

“You really do suck at torture.” A bit of crimson liquid slips out the corner of Wooyoung’s lips as he speaks, leftover residue that dripped from his nose, and he spits it to the floor without a care in the world.

“The goal isn’t to torture. If we could harm you physically, we certainly would.”

Wooyoung doesn’t speak further than that and again you think it’s because he doesn’t have the energy in his body to do so. He settles for glancing around the ship extensively as the two guards drag him back to the cell. That is somewhat odd to you at first seeing as he’s had plenty of opportunities to look around the ship from the inside of his cell, but realization sinks in when Wooyoung nods his head towards an exit door on the way to the cell.

Oh… are you trying to help me? That becomes increasingly apparent when he scans each wall and corner like his life depends on it, and you do your best to commit every inch of the room to memory. If this is something of a military ship, you should be able to figure out a basic layout with Yeosang’s help if he remembers anything too. Wooyoung hums to himself as they reach the electrified gate to the cell, but he doesn’t do anything other than that until the taller guard shoves him to the floor of the cell. San darts forward, nearly tripping over his feet in his rush to get to Wooyoung’s side.

“God, what did they do to you? I told you to be fucking careful!” He hisses under his breath. Wooyoung quirks one corner of his lips up and flashes a quick wink in San’s direction.

“Hold onto this for the time being,” he mutters back, digging the small rectangular card and piece of metal from earlier out of his pocket. Wooyoung only extends the piece of metal, something small and indiscernible practically, but Wooyoung must find some value in it to pass it to San rather than the card, which is clearly a keycard. San takes the item without complaint but his brows are still tightly knit together in concern. “I need more information from the guards. I almost got ‘em.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Only a little beat up. Pain… pain is nothing to me, not this kind at least. I’ve felt enough to grow rather used to it after all this time, so don’t worry about me getting hurt. It’s all just my little show so they don’t go harder than I want them to. Just — take the time to care for Mingi’s wound while you can. I’ll be back soon.”

Wooyoung hoists himself up to his feet and presses the keycard between his teeth. He and San maintain eye contact until Wooyoung turns completely around to face the closing door of the cell.

“Can’t even focus long enough to keep track of your belongings, huh? Cheap guards for the big boss?”

There’s a clatter then the slam of the cell door resounds, and both pirates rush in to tackle Wooyoung to the floor. The shorter of the two reaches him first, knocking into Wooyoung so hard and fast that it feels like your brain is rattling against the confines of your skull. San pushes forward as well and intercepts the second guard with his arm.

“Stand down, San, stand down!” Wooyoung shouts, stopping the Spectre at just the last second before he punches the guard in the throat. “It’s okay, just let them take me. It’s okay. They can’t hurt me.”

“We may not be able to, but the Reaper is gonna make you fucking pay for such foolish actions.”

“The Reaper, huh? Is that the infamous big boss?” A hand curls through Wooyoung’s hair. With a sharp tug that nearly pulls the strands right off his scalp, he’s brought up to his knees.

“Yes, it is. You’ve quickly proved that you’re too much of a disobedient brat to be sent to the House of Lilies. Maybe we should send you through some rehabilitation too with your little friends, yeah? We’ll take good care of you until the Reaper comes back to the ship though.”

Wooyoung collects a bit of spit on his tongue then slings it at the guard’s face, a bit of crimson mixing in with the saliva.

“We’re counting on it.”

Right then you feel Wooyoung directly contacting you in his consciousness, a small push and pull on the edges of your mind, and he drops his chin to his chest so quickly that you think he’s passed out on the spot. It’s enough to deter the guards and their focus on him for now, and he cracks an eye open to stare at the floor as they drag him down the hall yet again.

“Y/N…” he whispers under his breath. “Y/N, take that info back to Yeosang. Give him that name too. The Reaper.”

You want more information than that, but Wooyoung’s consciousness knocks hard against yours, and the vision before you fades to black, cutting any hopes of getting more from him drastically short.

All that you’re left with is fogged thoughts and that name shining clearly at the forefront of your mind: The Reaper.

…

Han Jisung.

Never did you think you would see him again, and that still hasn’t sunk into your bones yet. The feeling deep in your gut currently is hard to explain. You aren’t sure you could ever make sense of it, but seeing that man, Han Jisung, a person you relied on so heavily for so long standing over by the observation window on the bridge of The Horizon feels like it should be something of a fever dream. Alas, it’s not, it’s all very real and very tangible, and you don’t realize how long you’ve been glaring holes into the back of Jisung’s head until Yeosang clears his throat from beside you.

The two of you sit near the comms station, and you’ve made a home for yourself sitting atop the desk as Yeosang sits at the chair before it. He has his bound journal set out on the desk, pen in hand as he scribbles over the pages. Jongho is not far away himself: he stands closer to the captain’s seat, and none other than Hongjoong himself sits in that place, back steering the ship as he usually does. Seonghwa is nowhere in sight — still down in the medbay with Yunho for further observation since his condition was much more critical than yours. All you can hear is the faint rumble of the ship’s power systems and air passing through the air filters. The silencing should be deafening, but it gives you more than enough time to process your thoughts while you can.

That blessed silence is interrupted within seconds as Yeosang’s chair scrapes hard against the metal floor and he scoots closer to where you’re perched. You follow his movements, twisting at the waist to lean over the empty space between you and offer some semblance of privacy for the ensuing conversation.

“So, according to what you saw last night, I drew up a basic sketch of what I think the ship’s layout looks like,” Yeosang mutters, exposing the pages of his journal to you. “Two exit doors in the room with the cell. They took Woo to a small room that had a single reclining chair and medical equipment. Potentially a former military ship, although from the sounds of it, it must be a rather old one. Since they’re headed to Dorado, I would assume it’s a Doradian ship that they jacked.” Yeosang pauses to scribble a few more unintelligible words on the paper, writing twisting and curling in a way you’ve never seen before. “We still don’t know why they want you… but San said they’re at least three days out to Dorado. With the speed Hongjoong is flying at, we won’t catch up for another four days though. Most of the flight will be pushing through the celestial barrier between Aurum and Geofflan, but we can’t burn extra fuel without having to tap into emergency reserves.”

“So then what? The exchange is supposed to happen soon after they land so there’s no way we’ll be able to catch up and break them loose before then,” you reason. Yeosang manages a small nod, avoiding the stare you send his way as he continues to scribble in his journal.

“We at least know the main location will be the capital, Lynder. And we know that Wooyoung is slated to go to the House of Lilies — if this Reaper figure doesn’t change his mind, that is — but Mingi and San will be sent to separate rehabilitation facilities.”

“That’s bad for the rest of us then. Once they’re separated, we have a higher risk of failure.”

Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line and hums softly. “But once they’re out of this Reaper’s hands, they won’t be his responsibility anymore. Mingi will, since they plan to transport him back to Kebos once he’s ready, but Woo and San are being sold independently. We should aim to take them back after the deals go through. That way the Reaper can’t cause issues because he will already have his money. A whorehouse won’t mind losing someone unless they pay a great deal for them… I don’t know how Dorado operates in terms of military regulations and such. Or even how important the military is to them. We’ll have to be quick to get San back, won’t we?”

You give a quick shake of your head.

“They plan on putting him through that regression therapy first so we will have time before they try to wipe him.”

“If, and only if he’s strong enough to withstand that torture.”

You ball your fists tight around the leather of your pants.

“He’ll be strong enough.”

“There’s no way of knowing what they’ll do to him once it’s time for that regression therapy, and we won’t be able to do anything for him if he caves early.”

“Then we should prioritize him and get to him first,” you argue, forcing your tone to stay as low as possible. “Either we have faith that he will hold out as long as possible or he’s the first one we rescue.”

“And how confident are you that he can handle that level of torture? I saw many recruits be sent to those wiping chambers in my time as a prince. None of them lasted longer than fourteen hours on the table. Either due to a weak constitution or the sheer level of trauma they were forced to go through. Knowing his past and what traumas they could awaken, how confident can you be that he will last longer than that? I don’t want one slimy fucking mongrel to lay a hand on Woo in that whorehouse, and he will be easiest to recover so we need to prioritize him if that’s the easiest option. If San reaches a point where he wants the serum, then what? We have another Mingi dilemma on our hands?”

That question stops you in your tracks. You hadn’t dared to think that far ahead simply out of fear that it could be a reality. It does take you back to the one and only time you and San spoke about the issue the serum posed though, for better or worse.

“If our positions were switched, would you be okay with it?”

“I can’t pretend to know what that experience was like for you or how deeply it affected you. If I were the one who had used it before, and I was aware of it like you, I know that I would be selfish at the end of the day. I have mentioned it before but I wish to cling to you for as long as I can. And though it’s — though it goes against my morals, I would not want you to take the serum because I can’t bear the thought of you forgetting who I am and how I feel about you. I know that sounds a bit bold, especially given your relations with Seonghwa, but… I would say the same to any member of the crew — save for Yeosang perhaps. You all are special and valuable to me in unique ways, and the thought of any of you losing any memory we share is too much for me.”

“Would you expect the same of me in return?”

“I would only ask that which I would ask any of the crew. To do what is right by your own standards and not by anyone else’s. We’ve all been slaves to other people’s whims and desires for too long. I would never wish to put anyone through that again, and even something as simple as pushing my opinion onto you would be unfair.”

And here you sit now coming to the gross realization that you cannot be okay with the thought of San forgetting who you are. You cannot live in a universe where he loses every ounce of work he’s put in over the years, the relationships he’s built with the crew, the things he has had to survive — you cannot bear the thought of it becoming meaningless and futile in the face of simply forgetting it. Because now, as you struggle on your own with these hazed memories that have no true place in your mind, you know that you could never wish that on anyone. Not knowing your past is a horrid fate, but losing all the pieces you’ve put together is a fate worse than death.

“There’s no way in hell I am ever going to let them give San that serum, even if it’s what he wants.”

Yeosang huffs air through his teeth but doesn’t comment further than that, and you take it as a sign that the conversation is concluded for now. When you lift your head again, movement from near the observation window catches your eye, and none other than Jisung himself stares over at you with eyes wide and searching. Like not a thing has changed in the past few years, and like those broken memories that plagued your dreams were nonexistent altogether.

Whatever comes over you is compelling enough to pull you off the desk. Yeosang follows your movements with his eyes, lips parting to ask what you’re doing, but you stop him by dropping a hand to his shoulder.

“There’s something I can’t wait on anymore,” you murmur. That is all the explanation you give before forcing your feet to move towards Jisung. A soft laugh echoes through the bridge as you draw closer to him, and Jisung greets you with nothing more than that and a rounded smile at first.

“Took you long enough to come speak to me like this. All those years of knowing each other for what?”

“For you to tell me the truth now.”

“Hm?”

“Hyunwoo told me before he went off to die that one day you would tell me the truth. So what is it?”

A frown paints Jisung’s lips.

“What are you talking about? Hyunwoo never said anything of the sort.”

“I distinctly remember it, as well as being strapped to a chair with Hyunwoo over me saying that they would only take a little bit. And I’ve been having odd dreams of memories that I have no recollection of. So just what the fuck happened to me before leaving the military and killing the king? Right now I don’t have anyone alive who can tell me that except for you, Jisung.”

Jisung folds his arms over his chest, eyes turning to narrow slits as he glares forward at you. Then, he slowly extends his right arm and poises to place the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Watch it.” You don’t need to turn to know whose voice that is, and you half-expect to turn and find Jongho at your side in the blink of an eye. However, when you glance back over your shoulder, Jongho is still beside Hongjoong’s chair, and the captain’s hand is placed ever so delicately in front of his chest that it hardly blocks the Berserker from moving. It’s moreso the gesture that keeps Jongho in check, and no matter how unhappy he seems with the order, he follows it without complaint.

“I have no intention of hurting her at all! Come now, would you take me for a fool? You should all know better seeing as the bargain I made in helping you was for her safety.”

“She might have made that bargain with you, but you made no such deal with me,” Hongjoong states without batting an eye. “And I will not allow you to force her to leave my crew, even if you have come to an agreement.”

“She made the agreement knowing full well what it would entail and because it’s what she wanted,” Jisung counters. His arm falls back to his side without touching you in the slightest.

“I didn’t,” you refute immediately. “I am only doing this for the crew, not because I actually want to be near you.” An almost feral noise tears through Jisung’s lips, and you flinch back just to put some distance between your bodies.

“After all the things I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, the risks I took to even make certain that you would make it out of that cell alive—”

Your body reacts before your head can catch up. Next thing you know, you have two fists curled tight around Jisung’s collar and are slamming him up against the observation window with a strength that surprises you as much as it surprises Jisung. Hongjoong must retract his hold on Jongho because suddenly the Berserker is at your side now, hand pressing hard on your shoulder. You knock his grip away without so much as looking at him; there is too much adrenaline running through your body right now, too much heat in your blood and fire in your bones, and nothing is going to stop you from taking out years of bottled-up frustrations on Jisung now.

“You have absolutely no right to dare to say such a thing. You don’t get to talk about sacrifice! The only person who took risks for me was Hyunwoo. The one who died In my place is the only one who gets to talk like that and claim that he’s made sacrifices. I buried you in my past the minute I was forced to dig an empty grave alone. You let me alone on that god-forsaken planet to bury an empty grave without so much as looking back! No matter how hard you try to justify it, there is nothing that will ever convince me that it was the right or fair decision to make! Anything you ever did for me — whether I remember them or not — it all pales in comparison to what Hyunwoo sacrificed.”

“Only people who die for you can sacrifice things? What of the people I killed for you? The innocent people I killed to keep your reputation untarnished? How much blood is on your hands, Y/N? You look at me like I am a monster but I am what you made me! Whether you like it or not, the truth of the matter is that Hyunwoo agreed to my terms. Hyunwoo is just as much at fault for what we did to you as I am. And what we did was necessarily because I guarantee if you remembered all the things you did, you would rather kill yourself than keep on living the way you are now.”

Your momentary shock is enough for Jongho to pull you off Jisung. He wedges himself between you and the Spectre, folding his arms over your hips to guide you further away from the man.

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

“And what exactly is it that you and Hyunwoo did to me? Because I sure as hell don’t remember or understand anything! How long do you plan to lie to my face?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jisung says. There is a sudden drop to his tone, one that hits harder than it should. “As selfish as it may be, that is the one secret I will never disclose, and Hyunwoo would be a fool to ever believe that I would tell you what it is. If he wanted it exposed so desperately, then he can do it himself.”

You see red. It all feels like a blur yet simultaneously like the universe is moving in slow motion around you. You are hyperaware of the way you push Jongho out of the way to get back to Jisung, fist clenching so hard that your knuckles go white just before you sock the man in the jaw. The noise that resounds is disgusting and brutal, a sick crack that echoes in your ears like a battle cry.

“You don’t fucking get to talk about Hyunwoo as though he’s alive,” you growl, curling your fingers through Jisung’s hair and yanking his head back hard enough to make his neck pop. “You dipped off-planet without even seeing the execution through, without even waiting for blood to spill, so you have no right.” Jisung’s tongue darts out and wets the corners of his lips. “You have no right1” You repeat as though it will do any good. “You killed innocent people as though it was nothing! Was that all Hyunwoo was to you too? Just another bump in the road on your path to power?”

You swing for his face once more, but this time Jisung reacts before you can hit him. He pushes your hand to the side, expression relatively neutral compared to your own rage-filled one.

“I bet you couldn’t wait to see Hyunwoo die because that would mean the leader was out of the way and you could finally have that power you wanted! People would finally listen to you? Is that what you wanted? How could you do that to us, Jisung? We were a team, a family, you were all I had. How could you kill people in my name? Innocent people, who did nothing wrong killed for saying something trivial about me? How could you let innocent people be taken in my place? Wooyoung and San did nothing wrong! They don’t have that blood on their hands, they don’t carry the weight of that guilt on their shoulders, they aren’t bad people, Han Jisung! How could you? Why would you let that happen? Why would you put them in a place to be hurt and sold in my place? Who gave you the right to make that decision? You’re not some god!”

Jisung doesn’t move a muscle throughout your tirade, his face doesn’t budge nor does his disposition — it’s almost like yelling at a statue in an eerie and unsettling way. Then he speaks again, and this time it is with a haunting flatness to his tone.

“When have you ever known me to be cruel?”

“I-I thought the answer to that was never bu-but now I don’t know if I can trust that.”

Jisung blinks.

You inhale.

Then something hits your stomach so hard that you double over in pain, blind-sighted by the speed at which Jisung moves, and Jongho doesn’t have time to react either. Jisung doesn’t stop there though; no, he returns the favor and grips your hair close to the scalp to yank you back up to be eye level with him.

“I am merely… a cruel person, Y/N. I have always been cruel. And when it comes to protecting people I care about, there are no morals. There are no grey areas. There are no lines that I am not willing to cross. The universe has made me evil by taking everything from me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to have at least one thing I care about. And that one thing is you.”

Silence ensues. You don’t dare speak again; you aren’t sure you could even form words if you wanted to. Out the corner of your eye, you see a flash of metal and the barrel of a gun.

“If you so much as move a muscle, I will shoot you down with no hesitation.” You never saw the man move but that cold tone can only belong to Hongjoong. That suspicion is confirmed when Jisung releases his hold on your hair, letting you pull back and stand up straight once more. Hongjoong doesn’t lower his weapon even as Jisung raises his hands in surrender. “You call yourself cruel. Well, I am evil. Cruel, harsh, cold-hearted, and full of nothing but malice. So you can fucking bet that I won’t let you take her against her will. And if you even for a breath of a moment think otherwise, then I will put a bullet between your eyes and send you off to meet your maker.”

Jisung’s nose twitches as he sneers back at the captain.

“That’s not a risk you would ever take.”

“Ha, then you know fairly little about me, Han Jisung. I could sit here for hours and tell stories about the blood I’ve spilled, the blood my lieutenant has spilled, the things we have done as the most notorious and bloodthirsty pirates in the universe, or I could tell you of my own individual accomplishments. But if you truly think that I won’t do everything in my power to stop you from taking her?”

Hongjoong’s arm shifts and the barrel of the gun finds a new home, a new target.

On you.

Between your eyes.

Hongjoong cocks the hammer back. The click seems ten times louder than it is in reality. Jongho pulls closer to you, eyeing Hongjoong with a wary gaze.

“I can be evil if that is what you want me to be,” Hongjoong whispers, arching a brow at Jisung. “Such a thing would be easy for a man like me. But it comes with a price, and it’s one that you should weigh heavily. Take her against her will, and I’ll make sure the only thing you take is a corpse.”

“Good move, Captain,” Jisung replies. “I do so enjoy playing such mind games with someone who is actually of my caliber and on my level like this. Now, the move is mine to make, no?”

“You would treat her life as something as mundane and childish as a game of chess?”

Jisung clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Mind yourself, Captain. All I have to do is give the command, and my dogs will bite.” Hongjoong lets Jisung step around him and make for the edge of the bridge before lowering his pistol and returning it back to its holster.

“Han Jisung.”

Hongjoong’s words stop the man in his tracks, and your eyes find his in the brief moment of hesitation before he turns to look directly at the captain. Hongjoong doesn’t look back, at least not face to face because he merely glances over at Jisung through the reflection of the observation window. It’s an almost haunting sight, one that sends a chill down your spine and makes you stand up a bit straighter as you watch them level each other with glares full of contempt and malice.

“Hungry dogs are never loyal. They’ll eat with anybody who has food. And yours are ravenous.”

“The same could be said for yours, Scourge. Many wonder how much bending that Berserker can take before he breaks. Others say that the slave will turn tail and run the moment the doors of the whorehouse open. My money, on the other hand, is on the Spectre.”

If either man hears the audible gasp of panic that slips between your lips, they opt not to comment on it. Jisung’s lips twist a bit, curving into an ugly smile that makes you sick to your stomach.

“You’d be nothing more than a fool to believe that any of my dogs are not fed well under my care.”

“Is that what happened during your mutiny? Which dog were you, Kim Hongjoong? From the stories I’ve heard, you were starved to the bone.”

Hongjoong shows an admirable sense of restraint in that moment; he barely lets any emotion slip through his features or stance even though you are certain that he is just as shocked as you are.

“The weakest links are always the first to go. The ones with the most to lose, and thus… the Spectre will break first. Because whether you acknowledge it or not, I have something he is desperate to see again.” Jisung shifts to face you. His eyes glint under the fluorescent lights of the bridge. “What happens when you throw a hungry dog a bone?” It’s nothing more than a rhetorical question, one meant to scare you, and that it does because your heart clenches painfully in your chest and squeezes around itself until you can barely stand up straight. “He swallows it whole.”

You watch Jisung leave without daring to speak one more word to him. Hongjoong doesn’t move away from the observation window quite yet, and even as you look over his reflection in the window, you cannot for the life of you gauge what emotions are running through his body.

“Would you truly have shot me?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The adrenaline of having a gun pointed at your head with such little care for your life is not something foreign but to have Hongjoong be the person to do so… you want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his tone was far too resolute for that. But then, he shakes his head in denial.

“Never. I made a promise to keep you safe, and I made similar promises to the rest of the crew that no matter what, I would always do whatever is in my power to keep you all safe. To keep our crew safe. I am not about to let Han Jisung take that from my crew.” Hongjoong folds his hands behind his back. His boots scrape against the floor as he spins on his heel and heads back to the captain’s seat.

“What… what did Jisung mean by his ‘dogs’ if he works under Vladimir?” Jongho is the one to pose the question, and it brings Yeosang away from the comms station to listen in on the conversation better. Hongjoong tilts his head from side to side, letting a quiet hum ring through the room before speaking again.

“Did you truly believe that when Jisung told you that? I thought I taught you all to think more critically than that. After all, who in the universe could want you badly enough to kidnap and work with deadly pirates?” Hongjoong looks you dead in the eye as he asks the question. You scoff to deflect the panic it sends through your system.

“With a bounty like mine, it’s enough for anyone to resort to violence of some sort.”

“Word gets around quickly, and people hear things fast in our little world. Pirates are good at transmitting information swiftly. Which means that everyone already knows you are now employed by the Black Scourge’s crew. So I’ll ask again: who could possibly want you badly enough to cross me of all people?”

There is only one answer to that question, and that answer just walked off the bridge not too long ago. You can’t bring yourself to admit it with your words, although you don’t need to because Hongjoong simply continues speaking without missing a beat.

“Jisung made no mistakes. There were no missteps. When we were in the arena, there was never any intention of kidnapping you. There was no hesitation on his part, he knew what he was doing, he knew how to play into your hands. He made a deal with Vladimir — allow his own crew to get into the arena so that he could take two of my crew, then he would kidnap Mingi for Vladimir as payment. Because Jisung knew there was an easier way to get you since he knew what kind of person you are from time in the military together. He knew that if he took your teammates, you would not hesitate to sacrifice yourself for their safety. And thus, he made his offer: an exchange of you for your crewmate’s recovery. In reality, he was the one who took them intentionally in the first place.”

A smile twists at the man’s lips, one that is almost unsettling and disturbing, and you find yourself shifting your weight from foot to foot as you look down at him.

“I played right into his hands then,” you murmur, glancing away to grant yourself some semblance of peace.

“That may be the case, yes… however, once something is mine, I don’t particularly like letting go of it. If there’s one thing I have in common with such a person, it’s that. I am undeniably selfish, Y/N. And now that you’re here with me, I don’t intend to let anyone take you from my hands. If he wants you so desperately, then he will have to go through hell to get you, and giving people hell is my specialty.”

“Is that the same reason you pointed a gun at my head?”

“Every man has his price. I find threats to be quite effective in securing bargains and deals. Before I placed that gun to your head, he didn’t imagine I could be so cruel. And now… I’ve only confirmed every suspicion that has been eating at my mind since I woke up.”

“And those suspicions would be what?” You dare to ask, leveling the man seated before you with a stare that he regards out the corner of his eye.

“Han Jisung is nothing but a hungry dog, and I intend to make him bite.”

✧✧✧ a/n: haha? 17.2k WHO?! gotta admit this is my fave chapter i’ve ever written the ending hits im v proud of her ! what did i say i said she would be a long one but even i didn’t expect this i cannot lie well as i said i am dropping and yeeting (to sleep) but i’ll be here to watch my chaos unfold a bit first ;3 as ALWAYS let me know what you think, give me the juicy deets, the theories, the screaming, the ‘caly how could you’, and all that jazz it’s SO good to be posting a mists chapter yall have no idea how happy it makes me to do this again fogijdfiogaj, she’s heavily unedited tho so im sorry in advance for grammatical issues

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @fuckjoong​

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

[whump-town]

In With The New, Out With The Old

Hotch packing Jack up for college

None of it feels real.

For two years after he and Haley divorced he lived in an apartment of boxes. It was some sort of punishment he created for himself while also creating a dissonance he could be lost in -- that he didn’t need to unpack just in case. He had his suits in the closet, his work would not take the fall for his personal life’s failings. The coffee maker sat on the counter, one of the only appliances hooked into a light socket. The necessities followed -- two mugs for coffee, a glass tumbler for the whiskey sitting on the counter, and one plate for when he ordered take-out he couldn’t just eat out of the box.

It had taken him months to buy a mattress, he was perfectly miserable sleeping on the couch. He had only taken Jack to the apartment once, needing to switch into more park-appropriate clothing. Between them, he and Haley agreed that the best thing for Jack was consistency so he would spend all day with Hotch but he would always go home to Haley. He knew this could be used against him in court, Haley could take Jack from his so easily it terrified him but he also knew he’d let her. He was more powerful, he had more strings to pull and more people on his side but the thought of getting on the stand and having his friends call her a bad mother made him feel even worse. So he knew that if it came down to it, he would let Haley have Jack rather put either of them that sort of grueling case.

This was a shared thought between them. Both are aware of the other’s power over the other. Neither will act on their own.

He had only bought a mattress because of New York. Limping home he’d sunk down into his old faithful couch only to wake up the next morning with achingly stiff sutures in his leg and his face stuck to a throw pillow, the blood drying like glue. He had to call Emily and Derek that afternoon. Unable to drive himself with his concussion and consequential blurred vision Emily had come over to pick him up, never said a word about what he’d been sleeping on in the months before. Neither did Derek when Hotch got too dizzy coming up the stairs, the stitches in his leg bleeding through his jeans and so pale Emily had to hold him upright to get him to the bench in the lobby. He was left there, listening to Derek and Emily bicker their way into forcing the mattress into the apartment through the pounding sound of blood rushing in his ears.

That was years ago and yet they’ve created its mirror image once again in his living room.

All of Jack’s belongings in boxes spread out in every room of the house. Packing up to leave.

“Art?” Emily mumbles disapprovingly. She’s knelt down in front of Jack’s bookshelf, dismantling the organized shelves to pack them into boxes. It’s a different method than the one that Hotch uses. Jack has them categorized by author and general theme and as Emily takes down all the books she’s gotten him about cults and psychology and crime she can’t help but feel a little cheated. Jack knows all about crime. He’s had Macdonald’s Triad memorized since he was five -- could give that method of thought its critical analysis as not a precursor to antisocial or serial killer behavior but more as a demonstration of a child’s poor coping skills or as the indicator of a dysfunctional home environment. He’s a well of information about cults, knows the “B.I.T.E.” system.

And he’s throwing all that away because Hotch took him to too many museums as a child?

Jack doesn’t say anything when he hears her grumble about art again, he’s had this conversation so many times. He knows she’s not really mad and she’s not even that irked but she needs to do something with the feelings she has about him leaving and this is just the best way she’s come up with. Better than crying -- which she’s also done far too much of.

“I think art is a great idea, kid.” Derek teases his hair as he passes, sweaty and hot from dragging Jack’s belongings around the place.

Hotch works slowly where he’s been assigned. They all work around him. He’s more freelance than the others. His job is to do what he can and leave the rest for someone else. Today his physical capabilities are not in the way. Derek does all the heavy lifting that Hotch knows is supposed to be assigned to him, it’s his duty as the father of the freshman moving away. He finds himself in the living room, one of Haley’s old photo albums on his lap. Thumbing pictures he can remember going with Haley to print. Pictures he can remember being in. Ones that he took.

He’s crying again.

Emily comes out with a box of books on her hip, having figured out the perfect ratio of books to box to prevent them from falling out the bottom. She sees Hotch wiping his face with a tissue, hiding away but unable to fully pull away right now. The hurt raw. The fear is too much.

The second that Hotch got the chance he left home and never came back. Over the years he returned to his hometown only when he had to -- when Haley’s parents couldn’t be convinced to come to see them. It didn’t matter how down bad he was, Hotch did it on his own. When his mother died when he was thirty he’d talked to her only once since moving out. Then it had only been for the benefit of Sean, who he had driven all the back to Virginia to collect and drove to college.

He fears Jack will do the same and it terrifies him in so many ways.

His own death will come quickly, he knows he’s only made it this long because he’s not alone. Without Jack, there’s no reason to keep going on, not with the way his body aches from years of abuse and neglect. More than that, he knows what growing up that fast did to him. As a child, the things that happen to you are out of your control. Children are sponges, not yet able to take control and mold themselves. So their reactions to abuse and neglect and even just trivial everyday things are but a reaction they are taught to form or never corrected on. But Hotch never corrected his behaviors as a young adult. He couldn’t bring himself to trust anyone, not at twenty, or thirty, and still at forty.

He spent his twentieth birthday on the side of the highway in a broken down car freezing his ass off with negative twenty-three cents in his bank account. No one to call because he couldn’t bring himself to believe anyone would come -- but Haley would have, or Jessica, or the sociology professor who gave him his number for emergencies or “just anything you can think of, just in case you need me”.

He doesn’t wish anything like that on Jack.

The cycle of self-destruction and fear and loathing.

But Jack knows how to form healthy relationships with people. He’s more worried about Hotch.

The car ride is nearly silent.

Jack cranks his window down and lays his head on the seal, lets the wind blow his hair back from his skin, and closes his eyes. There’s no air conditioning but it’s not that bad. The air has cooled off, the thunderstorms taking over the area sucking the humidity from the air as the wind picks up. It’ll get bad again in a day or so but today is nice and Jack wants to enjoy it. To sit contently with his dad and just try to soak it in before he’s thrown into the world of college.

Emily had promised him several times she’d make sure that Hotch didn’t turn himself into a hermit. Jack has grown up watching those two spar off so he knows she’s perfectly capable of getting Hotch out of the house. More than that, Jack knows he’s just going to miss his dad.

“Please--” Jack’s in the middle of trying to reorganize his stuff when he sees Hotch come in with one of the big boxes, one of the heavy ones. “Dad!” Jack takes it from him, not listening to Hotch’s complaint about being able to carry a few boxes. That he won’t break that easily. “Please, just leave the heavy stuff to Emily and Derek. Help me put my clothes away? Please?”

He nearly cries again folding Jack’s t-shirts away. Once upon a time, Jack’s shirts were about the size of his hand. Tiny delicate little things about the size of rags. Now he’s wearing the same size as Hotch, a grown man standing there racing to beat Emily to the heavy stuff because he doesn’t want her lifting it all either.

“Well,” Derek announces, setting the minifridge down, “that’s the last of it.”

Emily offers Hotch her hand and he takes it, grunting as he moves his body back upright.

“Well,” he declares, looking around the room. “We’ll leave you to it. Let you get everything sorted out how you like.” Hotch smiles and Emily and Derek step in to take their hugs, imparting half-wise ideas and a no-questions-asked ride home from anywhere.

“I love you,” Hotch says, he’s quick because he knows he can’t keep his composure if he stays here for too much longer. “I’ll send you care packages, you’ll just have to text me if you think of something I don’t send.”

Jack nods, pretending to make himself busy putting away the rest of his clothes. Trying to downplay his own feelings.

“Ok.”

Hotch nods and they leave, he doesn’t want to make a scene. They’ve hugged and Jack needs to unpack. He’s done. He’s only two doors away when he hears Jack’s door gets thrown open.

“Dad!” Hotch turns and stumbles, an armful of the little boy who was once the size of his forearm. He squeezes Jack tight, laughing through his tears when Jack holds on. “I love you too.”

Hotch holds him for a solid minute, just balanced there with his hand on the back of Jack’s head. “Alright,” he whispers. He sniffles a little, smiling as he cups Jack’s cheek wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I’m just a phone call away, okay? Any time of the night, you know where I am. You’ll be fine. You’re going to make mistakes and you’re going to fail tests and cry over boys and drink too much but you’ll be okay. And-- And if you’re not…”

Jack nods, smiling as he says, “I’ll call Emily.”

Hotch smirks, “well.. After a certain hour, yeah I suppose you’ll have to but yeah. Just call, okay?”

“I’ll call.”

Hotch nods and he has to force himself to let go and walk away. To let Jack do this.

They’re halfway down the hall, far enough away now that Jack won’t see or hear when Hotch starts to cry. He forces himself to keep going. Not to look back. Emily takes his hand, squeezes his fingers and he looks over at her tears in his eyes, and tries to smile.

Emily drives his truck home, she plans on feeding him chocolate and ice cream, and wine this afternoon to improve his mood. He gets a text and he smirks, he actually laughs.

“Let me know when you get home, old man. Tell Emily not to keep you out too late.”

[camistired]

stranger

scenario: trying to show Bucky that your there for him during tfatws, but he keeps ignoring you

a/n: i started writing this yesterday after watching the first episode of tfatws. if people like this, i might make this a whole ff following the show, so let me know if you like this. also please ignore any mistakes or if it’s wordy, i haven’t written anything in months. i am open to criticism!

edit: i didn’t realize i didn’t name until i was trying to add it to my masterlist, so please ignore the half-assed name, please and thankyou

reader has been left gender-neutral and has no specific race written

spoiler warning

It had been a few months since everyone started reappearing, yourself included. The last thing you remembered was waiting out the fight with Thanos with Shuri, and you remembered feeling lighter then usual and you watched as your friend turned to dust before your very eyes. However what felt like the same breathe, you watched as her being was rebuilt by the same dust the took her away.

It had been a lot to process, to know that you and others close to you had basically died, and came back to the same exact fight happening. It was worse to come back to know that one of your dearest friends was dead and she couldn’t be brought back like the lot of you. It sucked standing in-between Bucky and Sam at Tony’s funeral.

You had missed five years of life, and for what? For some giant purple pyscho titan to stop over population and then become a space rancher? In your eyes, it was complete and utter bullshit. But you can’t change the past.

With Steve’s retirement, Bucky’s pardon, and Sam still kicking ass and saving people as The Falcon, you felt lost. Everyone else has scattered around to handle everything by themselves. But you thrived off of others, that’s just how you worked. So, sitting lonely in your single bedroom Brooklyn apartment, you let out a loud sigh.

You stayed in New York, purely for Bucky’s sake. The man is a hundred and six, and is an ex-assassin, he doesn’t need your help. Especially since you can barely hold a gun without nearly pissing your pants. But you knew the man was basically alone. He spent his past ninety years being in and out of ice fighting, except when he had his moment of peace in Wakanda.

You’ve tried to reach out, called him every now and again, but it was always went to voicemail. You left so many voicemails, your surprised it isn’t full by now. But you’ll keep leaving them, no matter if he actually listens to them or if he just deletes them immediately. You hoped that they gave him some sort of comfort if he did ever listen to them.

You looked at the time, it was a quarter past eleven. You let out another sigh. Something you still haven’t been able to get down was your damn sleep schedule. Sometimes you stayed up until two - three in the morning and sleep into the afternoon, and that was on a good day. You tried to establish a routine, but it just  never worked. If you tried to go to bed earlier, you end up either staring at the ceiling till sunrise or waking up in the middle of the night, for no reason. You didn’t have to use the bathroom, you didn’t have a nightmare, you just woke up, and you couldn’t go back to sleep, no matter what you tried. You’ve expressed this to your brother, you suggests maybe you go see a therapist, maybe do a sleep study, but you just shut the ideas down. That was the last things you wanted to do, was be monitored.

However, you couldn’t do this anymore. You forced yourself out of bed and changed your clothes from your normal sweatpants and baggy t-shirt to leggings and a slightly less baggy shirt. If you couldn’t fall asleep naturally, might as well take a walk around the block and maybe take a melatonin tablet or two, see if that does anything.

Locking your door, you start walking down your hall when you see a man walk away from your neighbor’s, Yori Nakajima’s, door. You’ve known the old man for as long as you lived here. You’ve tried to help him out as much as he will let you, and even though he’ll never admit it, he appreciates the help. He tries to repay in small ways, he even offers you to join him and a younger friend of his for sushi down at Izzy, but you always turn him down. You helped to help, not get anything in return.

You walked up to Yori’s door but he closed it before you could reach his door. You sighed and instead decided to talk to the man walking away.

“Excuse me!” You called out, walking towards him. He seemed to tense up and walked a little faster but you touch his arm before he could go much farther.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, I just have a few question...”

He cursed under his breathe but he didn’t move. That’s when you noticed the way he held himself. His body language very much showed he was uncomfortable, and whether he was doing on purpose or subconsciously, he was leaning away from where your hand met his arm.

You moved your hand back down to your side but you walked in front of him and you froze when you saw his face.

“Bucky?!”

He seemed to shy into himself more when you recognized who he was, making you instantly felt bad. However, examining him he looked different. His hair was a big one, ever since you first met Bucky,  his hair was shoulder length. But he looked a lot cleaner with shorter hair, his loose curls a lot more prominent now. However, that  seemed to showcase the most change. It felt as if he went backwards more than anything.

His jacket, the gloves, the brooding energy radiating off of him. He felt like the man you met back when the whole “Civil War” mess was happening.

He softly addressed you, but he still never looked at you directly. It was concerning especially since you considered you two close. But maybe it was because you two haven’t talked properly? Maybe because he’s been ignoring your calls? Whatever the reason, you didn’t care. It made you feel better he was out talking to people, no matter that it was your older neighbor, he was interacting with people. It made you wonder if he had talk to Sam, but you doubted it.

“Long time no see, stranger. Glad to see your still alive.”

He looked at you with a blank expression, and you recognized that looked. He was looking for a tell, if you were angry at him or not. In all honesty, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be angry like he excepted you to be. You’re glad he was doing something, he didn’t have to be okay fully, just as long as he was going out.

“I’m not angry, Bucky.” You said flatly, as his eyes met yours. You could tell that he relaxed, physically. “I mean, concerned, sure. Scared you had locked yourself in your apartment, definitely. But not mad. Just... wished you would have called. Sent a text to let me know you were okay... Anything, really.”

He sighs, “I know... I should have done something- said something. I just have a lot going on.”

“Everyone does. Half of the population got turned into dust, we’ve lost a lot of friends. It’s just... we’ve gotta stay together, you know? We can’t rely on Steve anymore... And the more we’re by ourselves, the more we’re just creating terrible coping mechanisms, ya know?”

He seems to be taking in your words and you just smile at him softly. “Just think about it, okay?”

You begin walking down the hall before you turn towards him again, “Oi! And Barnes?”

He looks up at you, “Yeah?”

“If I don’t hear from you soon, just know I will hunt you down and beat your ass! No more of this distancing, stranger shit. I know how to find you now. And you know where I live!”

You smirk as you turn around to finally go on that walk, but little did you know that Bucky had a little smirk of his own as he took in your words.

“No more distancing, no more acting like a stranger... I have to start nurturing my friendships...”

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 4

Hang onto your butts... This one's on the longer side!

chapter index

----------

“Who?”

“Sango.” Kagome answered as steadily as possible.

“Who are they?” Inuyasha was intentionally bouncing questions off of her quickly to see how she’d answer, to see how her body language would respond. Would she flinch? Twitch? Shift her eyes to the left, or waver in any way, shape, or form?

“M-my friend.”

There. Sure, the stammer could be written off as her anxiety, but she didn’t elaborate when it was clear that this was the opportunity to do so.

“Why are you looking for them?” He reached anyway.

Kagome cursed herself. She was a quick-thinker, but her mind felt so muddled. She was still uneasy, uncomfortable, and frightened, and it impeded any ability she had to cover her own ass. She was usually a good liar, but she was in the most unfair disposition of all right now.

She gnawed her bottom lip, playing it off as she thought up something. “She went out a few days ago and hasn’t returned yet.”

“And, they sent you to look for her?”

“I left on my own.”

Inuyasha sighed out through his nose, the breath clenched in his throat and sounding almost like the breaking waters of the sea in his own ears. He shut his eyes, tilting his head and resting his cheek on the arm he used to hold the girl’s hands above her head. He gave himself a moment before continuing on, glancing back down at her with patient eyes.

“Tell me the truth. What are you really doing out here?” He demanded, and he watched her face flush instantaneously.

He’d seen right through her the whole time. What else could she have said? The truth was out of the question, so she didn’t know what else to give him in response. Decidedly, Kagome kept her mouth shut.

Her fearful expression was pressing, brown eyes unintentionally guilting him. Why wouldn’t she just tell him? “Are you in danger?”

Still, she didn’t speak.

“Come on, kid, you gotta give me something to work with. Are you on the run?”

“No.” Kagome shook her head.

“Are you in danger?” He asked again.

“No.” She said.

Both truths.

“Do you live nearby?”

She hesitated that time, but chose to answer in the end. “No. Not really.”

“So, what are you doing out here?”

Kagome bit her bottom lip out of habit, trying to steady herself. “I really am looking for someone.”

Inuyasha gave a dry chuckle. “But, you’re not gonna tell me who.”

She didn’t respond, eyes falling to his chest.

“Gonna stick with the Sango story?”

Kagome could only nod.

“Alright.” Inuyasha accepted. He occupied his freehand, removing his sword in its sheath from the loop in his belt and dropping them to the leaf-covered earth. He moved to unlatch the buckle in the center, pushing the free end of the worn leather through the metal bracket.

“What are you doing?” Kagome asked, her nerves suddenly spiking again. She pushed herself further against the tree to shy away from him as much as she could.

“Hey, calm down. It’s not what you think.” He immediately stated, trying to fend off her discomfort. “I didn’t bring rope along with me, so this is gonna have to do until we can get back to my things.”

“Rope for what?”

“What do you think?”

“I told you there’s no bounty.” Kagome argued. “What do want with me?”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but bounty or not, you’re still acting suspicious. It’s usually a good idea to keep people like you close in case anything arises.”

“Like what?”

“Answers, first of all. Look, until I find out if money will eventually be offered for you, someone is looking for you, or if something’s wrong and you’re involved, you’re sticking with me.” He said with a sense of finality, pulling his undone belt from the loops in his pants.

“But, none of those things are the case.” Kagome said, more defeated than she’d ever sounded before. She granted him an indignant stare. “You’re wasting your time.”

Inuyasha lowered her hands in front of her, pleased that she wasn’t struggling. Her wrists were small, so it was very easy to keep them secure with just one of his palms, and he began wrapping the leather around them, fastening it tightly so she wouldn’t be able to pull her hands right out.

“I’ve got a gut feeling that I’m really not.” He shrugged his brows, giving a little tug on the belt to make sure it wasn’t too loose. “Can you still feel your fingers?”

“For now.” She replied impassively. Kagome sighed out, her shoulders dropping. As of right now, she had zero energy remaining in her to fight. She’d expended everything she had the day before, with Hiten, and then now while she attempted to escape this guy. The few hours of sleep she’d stolen were barely doing a thing for her at this point, and as her adrenaline levels trickled away, she could feel just how fatigued she truly was. This was just too much commotion in the span of twenty-four hours. So, she reluctantly gave in to her savior-turned-captor.

Honestly, with his tone having relaxed and the way he now handled her, she didn’t feel the danger she did just moments ago. And, that was more dangerous than anything. She should feel scared in this sort of situation, she should be nervous, she should be trying to get away and fight him off. Now would have been a good time to use her spiritual powers, and yet she felt it was the wrong thing to do. He was taking her captive, and she felt wrong for thinking to use her powers on him. Her exhaustion had to be getting to her more than she’d thought. He said he wasn’t going to hurt her a moment ago, and she legitimately believed him.

What sort of mess was she in for?

Inuyasha leaned down and grabbed his sword from the ground, his other hand busy holding the belt between her forearms. He gave a small pull and they were on their way, which thanks to her, was going to take much longer. Not only was he going to have to actually walk, because he wasn’t about to carry the girl all the way back to his destination and he didn’t think she could manage running several miles right now - or even a fast-paced walk at that, but they were also significantly off course. It wasn’t entirely her fault, given he’d had to pursue Hiten for quite a ways before she’d shown up, but once she took off like a bat out of hell, the trek back became even worse. His bet: they’d be in the area just before the sun set.

The girl hadn’t said a word. She kept up fairly well, didn’t give him any reason to yank her wrists so she’d go a little faster, didn’t struggle, didn’t do much of anything, really. A couple times when he’d stolen a glance back at her, she was observing the scenery, eyes half-lidded. There were a few occurrences where she’d lost her footing and slid down hills and he’d had to catch her. He didn’t criticize her. It would have been natural for him to criticize her, but something inside told him she wouldn’t be able to bite back right now. Though, when she’d apologized for her stumbling, even her whispers were barely coherent. From that point on, down any slope or hill they traveled over, he moved slowly, stabilized her properly, and supported her the whole way down.

Finally, he could see the area he’d accidentally dropped his shit in. Hiten was quick, and his bag wasn’t worth grabbing in the heat of the moment. Luckily, no one had wandered through the woods and snagged it. Even more luckily, they weren’t all that far from the family who’d initially offered him the lump sum. They were close to stopping for the night.

Inuyasha dropped his sword to the ground before turning and undoing the leather from around her wrists, allowing her a minute to shake her hands and rub out the indentations they’d left behind. Then, he gestured for her to get on her knees beside him, moving with her so she didn’t get uncomfortable with him still standing. He could understand how that could be misperceived, and he wasn’t about that whatsoever.

“I want your hand on me. Anywhere.” He said while he kneeled. The girl went ahead and rested on her butt for the moment, legs crossed in front of her. At her suspicious side-eye, he went ahead and elaborated, swallowing his chuckle at her silent judgement. “I don’t want you running off while I’m distracted. Come on, just hold my clothes or something.”

Kagome sighed, reaching over and slipping her fingers into his closest, available pocket just as he turned to rummage through his bag of belongings. If he’d been paying attention by now, he’d have been well aware that she didn’t have it in her to challenge him to a race again. Therefore, the physical contact was completely unnecessary. Kagome wasn’t going anywhere, but alternatively she didn’t have the energy to argue either.

Inuyasha couldn’t fight the humored grin that grew on his lips, and as he pulled the rope out of the pouch of his bag, he shifted around to look at the girl. “I like how you went for my back pocket.”

Realizing where her fingers were, Kagome hastily pulled her hand free, opting to grab onto the top hem of his pants, instead. There was no hiding her embarrassment but she tried anyway, turning her head off to the side to stare at the warm glow cast through the treetops, accenting the forest beautifully with golds, oranges, and pinks that were only granted for an hour or so throughout the day. His laughter made her cheeks burn hotter. She could literally feel the maddening blush on the bridge of her nose and just beneath her eyes, and she wished he’d just let it go without teasing her. She hadn’t been paying attention when she’d reached over. She hadn’t noticed she was touching his butt, and it was most definitely innocent and not meant inappropriately.

“It’s fine,” He rasped between chuckles, reaching for her wrist at the back of his hip. He shifted around to face her, enjoying her humility far too much. “Little pervert.”

“Stop it.” She whispered, scrunching her nose. He liked it.

“What? All you had to do was ask.” Inuyasha pestered, gesturing for her other hand.

“You’re a jerk.” Kagome huffed.

“I know, I know.” He smirked, shrugging his brows carelessly as he began constructing a knot around her wrists. As per usual, he tied it tight, making sure there was no room for error. Women, in general, had small hands and wrists and could weasel their way out of snares, so he was naturally inclined to avoid those mistakes. Her wince had him inadvertently pausing, glancing up to make sure she was alright and then loosening the reins a tad. For some reason, for some odd and interesting reason, he didn’t want to treat her like she was as disposable as the other people he sought out. There was no reason to. Her description wasn’t on any lists that he’d seen, and he knew, he just knew, she was mixed up in something else. Something bigger that she wasn’t yet willing to talk about. Yes, she was in his captivity. Yes, he would hand her over if someone was looking. But, the bruise around her throat had him feeling she didn’t deserve any sort of abrasive treatment at the moment. No matter how much attitude she’d presented to him a while ago.

“Too tight?” Inuyasha asked as he finished off the knot, leaving a long tail so that he could keep her close without having to hold her wrists anymore.

“What do you care?” She quietly sassed.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” He countered.

“It’s fine.” Kagome finally answered, giving her fingers a faint wiggle to make sure blood was still flowing to them.

Inuyasha nodded in a that’s-what-I-thought fashion, sticking the tail of rope beneath his boot to keep her next to him. He threaded the belt back through the loops in his trousers, then pulled a canteen of water from his bag. Removing the cap, and without a second thought, he handed it to the girl, making sure she had a proper grip on it between her closely-tied hands before releasing it completely. There was more than enough slack in the rope for her to be able to lift the bottle to her lips, and she took a quick sip, aiming to hand it back immediately after.

“Drink it.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t need it. Not as much as you. Don’t want you keeling over on me.” He said, waiting for her to raise it back to her mouth. When there was hesitation, he continued. “I’m serious, kid. Drink it. I know you’re thirsty.”

Kagome started drinking full gulps, the tepid water still soothing to her dry, irritated throat. She slowed down so she wouldn’t upset her stomach, ignoring the fact that the demon was eyeing her. She’d noticed it several times their entire trip there, and not once could she grasp why he studied her. Again, she just didn’t have the energy to ask. She also didn’t want to give him attention if that was what he was seeking, so she actively pretended she never noticed it.

“Better?” He asked, holding his hand out for the empty bottle. The girl nodded, giving it back and rubbing her lips together to spread the moisture from the water over them. He capped the canteen, tossing it back in his bag and shutting it. “What’s your name?”

Her brown eyes held steady on his for a moment, searching for something, maybe even thinking of a reason as to why she should answer him.

“What’s yours?” She asked in return.

“Inuyasha.”

“That’s right,” She nodded slowly. “I remember Hiten saying that now.”

There was another beat of silence, and Inuyasha had to give himself a mental clap on the back. Patience had never been his virtue, and though he wanted to grind his teeth every time he had to wait for an answer, he was still holding composure well.

“My name’s Kagome.”

“Alright, Kagome,” He spoke, throwing the straps of his bag over his shoulders. He stood, putting Tessaiga back in its rightful place on his hip and then stepped off of the rope, reaching down to grab her by the arms and help her stand faster than he was sure she would have on her own. “Let’s get going.”

“Where, exactly, are we going?”

“I’ve got some people I need to talk to. They’re less than a mile or so from here. Then, we’ll be finding a good place to set up for the night.”

She didn’t say anything thereafter, simply accepting his answer and following him along. He held onto the rope, and she continued to keep up well enough so there was slack. The last thing she wanted was to be yanked forward if she’d drifted behind a bit, and she really wouldn’t put it passed him to do so. Kagome could only imagine it would make her feel like a dog on a leash.

The thought had her attention shooting toward the top of his head. His pointed ears matched the shade of his hair, triangular in shape, sometimes swiveling to catch sounds in the woodlands. She was intrigued by them, watching them for several paces. She’d met a couple of humanoid demons before, aside from Naraku’s goons, but none of them quite held the physical characteristics Inuyasha did.

“Cat or dog?” The question had slipped off her tongue before she’d caught it, and even though she’d never much intended to ask, feeling like she was intruding on personal information, it also felt harmless. And, if he declined to answer, it wasn’t going to hurt her feelings.

Inuyasha glanced at Kagome from over his shoulder, brows furrowed in curiosity. The question came out of left field, and he couldn’t help but be surprised that she was feeling a little talkative now. Truthfully, he was enjoying the silence, but so long as she didn’t yap his ears off, then he was fine.

Ears. It was his ears. She was asking because of his ears.

“What’s your guess?” He queried, his tone low and casual.

Kagome made a small sound as she pondered, not immediately answering. “Cat?”

Inuyasha’s ears twitched in offense, and his lips curled in repulsion. “What?”

“Am I wrong?” She inquired innocently. “I only thought it made sense since you’re kind of feisty like a cat, too.”

Abruptly, he stopped walking. The statement stung his pride, and he couldn’t blame anybody but himself for that one. He should have just answered. Always tell them, never let them guess. Rookie mistake. Inuyasha scrunched his nose, looking back at the girl and shaking his head.

“Oh. So, dog?” Her tone still held soft.

He merely nodded in reply, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sorry.” Kagome whispered.

“I’m half.” Inuyasha said, after a long moment of silence, clearing his throat. They’d continued walking, and he could smell the scents of the small, homely town ahead. Dinners were being made, people were beginning to head indoors, and he didn’t sense an ounce of chaos. Meaning, Naraku’s men had chosen a good day to fuck off.

“Half?”

“You’re wondering why I’ve got dog ears, right?” He guessed. “It’s because I’m a half demon, or hanyou, so some of my features are mixed.”

It made sense now why his demonic aura wasn’t as pronounced as Hiten’s when she’d first seen him. He only had half the power. Frankly, it didn’t completely add up to her. She didn’t sense an even division. His demonic blood was there, and it demanded acknowledgment, it just wasn’t as prominent as any other demon’s she’d encountered. If he’d said he wasn’t completely demon, she’d have believed him just as well, but she was honestly surprised, with the energy she felt radiating from him, that he was only half. Whomever his bloodline originated with must have been incredibly formidable.

What had the majority of Kagome’s interest was how he so openly admitted to who or what he was. Conjurers weren’t the only ones being wiped out of existence. So were hanyou. Half demon’s had actually been ostracized since before Naraku showed face, Naraku just upped the ante. Some humans reproachably saw them as tainted, vile creatures. They looked at demons as a breed one should never mate with, and if a baby was born between the two species, it was hated from the moment of conception. The same was said about demons. To mate with a human was taboo and nearly unheard of. Demons spoke of hanyou as if they were disgusting, unworthy, and offensive to their kind. Demons refused to claim half-breeds as one of their own, and humans did the same. The only people half demons could rely on were their families.

Kagome had met one when she was around fifteen. She, Miroku, and Sango were out being reckless, their typical M.O., and Miroku had scraped his leg up pretty bad near the outskirts of a nearby village. Jinenji was the sweetest person she’d ever met. He didn’t laugh, didn’t criticize, hardly said a word, and blushed if either of the girls made eye contact with him. His mother, on the other hand, was slightly frightening, but Kagome supposed that’s where their family dynamic found balance. Her son was large, apparently malformed, and to a closed-minded person, terrifying. So, the rest of the village judged him harshly and outcasted him, never treated him fairly, and were even cruel and violent at times. Jinenji was timid and gentle. He was educated in herbal remedies, making medicines, and could even dish out basic horticulture. He was helpful, good, strong, and kind. He was a living, breathing being. Jinenji had a beating heart, a brain, and blood running through his veins just like everyone else. He deserved the same respect humans and demons expected.

It was there that Kagome had first learned of a half demon’s mistreatment. Jinenji’s mother explained how difficult it was for him growing up, how some half demons come out “pretty,” while others not so much. She explained the unjustified wrath their mere existence created, and the three teenagers felt sick to their stomachs hearing such a thing. Never could Kagome understand anyone’s logic for condemning someone or something just for living.

So, she couldn’t imagine Inuyasha’s past or the amount of trials he’s experienced. That’s why she wondered how he seemed so okay telling her he was of mixed blood. Maybe he didn’t care because he was strong and could fend for himself, so he wasn’t worried about others knowing who he was. Maybe it was because his traits were visible, and even obvious to other demons since they could easily tell a half-breed from a full blood, and he’d potentially be outed either way if they ran into one. Had he had it hard? Had he ever run into Naraku’s men? If so, had they ever succeeded in doing something horrible to him? Attempted to kill him? Kagome blinked the thoughts away, shying her gaze to the earth as they walked. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for her captor.

“I’m only gonna be a minute.” Inuyasha started as he unsuspectingly stopped directly in front of a slim tree. “If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll hear you.”

“Wait, what?” Kagome questioned. He’d started wrapping the slack of her rope around the tree trunk, fastening her to stand close to it and knotting the rope in a fashion that she wouldn’t be able to reach. She looked around, only seeing woodland, and she wondered just where the hell Inuyasha was about to head off to.

“Trust me.” He dismissed.

“You honestly expect me to trust you? After all this?” She grimaced.

“Or not.” He chuckled, shrugging dismissively. “Just don’t scream. It’ll be more annoying than anything.”

Kagome groaned, her head dropping back. “Where are you going?”

“I told you, I need to talk to someone. I’ll be back.”

“It’ll be dark soon.”

“I’ll be right back.” He repeated more firmly. When she only stared at him through furrowed brows, he took his leave, confident that he would be near enough to hear her in case she needed help. She could be grumpy all she wanted, it didn’t matter to him.

He approached the yard carefully, smelling each occupant of the home from outside, their freshly baked bread, cooking meat, and recently-burned incense. This was usually his favorite part of a job, but at this point, it was just a courtesy. He didn’t know if this would be comforting for anyone, really.

“Inuyasha.” He’d heard the voice from his right and spotted a young girl that was no more than fourteen donned in a blue dress. The remaining daughter of the household. He’d made light of her older sister’s death earlier in the day, sure, but that was never something he’d do to the family’s face. He understood that this was difficult and painful for them all, and he wouldn’t disrespect someone who felt so distraught that they were willing to pay for the revenge of their daughter’s murder. The girl perked up a little taller when he looked at her, running over his way with more brightness than he’d expected, her long, brown hair bouncing over her shoulders. “Inuyasha’s back!”

From inside, he could hear her family stumbling to race out, her father appearing first, then the mother who looked so incredibly exhausted that he was surprised her legs cooperated with her to jog over.

“Did you - did you find him? Or are you still looking?” The father asked, and his eyes weren’t subtle as they looked around for evidence of Hiten’s demise.

Kagome had rested her head against the tree, her eyes closed, the bark sort of smooth, pleasant, and cool to the touch. It made sense that he had to leave her. Couldn’t very well walk around with a hostage like it was a casual occurrence. Did it make it acceptable? Absolutely not. She was substantially more vulnerable than any reasonable person would prefer to be. Tied up, drained of all energy, and alone; she was doomed if anyone stumbled upon her.

Not too far off, Kagome could hear a girl shout happily, and she swore she’d heard Inuyasha’s name, bringing her ears to hone in and focus. Inuyasha was really that close? For some reason, despite what he’d said, she’d expected him to be further off, carelessly leaving her to fend for herself. When he said to trust him, he was giving her legitimate reason to trust. What was with this guy? He was so hot and cold, Kagome wasn’t sure how to read him.

A man spoke next, bringing Kagome back to the present, his tone excited but deep with worry. Did he find him? Who?

“Look, before I say anything, I want you to know that I don’t need nor expect anything in return. I’m just here to let you know that the job is done. Hiten’s gone, but take the money off the table.”

“Wh-what happened?” The mother breathed.

“What do you mean?” Her husband followed.

“Just what it sounds like.” Inuyasha replied.

“He’s gone, or he’s dead?”

“Both, but ultimately, he’s dead.”

“Then, where is he?”

“Unfortunately, things got a little out of hand. I had no choice but to use a powerful attack, which in turn, destroyed his body. There’s nothing left of him.” Inuyasha said.

Right. There was a bounty over Hiten’s head; Kagome remembered the whole reason their little argument had sparked, which was what got her here in the first place. It was a family who’d hired him, though? She couldn’t help but wonder what Hiten had done to make them send Inuyasha after him to begin with.

“Are you sure?” A woman asked, her voice wavering with obvious sadness.

“I swear.”

“How are we supposed to believe you without a body, Inuyasha?” A man spoke harshly. The same man as before. “What if you failed, you’re just backing out because he’s stronger than you, and the moment our guard is down is the moment Hiten will come back for my other daughter?”

“He won’t.” Inuyasha responded, his tone direct and deep.

So, Hiten had killed one of his daughters. That malicious, heartless, stone cold creep. Kagome almost hoped Inuyasha would tell them he had a witness. If he came back and grabbed her, she’d testify for him. He did kill Hiten. He carried out his mission, and the only reason he didn’t have proof to calm this family’s upset was because of her. She’d tell them that, too. He didn’t deserve this heat.

“I guarantee you Hiten is dead and won’t be coming back for anyone else.”

“How are we supposed to believe you?” The man asked again, this time more emphatically.

“You don’t have to. I understand your position, but like I said, I don’t expect the money. I failed to bring back his body, but I made sure to take care of the problem no matter what. You’ll see in due time that Hiten can’t take anything more from your family.”

“And, if he does come back, it’ll be too late to -“

“Honey, stop.” The woman spoke gently. Kagome felt horrible. Awful. Inuyasha had made it seem like he was entirely in it for the money; he’d never told her there were people actually depending on him on the other end of it all.

“Papa, he’s gotta be telling the truth.” A younger girl spoke. The first voice Kagome had heard. “He doesn’t want the payment you’d offered. Think about it, if he was backing out because he wasn’t strong enough - like you said, why would he even bother coming to see us when he could just be on his way?”

“There’s no way I’m weaker than that scrawny bastard.” Inuyasha murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Finally, there was someone sensible, and Kagome breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Look,” Came Inuyasha’s voice, and even Kagome could tell he was leaning on the fed up side. “Hiten’s dead, the job’s taken care of, you got your revenge, your daughter can rest in peace or whatever you guys say nowadays, and I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” The mother spoke, and the hanyou halted mid-turn, his head dropping to his shoulder impatiently. “I believe you. W-we believe you. Please forgive my husband, this is just hard for us all. Take the money.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“We insist.” Her husband spoke, and even though there was clear reluctance in his body language, there was authenticity in his statement. “If you vouch that he’s gone for good, there’s no reason not to believe you. You deserve the payment.”

“Keep it.” Inuyasha said. It was better for them, anyway. Maybe they didn’t know the exact way their daughter died considering he found out through Hiten, himself, and if that was the case, they were better off. Nonetheless, he was aware. It was a sick way to go. Even if he brought back the thunder demon’s body for them as promised, there was a good chance he would have declined payment anyway.

“Okay, then please stay the night. It’s getting late. The least we can provide is a roof over your head and a nice meal as thanks.” The woman offered.

“I appreciate it, but I can’t stay. I’ve got someone waiting for me.”

“A girl?” The young one said almost too elatedly. She must have been the type to always have her nose in romance novels.

“Something like that.” Inuyasha deliberated, bobbing his head to the side.

Kagome huffed, grimacing. That punk.

“Oh, how sweet!”

“If she only knew.” Kagome sighed.

“Well, then I insist you take some food with you! For dinner!” The woman pressed, and it seemed like her spirits had lifted minutely.

“That, I will take.” Inuyasha accepted, giving an appreciative nod.

It was another few minutes before Kagome heard Inuyasha’s footsteps approaching, and she watched the direction he was coming in. The sunset was no longer visible throughout the woodlands, a haze of blues beginning to trickle through as dusk invited itself forward. The air was beginning to get nippier, and she was worried, depending on how much further he wanted to go until he called it a night, that it would be pitch black before they stopped.

Inuyasha’s amber eyes met hers for a moment until he got close, his clawed fingers going straight for the knot he’d fastened.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Mhm.” Kagome hummed, giving a small nod.

“I didn’t hear anything, so I’m guessing no surprises popped out at you.”

She hummed a decline that time, the shake of her head minor. The knot came free, and he allowed the tail of the rope to drop from the trunk of the tree, not immediately snagging it until she took a few steps back, and even then, he was relaxed with his grip. It was like he was testing her. That’s the only explanation that could make sense. Either that, or he was really bad at taking victims alive. The killing part, he seemed to have down. Was he waiting to see if she’d jerk away and make a run for it? Maybe giving chase would be fun for him; he was a dog. Maybe he was seeing if she’d take a mile if he gave an inch. She didn’t much see the point of it. Additionally, he didn’t bother putting anything in or over her mouth before. She could have screamed. He and the family were so close, all she needed to do was scream and his cover would have been blown. Hero facade in the mud. But, she didn’t.

She didn’t.

She didn’t?

Why the hell hadn’t she screamed? Sure, it would have been hoarse as all hell, maybe even muted when her voice gave out, but other people would have been alerted to her situation. She would have had a chance to get away. Why didn’t she scream? He’d even told her not to - literally brought up the idea to her - and still, she didn’t think about doing so afterward. Kagome couldn’t help but worry about her survival instincts that had apparently washed down the drain sometime between this afternoon and now.

Or, maybe it was her survival instincts at play that had prevented her from making a noise. He’d warned her not to. He could have gotten violent if she’d disobeyed him. Maybe even killed the family for finding out his secret.

No. She knew next to nothing about this guy, but she could tell he wasn’t evil. It was in her blood to sense evil, and he wasn’t that. There was something warm about him. Something she’d noticed immediately. Something she’d picked up before he’d even appeared to help her. Something she didn’t like to admit he harbored. He had rough people skills, that’s for sure, but there wasn’t a wretched trait about his aura.

“We’ll just go a little further. I don’t like being close to towns at night.”

“Why not?” She inquired, swallowing her mistakes and trying to forget them.

“Naraku’s bitches.” Inuyasha answered. “It’s one thing if you’re staying in an inn, but if they smell you right outside the village, they like to try and sneak up on you.”

“I take it, you have experience with this?”

“Yeah. Consider yourself lucky you don’t.”

They walked for about thirty minutes, and Inuyasha had to carefully guide the girl, keeping her close as they crept through trees, nowhere near a trail. The way he preferred it. He didn’t smell anything that didn’t seem to belong in the air, no demons were around, and it was quiet as the night settled in. He had decided on a cozy, little spot, not too far off from a rushing water source.

“Here. Sit.” He said, tying her slack to a slim, dying tree beside her. “Give me five minutes to grab some wood for a fire.”

Kagome didn’t respond before he walked off, unable to see him after a certain point but still listening for his footsteps to drift away. Even after she could no longer hear anything but the chirping crickets, she waited, gently chewing on the plush of her bottom lip while she gave ample timing as cushion. As soon as Kagome felt it was sufficient enough, she quickly dove her fingers into the side of her boot, maneuvering around awkwardly as she finagled the small, hidden dagger out. Inuyasha had left just enough slack in the rope between her wrists and the tree that if she lifted her calf a bit, twisting at her hips, she could reach what she was looking for.

Survival instincts back in action!

The positioning of her knife was weird as she aimed to cut the tail of her rope away, but just as the sharp blade touched the underside of it to start slicing upward, Kagome stopped. Why did she stop? There was a cold sensation budding in her abdomen as she pictured herself running away. Was she afraid? It wasn’t like he could use his weapon on her. Last she saw, it wasn’t much of a weapon anymore. That isn’t to say there wasn’t some sort of otherworldly malfunction and it’s back to supersized mode - he hadn’t said a thing about it since, so there was no way of knowing.

The thing was, as she sat there frozen, prepped to start breaking her ties, there were no intrusive thoughts like before when she went to leave home. They were all her own; confused, jumbled, messy, and scattered. She didn’t know which way was up in her head. Why wasn’t she freeing herself yet?

Kagome twisted her face in frustration, mentally fighting with herself. She didn’t have time for this. If she was going to run for it, she needed to do it now. Now. Do it now! Why wasn’t she doing it!? That cold feeling had spread throughout her entire torso, encroaching on her heart. She was afraid, but it was of herself. What the hell was wrong with her? She had an objective, and she wasn’t going to get anything done tied up and dragged around by this dog demon.

As long as she was bound by rope, she was in danger. So, why didn’t she feel like she was in danger? The battle with herself ran so deep, Kagome felt so conflicted, aggravated, that she squeezed the handle of her dagger with excessive force until a sharp pain pierced the injury on her left palm, almost bringing her to drop her knife out of reaction. Her gasp was shuddered, and she crinkled her nose as she hissed in an attempt to will the sudden pain away. It was just another thing she didn’t have time for.

Why would she willingly stay a victim when she had an opening to save herself? Why would Kagome accept captivity? More ambiguously, what in her right mind made her want to trust Inuyasha? He was out for money. For all she knew, he would sell her off to the first person who offered him a coin. Just because he’d saved her life before, didn’t mean he was permanently on her side - the restraints were proof of that. Just because he said he wouldn’t hurt her, didn’t mean he meant it forever. It could have been an in-the-moment sort of thing, and she should know better than this. He pulled out his sword against her. The message behind it was loud and clear. His intentions meant harm. Like she said before, the guy was hot and cold. He went from arrogant teasing one moment to threatening her well-being the next, all over an insult. She should be heeding his unstable temperament, and she should feel evil in his aura.

But, she didn’t. And, that was what kept her ass on the ground. How stupid. How utterly and unforgivably stupid of her. Despite everything, she really did believe he wasn’t going to hurt her. Oh god, Kagome couldn’t take this anymore. Never in her life had she been this mad at herself, the intensity only growing bolder as she gave up and slid the knife back into her boot.

Kagome crumbled, almost wanting to cry from the frustration she felt, overwhelming and subduing the cold that had attempted to control her core, and she dropped her face into her hands. From this point on, if she got hurt, it was her own damn fault. If he sold her, that was her fault too. It turns out, as troubling and trivial as it was, she really just wanted to see where things led. No one said she was the smartest risk taker, even she was aware of the hazards of her own curiosity. If things got worse, perilous, she had the knife. She could make a run for it at any moment, and she forced herself to believe that it was a comfort.

“I’m gonna be fine,” Kagome breathed to herself, pleading her mind to rest. “I’m gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Hey,” The gruff voice was directly and unsuspectingly above her, and it startled Kagome. Inadvertently, still high strung from upsetting her own nerves, she shot to sit up straight. She hadn’t realized Inuyasha was standing so close, hadn’t realized he was leaned over her, and the back of her head harshly collided with the front of his, bringing the hanyou to his knees as she instantly jolted to clutch her sore spot. The ties made it impossible to reach, but the pain had brought her to curl back up anyway, folding beneath her forearms, her breath caught in her throat.

“What the fuck,” Inuyasha groaned, holding his palm to his forehead. “Why would you do that!?”

“I’m sorry! You scared me!” Kagome whined, her head throbbing. “God, is your skull made out of rock or something!?”

“I could say the same fucking thing to you!”

“When did you even get back?” She asked, finally beginning to unfurl from her ball. “Make a noise or something.

“I did! You were just too busy having a breakdown to notice!” He argued.

“I was not having a breakdown.” Kagome proclaimed, shooting him a glare.

Inuyasha’s mouth was opened to respond something snarky, but he froze. Again, his nose was offended by the smell of salt. The moonlight shining through the trees hit her skin perfectly, accentuating her fair color with cool hues. The skin beneath her eyes was wet, and tears were gliding down her cheeks.

“You’re… crying.” He mentioned, appearing more confused than anything. He was literally gone for no more than five minutes - seven minutes at the most since he filled up his canteen at the river. So, what the hell had happened? She was fine when he’d left her. If there was one thing he didn’t know how to handle more than women, it was their emotions, and he was about ready to pretend he didn’t see a damn thing.

“Yeah, I just got hurt! Of course, I’m crying!” Kagome stated matter-of-factly, playing it off well. In her own defense, she was on the brink of tears before he showed up. His skull just pushed her over the edge.

Inuyasha grunted, rolling his eyes and giving one final rub to his tender forehead before pushing himself back to a standing. “Big baby.”

“Takes one to know one.” Kagome grumbled, her upper lip curling with attitude.

The half demon rolled his eyes, intentionally ignoring her remark as he went about structuring the wood and kindling he’d collected for the fire. He got some embers sparking pretty quickly, the flames developing and growing, and Inuyasha stabilized it’s rise by adding more wood. He’d shrugged off his bag when he’d gotten back, so he sauntered over to it and pulled out the bottle of water, taking a quick swig before walking over to the girl. This time, he felt he’d done the right thing by pretending not to notice her hastily wiping her tears away with her captured wrists knotted together.

“Thirsty?”

Kagome shook her head, keeping her eyes low.

“Come on.” He groaned.

“No, thank you.” She whispered.

“Fine.” He rasped, shutting the canteen and tossing it on top of his bag as he gave her space. The hanyou took the opportunity to finally, finally, silence the burning question at the back of his mind. It had been pressing him since the moment it had occurred, and took every bit of self control he had - which wasn’t much to begin with - not to figure out the mystery sooner. With chasing the mouthy girl, swallowing his anger and calming her down so she wouldn’t hyperventilate, and then crossing several miles to get back to the family who’d hired him at a decent enough time, he had no fucking choice but to let the question remain unanswered. The sword on his hip quivered now and again throughout the journey, giving him reminders he didn’t need that it had failed him for the first time in forever. They were lucky he wasn’t solely dependent on it as a weapon and was perfectly capable of fending off anyone and anything with his bare hands.

He gave himself plenty of room between he and the pouting girl, facing the trees, the fingers of his right hand doing a slow dance over the hilt of Tessaiga. Interestingly enough, he could still feel the demonic energy soaring off of it, reacting positively to his own touch. Nothing had changed there. Then, he took a firm grasp of the handle, pulling Tessaiga out of its sheath where the demonic power strengthened. What once sat battered and weak, dull, and nonthreatening, was now strong, thick, sharp, and mighty. His abdomen tensed beneath its weight as he supported his body properly, a muddled sensation filling him as he could only wonder what the fuck had happened before. Inuyasha stuck the top portion of his sword into the earth, allowing it to stand on its own while he turned to face Kagome. She was already looking over, wide, brown eyes glued to Tessaiga before shifting over to him.

“What the hell did you do?” The hanyou asked gruffly.

“What?” Was the only response Kagome could muster. She knew exactly what he was referring to, but how in the world was this falling back on her?

“My sword didn’t transform when I pulled it out on you. What did you do?” He asked again.

“Nothing.” She said defensively, brows pinching together. The half demon merely cocked a brow at her, crossing his arms over his chest, and she knew he was waiting for a real answer, but this was as real as it could get. “I didn’t do anything, Inuyasha. I honestly thought your sword was naturally gigantic. I didn’t even know swords could transform. I mean, it’s not everyday you see a letter opener turn into an ogre killer in one swoop.”

“So then, what did you do?”

“Are you not listening?”

“Hard to understand anything you’re saying really.”

“Oh my god, is this the extent of your maturity level? You get a little aggravated and then turn to insults because that’s your first layer of defense mechanisms? The joke’s dead, buddy. My voice is messed up, I look like crap, I’m short, we get it. Now just talk to me like I’m a person, because I’m doing the same with you. I did not do anything to your precious sword.”

She watched him flex his jaw, heard the heated exhale from his nose, but his vibrant, golden eyes stayed attached to her. His arms tensed behind their black sleeves, still crossed but communicating a more obvious upset.

“What could I have possibly done?” Kagome tried again. She honestly had no idea what more she could say to make him believe her. She’d felt it’s powerful energy when first seeing it, but she truly had no understanding that it was a transformative blade. There was no time to figure out those details. It was honestly one scenario to the next, and Kagome was none the wiser to anything but her own end of circumstances.

Inuyasha didn’t say anything, angry, perplexed, and ready to throw another jab her way. He needed answers more than he needed an infuriating argument, though. He had an idea. It was farfetched, but worth a shot. In his mind, Inuyasha pictured a life or death predicament. Quickly, he painted the scene. Men were surrounding them from all sides, and he needed to defend himself and Kagome. When he was a child, his father had told him that this sword, the Tessaiga, was created to protect. It could only be wielded and mastered if you harbored respect for humans, and was specifically granted to Inuyasha upon his father’s death. His dad died when Inuyasha was still young, and he wasn’t old or strong enough to control it - given the damn thing was ironically known as the sword of destruction. Then, when he was capable, the stupid weapon refused to work for him due to his temporary phase of wanting to find a way to become full demon. No one would have been able to say a fucking thing to him if he were one. No one would have been able to lay a finger on him or his mother had he found a way to transform himself. It wasn’t that simple or doable, though, and when he finally came to his senses, realizing he was just as proficient at fighting just as he was, the Tessaiga started revealing what it could do. It took years, but he could confidently say he’d about mastered the blade. And, he knew well that the quickest way to bring life to Tessaiga was the mindset to protect.

So, he imagined the danger vividly, the helpless, damsel in distress that Kagome was hiding behind his back while bandits encroached. With that in his mind, Inuyasha reached for the hilt of his sword, plucking the head of it from the ground as he faced the trees, threatening energy radiating and encircling the blade as it powered up for a wind scar. He waited, allowing the energy to stabilize at a specific level, and when it was there, the heat of the sword’s need to demolish its target slithering up his flexed forearms, Inuyasha branded Kagome as the enemy.

In his mind, she had her bow raised to him. Innocents were dead, lifeless on the floor all around, and she was gleefully covered in their blood, smiling as she pulled the arrow back. His temper was now directed at her, the need for justice was strong as he made it his mission to prevent her from killing anyone ever again. He wasn’t only doing this to protect himself. No, fuck it. He was doing it to protect anyone he could from her.

Inuyasha raised Tessaiga above his head, the lick of his blade’s passion burning at his palms, the skin of his arms beneath his shirt, and he closed his eyes to make sure his vision didn’t falter when he saw her innocently observing him. Adjusting his footing, the hanyou was able to swivel on his heel to face Kagome’s direction, bringing the sword down to about waist level to aim at her, but then he noticed the hot sensations along his flesh were simmering. Quickly. The fire of his sword’s determination was extinguished, the demonic energy evaporating, and the weight of his weapon diminished within a matter of seconds.

Blinking his eyes open, Inuyasha looked at his sword’s original, battered condition. It wasn’t lifeless, though. The entire thing, blade and hilt, were pulsating forcefully. Tessaiga was communicating with him. It was saying, No. It was saying, You can’t use this on her.

“Why the fuck not?” He breathed, almost inaudibly, before glancing up at the girl.

Kagome had been holding her breath, eyes wide and mouth hanging agape from the moment he’d faced her. She couldn’t even begin to think of what to do to save herself, and froze like a deer who’d been spotted eating the vegetables in your garden. Even as the thing wilted away to its sad, powerless form, she couldn’t quite yet grasp herself. Her entire body was tense where she sat, and when her brain started functioning again, the only thing she could bring herself to say, tremblingly as it may have been, was, “I-I didn’t do anything.”

“Relax.” He drawled, sighing deeply before he sheathed Tessaiga. “It was just a test.”

“Please - please - get a new test dummy.” Kagome shuddered, willing her muscles to unclench. There was no comfort in finding out there was no real threat to her life when her life had already flashed before her eyes.

“Turns out, it’s not you.” He grumbled. “It’s the sword.”

“Is it broken?”

“Did it look broken?” He retorted roughly.

Kagome chose not to answer that, pursing her lips and staring down at her hands. Her sassiness had gotten her into too much trouble already, and she felt like now was not the time to take the bait.

“It’s not broken.” Inuyasha quickly snipped, noticing her coy expression. “There’s just something about - no, you know what?” He was done waiting. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them. Why the fuck would Tessaiga specifically say he couldn’t use its power on her? It had never done that before, not to anyone. Not so long as the proper intentions were enforced. He’d pulled it on the wrong people before, and still, it stayed transformed. So, what was so special about this chick?

Inuyasha marched closer, pulling his weapon out by the sheath as he sat down beside the fire and set it at his side, staring at Kagome with fierce eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“What?” Kagome asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Who are you?”

“Kagome.” She answered unsurely. His lips had sealed, the orange and red tints from the flames dancing over the skin of his face, neck, and the opening of his chest in his shirt. The light created a hypnotic glow in his irises, accenting his color beautifully, but also aiding his steadfast gaze. “I’m Kagome. I’m eighteen. And, to you, I’m nobody.”

He didn’t like that answer. Nobody didn’t sit right with him. Not after his sword threw its own version of a hissy fit. Still, he felt it was sort of fair that that was all she gave. He wasn’t asking for her life story, and he hadn’t clarified what he was looking for. His eyes swept over her, studying for a moment before he spoke again, this time more mellow, less demanding.

“Alright, talk. What happened?”

He was referencing her marks, and Kagome couldn’t help but feel slightly self conscious like before, brown eyes shifting to the side briefly. “Naraku’s men.” She admitted.

It was like the heat from the fire pushed through the barrier of his skin to twist like a whirlwind within his gut. The expansion of warmth rode though the veins of his torso, up his neck, down his arms. Anytime he heard a damn thing about Naraku, or even the henchmen carrying out his orders, it instantly sent his blood into a boil. He refrained from saying anything, but she’d noticed his expressive shift and he was appreciative that she took that cue to elaborate.

“Their last inspection got a little out of hand. I stepped out of line.”

That’s what she was trying to say earlier. He was too vexed to hear her out, though.

“They’re still looking for those conjurers, huh?” He asked, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Y-yeah.” Kagome nodded, her sight drifting downward. She stared at the ground, watching the glowing shadows bounce and dance along the dirt and sparse grass. Her stomach suddenly wrenched with guilt, with pain. She somehow hadn’t thought of this all day, and now that she was back in the moment, it hurt. It made her feel sick to think about it. It was something that couldn’t be neglected, though. These emotions, feelings, they needed to be felt, because if she pushed them aside until she was numb to them, they would only come back with a vengeance in the most self destructive manner. Kagome swallowed thickly, willing herself to appear composed. She needed to acknowledge these emotions, but she didn’t need to outwardly express them. They were hers to feel, and hers alone. “They - um - they found one. She was a little girl. Nine, I think.”

Inuyasha’s heart dropped, a lump quickly developing in the center of his throat. It had been a while since he’d heard of them actually finding one, let alone a prepubescent. Conjurers were a rarity. Those who held the powers were few and far between, and those who actually practiced their art were even rarer. But, a little girl? He knows it isn’t beyond them to do something so brutal, but that didn’t make it sit any easier. It tested his gag reflex just imagining the horrible crime, his stomach churning. Kagome had to watch it, though. She saw it all first hand. She was beaten for running out of line, and he was willing to put money down that he knew what for.

The girl wasn’t making eye contact, and he understood that this must have been traumatizing for her to witness, making the ordeal difficult to talk about. He wasn’t aggravated by waiting her out this time, nor was it pressing any limits. This was recent, and hard, and he could see her face paling even though the firelight wasn’t hitting her as well.

He focused on his olfaction, expecting to catch the scent of tears when instead he caught the hint of copper. Immediately, his eyes scanned her, looking for open wounds. Had their heads collided that hard to make her bleed? Her face was fine, her neck, her exposed chest all fine, the green of her sleeves weren’t stained, but then he stopped his trail at her bandaged hand. It was coming from there, and at the very edge, just beneath her pinky, he could see a red stain peeking through.

“Your hand.” Inuyasha mentioned instinctually. Kagome glanced at him curiously before redirecting her attention toward her restrained wrists. She opened up her palms to find the blood seeping through her bandages, and seemed just as surprised as he was, a small sound escaping her mouth. “Where’d that come from?”

“The inspection,” She explained. “It hasn’t healed yet.” Honestly, she was willing to bet she’d accidentally reopened the wound when she’d squeezed her dagger. That’s where the sharp pain had come from. How stupid. “There’s a little kit in my bag full of medical supplies. Would you mind fishing it out for me?”

“For what?”

“I need to change my bandages.”

Unenthusiastically, Inuyasha pushed himself from the ground, sauntering over toward the girl’s backside where he kneeled. He yanked the drawstring of the bag on her back loose, opening it up and reaching in for the kit, only having to shove a few things out of the way to get to it. At the side, he noticed her bottle for water and pulled that out, too. It was maybe less than half full, so he figured while he let her play around with her wrappings, he’d go fill it up for her. She didn’t need to be drinking his if she had her own.

Shutting her bag and pushing the kit a little closer for her to reach, he ignored her words of gratitude and mumbled a quick, “Be right back,” before wandering off into the woods and toward the river.

He kneeled on the rock, opening the canteen and dumping the old contents out before leaning over to fill it up with fresh water. He had a habit of closing his own bottle and shaking the water about to rinse the container, and as he fell into a deep train of thought, he allowed his habits to run their course. Honestly, he’d only seen a couple of inspections happen, and he had a reputation for not seeing them all the way through, instead breaking it up and challenging the mother fuckers to fight. The groups he’d seen were no match for him at all, and if they didn’t end up running away with their tails between their legs, they were dead on sight. He had zero tolerance for that horse shit, but because of that, in the end, he had limited insight on the ramifications of an uninterrupted inspection. Was walking away looking the way Kagome did normal? No. She’d said it had gotten out of hand, and she’d stepped out of line. Presumably, she’d stepped out of line to try and save the little girl who was being attacked. So, she was punished for that, but what about the cut on her hand? Did she try to stop a knife and grab the blade? Did they slice her? Was she concealing any other open injuries that needed treating?

Fuck, everything he’d initially thought was washed down the river. If she was running from Naraku’s henchmen, even if a bounty did appear over her head, there was no fucking way in hell Inuyasha was about to help them. There was no amount of money that would ever get him to cooperate with those fucking creeps.

She wasn’t running, she’d said. She was looking for somebody. There was a good chance she was looking for someone to help her town; maybe even find a solution to the infestation of nasty, unwashed demons trekking through like they owned the damn place. Who was he to stand in her way? Kagome was probably afraid to tell him the truth because she didn’t know whose side he was on in the first place, but after hearing him mention his preference to be further away from villages while camping due to those bastards, she most likely realized where he stood.

In truth, it was because of his notoriety that he was obligated to stay further away. He wasn’t just a half demon, but he was a well-known enemy of Naraku’s stupid ass men. They wanted him dead, and vise versa. More importantly, he wanted Naraku dead and he wasn’t shy about letting it be known. Naraku had taken so much from people, leaving nothing but needless death and destruction in his wake. Naraku was psychotic, power hungry, and insatiable. There was no one genius enough to reason with him, there was no one compassionate enough to calm him down, but there were few strong enough to kill him. Inuyasha was one of them. Naraku wanted to make life harder for a hanyou, but he couldn’t wait for the day it backfired on him. Because, a hanyou was going to be the one to bring him down.

Inuyasha stepped back into their little camp, focusing on the agitated huffs coming from the girl. She was leaned over some, her dark hair waving over the sides of her face to block his view of what was going on, but when she quickly looked over at him as he snapped a twig beneath his foot, he realized she must have been struggling to get the bandages off of her hand the entire time, opting to try and pull it loose with her teeth. He should have figured he was leaving her helpless, but he hadn’t even thought of her potential complications. Shockingly, Kagome wasn’t looking at him with any amount of blame or malice in her eyes. She was simply caught off guard, and when she realized it was only him, she went straight back to work.

The half demon stifled his laughter, crossing over to her and pushing her head back after placing the canteen at her side. “Knock it off.” He muttered. She flinched slightly as he reached over her legs, pulling out the knife in her boot and smirking.

“You knew I had that?” Kagome asked, stunned.

“Of course, I knew.” He chuckled, cutting the rope from her wrists. “I literally left everything on you without bothering to pat you down. It’s not odd for someone to have another weapon to rely on in case they lose their primary. And, I saw the butt of it sticking out when I got back from collecting fire wood.”

Inuyasha watched a slight expression of defeat cross her face where she sighed, closed her eyes, and dropped her head a little. It was easy to know what she was thinking. If she were in a more dangerous situation, that would have gotten her into a lot of trouble.

“Let me see it.” He said with a low tone, gesturing to her palm with a nod of his head. He carefully slipped the knife back into her boot and waited for her to get over her apprehension so he could take a look at the damn wound.

Kagome studied him for a moment. What game was he playing? Was he going to help her or hurt her? Now that she was untied, she could do this part herself for sure. There was no need for him to help, so why was he offering? Or, maybe he just literally wanted to see. No matter which end it was, there was no harm in allowing it. Kagome went ahead and removed her bag, bow, and arrows from her shoulders, relaxing slightly now that the weight was off of her before she gave him her hurt hand.

“Come here, closer to the light.” Inuyasha grunted, picking himself up and inching the both of them closer to the fire.

He went ahead and undid her wrappings, tossing it into the flames and taking a look at the decent knick in her skin. It was definitely still fresh, but wasn’t bleeding all that bad. Inuyasha twisted her wrist to face the fire better, spreading the cut open a little further so he could see if there was any dirt that didn’t belong, ignoring her small hiss of objection.

“When was this?” He asked, grabbing her water canteen and opening it up.

“Yesterday.” Kagome replied promptly, her nose crinkling as he poured the cold water over her palm. He paused for a moment to squeeze his hands down her fingers, sort of massaging, and she realized he was cleaning the entire area. She was surprised by his gentleness and efficiency, his calloused fingers rough but mindful, and his claws never once threatening.

“Jesus, no wonder you look like shit.” He commented. There it was. Less than twelve hours into knowing the man, and she’d already grown unfazed to any satirical retorts. It was just how he communicated, wasn’t it? He poured more water, this time opening the wounded area again and running the liquid directly through, once more ignoring her little wince. “You got anything in that kit to clean a cut?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, reaching for it and opening it up. She went ahead and pulled out the small containers, reading her cousin’s sloppy handwriting. After rustling through a few, she pulled out the disinfectant, healing ointment, and held a couple cotton balls in her free hand for him. She’d thought about offering to do it herself, but this man’s kindness came and went, and she felt she should appreciate what he had to give at the moment.

Inuyasha took the first container she’d set out along with one of the cotton balls, dousing it in the disinfectant. “Keep going. You never finished telling me what happened.”

Kagome had been braced for the sting of the disinfectant, and it took a moment for her to realign, now bracing for the impact of reliving yesterday.

Kagome felt her face scrunch uncontrollably as he cleaned out her wound. “The - um -“ She was trying not to stammer, trying to concentrate on giving him the story he wanted as straight as possible, but she felt nervous, a lump beginning to develop in her throat. She had to be careful not to let anything slip. She should be more than accustomed to this routine by now, but there was something undeniable about Inuyasha that made her want to trust him. That was the hazardous part of all of this, and she had to remind herself not to get carried away.

“The demons - Naraku’s demons - had been coming more often than usual lately. They were positive that a conjurer was in our village, but I don’t know what made them so sure. They tried something new this time, though. I don’t know if you’re familiar with an inspection, but they typically go for wrecking things and intimidation. Sometimes, it gets physical, and the elderly are more at risk when that happens.”

“Yeah, I know that much.” He quietly mentioned, hiding his anger, grabbing the ointment and softly applying a generous amount.

“This time, they narrowed the demographic. Called out girls between the ages of five and twenty and had us all line up. They cut our hands with a knife and then held on to see if we’d have a conjurer’s reaction to their demonic energy.” She explained.

“A conjurer’s reaction?” He inquired, brows furrowing as he reached into her kit for the roll of bandages.

“I don’t know too much about it.” Kagome shook her head, shrugging slightly. “But, they got one.” She said sadly.

There was a small pause in his wrapping as Inuyasha was struck again by that information. He would have ripped their fucking heads off if he were there. A part of him wishes he had been. He didn’t seek these things out; he strictly only stepped in if it crossed his path. But, if he had been in that area, wherever it was, the little girl may have survived and the woman before him wouldn’t be so harmed.

“Did you know her?” Inuyasha asked, promptly returning to what he was doing.

Kagome gave another shake of her head. “I know my neighbors, and the shop keepers, but otherwise, the people in my town tend to keep to themselves. Always sort of have, I guess. The less anyone knows nowadays, the better, anyway. Or, worse. Maybe more people would have stepped in if things were more personal. They stabbed her. Everyone just watched.” She could hear the mother’s scream ringing in her ears, and Kagome’s face twisted painfully. “I ran out of line to try and help the little girl, but there was nothing I could do. The bleeding wouldn’t stop.”

Inuyasha could see the anguish vividly on her brow. She was unconsciously staring down, looking at his thigh but not actually looking at it. She was engulfed by the events of the day before, and he could guess that if she stayed on this track, she’d get trapped and spiral. He did the first thing that came to mind to prevent that, yanking on the bandages he was still working on wrapping. He’d just passed her wound, so the bandages pressed firmly into it, applying a physical pain that had her irises shooting up to him as she gasped slightly.

“Ow.” Came her barely audible whimper.

“So, you got your ass handed to you for running to help?” He asked, averting her mind from the dead girl.

“Mhm, pretty much.” Kagome nodded. “You think I look bad, you should see my cousin.”

“What happened to them?”

“He got double teamed for trying to help me. His ribs might be broken, but I’m not sure.”

“It’s pretty easy to tell. How are you not sure?” Inuyasha inquired skeptically, cutting off the end of the bandages and tying it securely. Her hand was wrapped just as it was before; from wrist to the base of her fingers, properly protecting the wound from dirt or infection slipping through any openings.

“The doctor was away, and I left before his return. I left that night.” Kagome said, appreciating his skilled work on her hand as she looked it over. It was definitely less sloppy than what she would have done on her own. “Thank you.”

“Why’d you leave?” He pressed, feeling like they’d come full circle.

“I’m looking for someone.” She repeated.

“Someone to help?”

“Yes and no.” Really, she should have just said yes, but it wasn’t that simple. She didn’t want to make it seem like she wanted to target the superficial issue when the only way to truly take care of it was to annihilate it at the root. Because, if he were to say he knew a person, she wouldn’t be able to accept the help, turn around, and go home.

“Kagome -“

“I can’t tell you.” And, she hoped he’d let it go. She hoped giving him every other detail he wanted to know was enough for him to respect that there was one thing he wanted that she couldn’t give him. “Please, Inuyasha. I can’t tell you.”

Though she seemed stable, he could tell there was desperation that he wouldn’t keep pestering her about the issue. She wasn’t going to crack. No, her eyes were telling him she couldn’t crack. It was detrimental that she held her ground, and truthfully, that only made him want to know more. What the hell was this girl up to? What was going on? Inuyasha had to remind himself that he wasn’t involved, and if this was as much as she was willing to share, then so be it. As much as he wanted to pry, he’d already gotten enough to know that keeping her around wouldn’t be beneficial to him. He should have just listened to her in the first place. As mouthy as she was, as irritating as she was, she was right. He’d only wasted his time. And, rope.

Begrudgingly, the hanyou tried to push the issue to the back of his mind - though, currently, the furthest he could force it was midway. He sighed heatedly, leaning back onto his hands. “Any other battle wounds you’re hiding, or is this it?”

A small weight lifted from her shoulders at his subject change. Kagome breathed a little lighter, inwardly thanking him for dropping it, and shook her head. “No, it was just my hand.”

“Alright. Look, stay here tonight and then in the morning you can carry on with your grand quest.”

“You’re - you’re letting me go?” She asked, slightly cocking her head to the side. “Just like that?”

No, it couldn’t be that easy. Could it? He literally held her prisoner just to release her at the end of the day? It was no more than twenty minutes ago that she was borderline freaking out because she wasn’t willing to make a break for it, and here she was untied and set free by a guy who thoughtfully helped clean her wound first. She couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t heard the clashing argument she’d had with herself in her head back there. Even so, she was still mildly embarrassed, while also incredibly confused. Instead of trying to make sense of it all though, Kagome deliberately let it go. At this point, it was just too much energy that she didn’t have to solve the ever bewildering riddle that was her situation.

“What, did you want me to tie you up again?” Inuyasha questioned, arching a brow.

“No, of course not.”

“Keeping you would only slow me down. You’re not a paycheck, you’ve been through your own hell in the last twenty-four hours, so yes. I’m letting you go. Jesus, you’re probably the only idiot I’ve met who would question that and not just be grateful.”

“In my defense, you’re hard to read.” Kagome defended.

“Right back at ya.”

“But, just so we’re clear, I’m good to go?”

“Yes.” Inuyasha rolled his eyes.

“Thank god!” Kagome hopped to her feet, dusting off her butt real quick as she went to jog away.

“Hey! What the f- what did I just say!? Get your ass back here!” The half demon jolted slightly, caught off guard by her quick motions. “You’re gonna get killed out there, and I’m not chasing after you again!”

“I have to pee!” Kagome frantically stated, bouncing from one foot to the other. “I’m leaving all my stuff with you! I’m not going anywhere, I swear! Please, just - I’ve gotta go!”

Inuyasha barely hid his amused smirk as his exasperation quickly faded. The absolute urgency in her tone was enough to bring anyone to laugh, and she was lucky that all he released was a small snort. Now that he thought about it, he recalled her leg bobbing every now and again while she sat in front of him. He’d figured it was because she was anxious. No wonder she wouldn’t drink any more water. He waved her off to go relieve herself, and the woman was hasty to about face and run into the woods.

“Don’t go far!” He reflexively called after her. His sensitive ears caught her small, raspy grunt of agreement before she disappeared through the darkness of the trees.

He took the moment to inspect the area surrounding them, tuning into his senses. He didn’t feel any presences around, didn’t smell any demons, and the only human was Kagome. There were nocturnal animals about, but none that would harm her in her vulnerable state. She was safe.

Inuyasha took the opportunity to get up and cross over to his bag, pulling out the wrapped meat that was gifted to him. Thankfully, it was fully cooked so he wouldn’t have to wait for it to be heated through over the fire. It was too late for that shit, it would take too long, and he was hungry.

Footsteps steadily approaching from behind told him Kagome had returned. Inuyasha peeked over his shoulder at her, noticing her small smile as she took a seat in front of the fire on the far side, her knees cradled to her chest as she rested her chin against them. He got up, striding over with a portion for her to eat, picking up her canteen along the way. “Here.”

“What’s this?” She asked, her tone small as she took the contents he offered.

“Food. Eat. You haven’t had anything all day, have you?” He guessed, walking back over to the opposite side of the fire. Inuyasha sat in front of a tree, leaning back to rest against it as he ate his own portion. “And, drink your fucking water.”

“When did you even fill this up?” She asked, noticing for the first time that it was her own bottle she was holding.

“Geez, you’re oblivious. I grabbed it when I pulled out your medical box, kid.”

“Oh, that’s what you went back into the forest for.” Kagome clued in. “Thank you.”

Inuyasha didn’t respond, eating his food and no longer minding her. She set the bottle to the side of her thigh, allowing her legs to fall into a crossed position so she could sit more comfortably as she ate. With her first bite came the first, huge grumble her stomach spoke that day, shouting it’s demand for sustenance. She froze, feeling the hanyou’s amber eyes land on her. Things had been so crazy, so stressful, that she hadn’t even thought about food, her body more focused on everything else than her hunger.

“What the fuck was that?” Inuyasha snickered.

“Shut up.” She murmured, embarrassed, chewing through and taking another bite.

“Good lord, woman.”

“Shut up.”

“You sounded like a boar in heat.”

Kagome nearly choked on her food, coughing slightly as she shot Inuyasha an incredulous glare. He carelessly laughed, taking another bite of his food and winking at her. As much as she wanted to toss him a sarcastic remark, none came to mind, more focused on filling her stomach than having another argument with the jerk. It was his fault she hadn’t eaten in the first place. If she hadn’t been taken into custody by the prideful punk, she was positive she would have consumed food much sooner.

Moments passed after she’d finished, her belly happy and full, and she once more cradled her thighs to her chest, always finding comfort and warmth in this position. The half demon sat silently, eyes scouring the trees, and she wondered what he could see. Thanks to her supernatural abilities, Kagome was capable of sensing evil, demonic presences, and things that didn’t necessarily belong. But, Inuyasha, harboring demonic blood, had much more going for him. With the way the ears atop his head twitched, she assumed he could hear things very well from a distance. His eyesight had to be impeccable, and much more well-attuned to the night than her human eyes could ever be. He may not be able to sense malicious intent, but he could probably pick up demonic presences much better than she could, as well. This was his nature. He not only had the gifts of sensitive receptors, but was probably trained well since he seemed so acclimated to camping out.

“So, you’re a bounty hunter?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“Not necessarily.” He replied, glancing her way. “I go where the money is. Sometimes, it’s just to catch stupid asses and bring them back. Sometimes, it’s something specific like finding a lost child that needs help. I hate those jobs more than anything. It’s usually a sob fest and I’m caught in the middle until I’m paid. More often than not, though, I’m hired to kill evil beings.”

“Oh, like a demon slayer.” Kagome perked.

“Again, not necessarily. Humans can be evil, too.”

“Oh, right.” She felt a little presumptuous. “Sorry.”

“How do you even know what a demon slayer is? Isn’t that profession dead?” He inquired. At one point in time, years ago, demon slayers were a threat to be reckoned with. They held power, kept the peace, and had the numbers to kill off mass swarms of belligerent demons. As far as he was aware, it seemed they’d fallen off the face of the planet. They had been overpowered, their villages practically wiped out from targeted attack after targeted attack. At this point, with the odds against them, it was more than unlikely that they’d come back from that.

“We actually have a small group in our town.” Kagome mentioned. “My friend is the daughter of their leader.”

“You know demon slayers? Actual demon slayers?”

“Mhm.” She nodded.

“They must keep a low profile.” He assumed. That had to be the case. He’d been all over and hadn’t seen or heard of any demon slayers around.

“Kind of. They don’t travel off too far; they just take care of troublesome demons within a specific radius. And, they only take on cases they know they can handle with their numbers. They’re very picky on how old people need to be to join, and their training is rigorous and not for the weak.”

“I’m a little confused. You have these given protectors in your own village, but you walked out looking like that?”

“They can’t stop inspections, they can only make sure they don’t get out of control. And, they’d actually left on a job, so we were on our own. No one knew there was a conjurer in the village to protect. If Sango’s dad was aware of her, I’m sure he would have taken steps to help her.” Kagome was speaking from experience. He was there when she found out she was a conjurer, herself. After her father died, he always checked in to make sure things were okay. He constantly reassured her that if anything happened or she needed help, he was there. After Naraku came to rise and demons began looking for people of her kind, killing them off, he was very clear that she needed to know how to properly subdue her powers. He wasn’t aware that she was way ahead of him. Sango’s father was protective, a guardian, and Kagome was forever grateful. She was certain he would have offered the same blanket of protection to that little girl.

“Oh, so that’s who Sango is.” Inuyasha smirked.

Kagome giggled, nodding. She’d almost forgotten she’d used her friend’s name before. “Yeah. I’m no good at coming up with fake names on the spot, so I had to take one from someone I knew.”

“Does she know you’re out here?”

“By now, I’m sure she does.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell her?”

“No.”

“Did anyone know you were leaving? You got a family, kid? You said you have a cousin, right? He know?”

“Like I said, by now, I’m sure everyone is aware that I’m missing. The only one who knew I was leaving was my younger brother, and he kept it a secret because my cousin would have tried to stop me. Mom, too.”

“As they should. You said your friend is the daughter of the head demon slayer, right? I’m assuming she’s skilled. You’d have been smart to at least bring her. Alone, you’re nothing but an easy target.”

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice, Inuyasha.” She stated, tucking herself a little closer into her thighs. “Everything happened so fast yesterday, it was hard to get a grip. I made my decision and left. Miroku would have only hurt himself more by trying to stop me, and Sango had to take care of her own brother since their dad was out on a job. I did what I had to do.”

“What is so goddamn important?”

“Ah, we’re heading into dangerous territory again.” Kagome lightly warned, raising her brows as she grinned.

Inuyasha groaned, rolling his golden eyes. “You’re so stubborn.”

“I am. I really am.” She proudly agreed.

“Not a flex.”

“You’re stubborn, too. You’ve asked me the same question like eight hundred times.” Kagome rebutted.

“See, now you’re just dramatic.” Inuyasha shrugged.

“Sorry, seven hundred and ninety-nine.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” He said, abruptly ending all conversation.

Kagome eyed him, a little unsettled. She looked around the area, worried her bottom lip, then glanced back at him. With everything that had happened, he couldn’t really expect her to feel comfortable sleeping right now, right? Sure, she was utterly exhausted, and if she rested her head against anything, she would have fallen asleep instantly, but that involved letting her guard down. He’d proven, so far, not to be as harmful as she’d half expected. That didn’t mean she trusted him well enough to be completely vulnerable in an unconscious state with him, though. She wanted to trust him, but this was like a leap of faith. With his expression falling into slight frustration, the man rolled his eyes for the nth time.

“Oh, relax. I’m not gonna do a damn thing to you. If I were you, I’d take the offer. Tomorrow, you’re on your own and you won’t be able to get a full night’s sleep again.”

He was right. She didn’t like admitting it, but he was right. She would only be able to afford a couple of hours at a time, and even that would be risky. She hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday’s stress, and given what she went through today, if she didn’t take the opportunity, she’d be a hopeless, wandering, mess tomorrow.

Kagome regarded him with a nod, then sighed as she got up and grabbed her bag. There was nothing too hard in it at the moment so she could happily use it as a pillow. She pulled it a little closer to the fire so she wouldn’t get too cold in the night, curling up and resting her head down.

“Can you do me a favor?” Kagome asked, her voice small.

“What?”

“Don’t leave without waking me up, please.”

“Shut up.” Inuyasha wouldn’t leave her completely defenseless. He’d told her to go to sleep because he was there to watch over her. He’d be able to sense danger from a mile away, unlike a helpless human. She was wise to take his advice. She looked like hell and she’d been sluggish for the majority of the day, even making him feel bad for her for a while. Letting her go off on her own tomorrow the way she was now felt cruel.

Apparently, she was learning to read his tone. She was even surprised she could understand the underlying message in his comment. Kagome took a moment to inwardly thank him, sighing out as much tension as she could as she closed her eyes, quickly falling asleep.

—

The sky was dark, the deep blue of night tinted with a poisonous shade of violet. Smoke and fire surrounded her, but Kagome’s lungs inhaled and exhaled just fine, unaffected by the tainted air. She circled around, scanning the area slowly. Was this a dream? Was it real? She felt neither hot nor cold, but she did feel conscious and scared. What had happened? Where was she?

“Inuyasha?” Kagome called, stepping backward in her panic. Where did he go? Was he okay? Did he leave her?

“You’re a fool, Kagome.”

She spun around quickly to face Kikyo, her fair skin sprinkled with sweat and hair sticking to her dampened neck. She wore a condemning look, brown eyes boring through her, her hand gripping her own bow tightly while she stood just feet away.

“You.” Kagome breathed.

“Your first day, and this is what happens to you? You’re taken into captivity by a half demon?” Kikyo scolded.

“What?” Kagome was confused, now more than ever. “How did you even know that?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“No, it isn’t. How did you know that, Kikyo?”

“I have insight on you, Kagome. Shouldn’t you know that by now?”

“How?”

“Because, I am the conjurer you’re supposed to be!” Kikyo shouted, her voice deep and angry. “You have so much potential, you are strong, you learn quicker than even myself, and yet you’re living up to nothing! Less than twenty-four hours after leaving, you get yourself into needless trouble. I am disappointed in you.”

“Gee thanks, mom.” Kagome slighted, her temper swelling. “Glad you called me here to put me down. You seem to forget that you have no right, though. None of what you just said explains anything. You’ve given me no path to follow, no direction to go in -“

“You aren’t meant to follow mine, you’re meant to follow your own, Kagome! Use your powers! Your intuition is stronger than anyone’s; you can figure it out!”

“Aren’t I supposed to find you?”

“We will find each other soon enough.”

“How do you have insight?” Just as Kagome asked, a thin, white, serpent-like creature floated down. It had six legs in the front of its long body resembling that of insects, perching on Kikyo’s shoulder as its long tail curled around her frame. “What is that?”

“Shinidamachu; a soul collector. To aid in my power, I will sometimes take the souls of deceased women.”

“How - what!?” Kagome’s face twisted bewilderingly. “You steal the souls from dead women!?”

Kikyo released an exacerbated exhale from her nose, the sound deep and clenched. Kagome could tell they were heading down a road the conjurer had never counted on going down, but Kagome didn’t care. You can’t just throw that information at her and expect her to brush it off like this is a normal occurrence.

“The souls help aid in longevity and health. If I am wounded or exhausted, putting up a barrier and collecting a soul or two will increase the rate of my recovery. My soul collector has also helped me understand you better.”

“Do you use it to spy on me?”

“I use it to make sure you aren’t misusing your abilities or getting yourself killed. You are still young and inexperienced. There is much you have yet to learn before you can take on Naraku.”

“Have you ever considered, instead of doing that, maybe just teaching me yourself? I feel like things would move along a lot faster that way.” There was a bit of snarky attitude in Kagome’s tone, her jaw tensing as she listened to Kikyo talk down to her.

“I cannot teach you.” Kikyo stated plainly.

“Why not?”

“I am not meant to.”

“Why?”

“Because, I am the distraction while you are the weapon. I know you think other conjurers may be coming, but they aren’t. You are the only one who is meant to do this. I cannot teach you, because we desperately need to stay separated. You and I together are nothing but sitting ducks. If Naraku catches wind that I am helping another conjurer, which he would, he would bring down nothing but hell. I cannot help you.”

Kagome stood there, mouth hanging agape, her eyes focusing on the sweat drop that glided down Kikyo’s temple. That was a lot to unpack, and these were things she would have definitely benefitted from learning earlier. Why was Kikyo only telling her this now? Why was this the most in-depth conversation they’d ever managed to have? She was finally receiving clear answers, but it felt like her mind was unraveling. While she’d had a small hunch that she may have been the only conjurer Kikyo was reaching out to, it was still a shock to have it definitively confirmed.

“Why - why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?” Kagome inquired unsteadily.

“I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I wanted to slowly ease you into things as you matured. I still don’t think now was the right time to tell you the entire truth, but I seem to have had no choice. You’re stubborn; you would have only kept asking questions.”

“So I’ve heard.” Kagome shrugged her brows, eyes falling to the charred grass beneath her boots.

“I collect the souls to keep up my strength. To keep me going until you’re ready. That is my purpose. Yours is to save everyone.”

“No pressure.” She sarcastically and quietly remarked.

“You need to make wiser decisions starting immediately, Kagome. Do you hear me? Trust your intuition.”

“I do!” Kagome quickly defended.

“Then you should know better than to put any amount of trust in a demon right now.” She hastily countered. “We’re at war with demons, what in the world would make you trust them?”

“Inuyasha’s already released me, what are you talking about?”

“Then get up and leave!”

“He hasn’t hurt me, Kikyo! If anything, even while I was in his captivity, he kept me safe! I mean, hell, he saved my life to begin with! He made a mistake, but he’s not a bad person!”

“He has demon blood, does he not!?”

“That is neither here nor there!” Kagome yelled, infuriated. “You sound pretty prejudiced for a conjurer. A little ironic, don’t you think?”

“You do not know what you are talking about, and if you keep this up, I’m afraid you are going to have to learn things the hard way. I’ve had kinder demons betray me, Kagome. Never let him find out the truth about you.”

“He isn’t bad.”

“You are naive.”

“No, you are.”

“I know what I’m -“

“You’re ignorant, too.” She interrupted, her face feeling hot, but it was of her own anger and not due to the dying flames around them. “If your only argument for me not to trust him is the blood running through his veins, then it’s falling on deaf ears.”

“You defend him as if you know him.”

“I defend him as if he deserves a chance to prove himself! Just like us! My friend has a twin-tailed cat demon in her family, you got something to say about her, too?”

“Kagome, enough. You’re a fool.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” Kagome stated bluntly.

“Heed my warning.” Kikyo all but ordered. “Stay away from him.”

Kagome could only shake her head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You would actually judge him -“

“Please, do not mistake me. I just want you to be cautious. Overtly cautious. You’re alone, you can’t afford many mistakes like this. It’s not that I believe all demons are evil; I’m saying you will never know off the bat which ones will turn on you. Make your friends after the war. For now, you cannot give your trust to any demon; half breed or what have you.” Kikyo took a deep breath in the time where things seemingly sunk into Kagome’s head. Her plush lips were parted, and her brown eyes fell to the ground, almost in disappointment. The girl was still immature, and though Kikyo was fully aware of the hardships that came with being a conjurer, she could still see so much hope radiating from Kagome. So much hope and heart. The thing was, the heart was the most important part of their kind. It was what made up their strength; their passion drove their power. But, so easily could it break them as well. Being a conjurer was like holding a double-edged sword. If you had that fire within you, you could thwart evil, but if your heart is crushed, you could lose it all in an instant. Kagome seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve, wanted to trust easily, believed everyone deserved a chance, but she - being who she was - could not afford that way of living.

“What did you mean?” Kagome finally spoke, picking her eyes from the ground and slowly drifting them upwards to meet Kikyo’s. “You said I’m a weapon. What did you mean by that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You are the one capable of bringing Naraku to his knees.”

She shook her head, half in denial and half in disbelief. “You said this was our responsibility. The responsibility is ours, remember? You gave me that spiel over and over again for, like, the past year.”

“And, it is.”

“‘Our’ is a very broad term, Kikyo.”

“You and I.”

“That’s it? We have this maniacal tyrant, and the world apparently only has the two of us to depend on?”

“Don’t push your lack of confidence on me, Kagome. I know it’s a lot of responsibility when you think about it, but destiny has this written in stone?”

“Oh yeah?” Kagome questioned exasperatedly. “I’d like to see the terms and conditions. Where’s the plaque?”

“Kagome -“

“You say all of this too lightly, Kikyo! This may be common sense to you, but this is breaking news to me!”

“All you need to focus on for now is yourself! You have the room to practice more! You don’t have to hold back for the sake of your home, and I know you have been! I can see what you’re capable of, and it’s monumental! You will surpass me if you just dedicate yourself, so do it! Stop holding yourself back, and stop being so goddamned scared! Pick yourself up, protect yourself, trust no one, adapt, and I’ll meet you at the finish line. Together, we will be unstoppable.”

The conjurer seemed so sure, so stable. She truly believed in what she said, and Kagome couldn’t help but swallow any uneasiness she was currently feeling. Kikyo’s confidence was contagious, but there was one thing wrong with what she was preaching. She treated her intuition as the end-all, but Kagome had a gut of her own. It was telling her something different. Kagome’s intuition was telling her Kikyo was jaded, and it would be smart of her to trust any alliance she could form. She was alone for now, and she didn’t particularly know what her next move was, but something told Kagome she wasn’t going to be able to beat this battle on her own. Even getting to the so-called finish line, as Kikyo put it, was going to require some help, and there was nothing wrong with that. She could understand why Kikyo was insisting Kagome put her guard up. The mistake she’d made with Inuyasha could have been detrimental. If it were anyone else, she didn’t know what would have happened to her, and for that, despite it all, she was thankful her circumstances were what they were. In a twisted sense, she’d gotten lucky.

Honestly, Kagome didn’t know where Kikyo was getting her information from. If she was prophetic, she’d give her kudos, because as far as she was aware, that wasn’t in the job description of being a conjurer. Maybe she was having secret dream rendezvous with actual clairvoyants. Either way, Kagome was dying to hear this all herself, because no matter how much Kikyo’s statements repeated in her head, not all of it was adding up. She could tell that arguing was a waste of time, though. She felt like she’d get nowhere with Kikyo. Kikyo was set in her ways and convinced of future events playing out in specific patterns, but Kagome truly, truly, felt like things were immediately about to shift.

She’d take Kikyo’s advice. She’d be careful, and she’d use her powers with less restraint. She’d be cautious about her surroundings, she’d screen anyone she came across, and she’d increase her power. What she wouldn’t do was isolate herself or stay away from those who have no control over the blood beneath their flesh. Kagome couldn’t bring herself to look at things that way. Maybe it was naive, but it didn’t matter. The open-mindedness sat right with her.

“Kagome, do you trust me?”

“I want to.” Kagome admitted. “You’ve been a mystery up until now.”

“I’ve been told I’m not as direct as I could be.” Kikyo laughed quietly. “I want to trust you, too.”

“Does Naraku know about me?”

“I have a feeling he will soon enough. It’s inevitable. That’s why it’s imperative for us to stay apart until we can’t anymore.”

“Got it.” Kagome acknowledged. There was a beat of silence where it seemed they were both processing their encounter. She wondered how long Kikyo had been on her own, fighting this battle. She said she was the distraction. Kagome felt sympathetic for her situation. It must have been terrifying at times, hard, and exhausting. She must have tried to form alliances only to be stomped on multiple times to explain the mentality she was harboring. Kagome wondered if her gaze lacked vibrancy because of how drained she was. She wondered if she had no choice but to rely on collecting souls so she could stay on her feet until the day was done. Was there no rest for this conjurer, playing the distraction until Kagome was ready?

This fueled her, a heightened sense of determination shooting through her veins. If she needed to expand her strength, then she’d do it as quickly as possible. She’d get stronger, more powerful, and become the fierce conjurer Kikyo was so that she wasn’t alone in this fight anymore. She expected Kikyo not to always agree with the way she went about things, but what mattered was the endgame. With this, Kagome was one step closer.

“Remember what I said. Follow your intuition.”

“I will.” Kagome agreed. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Where are we?”

“Nowhere.”

Kagome grimaced, looking around at the fire that she couldn’t feel the heat from but Kikyo obviously could as sweat continued to dot her face. It definitely didn’t look like nowhere to her.

“Technically, this is the spot of a recent demon attack. But, we are in an in between space. No one can see us; we’re talking in my mind.”

“Your mind?”

“Correct. I am here, and you are not.”

“How are you doing this?”

“We have a connection, Kagome.” Kikyo grinned, though it seemed lackluster and Kagome noted the dark circles beneath her eyes. “We are two connected by fate.”

“So, can I do this? I mean, can I connect with your subconscience and talk to you?”

“No. My mind is too guarded. You wouldn’t be able to reach me, even if you knew how. Even so, I only partially brought you here. I am too far from you for a more physical aspect. Though, I’m sure you don’t mind.” Kikyo said, sort of laughing at herself.

Kagome wasn’t sure if that was something Kikyo should be proud of. It sounded slightly depressing to be so guarded. Though, alternatively speaking, it could be seen as a weakness on Kagome’s behalf that Kikyo was able to jump on through to her whenever she so pleased. That still didn’t much answer how she was doing this, but Kagome was willing to let it go. This wasn’t necessarily anything Kagome desired to do, anyway. Telepathy always sort of creeped her out.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Kagome couldn’t help but ask, taking Kikyo’s current state into consideration.

“You have nothing to worry about. Please, focus on yourself. You must get stronger.”

“I will. I swear.”

“Be careful, Kagome.”

She blinked her eyes open, brows furrowing as the brightness of the campfire momentarily blinded her. The night was quiet and peaceful, and as Kagome came to, slowly turning away from the light, she realized she was covered by something thick and warm. It was crimson, and as she moved her legs to readjust herself so her hip would stop digging into the earth, she noticed it only covered her up until her mid-thigh. It smelled so good, the scent inexplicably comforting her as she pulled it further over her shoulder and closer to her nose. She’d always appreciated the aroma of the woodlands, that of campfires, but there was an additional spice that sent a warmth fluttering through her abdomen. Did it belong to Inuyasha?

Inuyasha.

Sluggishly, she picked herself up on her elbow, looking over to the tree where she’d last seen him. The hanyou wasn’t there, and while an unsettling thud came from her chest, she could still feel his presence nearby. Kagome turned her head, observing their little area of the forest before her eyes came right back to the very same tree. Glancing upward, she spotted him sitting on a high branch, his back against the trunk and a leg hanging over the side, staring off into the night.

From where he sat, the moonlight was hitting him perfectly. His silver hair shined with dimmed hues of blue and white, and his skin glowed as if he were a descendent of Luna, herself. He was handsome. It was moments before Kagome could bring herself to look away, only finding her eyes drifting right back to her guardian above. His jawline was sharp, the shadows of the night where the moon couldn’t reach him complimenting his features just as well. A sudden, thin feeling of jealousy prickled at Kagome’s chest. She envied the moon, and the night, itself. They got to touch him.

She felt safe. Nothing inside of Kagome told her to run, or leave, or to tread carefully. Instead, she was heavy and solid where she lay. For the first time in two days, everything felt okay. In the morning, she would head her own way. Kikyo had no reason to be concerned. Inuyasha and Kagome would say goodbye and never see each other again. In the morning.

Kagome rested her head back against her makeshift pillow, tucking herself further into Inuyasha’s crimson garment. The scent of him washed over her once more, and she held onto it, memorizing it. She allowed herself to be comfortable, to feel serene. She allowed herself to rest under his safety.

| previous chapter | <- -> | next chapter |

[boop-le-snoot]

skin starving

tony stark x f!reader fluff. no warnings, just a few f-bombs. touch starved tony’s third person pov. words: 2,5k. no beta because i just really needed to get this off my chest.

recommended music to go with the story: two feet - 'love is a bitch' & 'quick musical doodles'. Or any lo-fi hip-hop radio really.

It started as an itch. At first, a small but bothersome thing, that kept him up at night, steering the already unreasonable hours of wakefulness into dangerous territory. The cold of his bed was unappealing and more often than not, he’d started passing out on the flat surfaces nearest to him: workshop, lab, common room couch, the lazy boy in Bruce’s apartment.

The team noticed, of course, they weren’t blind. They all had been on edge the first few months after Pepper left him. They expected him to act out, lock himself up in his lab or go back to his old habits of boozing and bringing home a different girl every night. And he had tried that, once or twice, but airheaded twenty-somethings weren’t appealing anymore. Most of the time their ass kissing and blatantly flattery annoyed him further into self-loathing abyss. He simply couldn’t step up to be the kind of man they described him to be - it seemed as if every woman on planet Earth had a whole list of expectations he specifically could not meet.

With Thor off planet, not one remaining person on the team was particularly touchy-feely. And that was the thing with Tony Stark: as an engineer, as a mechanic, he made his way through the world hands-first, every approach he had was hands-on. During late nights and early mornings, he laid in bed, sleepless and dreamless, desperately refusing to admit his own touch starvation.

Whenever Rogers threw an arm around his shoulders during a particularly successful team bonding activity, it took every ounce of willpower Tony had to not lean into it and purr like a cat. He hadn’t truly forgiven Steve for his cold, cruel words of criticism shortly after Pepper’s departing. He wasn’t going to chummy up to a man who thought him selfish, opportunistic and self-absorbed.

Tony became irritable and withdrawn. He simultaneously craved and avoided even the casual, friendlier attention his teammates gave him on a daily basis. His usual snark became that much more biting, having caused several people to storm out of team meetings.

On a cold autumn morning, Tony had found his way at the tower’s Starbucks on the employee floor. He had squeezed a generous five hours of restless sleep and he was sick of the plain black coffee in his kitchen. A spontaneous desire for something sweet and creamy and caffeinated led him to the place in line at the cafeteria, only a few early birds ahead of him.

Tony’s brain was hazy as it had been past few weeks, dull from the lack of rest and the hyperfixation of his own skin feeling alien to him. For once, he wasn’t typing away on his StarkPhone as he usually did to avoid being bothered; Tony stared straight ahead, unseeing, nothing but white noise in his usually racing brain.

Two women stood in front of him and he couldn’t help but overhear a part of their conversation.

“… Are you really horny or just lonely or touch-starved, though? I mean, Tinder? It’s not really your style.”

“Eh, I dunno. Probably the second but it’s not like men go on Tinder to find a cuddle buddy.”

“Well, maybe? I’ve heard about arrangements like that.”

“No offense, babe, but it’s probably kids in their early twenties. Those gen-z’s, babe, are weird. I’m not really up to date on all of that.”

The topic of the conversation was what piqued Tony’s interest; the world liked rubbing salt into his wounds and hysterically laugh at his misfortune. Bleary-eyed, he briefly scanned the two women: both appeared to be interns or junior techs in his company, evident by the purple employee badges hanging from their bags.

“So what are you going to do?” One woman asked the other as their turn to order took Tony one step closer to obtaining his desired caffeine.

“Unless someone normal magically appears with an offer of no-strings-attached, good ole’ snuggle fest, I guess I’m getting dicked down on Saturday,” The other replied with a teasing tone. The lack of excitement in the last part of the sentence was obvious.

“Gross,” The first one shook her head and hurriedly rattled off her order to the barista who looked about as disgruntled as Tony felt.

Hours and three coffees later, Tony’s overactive brain was still stuck on that woman from the cafeteria. Her back, her purse stuffed full of colorful manila folders, her neatly gathered hair - Tony Stark had nearly perfect memory and he remembered every single detail despite his brain fog. Objectively, she was attractive, no more no less than a different dozen of women he’d seen at any point in his life before. So why was he hung up on her?

It didn’t take him a long time to find her file, faster than he’d liked to admit. Manually sorting through hundreds of interns, lab technicians and various second-tier employees wasn’t exactly considered productive but with Pepper and her nagging out of the picture, Tony could afford to slack off a little bit.

So he found her name and her e-mail address, skimmed over her performance report with satisfaction, finding her to be a busy bee in the 90-th percentile. Her superiors considered her trustworthy, hard-working and communicative, all good traits.

Pepper’s absence meant he’d have no one to cover his ass should he get slapped with a harassment suit; however, he was the Tony Stark after all. He had more money that he’d cared to count and an army of lawyers at his disposal 24/7.

Amidst the jumbled mess of wires, circuit boards, tablets, empty coffee cups and the occasional piece of paper, Tony typed up an e-mail to the woman sharing his… Condition.

“I heard you and your friend talking at Starbucks. I could use a cuddle buddy. Wine and Netflix at my place? What’s your takeout preference?”

No. That came off way too creepy, like he was some kind of a dirty eavesdropper.

He contemplated some more, typing up and erasing multiple e-mails with various proposals: his penthouse, her place, a three Michelin star restaurant, a walk in the park. Almost all of it screamed ‘date’, like he’d drag her off to bed the very moment an opportunity wouldn’t present itself. It wasn’t so: Tony Stark, the playboy genius, had his dick firmly tucked into his pants. The thought of fucking her crossed his mind only briefly, quickly being chased away by the thought of her fingers running through his hair. Her warm, soft body in his arms. Just laying on his couch, eyes closed, reveling in each other’s arms.

Tony hit send on the least obnoxious option. He baited his breath, clicking his fingers in anticipation as the message showed itself to having been delivered.

“Mary, is this you trying to be funny? Stark is going to fire you if he finds out you’re impersonating him to stop your friend from going on a questionable date. Grow up.” Came the very prompt reply, ending with a short string of angry emojis. Tony could totally trust a person who used emojis unironically and generously.

“For the record, I wouldn’t be mad if somebody pretended to be me for the sake of saving their cute friend from a creep. The problem would be making it look credible.” Tony typed up the answer without thinking, quickly snapping a picture of himself holding the Starbucks cup with his name written on it, throwing his usual sloppy peace sign. He attached it to the email and hit send.

“WTF” Came the reply not a minute afterwards. He let it sink in, giving the woman some time to gather her wits. She did not disappoint. “Okay, even if we pretend this is real - which I doubt - what’s in it for you? If you heard our conversation, you surely know my stance on the matter.”

“I’m always glad to prove you wrong. I’m a genius - comes with the territory.” Tony simply couldn’t resist adding a generous dose of snark. “You’re welcome to meet me after clocking out. Use the private elevator, my AI will beam you up.”

The reply took a considerably long amount of time, seeing as previously, she typed back rather quickly. “Please don’t be a creepy rapist, Scotty. Fingers crossed.” Tony managed to almost break his stylus twice. His hands shook, and he had to tell himself to breathe - still, he laughed at the clever way she replied.

Several more hours later, during which Tony had nearly paced a hole through various floors on the residential side of the tower, he took a quick shower, dressed in a flattering but comfortable designer sweatpants and polo combo and made himself at home on the obscenely large living room sofa on his own, private penthouse floor.

He was up and running towards the elevator when Friday’s voice notified him of the woman entering the elevator on the employee floor. Tony tousled his hair, adjusted his glasses, fiddled with the drawstring of his pants.

The woman was wearing casual office wear, pants and a loose blouse, a lab coat loosely draped over her arm and her purse hanging off the shoulder on a thin strap. Her hair was loose now, a little frizzy as if she continuously ran her hands through it. Tony quietly rejoiced at not being the only nervous one.

Clever eyes scanned the room with unhurried interest before finally landing on him. “Not too shabby, if I say so myself,” The corners of her mouth tilted in an attempt at a smile, it was obvious she was studying him.

“Thanks, I try my best,” Tony smirked. Humble he was not. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“I see a comfortable couch,” She looked to be grateful for being given the opportunity to lead this interaction. “Let’s park our behinds on it, bicker for ten minutes about a movie choice and settle on one none of us really like. Then we can tell each other our no-no zones and, well, yeah,” She started out confidently. Probably practiced in the elevator. But towards the end, her shyness took over.

For Tony, it was kind of cute. A nice change from suck-ups that flocked him at every social gathering in hopes of getting something out of him. The woman that had tossed her bag carelessly on the far end of the couch and untucked her blouse looked and felt like the exact opposite of those people. She looked willing to give.

Tony sat next to her, keeping a couple of inches of free space between them. “Food preferences? Food allergies?” He asked, tapping the food delivery application.

“Nope, and I will eat just about anything.” He felt more than saw her side-eyeing him. Both of them were jittery. So uncharacteristic for Tony, to be blushing and stammering like a high school boy. Sex was easy, but intimacy? Complex. It was addictive and eventually, painful.

Movie decisions were surprisingly easy and she said so. They settled on a Tarantino classic, an old flick neither of them had watched in a long time. As the discussion progressed, Tony used his wits to find out more about her without making it seem like an interrogation. He had run a background check on the woman and her family but those only went that far, besides, it was a great opportunity to practice the tips Natasha had shared with him at one point or another. Being friends with spies had it’s perks.

They ate their food until their bellies were full. A comfortable, relaxing stupor, being warm from the inside out.

Tony noticed when the woman spoke, she spoke with her hands. She had caught herself grasping his forearm multiple times when they’d got more passionate about their discussion. And what Tony loved the most was that she refused to apologize. He saw a kindred soul in the woman; quiet until something struck her fancy. Then, she became a whirlwind of ideas and opinions.

In no time, it became a natural action to extend his arm and wrap it around her shoulders, reclining backwards. There was little grace in laying belly-up like a dead fish but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she laid down sideways, throwing a leg over one of his own.

Her palm traced the outline of his arc reactor when something on the screen caught her in a moment of intense interest. Tony preferred to avoid the cursed thing - scars around it definitely did not do any favour to his aging, marked body - but he found himself exhaling the tension when it was obvious the woman really did not care. An occasional quiet hum of satisfaction was the only noise that came from her: he noticed the sound escaped her lips every time his thumb began fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse and rubbed against her arm.

He was quite content. It was warm, he was surrounded by so much warmth.

The hug was mutual when she left home, both of them comfortable with the gesture for people who had met in a rather unconventional way.

She started coming over a couple of times a week, a quiet evening of the best takeout in NYC and (mostly) interesting movies. A solace, always a single e-mail away.

Tony saw her in the cafeteria once or twice; he appreciated the brief, tiny secretive grin she gave him out of her friend’s eyesight. She never approached him. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with all the drama and all the fuss surrounding incidents between him and his employees. It was nobody’s business what any of them did after clocking out - and him and his cuddle buddy, they weren’t even fucking, for Thor’s sake.

Maybe they would get there someday. Or maybe they won’t. It was only now for Tony. The rare free Saturday night he had, he truly took a vacation from all the bullshit and lured her in with promises of very expensive wine, her favourite New York style pizza and the willingness to entertain watching a few of those funny YouTube videos she liked.

They did watch them and Tony didn’t mind. He stepped over the irrational fear and the initial discomfort and curled up around her, hiding his face in the soft cotton of her worn hoodie, his own breath tickling his face in warm puffs. The hand running through his hair was tender like it never was with Pepper - his ex was far too preoccupied to baby her grown-up boyfriend. But the woman moulded to his body like an extension of himself was happy to do so. Tony’s hair was longer now and it glided perfectly along the woman’s palms.

His heart was steady, thumping in his ears, overshadowing the noises coming from the TV. He exhaled and felt her other hand begin tracing circles on his back, as if she saw the stress and the bitterness leave his body with every caress, every brush of their bodies. Maybe she did?

He held onto her, held her back like she’d held him. Safekeeping the warmth inside of him. Guarding his peace.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

#4: There's totally character development, you guys! You just don't see it!

A common critique of Miraculous Ladybug is the lack of actual character growth and development in three seasons, a sentiment most of the fandom agrees with.

At the time of this post, Miraculous Ladybug has been through three seasons with 78 episodes, and nothing has really changed. Sure, by the third season, new villains were introduced, and the season finale shook up the status quo a little bit by exposing the identities of the temporary heroes as a result of Chloe's damnation arc that was obviously planned from the beginning, but despite one of the main plotlines being the relationship between the two, Marinette and Adrien are still at square one. She's still a stammering mess around him, he still doesn't get she has feelings for him, while Cat Noir still can't take a hint that Ladybug isn't into him.

Sure, you could make the argument that they're in relationships with other people now, but not even the show wants to acknowledge it, as a big part of the recent New York City special was about Marinette and Adrien's friends forcing the two to spend time together, even though Marinette said she was trying to move on from him. Even the synopsis for the fourth season says that Marinette still has feelings for Adrien, so now we're wasting even more time on this subplot that's starting to rival Ross and Rachel in terms of tediousness.

Honestly, a good representation of the writing process can easily be summarized like so:

But enough of my rant, what you're here for is what Astruc has said in response to this kind of criticism in this (now deleted) tweet.

Okay, first of all, who unironically uses the term “haterz” to describe someone who criticizes them? What is he, Taylor Swift?

Second, in order to properly analyze this tweet, I'm going to have to talk about Luka and Kagami first. They were introduced during the second season of Miraculous Ladybug to complicate the Love Square, sort of like Jackie and Tom during Star vs. the Forces of Evil. Their reception was... mixed, to say the least. Part of it had to do with how the show first portrayed them.

Now, I like both of these characters, as well as the ships associated with them, but I want to make things clear that this is based on fan interpretation of these characters. If you like Luka and Kagami, or the associated ships with them, that's fine. Same goes for the ships in the Love Square between Marinette and Adrien. While I will be criticizing the writing of the romantic subplots, I am not trying to start a ship war here. This is all about the way Astruc views the writing of Luka and Kagami. So let's please try to keep any comments here civil.

Luka first appeared in the episode “Captain Hardrock”, and was instantly infatuated with Marinette. Fans really didn't like the episode. In addition to the boring villain and horrible animation on display, some viewers simply found Luka to be a boring character. Don't get me wrong, there were still some fans who loved Luka in his first appearance, but for others, it took until his next appearance, “Frozer”, for them to warm up to Luka. The thing is that was because of how Adrien had been for some of the season.

See, mid-Season 2, people had started to question the way Adrien was being written. He had been much more assertive in his attempts to get Ladybug to fall for him, like setting up dates, offering flowers, and supporting the media shipping the two together, claiming they're “meant to be”.

This ties back into why people stated to like Luka more. Unlike Adrien, who was more intrusive of Ladybug's boundaries, Luka was much more calm and understanding of how conflicted Marinette was when she was caught between him and Adrien. By Season 3, a lot of fans found Adrien was only getting worse and basically abandoned ship (no pun intended) to start shipping Luka with Marinette.

While I believe there are some problems with the way Adrien is being written (which I will get into in a later entry), I don't think all hope is lost for the Love Square, as there are some generally cute moments between Marinette and Adrien, and there have been a lot of great fanfics featuring the two as a couple. So it's safe to say I don't think the Love Square is a lost cause.

At the same time, I can understand why people would start shipping Lukanette instead because of the way they viewed Adrien's behavior during Season 3. I also think they have some nice moments in the show, with one of the few good episodes in the garbage fire that is Season 3, “Silencer”, being all about Luka and Marinette growing closer.

Here's the thing. The way the fanbase perceived Luka? IT ISN'T CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

A big reason fans started to ship Lukanette because of how poorly the other romantic subplot with Adrien was going. Hell, people started to ship Marinette with Damian Wayne because of how much they hated Adrien. Some fans have also cited how Marinette looks much more comfortable around Luka compared to when she’s an anxious mess around Adrien, allowing for better interactions with the former.

And Astruc is acting like the fact that more people are shipping Lukanette like it's all part of his brilliant plan. It's hard to explain how ridiculous this sounds without starting a ship war across Tumblr, so let's move onto what he said about Kagami.

Kagami's first appearance in the episode “Riposte” didn't really give the audience a good idea of what she was like, as she was the Akuma of that episode. All we really knew about her was that she was a fencer, her mom was incredibly strict towards her, and she hit it off with Adrien. It didn't help that she didn't have another appearance for almost an entire year.

Her next appearance, “Frozer”, really didn't portray her in a positive light. Because Kagami had a crush on Adrien, she was a lot more cold to Marinette (even though they hadn't met before and when Adrien told her about her at the end of “Riposte”, she sounded eager to meet her) and basically told her to move her ass or Adrien was hers. Oh, you think I'm paraphrasing? That is literally what Astruc said when someone asked the meaning of that line.

Because all girls do is fight over cute boys, right? Such a good message for a “girl power” show.

Her next appearance in “Animaestro ”made her out to be the threat in the first half of the episode for the crime of hanging out with Adrien. This motivates Marinette to team up with Chloe of all people to embarrass Kagami in front of Adrien, and neither of them are ever called out for it. Yes, Marinette and Chloe both have a crush on Adrien, but the show is demonizing Kagami for daring to spend time with him when Adrien honestly looks much more comfortable around her compared to when Chloe or Lila (another character I'll talk about later) force themselves onto him.

So here's a fun fact: If you write a character as a threat to the protagonist in a completely irrational way, all while perpetuating the cliche stereotype of girls fighting over boys, people aren't going to like that character.

It wasn't until the episode “Ikari Gozen” that Kagami and Marinette finally became friends, and people actually warmed up to her because the show stopped trying to portray her as a romantic rival on the same level as Chloe and Lila.

So while you could call Kagami becoming friends with Marinette character development, it just comes right out of left field, I don't really think it was planned out. But even if, congratulations Astruc. You finally wrote some character development for two supporting characters. Now if only you could do it for your main characters too.

(Sorry if this isn’t my best work, I’ve been focusing on another entry that tackles an... interesting example of how poorly Astruc can respond to criticism.)

[bastardtetsu]

critical thinking | ch②

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 1.7k

warning: swearing, being a theatre major

※ mlist | ① ● ③ ④

after several weeks of douchebag exposure therapy, you’re practically numb to kuroo’s bullshit - for the most part. you still get a bit flustered when you get things wrong, but his teasing barely phases you since you’ve abandoned the concept of speaking to him with respect.

“STILL struggling with balancing equations, y/n??” he chides as you work on your homework, “jeez, maybe i need to start giving you extra assignments.”

“on god kuroo, if you try to make me do any more chemistry than is absolutely necessary i will make sure you never know a day of peace in your life.”

“but y/n,” he teases, “you know if you don’t practice you’ll never get any better.”

“i’m not trying to ‘get better,’ i’m trying to pass the class.”

“ahh, no ambition. you hate to see it.”

“wanna shut the fuck up and let me do my homework?” you snap.

“see, there’s that passion!”

he really is insufferable. you roll your eyes and groan, turning your attention away from the mocking rooster & back to your homework while he gets up to stretch his legs.

what he said wasn’t wrong, you are struggling with the whole balancing equations thing. your brain feels like it’s working on overdrive as you scribble away - numbers are definitely not your strong suit.

you can hear him start to snicker behind you as you work. you pause your writing and turn around to see him peeking over your shoulder with a sadistic smile on his face.

“is something funny?” you ask, unimpressed. his smile softens a bit as you stare him down.

“you’re doing it wrong,” he says, and leans down to correct your work. his face is much closer to yours now, you can almost feel the warmth of his breath as his arm reaches around your right side to write in your notebook while his left hand rests on the back of your chair, practically enveloping you.

resisting the urge to turn and stare at the annoying, criminally sculpted face that’s now inches away from yours, you fix your eyes on his hand as he writes and try to ignore how warm you suddenly feel.

his hands are big, you think, noticing how much smaller your pencil looks when he holds it. you can smell his cologne again, too. sandalwood or whatever.

“there, see?” he says, turning his head to look at you.

your faces are still so close.

what is it about his eyes that makes his stare feel so intense every time?

you quickly avert your gaze back to the page of notes, focusing extra hard on the numbers so you can ignore the beat your heart skipped just now. somehow, the equation in front of you looks even more indecipherable than it did before. and why does your face feel so hot?

“i… still don’t get it,” you admit tentatively. he just lets out a soft chuckle, letting his gaze drop for a second before locking eyes with you, lips curled into a smirk.

“you really are bad at this.”

another electric shock of embarrassment mixed with rage jolts through you.

“yeah, and what?” you challenge, “that makes me dumber than you? ok, well if you’re so smart why don’t you try telling me about willy loman’s superobjective in death of a salesman? or identifying the difference between verse and prose in classical text?? i bet you don’t even know who anton chekhov is, but sure, i’m the idiot because i don’t know how to balance a damn equation. how about learn your shit, and then you can teach me mine.”

kuroo just stands there for a moment, taken aback by your outburst. then the bitch starts laughing.

“what’s funny?!!” you interrogate, your voice getting louder. his laugh sounds like a goddamn hyena.

“y/n oh my god,” he chokes out between cackles, “you’re such a nerd!”

“ME??!!?!” you just about scream, furious, “you’re calling me a nerd?? have you met yourself??!”

“well at least i’m not in danger of failing a class,” he giggles.

“that has nothing to do with this,” you snap.

“so who’s anton chek-whatever?” he prods, still amused.

“see, you’re laughing but you’re the one sounding stupid this time,” you grumble. you can tell he’s just searching for something else to tease you about, but you can’t resist the opportunity to turn the tables & be the one schooling him for once. “chekhov. he’s a famous playwright. from russia. one of the early pioneers of modernism in the late 19th/early 20th century - not that you’d even know what that means.”

“you’re right, i don’t,” he relents, “but you seem like you do. nerd.” his eyes have an extra glint in them as they narrow with another taunting smirk.

“leave me alone, you’re the one who asked,” you groan, finally fed up with his antics. “look, i need to finish this homework before i get out of here. otherwise it’s never getting done.”

“i’ll check your answers when you’re finished,” he offers.

“only if you’re not a dick about it.”

“you only think I’m being a dick when you get the answer wrong.”

“SHUT UP.”

—

as midterms approach, the stress is starting to get to you as your workload gets heavier and heavier. maybe that’s why you seem extra snarky towards your annoying, hot, annoyingly hot chemistry tutor today.

“y/n, did you review chemical bonds like i told you to last week?” he chides after you get another homework question wrong. sometimes he really does sound like a teacher, or someone’s dad. but thankfully, he is neither of those things, which means you can comfortably trash him.

“sorry i have things to worry about besides memorizing how electrons work,” you snark, “what about you? this isn’t even your major, do you not have other shit to do besides come here & make fun of me?”

“hey, i do this because i love it!” he protests dramatically. you can see the smirk in his eyes.

“sure” you sneer back, “look, i don’t know about you, but some of us actually have to work for our degrees. we don’t have time to waste bullying people who don’t know science for fun.”

“who says I can’t do both?”

now you’re starting to get annoyed.

“dude for real. do you know how busy i am?? like, ALL the time??? why else do you think i’m here? i wouldn’t be in this shitty class if i had room for anything else. i can’t even go to my professor’s office hours!”

“ah, well, that explains a lot.”

“shut up,” you jab, “the only reason i keep coming back to your dumb ass tutoring hours is because my schedule is so goddamn packed i can’t meet up with anyone else.”

“sure, whatever you say y/n,” he croons, tone dripping in sarcasm.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh you know,” he teases, eyes full of mischief. you really don’t though?

“you’re full of shit,” you mutter dismissively. he’s trying to egg you on to say something stupid so he can ridicule you for it, but you can see right through him.

“i’m not the one dodging the subject,” he grins, his eyes unmoving from you as you turn back to your paper. even facing away from him, you can feel his laser beam of a stare on you as if he were breathing right down your neck. ha, i wish. wait— “you know, you’re not gonna get very far on that worksheet if you didn’t do any review.”

“would you be quiet?” you snap at him, fed up with his condescension, “or better yet, maybe do your job and help me figure it out?”

“well,” he purrs with a sickly sweet smirk, “only since you asked so nicely.”

you make sure to roll your eyes extra hard at him to make up for the way your heartbeat quickened at his flirtatious tone.

thankfully, he actually obeys your request this time and tones down the teasing as he explains chemical bonds, doing his best to help you through each homework problem step-by-step. usually he can tell when you’re actually getting irritated and makes up for it like this. you’re silently grateful for this form of kindness from him, even if it’s only because you’re a nightmare to work with otherwise.

as you wrap up your session with him - late once again, but he never minds staying past the end of his tutoring hours since he has the rest of the day off anyway - you hurriedly pack your things, grumbling a complaint about how now you don’t have time to get something to eat before you meet with your scene partner to rehearse your acting midterm. while it’s pretty normal for you to miss meals because of your schedule, it’s frustrating nonetheless, especially after your brain has just been fried by molecular bonds.

“oi, y/n,” kuroo says as you turn to leave. you pause, bracing yourself for whatever stupid comment he’s about to make.

“take care of yourself,” he says, a tinge of concern just barely distinguishable in his tone, before adding, “and remember to review covalent and ionic bonds!” you sigh. he sounds like a dad again.

“see, those are contradictory statements,” you gripe, “chemical bonds could not be further from self care.” he chuckles softly at that.

“at least make sure you eat, ok? maybe you’d get better at chemistry if you had more nutrients.”

“BYE, kuroo,” you call out, already headed for the door.

as you hurry towards your next destination, you can’t get your mind off of how weird it was to see kuroo acting… worried about you? normally his reaction to your struggling is just to tease you about it, but this was new for him. you’re not sure how to feel about it, and it’s hard to tell when the adrenaline of being in a rush is making your heartbeat do all sorts of things that might be confused with something else.

either way, there’s no way you’re reviewing a goddamn thing before next week.

a/n: yeah ok my theatre major jumped out in this one.. i can’t believe i’m posting a fic where i talk about superobjectives & chekhov unironically dsfdddfs hope that doesn’t ruin the experience for u, i really tried to do some research so y/n and kuroo could have an actual discussion about chemistry but turns out i’m dumb in real life so u get this instead

[the-reaper-of-maidens]

Arrival

YEET, some Alcina x OC stuff, because I’m horrible with x Reader stuff. I suppose chronologically, this is the first in my Alcina x OC stories, since this is how my OC met the tall vampire lady~ It kinda ends a bit abruptly, but I wanted the smut to be its own chapter, lol. I know I have the good lady far nicer in this than she really is, but she’s kinda mentally flipped upside down with this nutty OC~ I hope I did the tall vampire lady justice with this, regardless!

TW: mentions of self harm, homophobia implied

The diminutive woman arrived at the castle grounds. Her brown eyes were weary and showed her depression. Her brunette hair was long, flowing freely in the cold breeze, and her jeans were doing a poor job keeping her legs from freezing. She had some nose and ear piercings, so they were especially cold. She shivered and pulled her bomber jacket tighter as she went in, adjusting her duffle bag. She was a bit of a horror blogger, though she ironically was scared easily. Recently, she ended her blog, figuring it was best to end while she was at her peak, so she didn’t tell anyone about her trip to this haunting castle that was reported to be sites of vicious attacks.

Really, the blogger was hoping for one more fright before moving on from her fame, or maybe she wanted to end her suffering, so she hoped to see a monster. Though she was well-liked online, her personal life was… awful, to put it lightly. The blogger certainly felt unsettled, taking a look at the foyer. She thought it was weird that the doors were totally unlocked, though she figured it was different cultural norms, since she was American.

And then… she saw one of them. The blogger started sweating as the witch stepped towards her, she didn’t think anyone still lived here. The tiny woman stepped back, trying not to wig out as the witch continued her creeping. She whipped her head around when she heard another door open, and that was when she started running, dropping her bag.

She didn’t know where she was going, she just wanted to get away from them while trying to explore what the castle had to offer, despite her better judgement. Maybe she should have just turned tail when she saw the witch…

“Well, well… what an interesting visitor we have here,” a low, but darkly alluring voice called out, its owner crouching through a doorway.

The blogger froze like a deer in headlights as she saw what seemed to be an enormous woman towering over her. This woman must have been twice her height. Great, she thought, I have that creepy woman after my tail and now there’s this… hulking piece of… hotness. The blogger blushed a bit, this woman was just stunning, and she couldn’t help but get the hots for her despite being pretty terrified right about now. “S...sorry,” she finally managed to croak out. “I just got curious is all. I’ll just grab my stuff and leave now if you want.”

“How adorable, thinking you can just break in and enter someone’s house willy-nilly,” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu giggled charmingly and sinisterly as she eyed the petite woman, baring her claws. Of course, she felt it was a bit unfair for this especially tiny woman to go down easily; she usually liked giving her prey a fighting chance, it made the hunt all the more exciting. “I’ll give you a chance to run. If you make it out the door before my daughters or I can catch you, you’re free to go~”

Instead of running, though… the blogger just screamed and went down on her knees, cowering in fear. Her stomach was in knots, and she almost felt her breakfast wanting to come back up as she prepared herself for the worst.

The mutant tilted her head in curiosity and retracted her claws. Normally, most people took the chance to run off, but this one thought giving up and staying was a good idea. Alcina was suddenly interested in this strange human. “Hmm… you know what, I’ll call off my daughters. You pique my interest, how about we chat over lunch?”

The blogger was still shaking, though she mustered up the courage to open up her eyes. Though still anxious, she did relax a bit when she realized she was still unharmed. “I… yeah, sure. Lunch sounds good,” she stood up on shaky legs, unzipping her bomber jacket a bit. The adrenaline really heated up her body. Her stomach still felt a bit nauseous, though, so the thought of food didn’t sound appealing to the blogger at the moment.

“Trust me, I’ll make sure my daughters won’t bite. How about you go make yourself… comfortable in the meantime?”

Naturally, the blogger was still on high alert for the next few hours. She looked at her phone, tempted to make a blog post about all that happened, but she decided against it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be back in the limelight again… if she wanted to be criticized by her family again. She didn’t have any friends, really, so it wasn’t like she had anyone that would worry about her. She sighed, and Alcina caught the pained look on the blogger’s face.

“So… what brought you to my humble abode?”

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry…” the blogger fretted a bit. “Like I said, I got curious. I also used to run a blog about all sorts of scary monsters and stuff.” Of course, this was all lost on the vampire lady, so the blogger explained more. “A blog is kinda like a digital journal entry, you see. You write it up on your computer and post it up and everyone gets to see what you wrote. Kinda like a bulletin board, but it’s on the Internet.”

“And you… used to?”

“I… yeah. I just wanted to scare people about the things I write about, I didn’t want to be famous. But it happened, and I felt like I had to go along with the ride. Eventually, my folks found out. They’re… not the most supportive,” the blogger divulged. “So ending the blog was a little bit of panic and mostly my choice, because I knew I can’t handle juggling family issues and the blog.”

The mutant woman tsked a bit, feeling an odd sense of pity for the blogger. “How shameful of your family. Do they not have their own business to tend to?”

“Like hell that I care. I cut them off after I stopped blogging. I’ve got enough money to travel around as I please, so… if I’m stuck where I’m misunderstood and demonized, I can just fly off,” and the blogger had anger flash in her eyes for a second, which surprised the mutant vampire. “Imagine being in hillbilly hell, where everyone is a churchgoing fanatic, and you don’t fit what they want you to be. I don’t have friends. My family hates me because of who I love… the guys laugh, and the women? Well, they’re grossed out because I’m a woman and I’m... I’m not supposed to love women.”

“Ah, so you escaped when you finally had the chance,” Alcina wasn’t stupid, piecing together that the smaller woman was waiting for the funds to get out. It was admittedly rather admirable to the vampire, knowing that someone freed themselves of their shackles.

“It took a few years… but you can bet I hauled ass the second I reached my goal. Still, though… I wake up every day, and I’m dragged down by my self-hate. Like my demons follow me wherever I go, and it’d be nice if I can escape for real.”

Alcina shifted a bit, and she grinned mysteriously. “I know a way, if you’re willing to stay for the night,” she offered, hoping the blogger would accept. Perhaps this woman could give her her fix, since it had been a long while since Alcina had any fun in her private quarters. Though she had her witches, she really did see the three as her daughters… she just couldn’t see herself doing such an act with any of them.

The blogger blushed a bright red, trying to decipher what this extremely tall vampire lady meant by that. “...Are you asking me to sleep with you?” she sniped in. She wouldn’t mind it, per se, but she was certainly surprised at the proposal.

“I can tell in your body language, you’re in love with me~ Luckily for you, I don’t care what’s in someone’s pants or how they identify as when I put them to bed. All they need to do… is be a good plaything for me,” Alcina giggled seductively, tossing away any subtlety she might have had.

“I… hold on, just a sec,” the blogger ran off to the nearest bathroom to compose herself. She felt herself flush with heat as she took off her jacket. “Don’t… do anything stupid,” she told herself in the mirror as she washed her face with ice cold water. She was wracked with nerves, but she just couldn’t pass this up. Well, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like anyone back home cared about me, she thought to herself. The blogger took a deep breath to compose herself as she zipped her jacket back up and she went back out, her emotions put into check for now. “Sure, I’d like to stay for the night,” the blogger grinned awkwardly when she returned, fidgeting a bit.

“Trust me, you have nothing to fear,” Alcina purred, putting a hand on the blogger’s cheek. Of course, decades of experience meant she knew how to not crush the poor thing during their fun. This woman must have been half her size, if the height difference was anything to go by. “When you’re as tall as I am, you simply have no choice but to... adapt.”

“Hehe, lucky me. I’ve never… did any of that, obviously,” the blogger admitted, blushing as she shifted her weight between her feet.

“Oh? So you’re saying that you’re a maiden?” Alcina was definitely hooked now, leaning forward a bit. Having a new fling was always nice, but having a potentially new source to make another batch of Sanguis Virginis was always even better.

“What? You’re not gonna like, sacrifice me to some demon or something, are you? Or gut me with those huge claws… right?”

“Oh, no, not at all. It just has a rather poetic ring to it is all,” Alcina hummed casually, debating whether to get the blogger’s blood or enjoy the night with her. Then again, there was no hiding from the tiny woman that she was a mutant vampire, so she had to come clean. “Though,” she leaned back in her chair, “I’m admittedly not sure whether to ravish you or turn you into my wine. We need maiden’s blood for the wine, you see, since it’s just so... delectable.” Normally, the countess would have no issue deciding to turn someone into wine, but given the events from earlier that day... the blogger could make for a good plaything instead.

The blogger swallowed nervously. She had a feeling that whatever she would say, Alcina would manage to have her way. “...How much blood? Are you gonna… turn me? If not, can you not… like, kill me? I need my blood to live.” So many questions raced in her head, she was almost regretting accepting the offer. Almost.

“Charming. Don’t you worry, I won’t drain you of all your blood, should you end up being my pet instead~”

The blogger spent most of the day just relaxing in her room after lunch, thinking about her future. The money won’t last forever, after all, so she needed to start planning. So far, her hostess seemed amiable enough, despite the initial scare. “Ugh, think, think, think! What can I do for Lady Dimitrescu to make her enjoy my stay if I have to come back?” Or, perhaps, she could forgo her travels, instead staying at Castle Dimitrescu for the rest of her life in service to Alcina. She felt a cold in the air, the hairs on her neck standing on ends. She slowly turned and her eyes met with Daniela’s, who she learned earlier was one of Alcina’s daughters.

“Mother says dinner is almost ready, plaything~” the witch giggled, a strident laugh that made the blogger feel a pit in her stomach.

“I… thanks,” the blogger gulped in fear, following the witch for what seemed like forever. She still wasn’t sure what to think about Daniela, truth be told. She eyed the mutant vampire, and realized the mutant was still inhumanly tall, though not as tall as Alcina. She gulped nervously, wondering if she’d be tossed to the witch if Alcina decided she wasn’t good enough.

“Ah, our little guest. Thank you for fetching her, Daniela,” Alcina nodded, a smirk revealing her fangs a bit as she waved Daniela off to take a seat. The blogger looked around, watching the maids hustle and bustle, setting food out to the table. She saw two other women similarly dressed as Daniela sitting at the table, and she assumed they were sisters. That still didn’t make her less uneasy.

The blogger’s mouth watered a bit, smelling the food. If lunch was anything to go by, dinner would be spectacular. “Thanks for letting me stay for the night, Lady Dimitrescu. Tonight’s pretty cold, or so it seems,” she took a seat.

“Oh, it’s not an issue at all, and please… you may call me Alcina,” the vampire mutant purred, trying to get a bit more emotionally close to the blogger. She rarely had any romantic emotions, she usually felt they were in the way of the real action, but… she didn’t mind it when she did have romance flare up in her heart, if someone truly was interesting to her. She frowned a bit when the blogger didn’t take her bomber jacket off, even as she started eating. “Oh, come now, how long have you worn that jacket today? Surely, you must be sweating buckets in there!”

The blogger blushed a bit, mid-bite into her chiftea. “Oh, um… you don’t need to worry… Alcina. I’m not hot at all, trust me,” she tried to dodge, knowing the lady wanted her to stop roasting.

“Well, if you get it all over your coat, you’re going to have to wash it anyways. I’m amazed you didn’t do that at lunch earlier.”

The blogger just cast her eyes downward at her food, fidgeting a bit. She knew she was locked in; one wrong choice, and she would be dead, and she’d rather be alive and uncomfortable than dead. “You’re right,” and she took off her jacket, revealing scars and tattoos on her arm peeking out from the rolled sleeves. She shivered in the brisk breeze, but kept eating.

Alcina leaned back a bit, realizing why her guest refused to shed her coat. “Who did that to you? The scars, that is.”

“...I did,” the blogger clenched a fork, her eyes still downcast. “...Most of it, anyways,” she finally looked up and made eye contact with Alcina. “Some of it was from my dad.”

“...My apologies,” Alcina truly meant it. “I had no idea.”

“It’s fine, the scars are all in the past now,” the blogger took a sip of what seemed to be wine, perhaps a merlot or a cabernet. She coughed, she hated alcohol… “Sorry… I get that wine is good for dinner, but… I prefer tea,” she admitted. “Dad was an alcoholic, so… stuff like that makes me uncomfortable. I think maybe an Earl Grey tea with some cream and sugar would be nice?”

Alcina nodded and called for a servant. “Prepare a tea kettle for our guest here. Earl Grey with cream and sugar,” the vampire lady commanded. “My dear guest… I really am sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’ll take note of that next time you come here.”

“Um… actually, about that… I’ve been thinking, Alcina. The money I’ve got won’t last forever, so I was thinking of just staying here… working for you,” the brunette woman rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly.

Each and every hour, the blogger became more and more interesting to Alcina. It was rare for girls to come and willingly work here, unless they had some sort of death wish. “I see. Well, in that case, I will spare you, my dear... if you can tell me what you can bring to the table.”

“I can make music, and I can do art. Think of all the beautiful paintings I’d make of you~” the blogger cracked a grin. “But more importantly… I can help you bring maidens into the castle for your wine.”

“Oh?” That definitely rules out making her into wine now, Alcina thought, though she decided hours ago she likely wouldn’t do such a thing to her little pet.

“If you can turn me into one like yourself and your daughters, I will. I promise. I’ve… when I was twelve, I wanted to become a vampire so badly,” she admitted, snorting a bit. “But... really, Alcina. The maidens I’d hunt for you would be my rent payment, so to speak.”

Alcina seemed to consider it, sipping her wine, and smiling in amusement at that confession. The blogger seemed multi talented, at least, so it would be nice to have some entertainment if she wanted, though it was new that someone wanted to be turned, and she was tempted, though she’d have to talk to a certain Mother Miranda. “You’ll get your chance, my dear. Patience is the key here,” she reached over and gently grasped her guest’s hand. “Perhaps not now, but you can say goodbye to your past… to the pain… soon.”

Dinner was accompanied by lots of talk, mostly of the blogger telling Alcina all about herself. Soon enough, dinner was done, and Alcina invited the blogger to her bedroom. “A deal is a deal~ I promised you that I’d help you escape your self-loathing, and I will,” she offered a gargantuan hand to the blogger.

[tehrevving]

Cocked and Loaded

My piece for the @ssszine. I was waiting until I received my copy to post it buuuut it’s been stuck in about 3 different countries now, so I’ve decided to just go for it.

This is a funny fic that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Enjoy!

The bar is so deserted that Dante can’t even find someone to refill his drink. He just sits there, swirling the ice around his empty glass and staring at the strange fruit bowl in front of him. He doesn’t know why there’s one on the bar, or why it’s filled with only bananas and a giant purple fruit that looks like the emoji thing that young people use when they text. If he’s not going to be able to get another drink, he decides to just leave. He stands up, not noticing the woman standing behind him, lower than his eye line. He almost knocks her to the floor. She’s pretty, older but with a bit too much plastic injected into her face for his tastes. 

“Sorry Miss,” he says sheepishly, moving around her. 

She puts a hand on his bicep and squeezes, “don’t worry about it big boy.”

Dante carefully lifts her hand off his arm. She just puts her other hand on his chest. “You’re quite a catch aren’t you Love,” she smiles sincerely, through the face fillers. “I’d popped in here for a drink, but now that I’ve seen you. Well I could go for something a little bit more,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Salty.”

Dante chokes. He’s never heard that one before and it catches him off guard, especially said with such a serious tone. The man behind the camera sighs.

“Cut!” he yells, and the room comes alive. 

People are running around, adjusting the angle of the spotlights while the director yells. Dante sits back down on the stool and takes a sip of his whisky, shaking his head. He can’t believe he’s actually doing this. 

It was an offer he hadn’t been able to refuse. A simple, quick job attached to a ten thousand dollar cheque. He was already eyeing up a stylish new coat, custom holsters for his guns and the very expensive pizza shop down the road. The catch was the very nature of the job itself. The client wanted him, Dante Sparda, Legendary Devil Hunter, to star in a full frontal pornographic film, for their personal collection. 

Dante needed the cash desperately. He’d been sent a script, a time and an address, and now he was here, thrust into the spotlight and still not really sure what was going on. 

He thought that he would be walking into an amateur type affair. A casting couch in a dark room with a handycam sort of thing. There’s a whole team of people though, including an eccentric director - stupid hat included - who seems incapable of speaking in a volume lower than a shout.

He takes another look at the client, his co-star. She’s a socialite, rich, influential, and apparently a huge fan of his. She’s nice enough even though there’s just something off about her. She doesn’t look quite right when she smiles. She reminds him of the hellspawn he regularly exterminates.  

“One minute warning!”

Dante takes a deep breath and steels himself.

It takes two more attempts for the director to be happy. Dante is already bored of repeating the same thing over and over. He wonders why getting this scene right is such a big deal. It’s not like anyone ever watches the intro to porn films anyway. He just drains his glass and reaches over the bar for the bottle to refill it. 

One of the cameramen is next to him suddenly, grinning. “Are you sure drinking more is a good idea?” he smirks, biting back laughter, “it’s all well and good to calm your nerves, but don’t let it affect your performance. If you catch my drift,” he winks.

Dante rolls his eyes, the great Son of Sparda getting whisky dick? Please. Dante reckons that even flaccid he’s got a bigger cock than this idiot. He downs his drink as the man drags him into the next room.

The director has a megaphone now and is screaming into it. He walks over and puts the speaker right next to Dante’s ear. “All you have to do is let her undress you. Got it?”

Dante nods, desperate to stop the ringing in his ear as he’s dragged to the centre of the room.

“Action!”

His co-star stands in front of him again, she’s tiny. He wonders if the camera can even get both of them in the same frame. 

Dante takes in a breath and puts on his usual act, cocky and carefree. 

“Why, is that a sword in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” she smiles, winking.

Dante struggles not to laugh at the lines, or at the expression on her face. He just follows the script, cocking out his hip. “Why don’t you come a little bit closer and find out Sweetheart,” he purrs flawlessly, finishing off with some finger guns for effect. He’s starting to feel a little bit more relaxed. 

She steps in closer as a wind machine starts up. The sound almost deafening. Dante feels the breeze push at his hair and uses his heightened senses to time the shrug of his shoulders. His coat falls off his shoulders effortlessly, fluttering stylishly to the floor.

The wind machine stops and he shakes out his long hair. He flexes his arms and reaches up, over his head. He pulls off his shirt, struggling not to get caught in the fabric or mess up his hair. Sure, it’s an impractical way to take off a shirt, but he saw it in a movie once and thought it looked pretty sweet. 

She stands up on her toes and starts licking at his neck and then his hairy chest. His skin is covered with saliva when she pulls away and it feels pretty gross. She works her way down his body until she’s half crouching to be level with his crotch. The cameraman moves to get the shot, getting tangled up in the cables. Dante tries not to laugh. He tries to look sexy instead. Like he’s excited to have a desperate woman kneeling between his legs, instead of apprehensive.

She traces her hands down his thighs and works quickly down to his boots. She licks the buckle and uses her teeth to pull the zipper down. Dante notices, as she pulls off his shoe, that everyone in the room is staring at his feet.

“Cut!”

The director storms over, his voice distorted static through the megaphone. “What are those?!”

Dante looks down, “my socks?” he questions, wiggling his toes inside of his lucky, pizza print sock. 

The director groans, holding his head in his hands.

“Costuming!”

They take away Dante’s favourite sock and the mismatched pink strawberry print one from his other foot. He’s given replacement socks that are boring and plain black. He’s just managed to get them on when an assistant appears and throws all of his previously discarded clothes at him. Dante gets dressed again.

He can’t believe he has to go through it all again. He has a lot less enthusiasm during the next take. His coat falls dismally to the floor and he takes his shirt off the normal way because he’s not going to risk stretching the neck out. Eventually they get back to where they were, and then further. Now she’s crouched awkwardly in front of him, working on his fly. 

She rubs her face all over his clothed cock. He’s not really hard yet but not one seems to have noticed. It’s all going well so far. She undoes his fly and slowly pulls his pants lower. She works seductively, dragging the fabric down his legs while biting her lip. Dante cocks out his hip while the camera pans around him.

“Cut!”

The director is utterly irate this time, stalking towards Dante like he’s going to murder him. “Your underwear,” he spits. Dante twists around. He’d accidentally put on his smokin hot black briefs this morning, the ones with the word ‘sexy’ stamped across the ass in giant, holographic letters. 

His co-star turns, struggling not to laugh. “I don’t think those are a problem.”

The director stares at her like she has two heads but quickly relents. 

They don’t have to redo the whole scene again apparently. Dante’s just glad he doesn’t have to get dressed again, or deal with the wind machine. He just does his pants back up and they go from there. There’s only one more hitch on the next take. She’s a little bit too enthusiastic ripping off his underwear and his semi-hard cock springs up. Hitting her solidly in the face. She’s not hurt, but she’s definitely a little bit shaken up. The next time they try the take, she makes sure to hold him steady with her hand.  

There’s a team of people adjusting a stool in front of him. His co-star kneels on it and they mess around trying to get her high enough to comfortably reach his cock. Dante tries to play it cool. He’s starting to feel a little bit out of his depth, now that she’s about to properly touch him. 

The director turns to Dante. “Get ready,” he scoffs and makes a jerking motion with his fist. Gross. 

Dante has never had any problems with his performance, even with an audience. It’s different in the dark recesses of a strip club though, compared to harsh lights and critical stares. He ignores them, reaching down and stroking his cock a few times. He quickly gets into it, adding in a twist of his wrist here and there. It feels good. 

The director fawns over him, tells him to bend his knees, cock out his hip, tense his butt. Dante tries his best to follow the contradicting directions, ignoring the strain in his thighs. 

“Action!”

It’s now or never. She reaches out and wraps a hand firmly around the thick base of his cock. She strokes him a few times, making exaggerated movements while she leans her face in closer. She holds him in place and then sticks out her tongue. 

Dante is watching closely. There’s something not right with her tongue. It’s slightly too long and flicks out strangely from between her lips. Her grip tightens painfully around the base of his cock. He hears her hiss. “Gotcha!”

Dante recoils. Managing to pull himself back just in time. Her maw crunches down on the empty air where beloved lil’ Dante was only moments ago.

She crouches to the floor, splayed out with too long limbs. “Famed Devil Hunter,” she hisses, staring at him with glowing, slitted eyes. “You’ve fallen right into our trap. Let us see how strong you really are, aroused, naked and without any weapons.”

Dante doesn’t need to look around the room. The grotesque snapping sounds echoing off the walls tell him that everyone else in the room is transforming too. She takes a step back as the others gang up on him. 

This is his element though. He can handle a fight. “Oh, Darling,” he taunts, “I’m always fully loaded.” He winks and flies head first into battle. 

The creatures aren’t strong. Dante doesn’t need weapons. His bare fists are strong enough to puncture through their squishy chests. He has fun, backflipping and dancing around. It’s interesting, getting to fight with parts of his body that he doesn’t normally. He laughs, snapping necks with his thighs. Yelling out, “cut” and “action” as he slams disfigured faces to the ground. It’s easy to improvise, though he has to be careful not to bang his large adrenaline filled erection on the furniture. 

Far too soon for his liking, it’s just the woman and the director - stupid hat still perched on his reptilian head - left. The director stalks forward, looking just as agitated as he had when he looked human. He’s so focused on Dante that he doesn’t notice the camera cable, stretched taut and hidden by streaming corpses. He trips. Dante watches it play out in slow motion. The director flails, trying to keep his balance. His hat flies off his head. There’s a pause and a click as the swinging cable flicks the fan blades on. Dante can’t tear his eyes away from the director’s horrified face. He screams as the sharp blades slice through him and paint the walls with his blood.  

The client is furious now. She screeches at him. The sound threatens to shatter the windows. Dante throws a quick come hither motion in her direction, goading her on. She lunges forwards. 

It’s an accident, honestly. Dante was having way too much fun. He wanted to capture her, interrogate her, find out exactly what was going on here, who sent them. But it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t that he mistimed his stylish double pike backflip exactly, it was more that she anticipated his movement and decided to attack him with her teeth.

Her head swung back as he twisted. Neither her nor Dante though have accounted for the unrestrained and exceptionally lethal weapon between his legs. His dick hits her solidly in the neck. He has too much momentum. He doesn’t stop spinning. Her neck splits with a pop as her decapitated head flies across the room. 

Dante stops moving as quickly as he can. Frantically inspecting his makeshift sword for any damage. There’s a little bit of devil gore, but otherwise everything is intact. He sighs with relief as he looks around the room. 

Dante sneaks out of the apartment through the back window, dropping into the bushes below. He’s haphazardly dressed, already having put on and taken his clothes off way too many times today. He leaves the mess of bodies and equipment as they are. Not his problem. He steals the bottle of booze though, along with the strange purple fruit from the bowl and the tape from the camera, which has ‘Cocked and Loaded’ scrawled across the front of it.

He starts the slow, long walk back to the office, still broke. He’s pretty sure that the large cheque he has in his pocket is gonna bounce. He turns the purple fruit around in his hands and then takes a bite. It’s disgusting. He throws it away. Why would anyone want to eat that?

He can’t believe that he’s walking away empty handed. He’d been so confident this job was going to work out. He pats the tape in his pocket, glad he has it as a souvenir. He’s almost giddy, thinking about watching it later tonight in private. He’s already decided that he’s never gonna show it to anyone else, and even if it never really got juicy… well, he figures at least one person should jerk off to it.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Sunshine

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Han Jisung (Stray Kids)

Word Count: 12K

Genre: Married Life AU

Warnings: Smut and Language

Summary: Y/N has loved Jisung for her entire life and she would never dream of marrying anyone else. Of course, their life together isn’t always perfect, but they’ve always managed to overcome every obstacle standing in their way.

Note: Feeling soft for Jisung these days...

I was only 8-years-old when my parents divorced. 

My mother, thinking herself circumspect, blamed it on my father’s long hours at work. But she wasn’t there the night I decided to wait for my father, watching him come home in the dead of night to quietly clean the lipstick painting the side of his cheek. I remember catching his eyes from the bottom of the staircase and the guilt in his eyes was impossible to dismiss.

Those kinds of unfortunate secrets are difficult to hide because they demand to be seen. 

Thereafter, I can recall memories of sitting in different offices, listening to my parents bicker while their lawyers did their best to satisfy bitter clients, especially when it came to their daughter. I was a particularly harsh point of contention, but full childhood custody was granted to my mother who did everything in her power to push my father out of our lives, even packing up our belongings to move to the opposite side of the country. And New York City was just as intimidating as my childish imagination had perceived it to be. My first impression was unforgettable, a city that was large and confusing, constantly streaked with traffic and heavy with the low-set of smog in the mornings when the sun could barely filter through the landscape of skyscrapers.

My mother and I moved to the suburbs and started renting a modest home with the idyllic front yard and friendly neighbors who greeted us with dishes containing different foods upon our arrival. I had always been shy and introverted, choosing the comfort of my mother’s legs whenever a stranger would knock on our door, occasionally offering my mother a flirtatious smile. Like the older man who lived across the street who often made a habit of coming over to talk to my mother in the living room while I hid away upstairs, listening to the sound of their laughter.

Eventually, I could no longer pretend that something strange wasn’t happening, especially when my mother’s new friend brought over his two sons. They were both around my age, sporting thick accents that reminded me of the man on television who liked to wrestle with crocodiles. My mother’s friend introduced them as Chan and Felix, encouraging the three of us to get along because we would be spending a lot of time with each other. My childish innocence didn’t quite understand what that meant, but I wanted to do the very best for my mother.

Even so, I was still hesitant at first because Felix seemed to dislike the idea, ignoring me in exchange for his video games when I would come over to their house. Thankfully, Chan was more willing to comply, sharing his books with me since we both liked to read and the couch in his bedroom was extremely comfortable. He had a wide variety of mysteries and thrillers and my impressionable mind would latch onto those exotic stories and themes, picturing myself in the place of the heroine who somehow managed to always know exactly what to do in the most formidable of situations.

Eventually, Chan invited me to accompany him and Felix to the park to meet their other friends since I was having trouble making them on my own. Felix, of course, remained opposed, very nearly throwing a fit had it not been for his father who scolded his son for being so inconsiderate. Not that I was necessarily excited at the idea of meeting their friends since I would have preferred staying inside to read. Nevertheless, my mother was insistent that we get along, so I reluctantly followed Chan and Felix who were talking about some sort of new comic book that they were both reading. It was all very decidedly boyish things and I had no interest in superheroes who ran around in capes when the real heroes were the common female protagonists of my books.

“Everyone, meet Y/N,” Chan had introduced me, pushing me forward to greet the seven other boys who were all looking at me like I was some sort of extraterrestrial specimen.

One of their older friends, with a messy head of black hair, immediately crossed his arms. “No way, Chan,” he protested, glaring at me with intimidating dark eyes.

“Girls aren’t allowed,” another boy agreed, nodding his head with enough force to send his bangs flying into his eyes.

I retreated into myself with each subsequent insult and dismissal thrown my way. It was enough to ostracise even the most outgoing of individuals, but I was quite frustrated because I had tried to resist coming along from the moment Chan first proposed the idea. “I didn’t want to come anyway,” I snapped at the boys, surprising each and every one of them as I stormed away to plant myself down on one of the park benches.

I could hear Chan calling my name but I had decidedly had enough of those boys, including Chan despite the inherent kindness he had previously shown me. In fact, they could have fun without me doing whatever it is that nasty little boys liked to do in the park. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway, even if they had opened their arms and begged me to play along. Of course, I was still deeply hurt that they had dismissed me so quickly, but I had always been a prideful child, which is why my first instinct was to lash out when I noticed a shadow had fallen over my wilted form. “You don’t have to be nice anymore, Chan,” I said, turning away from the approaching boy.

“I’m really sorry.” 

I glanced up in surprise when I realized that the voice was much brighter than Chan’s gravelly tone. Instead, I met a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes from beneath a fringe of blonde-colored hair. The boy held out a flower, a wilted dandelion that had nearly lost its pappus, as if in a gesture of appeasement.

I accepted it from him hesitantly. “Thank you.”

“They shouldn’t be so mean,” the boy continued, waving at his friends who were busy arguing over a silly football. “You’re really tall so you might be able to catch Minho’s long passes.”

I paused at his comment. “Do you want me to play?”

“Of course,” the boy grinned, smiling as brilliantly as the sun bearing down on the two of us. “My name’s Jisung.”

I returned his smile. “It’s nice to meet you Jisung.” He offered me his hand which I gratefully accepted, holding on to him with an unrelenting grip because I had a feeling that I would never want to let go.

This might explain why, years later, I was still waking up next to him in bed with an expensive ring on my finger courtesy of dozens of saved paychecks back when Jisung worked overtime in college. On this morning, in particular, the sound of my alarm might have been enough to wake me up, but the unexpected presence of my husband’s hand groping my chest provided the necessary catalyst to blindly reach out for my cell phone. I silenced the unwelcome disturbance, allowing a low groan when I reached down for his hand because leave it to Han Jisung to feel me up even when we were both sleeping. “What are you doing?” Jisung asked when I tightened my fingers around his wrist, loudly protesting when he squeezed my breast in return. 

“It’s too early for that,” I whined, especially when he started to rub his hard cock against my ass.

“Just let me put it inside for five minutes,” Jisung pleaded, his other hand roaming down to tug on my panties. 

“What good will that do?” I asked him, slowly wriggling away from his arms despite the show of childish outrage from my immature husband who still sometimes forgot that he was an adult.

“You’re gonna make me show up to work like this?” Jisung pouted, expression painted with his betrayal as he watched me walk around our bedroom. 

“Take a cold shower,” I said, tossing a towel in his direction. 

“Y/N,” Jisung said. “Let’s think about the practicalities of the situation. We haven’t had sex in a week and my dick feels like it might fall off at any moment.”

“And if we look at this situation scientifically,” I added. “I doubt your dick will fall off because that’s assuredly impossible.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Jisung asked in an exaggerated fashion, burying his face into our nicest set of pillows.

“Because I’m meeting Seungmin and Jeongin for lunch and you have a field trip to chaperone. Plus, I don’t want to listen to Changbin complain to me on the phone tonight when you show up to work late again.”

“Seungmin and Jeongin are more important than me?”

“Lunch is more important than you,” I corrected him with a smirk, reaching for my bag. “Have a nice day at work, babe.”

“No kiss goodbye?” Jisung questioned even as the door to our bedroom shut soundly behind me.

Being amongst the youngest, me, Seungmin, and Jeongin frequently made a habit of eating lunch together on Saturday afternoons. It was a traditional affair, primarily allowing the three of us to gossip about the others without fear of reprimand. And ever since our Freshman year writing lecture, we’ve enjoyed greasy fast food while commenting on everything from Chan and Changbin’s sudden obsession with the gym to our theories that Minho was secretly married to a rich aristocrat who supplied him with the endless amount of money he spent on his cats.

“Hey!” Jeongin protested when I reached over to steal a piece of his steak.

“It looks better than mine,” I attempted to justify, speaking over a mouthful of food which my mother would normally offer criticism.

“Felix has been acting weird lately,” Seungmin randomly commented, a frown confusing his features as he scrolled through his phone.

I chewed the stolen beef before asking, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he only ever gets like this when she’s back in town.”

I let out a heavy exhale, understanding exactly why Seungmin was concerned. “How long?”

“A week or so,” Seungmin said. “He never comes out with us anymore.”

“Does Changbin know?” I asked, sliding my plate aside in exchange for this piece of juicy gossip.

Changbin’s sister, better known as the object of Felix’s most intimate desires, has managed to whole-heartedly capture Felix in some sort of deadly trance. My step-brother, notoriously known for being a playboy in college, became whipped around Changbin’s sister, following her around like a lost puppy begging for attention. “Of course he does,” Seungmin replied. “But he says that Kara hasn’t tried to contact Felix at all.”

“Obviously,” I snorted. “Changbin thinks Kara is the epitome of perfection. His little sister can’t possibly do wrong in his eyes.”

“I think Felix shares his opinion,” Jeongin commented, trying to sound perfectly serious while he sipped on his chocolate milk.

“We’re having a family dinner tomorrow night,” I said with a sigh. “It’s a good opportunity to interrogate my step-brother.”

“Please, Y/N,” Seungmin said, eyes round and soft. “Felix always tells you everything.”

“And you can immediately tell us in the group chat,” Jeongin chirped happily.

“Of course!” I agreed, reaching over to ruffle Jeongin’s hair until my phone abruptly started ringing. “Yes, Hyunjin?” I sighed into the other end.

“Y/N! We have an emergency!”

I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. “It can’t be that bad.”

“We don’t have straws! I repeat, the cafe has no straws and people are asking for straws, Y/N.”

“Jesus, Hyunjin,” I groaned. “Just go next door and buy some straws.”

“Y/N,” Hyujin huffed impatiently. “There is a bigger problem here and you don’t even realize! That kid you hired last week? I think he’s out to sabotage the cafe. I put him in charge of ordering supplies and guess what isn’t supplied?”

“The damn straws,” I muttered, suddenly having a million regrets for agreeing to open the cafe with Hyunjin in the first place.

“Now you finally understand.”

I carefully lowered the phone from my ear, cupping the receiver to look at Seungmin. “Do you mind coming with me to the cafe? I’m supposed to have the day off but Hyunjin’s losing his shit over straws.”

“Sounds like Hyunjin,” Seungmin smirked. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Hyujin,” I repeated into the phone. “Please don’t scream at that poor kid, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The cafe was originally supposed to be an independent endeavor until Hwang Hyunjin found out about my plans and demanded some sort of involvement. Despite our friendship, I was still hesitant to consider Hyunjin as a business partner, especially considering his performances in the lectures we shared in college. Hyunjin was the type of student to arrive to class five minutes before the professor, desperation clinging to him persistently while he begged me to explain the homework assignment. Nevertheless, Hyunjin somehow graduated from the business school at the same time as I did, albeit without the honor’s recognition, proving himself despite the doubts of nearly everyone in our friend circle with the exception of Jisung who always managed to see the good in everyone.

Shortly after graduation, Hyunjin and I took out a small loan from the bank to open our cafe in a very strategic location close to a nearby university. From the beginning, I had primarily handled the more elaborate side of our business ranging from accounting and point of sales to ordering supplies and handling employees. Hyunjin, on the other hand, took care of the creative aspects including designing what he deemed an “elegant” menu while also trying out new recipes that our mostly college-aged clientele greatly enjoyed in the form of free samples. 

“Y/N!” Hyujin gasped as soon as I walked in the door with Seungmin and Jeongin. “Well?”

I held up a grocery bag full of the straws I had just purchased. “It’s fine, Hyunjin.”

“It’s not fine,” Hyunjin protested, walking over to yank the bag free from my grasp. “I’ll have you know that one of our usual customers left us 4 instead of 5 stars for satisfaction.”

“What will we do?” I deadpanned. “Where’s the new kid? Did you scold him thoroughly?”

“Of course I did,” Hyunjin said, pointing to the kitchen. “I sent him to wash dishes.”

“He’s a cashier.”

“It’s punishment, Y/N,” Hyunjin said. “We can’t have him thinking he can get away with potentially damaging our public image.”

“These kids will still get their morning coffee,” I said. “They don’t care if we’re out of straws as long as they have somewhere to loiter around all day to finish their essays.”

“That’s another thing,” Hyunjin said. “I think we definitely need a bigger place and I know the owner next door said something about moving out.”

“Renovations are expensive,” I said. “And you don’t know if the landlord would be okay with us tearing out the wall to expand.”

“What if I found out?”

“Talk to Seungmin instead,” I suggested, tugging the younger boy forward. “I’ll see about this new guy you’ve decided to torture.”

“Punishment, Y/N!”

I rolled my eyes because I was still frustrated that I had to come into the cafe because of the worst excuse for an emergency in the history of mankind. But what else did I expect from Hyunjin? “Remember to breathe, Y/N,” I whispered to myself. 

Back in the kitchen, our newest employee, donned in his decorative jacket courtesy of Hyunjin’s obsession with bright uniforms, was currently bent over the sink with thick gloves pulled up to his elbows. I felt bad for the guy because it was obvious that he wasn’t used to doing something like this. “Hey, kid,” I said, surprising the younger boy who immediately dropped one of the cups back into the sudsy water. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”

“I-I don’t mind,” he stuttered, eyes wide as he held tightly to a sponge.

“It’s not your job,” I insisted, carefully taking the sponge from him like he was a deer that might dart away at any sudden movement. “I’m sorry Hyunjin told you to come back here. To be honest, he was probably trying to avoid this work himself.”

“But I messed up the order,” he said, hanging his head. “It’s my fault.”

“Not it’s not and don’t let Hyunjin tell you otherwise,” I said. “Next time, call me if you’re having trouble with the order.”

I reached into my bag to pull out my business card, holding it out for his reluctant hand which was still slightly damp from his unexpected dish duty. “You’re not mad?” he asked reluctantly.

“No way,” I reassured him. “I used to work during college too, you know. I kinda get it, kid, so don’t worry about anything.”

His smile was sincere, looking at my card like it was the key to the world. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Get back on register,” I encouraged him. “That’s what I hired you for, and next time Hyunjin gives you any shit, you just let me know.”

He nodded enthusiastically, vacating the kitchen as if he was actually thrilled by the idea of returning to the register. I knew all was well when I could hear Hyunjin’s shrill voice from the other room: “Y/N!”

Jisung managed to beat me home and I walked inside to find my husband laid out on the couch with a glass of orange juice in one hand. “Headache,” Jisung pouted at me.

“Take some Advil,” I said with a smirk, ignoring the way his hands reached out for me in exchange for the possibility of a snack from the kitchen.

“Y/N!” I heard him groan my name. 

“Sungie,” I returned his call. “I hope this isn’t some sort of elaborate set-up because we have dinner with my mother tomorrow night.”

Jisung was silent in the next room and I shook my head while dumping a sample of chips into one of our plastic bowls. I came back out into the living room to find Jisung rolled over onto his stomach, face buried into the cushions of our sectional. “Baby,” I cooed, trying to lure him out from his hiding place.

“I forgot about the dinner,” Jisung said, voice muffled against the furniture.

“I figured that,” I said, somewhat sympathetic to his plight. For as long as I could remember, Jisung had always feared our family dinners mainly because my mother had a personal vendetta against him. Ever since he first stepped foot on the porch wearing a rented suit for Junior year prom, my mother had deemed him unworthy of my time. Her feelings only worsened when she found out that Jisung was majoring in elementary education. “A teacher, Y/N! That boy isn’t going to be able to support the two of you!”

Subsequently, every visit to my mother’s house meant that Jisung had to listen to my mother read statistics on how poor and destitute teachers were in the city. Meanwhile, Felix also received the same treatment from his father who was absolutely horrified when he found out that his youngest son wanted to open a dance studio with Minho. It didn’t help that my step-father loathed Minho because he found him and Felix in the back of Minho’s corvette smoking enough weed to satisfy the entirety of our high school. 

It was a complete contradiction because while Jisung and Felix were constantly reprimanded, Chan and I were bathed in compliments and adoration. “Channie,” my mother would smile. “How are your cases?” Chan was some kind of small claims lawyer in the upper Bronx which meant he made enough money to buy a Rolex for every day of the week while driving an expensive Tesla. 

“And Y/N,” my mother would address me. “How’s the cafe?”

“We always do well around Finals season,” I told her.

“That’s wonderful darling!” she would always say while glaring in Jisung’s direction who would visibly falter under my mother’s judgemental stare. “How are your...kids, Jisung?”

“They’re great,” Jisung would laugh nervously. “I had to stop one of them from eating a bottle of glue the other day.”

I would laugh and affectionately run my fingers through Jisung’s hair while my mother remained statuesque-still. “How amusing.”

The pattern persisted to this day and I knew Jisung tolerated the dinners for my sake, but he always protested in different ways. For example, last month Jisung agreed to babysit our neighbor’s Pomeranian because he thought I might allow him to stay at home. And I almost let him get away with his impromptu plans when I remembered that Jisung would have to make dinner on his own and I was horrified by the idea of Han Jisung anywhere near my kitchen.

“Tell your mother I’m dying,” Jisung said, pulling me from my thoughts. “That should make her happy.”

“Han Jisung,” I scolded him, reaching down to gently massage his leg. “I’m not leaving you home alone. You’re prone to more kitchen fires than anyone else I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll order takeout,” Jisung said, kicking his foot out against my thigh. 

“If you’re gonna act like a child, then I’ll have to treat you like one,” I said, giving his ass a firm smack before rising from the sectional.

Jisung jolted at the unexpected contact, raising his head to briefly consider me. “What was that?”

“Do you not want to play?” I returned, grinning when Jisung immediately sat upright from his position on the sofa, leaning forward in expectation. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

“Perhaps if you decide to stop being so stubborn about the dinner,” I said, dropping to my knees in front of him.

Jisung’s eyes grew wide with lust, hands reaching out to pull my head closer to his crotch. “I’ll go to as many dinners as you want, babe.”

“That’s better,” I smirked, efficiently undoing his belt. “It’s only for a few hours.”

Jisung was ecstatic, pulling down his jeans and underwear. “I’ll just sit with Felix in the dining room alone.”

“Is that so?” I asked, curling my fingers around his hardening cock. 

Jisung nodded, hair falling into his eyes as he watched me with rapt attention. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him recently.”

“What a good sport,” I teased, jerking his cock a few times because I liked the way Jisung’s eyelids would flutter with his pleasure. But he was being remarkably good, so I decided he had earned an end to his apparent sexual frustrations. I took in the tip of his cock, running my tongue along the slit dripping with milky white pre-cum. 

“Please,” Jisung begged, grip unrelenting on my hair as he encouraged me to swallow more of his cock, slowly taking him in until I could feel him at the back of my throat. “Can I do it?” Jisung asked with desperate eyes and I nodded once, giving him the permission he desired to move my head up and down the length of his erection, warm and rigid against my tongue. I made sure to moan around him because I knew the resulting vibrations felt really good, enjoying the sounds of Jisung’s grunts as he fucked my mouth.

While Jisung did a majority of the work, I tried to amplify his pleasure when I could like running my tongue along the prominent vein on his cock or using my teeth to drag against the fleshy part of him. My fingernails dug into his thighs, leaving behind marks that would probably vanish after a warm shower. Tears were steadily streaking down my cheeks courtesy of an instinctual reaction to Jisung’s cock repeatedly sliding in and out, hollowing my cheeks to accommodate him. “It feels so good,” Jisung said, palms clammy as one hand came to fan against my cheek, wiping away the smeared streaks of my mascara. 

Throughout our years together, I had learned a lot about Jisung including his apparent oral fixation when it came to sex. Jisung loved when I gave him a blowjob as I discovered for the very first time locked away in the Janitor’s closet, tasting Jisung on my tongue for a few seconds before he was cumming down my throat, apologizing incessantly for not being able to last longer. As if I really cared because I was quite proud of myself for breaking him down so quickly. But as much as Jisung liked to receive, he also loved to give and feeling his tongue on my pussy was a guilty pleasure, watching Jisung eat me out like he belonged between my thighs. 

“Cumming,” Jisung warned me, grip tightening as his hips stuttered, pubic hair brushing against my nose while the bitter taste of his cum was swallowed down with effort because my throat was now incredibly sore.

Jisung fell back against the couch, fingers pushing my hair back from where it had fallen messily into my face. I shakily climbed into his lap, kissing him greedily because there was no better sight than Jisung completely spent after a good orgasm, especially when it was because of me. “Is that better, baby?” I asked, pecking him on the nose.

“I love you,” post-orgasm Jisung told me entreatingly, eyes swimming with tears as he proceeded to plant dozens of soft kisses against the exposed skin of my collarbones.

Jisung pulled into the driveway of my mother’s house with a morbid expression. “It’s not too late to cancel, right?”

I ignored his comment, opening the door to step out into the bitterly cold evening. “Babe, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“No need to pretend,” Jisung grumbled, reluctantly following me to the porch where I hit the doorbell, smoothing down my skirt because my mother always liked it when we dressed up for these dinners.

But the last thing I expected to see on the other side of the door was Kara, especially a version of Kara dressed in an appropriately sized skirt. “Y/N!”

I’m sure my expression of shock matched the one present on my husband’s face as we both took in the sight of Changbin’s little sister. “Kara?” I questioned stupidly, holding tighter to Jisung’s sweater because I needed something to ground me in the reality of this unanticipated situation.

“You guys look great!” she declared. “Come inside!”

“Of course,” I said softly, pulling Jisung behind me as I stepped into the foyer, shrugging off my coat which Kara took from me to hang in the closet like she had been doing it for years. 

“Y/N!” my mother squealed, interrupting the unanswered “why are you here?” hanging between the three of us.

“Mom,” I said, accepting her hug with a wince because my mother was never gentle in her affections.

“And Jisung,” my mother frowned, eyeing my husband up and down. “What the hell are you wearing.”

Jisung looked down at his corduroy pants which I had warned him repeatedly to destroy. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh nevermind with you,” my mother said dismissively, reaching out for Kara. “Look, Y/N, Felix brought home a very nice friend. Are the two of you acquainted?”

“She’s Changbin’s sister,” I told my mother. “Why would I not know her?”

“Oh don’t give me that attitude,” my mother said. “Kara was just telling me about the marketing firm she works for! Isn’t that impressive?”

“My brother’s jealous,” Kara said. “He’s stuck working with kids all day, isn’t that the worst?”

My mother giggled at Kara’s comment while I reached behind me to give Jisung’s hand a reassuring squeeze. I didn’t even need to see my husband’s face to know that he would be fuming over Kara’s words. “I think you can do Felix some good too,” my mother said, now leading Kara towards the kitchen. “That boy is an absolute mess sometimes.”

I found Chan in the living room, eating his way through most of my mother’s groceries. “Channie,” I said, hurrying Jisung along despite the way his feet drug against the carpet. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Chan barely glanced up from his food. “What is it?”

“In private?”

Chan offered me a blank look to which I grabbed his hand, forcing him to the opposite side of the room and away from any potential eavesdroppers. “Why the hell is Kara here?”

“Beats me,” Chan shrugged. “Felix said they’re just friends.”

“Just friends my ass!” I hissed at him. “Chan, you know how stupid Felix gets around her! Since when has Felix brought any of his ‘friends’ to one of these dinners?”

“I don’t want to get involved, Y/N,” Chan said. “It’s really none of our business.”

“But does Changbin know she’s here?”

Chan shrugged helplessly. “How should I know? I don’t see Changbin much these days.”

“Ah, you’re useless,” I declared. “There’s a potentially catastrophic disaster unfolding right in front of your eyes and yet food is more concerning to you.”

“Of course it is,” Chan nodded solemnly. “Why do you think I sacrifice a Sunday night at home to drive an hour over here?”

“What a good son you are,” I said, pinching one of his cheeks. “I’m sure your father would be pleased to hear that.”

“Y/N, I seriously don’t know anything about Felix and Kara,” Chan said, smacking my hand away. 

“Listen to me, Chan-”

I broke off when my mother suddenly entered the room with Kara on her heels, holding out a tray of cheese and crackers. “Appetizers!” my mother exclaimed, immediately chastising Jisung when he accidentally dropped one on my mother’s coffee table.

“Leave it alone,” Chan warned me, sparing me no further attention as he joined the others in the living room. I followed him to the couch where I planted myself between my step-brother and Jisung, eyeing Kara suspiciously as she sat herself directly on Felix’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. 

“I think your mother likes me the least tonight,” Jisung whispered anxiously into my ear.

“That’s because Felix has something shiny and new for her to mess with,” I said, patting his thigh soothingly. 

“Everyone, help yourselves!” my mother announced, ushering my step-father into the room with a glass of wine in hand.

I handed Jisung a plate. “Do me a favor and keep the food where it belongs.”

Jisung pouted at me. “You act like I’m clumsy on purpose.”

“I don’t need to feed you, do I?” I asked him, ignoring the way he reached down to pinch my waist in warning.

The remainder of our dinner progressed slowly, more so than usual because my mother seemed to have hundreds of questions for Kara. In fact, as opposed to Jisung and Felix being the objects of my mother’s contempt, that title seemed to belong to everyone excluding Kara. Chan and I were rarely spoken to, and Jisung was only addressed when my mother complained that he was chewing too loudly. “Do you see my son-in-law?” she complained to Kara like they were old friends. “He’s never had good table manners.”

I held tightly to Jisung’s hand when I felt him tense next to me. “Jisung’s always been that way,” Kara replied with far too much affection for my liking.

Her comment forced me to recall the very first time I ever met Kara back during my third year of high school. She was a year younger than Jeongin, so she came into our high school as a shy Freshman with only Changbin as an ally. And Changbin loved to brag about how smart his sister was, claiming that she didn’t even need to study because she could memorize everything the teacher said in class. But Changbin hadn’t been exaggerating and I had been slightly jealous of Kara’s easygoing nature, seamlessly inserting herself into our lives as if she had always belonged there. The truth of the matter was that Kara had been attending a private school for most of her life because of her higher intelligence. The school was located hours away from where we lived so we never saw Kara except in brief passing when she came home on the weekends. However, Kara insisted that she wanted a normal high school life, so she enrolled at our local public institution with the goal of making new friends and getting a taste of what her brother always talked about in their long phone conversations.

At first, Kara stuck tightly to Changbin’s side, but it didn’t take long for her to open up to the rest of our group, including Felix whose crush started the moment Kara first walked through the doors. My poor step-brother was enamored, jealous when Kara would start dating some of the older Seniors. Of course, it didn’t help that Changbin remained adamant that Kara never dated any of his friends because they were, in his words, completely unworthy. So, with the exception of the unfortunate incident of Junior prom, Kara obeyed her brother and only showed the other guys affection in the form of a pat on the head or a gentle shove when they said something funny.

By the time I graduated with Hyunjin, Seungmin, Felix, and Jisung, Kara had become another pillar in our dynamic, even appealing to the older ones like Chan and Minho. Yet, when Jeongin finally entered university with the rest of us, something changed with Kara and she no longer hung out with us as much as she had before. Then, there was the matter of her attending college in an entirely different state, only coming to visit sporadically when Felix would bend over backward to make sure she attended one of his fraternity parties. By the time I graduated from college, Kara was more or less nothing but a distant memory, only coming into fruition on rare occasions. Thus, seeing her here today was definitely disorienting, especially since it was only because of Felix that she was here in the first place.

“Kara, you’re such a wonderful girl,” my mother said. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

I rolled my eyes because my mother seemed to forget my Junior year of high school almost as much as I did. “You’ve been such a gracious host,” Kara said to my mother.

“It’s getting late,” my mother sighed, glancing at my step-father who was moments away from passing out on the couch. “We should get to bed, but the rest of you are more than welcome to stay and chat. I know I took up a lot of the conversation.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jisung muttered.

“Anyways, I’ll call you later on this week, Y/N,” my mother said, offering me a lazy wave before collecting Kara into one of the tightest embraces I had ever seen.

Once my mother and step-father had wandered up the steps, Kara came back into the room with mischievous eyes. “Let’s play a game,” Kara suggested, urging us all around the coffee table. I groaned when Jisung pulled me back into his arms, burying his face into the side of my neck like he was prone to do when he was the slightest bit tipsy. 

“No more alcohol for you,” I said, swiping the bottle away from my husband who protested half-heartedly.

“What do you suggest?” Felix asked, looking at Kara with starstruck eyes.

“Maybe truth or dare?” Kara said, squealing like she had forgotten that everyone around the table now had a full-time job.

“Why not,” Felix said, reaching for his discarded bottle of Corona. “Would you like to go first?”

Kara giggled when Felix leaned in closer, lips teasing her exposed collarbones. “Keep it PG,” I requested, glaring at Felix.

“Okay,” Kara said, taking the bottle and placing it onto the table. 

“If someone can dare me to get laid, that would be nice,” Jisung said and I reached around to elbow my husband in the side for his smart comment.

I watched as the bottle spun around in its defined circumference before landing on Chan who groaned loudly. “Truth or Dare, Chan!”

“Truth,” Chan said, picking up his bottle of beer. “Knowing you’d guys, I’d be forced to drink the rest of this on a dare and I have to be at the office at six.”

“Are you seeing anyone, Chan?” Kara asked, leaning in close like she was about to hear a juicy secret. Of course, I knew better than anyone because I was often the recipient of Chan’s late-night phone calls when my step-brother would complain to me about his sadly lacking love life.

“No,” Chan huffed, reaching out to give the bottle a powerful spin. “I’m always single.”

I reached across to pat him tenderly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Channie, there’s a girl out there waiting for you!”

Felix let out a drunken squeak, turning to look at Kara with a smile. “Truth or dare, Felix?”

“Dare,” Felix said, bouncing up and down from his spot on the floor like a loose spring.

“I dare you to...

“...call Changbin,” I spoke over Kara, enjoying the identical looks of matching horror on their countenances.

“What?” Felix questioned, intoxicated brain undoubtedly having trouble keeping up with the flow of our conversation.

“Call. Changbin.” I repeated, much slower this time to leave no room for a potential misunderstanding. Unsurprisingly, Kara hesitantly shook her head at Felix as if asking him to ignore my request. “Those are the rules,” I informed her smugly, watching Felix as he took out his phone with a shaky hand. He dialed Changbin’s number and we all sat forward in profound expectation of what was about to happen.

That is until Changbin’s voicemail picked up.

Kara snatched Felix’s phone and quickly hung up the call. “He’s not answering, so let’s move on to something else.”

I frowned as I sat back against Jisung’s chest, frustrated because Changbin had probably chosen an early night’s sleep in exchange for answering a friend’s important phone call. “Truth or Dare, Y/N.”

“Truth,” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest even as Jisung started to rub gentle circles into my hips as if picking up on my irritation.

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Were you jealous when I kissed Jisung at prom?”

The room was dead silent following her vengeful question. My cheeks flushed at the reminder, feeling Jisung squirm uncomfortably behind me. It was a horrible thing to ask me, especially considering the circumstances surrounding the unholy night that Minho had silently termed “the worst day of Y/N’s life.” But I suppose that Kara felt warranted to ask me considering the fact that I had just tried to expose her to Changbin. “Of course I was,” I snapped at her, twisting the bottle while maintaining a penetrative staring contest with Felix’s love interest.

My shoulders relaxed when the bottle landed on Kara, and I quickly intervened before Felix could give Kara an easy way out of what was rapidly becoming a terrible mistake. “Are you dating Felix again?” I asked, watching as her eyes narrowed from my choice of words.

“It’s truth or dare, Y/N.”

“Are you afraid to answer the question?” I asked her. “Or are you just using Felix like always?”

Another long silence enveloped our gathered group. 

“I guess I don’t get a turn?” Jisung whispered into the tense silence of the room.

“Holy shit!” Hyunjin exhaled when I finally finished explaining everything that had happened at my mother’s house the previous evening.

“She’s a total bitch,” I said. “Everyone knows that we don’t talk about that night.”

Hyunjin nodded in agreement. “Do you remember the ugly suit I wore?”

I glared at my friend. “You’re not helping and we have customers.”

Hyunjin offered me a salute, returning to the register to accept another order while I aggressively wiped down our counters. One of our waitresses watched me with a gaping mouth until I turned to glare at her. She quickly picked up her tray to retreat back into the crowd of college students. 

Now, let me start by saying that Junior year prom was never something I was looking forward to attending. The only reason I even went was because Han Jisung asked me to go and my attraction for him had skyrocketed by this time, to the point where I found myself staring at his ass whenever we had gym together and he decided to demonstrate the correct technique for a pull-up. Our friends deemed our relationship inevitable, the romanticized soulmates who met as kids and grew up together with agreeable personalities. Of course, it also helped when puberty hit and suddenly Han Jisung looked less like the little boy I played with on the playground and more like a man whose dick I really wanted to taste. 

For a lot of my classmates, Prom meant an unsanctioned night away from the school where they could lose their inhibitions when someone inevitably spiked the punch bowl. There were no school officials present at the event, only volunteers, and since it didn’t take place on school grounds (but inside of a nearby YMCA) everyone could basically do whatever they wanted without consequence. Thus, the next day’s rumor mill was spinning with tales of romance and deceptions, break-ups and hook-ups, and even the occasional wild story of someone stealing from the radio store next door.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Jisung asked me nervously the moment we first walked inside.

“Sure,” I told him, affectionately adjusting the cute bowtie he had chosen for the occasion, cheeks rosy red as he hurried away.

“Y/N!” Hyunjin said, taking Jisung’s place in front of me. “You look great!”

“So do you,” I told him honestly, appraising his suit which likely cost a thousand dollars just to rent for this one occasion. “Where’s your girl?”

“Who knows, she was just meant to be arm candy,” Hyunjin said dismissively and I snorted at his explanation. “I only came here for the drama and the alcohol.”

“Anything interesting so far?” I asked, grinning when I saw Jisung accidentally knock the punch ladle into the floor.

“Changbin came with a Freshman,” Hyunjin said. “I talked to them earlier and he’s definitely only interested in her ass.”

“How crude,” I remarked. “What about the others?”

“I guess Seungmin and Jeongin came with each other,” Hyunjin snickered. “And I haven’t seen Felix yet.”

I paused. “Felix is coming?”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Hyunjin explained. “Apparently, Felix is bringing someone he really likes.”

“I didn’t know Felix was interested in anyone,” I said, with the exception of Changbin’s little sister, of course.

“It’s getting late,” Hyunjin remarked. “He might have been lying.”

“He wasn’t dressed when I left the house,” I said, remembering the sight of my step-brother teasing Jisung and I from behind our parents while they took an endless amount of pictures while relentlessly questioning Jisung about his appearance.

Speaking of which, I graciously accepted the punch Jisung offered me, taking a sip before wincing. “I think someone added way too much.”

Hyunjin reached for my drink, sniffing the rim before downing the rest. “Not too bad.”

Jisung watched him with wide eyes. “Isn’t that strong?”

“Not strong enough,” Hyunjin complained. “I’m going to find something better. Have fun you two, make sure you use a condom if you’re gonna fuck.”

I glared at Hyunjin’s back as he disappeared into the crowd.

Yes, Prom might not have been high on my list of priorities, but the way Jisung was currently kissing me definitely made it more appealing. After ingesting an appropriate amount of alcohol, a tipsy Jisung had latched himself to my side, whispering rather inappropriate things into my ear before I inevitably found a place where we could be alone, safely tucked away inside the locker room. I drug Jisung to a bench where I immediately straddled his thighs, kissing him with enough force to throw him off balance, hand splayed across my hip as he forced his tongue inside my mouth tasting strongly of alcohol. I struggled to pull in enough oxygen to counter the dizziness threatening to send me falling into the floor. Jisung certainly wasn’t helping matters, squeezing my breasts spilling over the neckline of my dress while pressing sloppy kisses to my throat, erection hard through his dress pants and I had never felt hornier in my entire life. And that includes the time Minho bought me a vibrator for my birthday as a joke but I still tried to use it and ended up masturbating to the thought of Jisung fucking me on my mattress. 

“You feel so good,” Jisung whispered to me now, rolling his hips into mine as he sought additional friction. I held tightly to the lapels of his jacket because it felt really nice through the thin fabric of my dress when he would move just right, pressing against my clit with a wonderful pressure that nearly made me cum before he could even put it inside.

“Sungie,” I panted into his ear, tasting every inch of his beautiful honey-golden skin. “Please fuck me.”

“Can I?” Jisung asked, thrusts growing erratic as if affected by just the thought of his cock hot and heavy between my thighs. “Yes, of course, baby. I’ll do that for you.”

“Condom?” I managed, reconnecting our lips because I was quickly coming to the realization that Jisung was a wonderful kisser. 

“Shit,” he cursed against my mouth. “I left them in the car.”

“I’ll get them,” I said, reaching deep into the pocket of his suit pants for the key, inadvertently brushing against his cock. 

Jisung moaned loudly. “Hurry back, baby.”

“And this!” I said, standing up from his lap to reach into my cleavage to pull out a piece of fabric.

“That was in there the whole time?”

“Not important,” I said, shoving the fabric at him. “Put this on?”

“What is it?” Jisung asked, unraveling the cloth.

“A blindfold,” I said and he looked up at me with evident surprise.

“Why do you want me to wear a blindfold?”

“Just put it on, please,” I begged him.

“Why?” Jisung whined, a complete contradiction to the mess he looked with an erection still prominent in his pants. 

“I don’t want you to see me,” I said, blushing at the thought of Han Jisung seeing me naked because I was certainly nothing like those busty girls in the porn magazines I found under his mattress.

“Okay,” Jisung grumbled, probably because he was just as aroused as I was even if that meant doing something that might seem utterly ridiculous to anybody else.

“Don’t take it off,” I warned him, glancing over my shoulder to see Jisung tying the blindfold in place. 

Satisfied, I silently rushed back into the gym, making my way to the exit despite the obscene displays taking place all around me courtesy of several pairings of passionate couples. I did my best to ignore them, even though I was pretty sure I saw Hwang Hyunjin in the center of the dance floor, shirt unbuttoned and chest exposed for everyone to see. But Hyunjin loved to be at the center of attention, so I left him to entertain the majority of the women flanking to him like a magnet while I jerked open the door to Jisung’s Sudan, finding the condoms across the dirty backseat of his car. 

I grew even more excited just by looking at them, hiding them carefully in my hand as I rushed through the parking lot in my haste to find Jisung again. At this point, the party was in full swing, music loud and pounding, testing the acoustics of the YMCA which probably never hosted anything else this insane and chaotic before. But I was on cloud nine, ready to finally have sex with someone I had been crushing on ever since Jisung had shown off his abs to a doubtful Changbin. However, when I re-opened the doors to the locker room, I stumbled in my heels as I was greeted with an unfortunate visual. An unforgettable image of Kara on top of Jisung, kissing him passionately while she practically forced him to grope her chest. “Y/N,” Jisung moaned, apparently completely unaware of who was actually grinding on his dick.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” I finally shrieked, completely horrified at the display that would forever engrain itself into my subconscious.

Jisung immediately pulled off his blindfold, eyes widening in shock when he unceremoniously dumped Kara into the floor who loudly protested. “Y/N?”

“Jisung,” I said, looking back between him and Kara with panicked eyes and a broken heart. I had never felt so betrayed before in my entire life, and there had been moments when I felt downright disgusted with my poor choice in men. But Jisung was more important to me than the casual flings from my past, which probably explains my sudden desire to escape the situation that was forcing messy tears through the mascara clumping my eyelashes together. I left Jisung behind in that nasty locker room before losing myself to the crowd of my classmates.

There was only one person I wanted to see, and I found Hyunjin now re-clothed, talking to some other girls when he first saw me approach. He greeted me cheerfully, only realizing my condition once he stopped to notice the tears falling freely from my tired eyes. “Y/N,” Hyunjin said, expression falling as he pulled me into his arms tightly. “Why are you crying?”

“I saw her with Jisung,” was all I managed to get out before Hyunjin’s eyes were practically blazing with fury.

“That little shit,” Hyunjin cursed, grabbing my hand and leading me through the partygoers who were too busy drunkenly grinding on one another to notice the two of us. “Changbin,” Hyunjin said, interrupting the older boy who was currently fingering the edges of a freshman girl’s panties, practically dry humping through their clothes. 

“What is it?” Changbin snapped at Hyunjin, eyes narrowed until they landed on me. “Y/N,” Changbin said, tone much softer as he abruptly dismissed his date who whined about their loss of contact. “What happened?”

“Jisung needs his ass kicked,” Hyunjin said and Changbin needed no further encouragement.

“Where the hell is he?”

It was frigidly cold in the parking lot and there was way too much going on around me. I could barely handle the yelling between Changbin and Felix, my step-brother having found us outside with Jisung trailing behind him, but Hyunjin was arguing with Seungmin and Jeongin, refusing to let Jisung close to me. This night was rapidly becoming one of the worst of my entire life and that says a lot because I had once watched my own father walk out of the house without so much as a goodbye.

“Get out of the way, Felix,” Changbin suddenly growled, fists balled at his sides.

“It’s not his fault,” Felix tried to explain. 

“Why is Y/N upset, then?” Changbin demanded, shouldering his way through Seungmin and Jeongin who were certainly no match for a physically stronger Changbin.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Felix said. “It’s Kara’s fault! She didn’t need to take things that far-”

“Kara!” Changbin interrupted, now even more furious than he was before. “Did you do something to my sister?”

“Not him,” Seungmin suddenly interfered. “Kara and Felix got into a fight and Kara snuck into the locker room to get back at him.”

Changbin took a step back, suspicion bright in his dark eyes. “What did you say?”

“I thought it was Y/N,” Jisung finally spoke up, eyes wet with tears. “She didn’t say anything to me. She just came over and I was waiting for Y/N!”

“What happened to my sister!” Changbin growled.

“She kissed me,” Jisung said, flinching a little when Changbin tried to charge at him, intercepted by Seungmin and Jeongin who held him back by his with as much force as they could manage together. Jisung turned to look at me, gaze entreating as he reached out a hand. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought it was you.”

I shook my head, refusing to even look at Han Jisung because my heart was hurting in my chest and the night just continued to grow more and more confusing. “I’ll take care of Y/N,” Hyunjin finally said, sending Jisung a nasty glare before guiding me further and further away from the source of my pain.

But don’t ever let anyone tell you that Seo Changbin didn’t have a soft spot for Han Jisung because, at the drop of a hat, the older boy would immediately be at my husband’s side. And I thoroughly took advantage of this when I asked Jisung to invite Changbin over to our house for dinner one night, the two of them arriving together with Changbin clutching tightly to his sleeping bag. “I guess you’re spending the night,” I remarked.

“Why wouldn’t I? We work at the same place,” came Changbin’s usual response, tossing his bag onto the couch while he followed Jisung into our bedroom, complaining about something to do with the air conditioning. “Your apartment is so much nicer than mine!”

I finished cooking in relative peace, making sure to keep Changbin’s wine glass constantly full because a tipsy Changbin was much easier to deal with than the serious version who would likely explode when he heard my story. “So nice of you Y/N,” Changbin said as he slurped his spaghetti. He and Jisung were always messy when it came to pasta so I tried to ignore their nasty habits. 

“Changbin,” I said, studying the older carefully. “I heard Kara was visiting.”

Changbin shrugged, shoving more food into his impossibly small mouth. “She’s been staying at my place.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why haven’t we had a chance to meet her again.”

Changbin glanced up at me. “You don’t even like, Kara, so why would I bother?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “She’s your sister, of course, I would be interested.”

“She stays busy a lot,” Changbin said.

“With who?”

“With work,” Changbin said, taking another long drink of the expensive wine I bought just for this occasion. 

“She could have come tonight,” I said carefully, but I had been apparently pushing too far because now Changbin was suspicious.

“What are you getting at, Y/N?”

I took a deep breath, sensing Jisung watching the two of us over a mouthful of noodles. “I saw Kara the other day at my mother’s dinner.”

Changbin paused, considering me with a scowl. “What?”

“She came to our dinner,” I repeated. “With Felix.”

And with the exception of Jisung’s chewing, the room had grown relatively silent. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

Changbin turned an accusatory gaze at Jisung who just rapidly shook his head and drank more wine. “Probably because she didn’t want anyone to know,” I said. “I think your sister might be trying to start something with Felix again and we both know how badly that turned out last time.”

Changbin dropped his fork, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “So nice of everyone to keep me informed.”

I relaxed a little because Changbin wasn’t reacting as violently as I thought he might. “I wanted to be sure and I got the information I needed today.”

Changbin sighed. “What information?”

“Minho looked through Felix’s phone at their dance practice,” I said. “He saw some messages with Kara. Apparently, they’re going to dinner tomorrow night. Isn’t that nice?”

Changbin’s jaw clenched as he took in this news. “And I’m assuming you have something planned?”

“Maybe,” I said with an innocent shrug. “It could be that Minho, Hyunjin, and I happened to make a reservation at the same place.”

“You’re gonna spy on them?”

“Would you rather us not?”

Changbin scoffed, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Are you asking me to come?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Well of course I do,” Changbin grunted impatiently, reaching down for another forkful of spaghetti while I sat back in my chair with satisfaction.

“This is surprisingly classy of Felix,” Hyunjin remarked, rolling down the window of Minho’s SUV to perch a pair of binoculars on the end of his nose.

“Aren’t you taking this too far?” Minho asked his friend.

“These?” Hyunjin asked, adjusting the lenses. “How else am I supposed to see what’s going on?”

“This is my sister we’re talking about,” Changbin spoke up, tugging at the frayed sleeves of his borrowed jacket.

“And Y/N’s stepbrother,” Minho added.

“I don’t claim him by blood,” I said, reaching over to slap Changbin’s hands. “Stop messing with that, you’re gonna ruin it, and this is Jisung’s nicest coat!”

My husband in question had opted to stay at home since he was probably the smartest out of all of us when it came to potential confrontations. “You’re rich enough to buy him another,” Changbin grumbled.

“He doesn’t wear them,” I said. “I buy him all sorts of clothes, but they always sit in his closet.”

“Who’s he trying to impress at an Elementary school?” Hyunjin snorted.

“Can’t we just go inside already?” I asked, slowly massaging my throbbing temples.

“Yeah, but can you shimmy the lock on your door?” Minho requested. “I’m pretty sure it’s broken.”

I accommodated his request before the four of us walked into the restaurant with an air of nonchalance. Nothing but four friends since childhood deciding to eat out together for a gourmet meal. It reminded me of college when the four of us shared the same lecture, a one-time occurrence because Minho forgot a general education course, and we always ate together because it ended in the early evening. 

Of course, there was always the matter of the other three using me to find the answers to our homework assignment because they didn’t feel like completing the calculations.

The hostess inside the restaurant greeted us, checking Hyunjin’s reservation before leading us to our table. “Do you see them?” Hyunjin asked, deciding not to be so discreet in the distracting way he moved his head around, surveying the restaurant landscape with a sharp eye.

“This is so stupid,” Changbin grimaced. 

“Are you too cool to eat with us?” Minho joked, gasping when he noticed the free wine samples menu.

“I’ll look around,” I said. “Give me five minutes.”

“And then what?” Hyunjin asked even as I was already moving away, sticking to the outskirts of the finely decorated tables. According to Minho, Felix and Kara should have already been at the restaurant for half an hour, probably weighing the consequences of keeping their new affair a secret from the rest of us. But I had no intention of letting them sneak away with anything, determined to get to the bottom of whatever relationship Felix was attempting with Changbin’s little sister, the same person who had openly scorned and rejected Felix in the past. This really demonstrates just how powerful a crush can be when it involves someone as determined as Felix.

“Aha!” I murmured quietly, discovering the couple together near the private dining room at the back. Reaching for my cell phone, I sent Minho a quick text message, waiting for a moment or so before I could see the three boys carefully making their way to my hiding spot. 

“Ridiculous,” Changbin muttered, but he let out a disappointed sigh when he saw his sister and Felix together. “I guess you were right.”

Changbin was squatting down in front of the display of plants, peeling back the branches to find a better view. “Damn, Changbin,” I said, reaching down to give his ass an appreciative slap. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Changbin snapped at me. “It’s not my fault that Han’s flatter than his vocal pitch.”

“Burn,” Hyunjin remarked while I scoffed in response.

“Jisung is a great singer.”

“Yeah, the kids are so impressed,” Minho giggled, ignoring the glare I sent him over my shoulder.

“They can’t be dating,” Changbin said. “I would have known about this. Kara would have told me!”

“That definitely looks like a date to me,” Minho teased Changbin.

“Unless friends share five-star meals now,” Hyunjin commented, glancing at me. “Interested in eating out again tomorrow, Y/N?”

“Only if you pay,” I replied dryly, watching Felix and Kara with intent.

“I can’t stand this,” Changbin declared, attempting to blow our cover by rising to his full height. 

I desperately tugged on his shirt. “They’ll see us!”

“I don’t care,” Changbin grunted, pulling away from me only to march down the staircase to where Felix and Kara were laughing together over a meal of what appeared to be filet mignon and cabernet.

“Should we watch or get involved?” I asked, grinning when Felix finally realized that Changbin had spotted them. The all-consuming look of existential dread passing across his features was well worth the price of admission, including an outrageous gratuity fee.

“Definitely watch,” Minho nodded, tossing an arm around my shoulders. “You did good, Y/N.”

“Unless Changbin causes a scene,” Hyunjin remarked.

“I hope he does because I can record it for Jisung later,” I said, letting out a satisfied grin when Changbin stopped at their table.

Minho was one step ahead of me, pressing the record button at the top of his phone. “Maybe we’ll become YouTube famous!”

“I can’t believe you told him,” Felix snapped at me later. The six of us were outside the restaurant, having decided to pull Changbin and Kara away from the reproachful eyes of the upper elite who wanted to dine in peace. 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m looking out for you.”

“By outing me to Changbin?”

“Of course,” I nodded, watching as Kara received a stern lecture from her older brother. “You can’t honestly be considering a relationship with Kara?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Felix asked. 

“You must have a selective memory,” I said. “Or did you forget what happened in high school?”

“That was a long time ago!”

“She also used you during college. Don’t tell me you think she came around campus just for your company?”

Hyunjin, from somewhere to my right, let out a low whistle. Minho stood next to him, taking in the drama unfolding around him with eager eyes. “I don’t care about any of that!” Felix protested. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Felix,” I said, lowering my tone. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Well you’re doing a really bad job with that,” Felix snapped.

“It’s not because I don’t want things to work out,” I said. “I just know who she is and what she’s capable of.”

“Is that so?”

“You were too, Felix! Everything she ever did to you was always in an effort to hurt you. That’s why I have to interfere, to make sure that she doesn’t do anything like that!”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t care. You aren’t my real sister, so stop trying to act like it!”

His words were crushing and I suddenly felt equivalent to the world’s smallest person as I watched Felix walk away into the haze of city lights.

Jisung was sunshine and he once told me that he would do everything in his power to make me happy, even getting down on one knee to propose at our college graduation ceremony, nervous hands sliding a beautiful ring onto my finger. Jisung always knew when I was feeling sad or angry, dropping everything that he had been working on to make me feel better. Like in instances such as this, when my step-brother publicly disowns me, walking away without looking back once to assess the damage he had made of my fragile heart. “I deserved it,” I told Jisung, closing my eyes against his chest as I enjoyed the soothing water of the bath he prepared for me. 

“No, you didn’t,” Jisung countered, wrapping his arms tightly around my middle. “You thought you were helping him.”

“I guess I have no right to interfere,” I said. “Even if I’m worried that Kara will only hurt him again.”

“And she might,” Jisung agreed. “But I think Felix can handle it. Sometimes, you forget that he’s all grown up.”

“I ruined our relationship,” I said. “Felix won’t ever talk to me again and Kara is probably mad at Changbin.”

“Felix can’t avoid you,” Jisung said. “You have the same friends.”

“Ha,” I snorted. “You don’t know Felix very well. If he sets his mind to something, then there’s nothing that can stop him.”

“Actually, I do know Felix, and that’s why I’m pretty sure he’ll call you any day now and ask to talk.”

I turned around in his arms, trying to see any hint of teasing in Jisung’s brown eyes. “Why do you think that?”

“Because Felix respects you, even if you make him mad,” Jisung said, surprising me with a gentle kiss. “He told me all the time when we were younger that he thinks you’re one of the coolest people he’s ever met.”

“Felix said that?”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded. “And I completely agree.”

“You’re obligated to say that,” I said. “Marriage and shit.”

“But I’ve always meant it, Y/N,” Jisung insisted. “You have a really good heart and you always have our best intentions in mind, even if that means you feel the need to spy on your step-brother.”

“Now it sounds creepy,” I complained.

“I can’t imagine you dragging around Changbin, Minho, and Hyunjin, hiding behind tables in the middle of an expensive restaurant.”

“That’s funny because I can’t imagine you in an expensive restaurant at all.”

“Really?” Jisung grinned, digging his fingers into my sides. “Try saying that again.”

I squealed in his arms, pleading for mercy. “I thought you wanted to relax?”

“This was all for you,” Jisung said, pulling me onto his lap. “I think we should go to bed early.”

“I am tired,” I smirked.

His cock was hard against my lower back. “What if I let you ride my face?”

“Then you’ll be the best husband in the world.”

The following Saturday, Jisung’s prediction came true when Felix’s name flashed across my phone screen while I enjoyed lunch with Seungmin and Jeongin. “It’s Felix,” I hissed at them before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Y/N,” Felix’s deep voice greeted me on the other end. “I hope you’re not busy.”

“I’m just having lunch,” I said, waving my hand at Seungmin who was attempting to mouth imperceptible words at me from across the table.

“I want to apologize for the other night with Kara,” Felix said. “At dad’s house and at the restaurant.”

“I’m sorry too, Felix,” I said. “I shouldn’t have told Changbin about his sister.”

“No,” Felix sighed. “But Changbin deserves to know the truth. He called me the other day and told me that Kara had left the next morning. She didn’t even bother telling him where she was going.”

I felt my heartbreak for my step-brother. “I didn’t think she would do that.”

“You don’t have to be nice, Y/N,” Felix said. “Everything you said about Kara was true and I should’ve listened.”

“I never did any of that to teach you a lesson, Felix.”

“Yeah,” Felix murmured into the phone. “It doesn't matter anymore. Kara’s gone and I’ll have to move on.”

“But I still feel really bad,” I said. “Maybe we could all hang out tonight? Like we did before we had adult things to worry about.”

Felix chuckled. “I think that sounds nice.”

“Keep your hands away from the food,” I scolded Jisung, giving his ass a firm slap before directing him out of the kitchen. “This is for the party tonight!”

“But it smells good,” Jisung complained.

“You can have as much as you want later,” I said, frowning at Changbin from across the room. “Are you trying to break my mother’s vase?”

The older boy scowled at me. “I can’t reach, alright? You were the one who asked me to decorate.”

“Please help him,” I said, sending Jisung rushing to hang up the streamers before Changbin could possibly sabotage our apartment. The others were due to arrive at any moment and I was already unprepared, food still cooking and my husband and his friend proving to be completely inept at decorating. I wanted everything to be nice for Felix, but honestly? He shouldn’t expect much from this crew.

Graciously, the arrival of Hyunjin brought about an extra few inches of height, allowing the streamers to hang gracefully from the mantlepiece. “What would you do without me, Y/N?” he inquired innocently, handing me the cake he had brought from our cafe.

“I’d need to buy a step ladder,” I teased him, rushing back into the safety of the kitchen to avoid his retaliation. In the meantime, Jisung happily answered the door for our other guests, ushering them inside to crowd our living room. Sadly, our apartment was never meant to be large enough to accommodate this many guests, but it was strangely cozy with all of us together. 

“It’s been a while,” Chan remarked to Changbin. “Why don’t we do this sort of thing anymore?”

“Beats me,” Changbin replied. “But Y/N has a nice selection of wine.”

“I’m glad that’s the reason you come around,” I remarked, bringing out the final tray of food to fill out the rest of the table. “Whenever Felix gets here we can eat.”

“He shouldn’t be so late,” Minho said, trying his best to sneak a cube of cheese from the corner.

“Patience my friend,” I said. “It will make everything taste so much better.”

“Not with your cooking,” Minho teased, protesting when I threw my oven mitt at him over the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room.

“You’ll never change,” I remarked.

“Why would you want me to?” Minho asked, ignoring my glare when he grabbed a handful of popcorn.

“Do you want to be suspended from my house?”

“Jisung would never allow it,” he said, whining at my husband. “Right, Sungie?”

Jisung looked back and forth between the two of us. “You two are sometimes worse than my kids at school.”

Before I could offer a compelling comeback, the ringing of our doorbell paused our conversation. The sound indicated Felix’s arrival and Seungmin was the first to greet him, holding him close as they entered the dining room. “Nice of you to join us,” I said, handing my step-brother a plate. “This is all for you.”

“I’m honored,” Felix said, accent thick as he abruptly pulled me into a vice-like grip that nearly knocked me off my feet.

“Too much,” I choked out.

“Don’t kill my wife,” Jisung joked, intervening before Felix could possibly squeeze any more oxygen from my lungs.

The remainder of the evening passed by with a nostalgic tone, the nine of us gathered together in the living room to watch anime on TV while Hyunjin complained about our newest hiree again. “Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers in my direction. “He already had two strikes. One more mess-up and he’s gone.”

“He’s just a kid, Hyunjin,” I said. “Remember when you used to work at Starbucks? I’m surprised you even managed to stay on for an entire year!”

Hyunjin protested loudly over the laughter of 8 other people who clearly remembered sitting in Starbucks on Campus just to watch Hyunjin mess-up orders while whining at the customers to slow down when he was in charge of the register. “He gave me a macchiato when I asked for an Americano,” Minho said. 

“One time, Hyunjin closed the store an hour early because he forgot about our project,” Seungmin interjected much to Hyunjin’s chagrin who was now very much embarrassed.

Jisung pulled me closer to him on the chair next to the fireplace, watching our friends talk with obvious affection. “I think Felix is happy.”

I nodded my agreement, observing him from afar. “We did a good job.”

“You did a good job,” Jisung corrected, leaning in closer to whisper directly into my ear. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you more,” I said, gripping tightly to Jisung’s hand with no intention of ever letting go because our hold on another had never lessened from the very first day we met as kids, unaware that we would be sharing the rest of our forever together.

[withteeths]

Maybe Steamrolling Games is Bad Actually

Videogames are unique in that they are inextricably tied to corporatism and have been since birth (this is an oversimplification but roll with it). This means that to an extent most companies even since the ’80s have never really cared about proper preservation or easy access to their titles. Nintendo carts were originally manufactured to have their battery die in 3 years so you would have to buy a new one (this failed, but it’s why you still see a lot of dead carts floating around). I think there's a nostalgia issue within the gaming fandom regarding "oh x was great back then" but a lot of the time, games manufacturers have been historically shitty and anti-consumer and it’s just that they now have the tools to execute it much more effectively. Regarding obtrusive DRM, that’s an issue PC games have had since their zenith, where if you lost your original copy of a manual or a small plastic key you could never play a game again because the codes were individualized for each copy and support would refuse to give you a new one. Even back in the arcades, there were particularly batshit examples like the CPS board, which I shit you not was built to explode a battery pack filled with corrosive acid if it detected you were attempting to repair or modify it. There’s a lot to say about the current state of games but what I would likely illustrate is that 2/3 major consoles are racing to decide who will be obsolete first. Games consoles are reaching a point where they are trying to emulate PCs with more restrictions and DRM. We're already seeing interest in steam spike again and it’s likely that eventually, we will see almost a crash for consoles where no one can justify the price for games they can play on a PC rig. The only solution I see there would be a merger between the two consoles which feels inevitable. 

That being said as interest in the PC space increases again so does attempts at entering the bubble. We have Epic, Origin, Microsoft, Indiegala, Itchio, and Steam all vying for attention, requiring accounts, and offering exclusives to justify the use of their storefront over others. Some people think this is a good thing because it's breaking up Steam's monopoly but it literally is not, if you ever really wanna hear me rant ask me about Leftist obsession with itch being some sort of ethical steam, which it is provably not. In the end, the real sort of saviour figures that work to preserve games are random ass people on the internet. I know people who automatically assume that at the end of the day, companies care about games preservation too, and they usually have a three-pronged argument that cites a) Steam’s ability to allow the redownloading of delisted games, b) retro companies periodically rereleasing titles for modern consoles in compilations, and c) companies doing limited reruns of a game that fans request. All three of these examples are basically an incredibly effective use of diversionary tactics, but most of the time when someone cites these I just assume it’s a misunderstanding and not outright malicious intent because a lot of the time companies will attempt to actively implant these ideas to build brand loyalty.

My main dissertation is usually that Steam is incredibly selective with what titles you can redownload, and most importantly, corporate benevolence is more-so a band-aid on a gaping wound! There’s no contingency for when Steam might migrate to a new service, go belly up, or become obsolete when a new OS is created. That means thousands, tens of thousands of dollars worth of games are just gone, permanently, along with fan mods, DLC, and content. It’s a terrifying thought that not many people bring up when discussing the problems with game storefronts that focus so much on providing a cloud and have DRM attached to every purchase. In a way, Steam preceded the trend of not allowing consumers to actually own the things they purchased, and they’ve avoided criticism by strategic use of silence and creating the illusion of a company being made by the consumers they’re attempting to serve. At the end of the day, Steam is a business, and if you ever lose access to your Steam account, or they decide to up and leave one day, you will not be able to play almost all of those games, even if you have them installed on a hard drive, because if you’re online, they connect with a server to ensure your steam account has the ability to play them. When it comes to other arguments like the limited rereleases or use of compilations to preserve arcade titles, I usually just beg people to look at community-driven options that have existed for years. The Scott Pilgrim game is a big source of contention, but I would point out that for years now, it was playable, for free, with all the DLC, on PCs. Preservationists didn’t wait for the gods of Universal and O’Malley to rerelease it for 30 bucks or save up to snatch the fucking ridiculous 200$ limited edition with shitty paper cut-outs, they straight up just did the work to make the game free and available. RCPS3 has (with a contemporary build) been able to run the game pretty flawlessly for years now, in fact, it was how I played through a majority of the game in high school on my shitty brick of a laptop. If you look further out than this one example then it gets even better, MAME and other emulation backends have been able to play obscure, unfinished, and homebrew titles with 100% accuracy, on almost any setup, for free, for decades! I found out about many of these options back in 2015 or so, certainly late to the curve, but I never really questioned as to why emulation, games preservation, and some key titles being available on PC remained some sort of arcane, unknown knowledge to most people interested in games. In the end, the answer was a highly effective propaganda campaign that combined with strategic use of DMCA takedowns has resulted in the concept of communal games-preservation and emulation becoming some sort of debate, where people will wholeheartedly side with corporations in some sort of quest for preserving things the “ethical and correct way,” which is code for preservation on the condition that it remains profitable for the IP owners.

 I think the best way to illustrate this would be with the community built around the preservation of an infamous PS4 title, PT. The story of its inevitable delisting from the storefront and the messy breakup between Kojima and Konami is well known, so I won’t regurgitate it, look it up at your own leisure. What is significant here is corporate reactions to attempts at preserving the game, which can basically be boiled down to Konami acting with borderline rabid fervour to prevent redownload, redistribution, or recreation of a seven-year-old demo, released for free download. Mentions of solutions to redownload the game have been taken down, fan-made recreations for PC, and archival servers that store a copy of the game for future preservation or emulation. Usually when this is brought up a debate occurs citing that technically speaking, Konami has a right to do this whenever they want, for whatever piece of media they believe infringes on their copyright. On one hand, yes this argument is factually correct considering the current state of copyright and ownership of media, but on the other hand, what compels someone to step into the ring for a multi-million dollar company with the primary argument being “well actually, people SHOULDN’T be able to play this specific video game until it benefits the shareholders”? In my opinion, it’s some sort of corporatized symbiosis where players believe that, if you cull the bad actors and play by the rules of the company, you may be able to eventually play the game a couple of years down the line. Sure, this has happened in the past with a few isolated cases, but it can’t be stressed enough that this is a genuinely dangerous and reductive position for people to take regarding games preservation.

 I have two colleagues, Mariken and Fotocopiadora, who released a short interactive title called Videopulp (playable here: https://fotocopiadora.itch.io/videopulp). It’s a dramatic reimagining of a real historical event, wherein a promotional event was held in 1994 at Lelystad to destroy bootleg carts by a figure in a Mario costume. This perhaps best encapsulates something I am pleading with younger generations to understand, as an archivist, art historian, and creator: corporations are not your friends, and they never will be. With the rise of online circles of leftism, this concept is starting to gain traction but is starting to be polluted with concepts of fandom and tribalism. This has lead to arguments that while *most* corporations are bad how could you say that about Nintendo? Or Valve? Mario is so innocent and characters like Wheatley are beloved by all! I feel some people don’t realize that they can enjoy a select title or character without enlisting in a corporate faction in the battle for “best company” or “best videogame”. It leads to a parasocial kinship with a nonexistent figure that was hand-crafted to ensure consumer loyalty to a certain brand. It’s depressing, terrifying, and should stand as a disquieting example of how the grip of capitalism on works of art has permanently distorted how we think and engage with media today. So, what’s the solution? As always I can never really provide something concrete that’ll act as a cure-all, only things that people in games need to work towards. Bring up conversations about games preservation, create archives for your own work, support archivists and boost their work whenever a new discovery is created, and try to promote optimism and solidarity in your hobbyist communities. I’ve noticed a lot of futility being intertwined with the future of AAA gaming, use of online storefronts, and the inability to own pieces of media anymore, and I feel this should be pushed back against, even in a minute way. Open-source programmes still exist that allow you to hold on to what you have purchased, offline and ad-free options exist for games launchers, e-readers, and media players. The future isn’t bright, but it is not a place without hope, and as long as people continue to enter communities with passion and ingenuity, I think we have a chance at stopping the events at Lelystad, 1994 from happening again. 

[eddie-spaghettis-bifocals]

Seed part 2

read part 1 here :)

For years now, Eddie has told Myra he wants a garden.

The first time he told her was a year into their marriage. She went along with it, probably assuming he had some semblance of botanical knowledge to suggest it at all, and then he killed everything he planted, and it had upset him in such a deeply personal way. She could never understand it. Not that he fucking understood it either, but rather than take the time to try and figure that out, he stubbornly tried it again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Of course, at some point, Myra just begged him to stop. To stop doing this, to stop making himself so angry over something so trivial. “Why does it matter?” she’d ask. Ha! As if Eddie had any fucking clue, himself.

And he thought he never would. He thought it’d just be another one of those weird inexplicable things about him. He thought he’d spend the rest of his strange, spotty life miserably failing to garden every single summer and getting upset about it until he stumbled upon whatever the hell this midlife crisis symptom was trying to fucking tell him.

Ha.

You suppressed the weirdest childhood trauma known to man, it told him the second he came back to Derry. Then, when he saw all the losers: You used to have a real family that made you happy.

Your sickness isn’t real and you kind of always knew, he remembers shortly after Mr. Keene’s pharmacy basement nightmare. You’re gay actually, he accepts in the hours before going down into the sewers and very nearly dying.

You fell in love once a long time ago, he thought as he lie bleeding out in his best friend’s arms in the place he feared the most. He shut his eyes on accident and opened them back up in a hospital room, where he sees all the losers in various states of exhaustion. Richie is asleep, leaned halfway over onto his hospital bed, head on Eddie’s tubed up arm. And you never really fell out.

He was sure, at the time, that that was about the last of the suppressed Derry revelations about himself he could take, but that was then. This is now, at their final stop before meeting Mike at the airport and leaving Derry forever. Richie’s hand supports Eddie’s bandaged arm again as they stand in the Barrens, as if he thinks Eddie might lose his balance and topple right into the fucking creek—as if he doesn’t have a brand new cane to help prevent things of exactly that nature. He joins Eddie in staring up and up and endlessly up at what Eddie thinks may have been the lamest, most confusing grand gesture of his entire life:

A tree.

It definitely wasn’t here the last time he was, but he knows it innately, all the same. And judging by the look on Richie’s face, he knows it, too.

He wants to slap himself.

For years now, he’s told Myra he wants a fucking garden to his own bewilderment when all along, it’s been because of some stupid tree—and every embarrassingly intimate thing it accidentally represented—that he grew with comedian Richie fucking Tozier back when he was a nobody twenty-seven years ago. Back when they were both at their most honest and vulnerable. When Eddie was at his most unabashedly infatuated—uninhibited in a way he’s never been since, determined and emboldened, freshly thirteen and endlessly stupid—

“Well, whaddayaknow, huh?” Richie whistles. Eddie slides his nervous eyes over to see Richie still looking up like he’s afraid to stop. “Tall and shady. Just like you said. There’s some birds up top, I see. For Stan,” he says, and his lips tilt up at the sides.

There had been, it appears, some sort of magic involved in Eddie’s survival. Bill told him that by the time they got him to the hospital, the bleeding had stopped. Combine that with the fact that the scars on their palms are now completely gone, and the fact that Stan’s wife called Beverly back before Eddie woke up to tell her that Stan had pulled through somehow—it’s so strange we were sure he was gone—Eddie is inclined to think that, too.

And of course, they’re all overjoyed about it, but Eddie thinks Richie’s probably the happiest, since Stan was his best friend. Eddie likes to think that he was too, but there hasn’t been a good time over the last couple of days to ask. Or a good reason. Or a mature reason.

He knows that Richie, Bev, and Ben have made quiet plans to go to Georgia together after Richie finally leaves Derry to visit Stan in the hospital and stay for his recovery. Meet Patty. Obviously, they’re all invited, but they’re all acting like they don’t expect to see Eddie there for a while. At least not as immediately as Richie, Bev, and Ben will be there. He figures they all think he’s got his divorce to deal with and don’t realize that he’d rather do anything but.

“No squirrels though,” Richie hums. He looks at Eddie, eyes suddenly full of mischief as he pinches his lips to hide a smile. Just like he used to. “Just you, Rocky…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut up, don’t fucking call me Rocky, that’s not even funny, are you kidding me?” He kind of hates the way he knows he’s doing exactly what Richie wants, just like back then. Richie watches him explode just like then, too, like there’s nothing else he’d rather be watching. Eddie’s heart thrums like a hummingbird’s. “Like, now I have to call you Bullwinkle, you fucking gargantuan moose-headed motherfucker and that’s not any more original than you still calling me Rocky twenty-seven years later.”

“What was it you said that day?” Richie grins. He’s not even hiding the way they both know he just likes to rile Eddie up. Eddie wishes he were really as annoyed with him as they both know he pretends to be. “Something about carving your name at the very top with my buckteeth?”

“Well what were you doing with them aside from taunting the bullies?” Eddie laughs out, surprised, but now he definitely remembers saying it. Worse, he remembers imagining later, after he and Richie had gone their separate ways, coming back here and carving Richie’s name instead. God.

“Ouch, and you called me a dickhead?”

Eddie snorts, can feel his smile matching Richie’s. “Yeah, you were being a dickhead.”

“You were being short.”

“Well—” Eddie stares and blinks and bolsters himself up for another round but finds himself laughing instead, isn’t all that surprised when he can’t make himself stop. He wants to say it’s a belated release of all the leftover adrenaline he’s probably still got pent up inside, but he’s getting tired of lying to himself. He can feel his smile stretching and stretching, and knows he hasn’t smiled like this in years, hasn’t laughed at something stupid like this in longer. The laughing kind of hurts, what with the violent ripping open, then rapid mending shut of his chest cavity, but he thinks for the first time in his life that this is a good pain.

Richie reaches to steady him, again as if he doesn’t have a cane for this very thing. Richie hasn’t even left yet, and Eddie misses him. Ridiculously, he thinks he’ll miss him for the rest of his whole life.

“You’re not funny,” Eddie deadpans once he stops laughing, once he's caught his breath, but he fails terribly, still grinning. He sees the way Richie is smiling back at him. He is just as afraid to look too much into it as he is to look away.

“You sound just like my critics,” Richie laughs. “You should come to my shows,” he offers like a second thought, but Eddie thinks his cheeks look a little pink, then that he’s losing his mind. “You could heckle me—that’s always good publicity. You’ve always been the best at roasting me. You know all the embarrassing stuff. You know exactly how much of a fucking joke my life is.”

Eddie scoffs. He would say he’s always been the worst at roasting Richie because he never means a word of it. “My life’s a joke,” he rolls his eyes. “On top of everything Derry did to us, I think this fucking tree kind of haunted me.” He says, as a joke, but he thinks there’s a part of himself that means it. Which is even more ridiculous. “I spent the better part of like fifteen years trying to garden for no apparent fucking reason because apparently this tree was that big a fucking deal to me. Do you remember wanting anything the way we wanted this tree to grow?”

Richie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighs, meets Eddie’s gaze, then drops a bombshell. “Eds, dude, you gotta know I, like, barely cared about this thing.”

“What?” Eddie reacts with so much shock, it must show on his face because Richie winces. “You… what?” Eddie says slowly, waiting for Richie to crack but be doesn’t. Only shakes his head, sucks in air through his teeth and keeps wincing.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m not mad, just—” He’s a little embarrassed. He could deal with this if they had both trauma bonded to this stupid fucking tree. He could chock that down to more Derry bullshit—he already had, but he couldn’t handle it if he were the crazy one and Richie had just been, what, humoring him? He shakes his head. “No, I am mad,” he decides, and Richie chortles and that only makes him madder. “What do you mean you didn’t care? That doesn’t make sense, you woke up at like five a.m. to come do this with me!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you cornered me in the clubhouse all alone and said you needed me.” Richie looks over at him, then seems to immediately regret it, drops his eyes onto the grass. “I mean, I barely even knew what you needed me for when you said it, but I thought if I didn’t do it, you might ask one of the others, so I woke up to come do this really fucking depressing thing with you—”

“Fuck you, man,” Eddie snaps, flustered. “It was supposed to be hopeful!”

“Well it was fucking depressing,” Richie tells him with an easy smile. He finally looks at Eddie as he does, but his expression is nervous. Pensive. “But that’s okay. Because it was you.” Again, Eddie’s heart thrums like a hummingbird. “And if you were gonna make anyone wake up at the ass crack of dawn to try your hand at desperately redefining the word ‘burial’ just to prove something to the universe, then I fucking wanted it to be with me.”

Eddie stares at him, speechless. Richie stares right back, shoulders kind of slumped, like he doesn’t know how to hold himself. There’s this feeling like a deep breath, a feeling of relief—finally it’s out there.

And Eddie supposes, now that he has to face it, that he knew. Maybe even back then he knew. Maybe he always knew, deep, deep down, that it wasn’t always just him. He was just afraid, and wasn’t that always the thing about him? He had been too afraid to hope then, and he almost wants to be now, but he looks at Richie and thinks they’ve wasted enough time.

“I always used to hope it was something like that,” Eddie admits. When Richie looks over at him, he stares back head-on, tells himself to be uninhibited, and determined, and emboldened, and endlessly stupid, just like he was all those years ago. Just like the last time they were here together. “That you did… stupid things just for me like I did stupid things just for you.”

Richie watches him like he’s afraid to hope, and frankly, Eddie kind of is, too. Irrationally, despite everything, he imagines Richie possibly having someone back in LA—possibly having a hundred someones on reserve, but something unhinged inside him thinks if even the jaws of fucking death couldn’t keep him from Richie, then good luck to Richie’s imaginary side piece in LA.

Richie laughs loosely, looking uncertain. “If you’re trying to tell me that this was one of those stupid things and not just some weirdly morose growth allegory, then—”

“Yeah, okay, growth allegory,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “whatever—whatever, but also you.” They’re close, Richie still hovering like something might happen, but Eddie doubts he planned for this. For Eddie to release his cane in favor of Richie’s hands. To tug him even closer like he knows what he’s doing. To reach up and pull his face toward him so he’ll stop looking wildly between Eddie’s hands and the cane on the ground he traded for them. “Like, mostly you.”

“Oh,” Richie blinks, eyes wide and owlish like they always looked when they were kids. He looks at Eddie, back and forth between his eyes like they’ll tell him the truth more than words could. He smiles and proceeds to nearly ruin it. “Cool, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I’m not good under pressure.”

Eddie scoffs, says, “Pressure,” and kisses him.

Richie kisses him back, startled and laughing a little, but he kisses back like it’s nature. Like it’s innate and organic and unchangeable. Something that Eddie’s certain has been trying to grow between them for decades.

They won’t forget it this time.