#remaining untethered to the people around you

[magicwithered]

Also I should say it’s very interesting to see how Karna is a “my people” type of person. Anyone else she interacts with are considered expected casualties. She is not particularly inspired by revenge or greed (again, she’s been dying before she has truly lived. There’s a particular freedom in that lack of worldly expectations and connections). But here are 4 people who she met at such a young age, a time where she’s already got blood on her hands, and just the thought of them hurt, suffering, ailed in anyway upsets her.

And it’s not just Deli. Yeah, there’s the joke that Karna likes Deli, she’s grown to love him from a tiny little crush to full blown adult feelings. But look at she treats Raphaniel. Look at what she gave up for Amangeaux (anyone else, and she would have leveraged that child, would’ve forced their hands). Look at her sympathy to Colin. Her consideration to him not liking magic, and as such does not use it on him unless he explicitly asks.

These are her people. The world could burn for all she cares. But not them. Not these four.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 22}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: With a plan set in motion, it immediately begins to fall apart at the seams. Maldovan is proving to be one of the planets you face some of your most devastating hardships on, and you're not sure you can survive it intact this time.

Word Count: 10.8k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, death, "on screen" death, din raises his voice one (1) time, argumentative language, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, reader is being held captive against her will, talk of self-harm, references to past self-harm, mentions of IV ports and shots, glossed over references to surgical procedures, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, reader has one (1) absolutely feral moment, those are all the big ones!

A/N: this marks the end of my all original content arc!! i'm so proud of myself and i hope this doesn't emotionally destroy you too much, oops (p.s. special shoutout to @sawymredfox for the lovely moodboard that helped to inspire me this chapter)

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Everything was too bright, even through your closed eyes. It was as if you were underneath a spot light, trained on you, making your entire body feel overheated and almost burning. You tried not to cry out, to hold in the sound as the sensation became too much and your body convulsed, and your eyes flew open.

The memory of killing your intended flooded your mind, the one of you biting into a truffle so strong you could feel the smooth give of the melting chocolate on your lips and tongue. The viscous sensation of the sugary warmth thick on your cotton-like tongue. But it was a bed you woke up in, in the same room as the one your mother had made up for you in the infirmary. She was nowhere to be seen, there was no medic or droid around either. You were alone.

The monitor you were hooked up to wasn’t reading anything, you’re breathing so shallow and the heartrate almost nonexistent. The poison had worked, it allowed for the plan to go through, now all you had to do was knock out the guard, grab your bag and meet up with Din in your room. The escape route was to sneak out under the guise of being a servant, alongside him still in his disguise.

To rush without drawing attention across the city and toward the shipyard, where Cara and ad’ika were waiting. It had been at your insistence that the little one be as far away from your mother once you had regained your sense of self, there was no chance you would take of her getting her hands on him. He had fussed, sensing you so close by when the news was told to him. But even his loud wails and cries couldn’t change your mind, his safety was paramount.

You look for the file, reading the summary at the end of it pronouncing your passing. That you had perished to the symptoms of the poison administered to you. The orders to burn your body not uncommon for someone of royalty, the culture of Maldovan is to honor those in death by allowing them to untether from their bodies to ascend to the afterlife. The order given in the signature of the king and queen, scrawled into the file directly.

It’s your ticket out of here, to run as you saw fit. To escape from the environment in which you had been sold into.

As quickly as you can manage, you exchange the cream sleeping robes you had been dressed in for the dark ones of a guard. Muscles protest the twisting and movements of dressing, sore from the currents that had raced through your body, the poison that had no doubt affected you more than you anticipated.

Arms protesting as you wrap your hair up to conceal it underneath a cover, a leather band holding it in place, another pin allowing for the remaining fabric to drape over your face. With only your eyes visible, you don’t waste any time before making your way through hallways and to the room you agreed to meet up with Din.

The only thing you intended was to retrieve the bag you had stored in the back of your closet. A small collection of clothing and things you could had come to care about while constricted in the life your mother had tried to trap you in.

It may be questionable, the meaning behind it, but the ring Prince Cala had gifted you was beautiful and made your heart flutter for some reason. It was the perfect embodiment of all that you loved should you be given the choice to pick such a piece of jewelry. All polished sterling silver, delicate pastel emeralds lined up in a small cluster of three. You couldn’t bear to part with it, even with the brand associated with it. The way it allowed for the things that happened on this planet to live brightly in your mind and memory.

Perhaps it was because the only way the Prince would know what you would like…was because your mother had to have told him. A small understanding of who you really were beneath all that she forced you into and to mold to, a true part of yourself she had seen and remembered even in her manipulation.

You recall the discussion of removing it to hide it away in the bag, Din’s confusion at such a notion.

‘His lips are soft against your own despite the slight roughness to them from being chapped, from his earnest attempts at being everything you needed the past few months. His own needs falling by the wayside, his own routines holding little to no meaning if it didn’t have to do with ensuring your comfortability or protection.

Cara indulged in all the servants’ quarters had to offer, something she admitted to you on one of your walks, not only to keep up pretenses now that your memory had returned, but a small bubble of time to allow Din to rest. Ad’ika in your arms and cooing along to the sound of your voice every so often, big, beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with admiration as he holds a hand over the middle of your chest.

“Mesh’la,” His voice is a low groan, igniting a smoldering fire beneath your skin. Despite everything, despite all the damage caused by your mother, your body still reacted to him as it had begun to before your kidnapping. Despite the last encounter you two shared…

“My armor, your armor, your weapon. It’s all aboard the ship, down at the docking yard.”

“No, you’re still wanted. I don’t…I can’t bear the thought of you getting captured, they would execute you, this world doles out punishments quickly.” You tighten the grip you’ve got on his wrists, nudging the bronze braces further down his arms, revealing more of his skin for your eyes should they open. But you keep them closed, not wanting to see him for the first time in such circumstances, in a desperate attempt at connection before all chances of it could be lost to you both.

You don’t jolt when he presses to you as much as the bars allow him, the front of his body hot against yours, just as his lips close in around your bottom one. His fingers dig into your hairline, nails scraping gently as he tilts your head just a fraction, deepening the kiss. You can’t help the small sound that escapes your lungs on an exhale, fed into his parted mouth from your own. He swallows it down, giving you one in return when your tongue touches to his.

You startle slightly, overcome by the forward action. By the heat you could feel coming off of him as he responds to your touches in much the same way you are to his. His fingers pull lightly at your hair, holding you in place to prevent you from moving out of reach, it’s intoxicating the way he’s moving against you. Small traces of his tongue along your bottom lip, a chaste kiss to it, to your upper lip, to the tip of your nose and each cheek. His forehead rests against yours as he simply shares air with you now.

Maker, you wish you could see the needy, open expression he’s surely sporting. The furrow of a strong brow, full lips swollen from exchanging kisses, cheeks flushed from emotion and need. You wanted to see it, with everything in your being, but not this way. Not this setting, not while you were anywhere but aboard his ship. His sanctuary. Your sanctuary.

“Din,” You pant, hands moving to grip at his elbows, practically begging him to hold onto you. Just for another moment, another breath, another lifetime.

“San, I promise you….this will be the last time you’re at the mercy of someone else. I swear to you, you will be free, at any cost. I will spend the rest of my life ensuring your freedom, let me, ner k’arta. Even if I  don’t understand the reasoning behind certain things, you are the most important.”

He lingers, until the sun sets and hour signals the shift he had traded with another coming to an end. He doesn’t leave space until a handmaiden descends the stairs. With her is a tray of dinner covered by a domed lid. The smell of caf wafting from the covered mug beside it.’

You turn at the sound of your door opening, your given term of endearment shaped on your lips but your entire expression steels when you see the form of your mother in the doorway. Or at least, that’s who you see when the figure is too small to be Din, a servant that distorted in your vision. The effects of the poison making themselves known in the blurring of colors and sunlight being too bright.

Shaking your head, you realize its your secondary handmaiden. No doubt instructed to begin cleaning the remnants of you from the room. She gasps, startled by your presence though you’re sure she doesn’t recognize you beneath the cover.

“Apologies, I was unaware another was sent to clear the Princess’s room.”

“Was told to gather the valuables, to return to the Queen for safe keeping. I will be gone in a second.”

She’s quiet as she watches you mentally go through the things you need and what’s in the bag, tossing one of the straps over your shoulders before you bowing to her and departing from the room. You make it down the hall a few paces, mind jumbled as you realize Din is late. There’s no sign of him in the hallway nor those that lead to the one your bedroom is located in. Your answer as to why is found in the form of you someone suddenly grabbing at your robes to pull you into a room as you pass the doorway. There’s a slight prick of a needle in you neck and with a shiver from the cold liquid inside, you know exactly who it is.

“Your Mandalorian didn’t expect me to wake up, that much was obvious.” Your mother laughed bitterly as she fastened the cuffs around you, the chains connected them clinking as she did so. The poison and the sting of the sedative make you move slowly, muscles tired and barely functioning. “Managed to sedate him, though he took a lot more than you typically do. I suppose it makes sense, he’s such a big man.” She scoffs at the thought of him, of downing him as she claims. Your heart seizes, worry clouding your mind as she and the sedative work together to immobilize you.

“Bet you let him defile you, in anyway he chose to, didn’t you, my darling? Probably thought it was love, that it was consensual. But he’s using you, just like the others. The Jedi who took you away, who let you fall victim to an attack that eradicated them. To the Mandalorian you claimed protected you in the aftermath, the one who wouldn’t return you home to me. To the Empire who held you captive, demanded things from you until it corrupted you. Changed you into someone you never would’ve become. He’s using you, just the same. Wants to own you, control you, keep you all to himself. Your body and your power the only thing he sees in you.”

Anger and resentment make the energy around you swirl, feeling it more so than a light twinge but a full force all around you ripe for manipulation. Reaching out your mind, you focus it on the chains being pulled taut as your arms are fastened behind your back. She’s moving to fasten the ones about your ankles together when the first one clicks open, the mechanism inside broken. You shove at her next, tossing her off of you and into the other wall.

The chains wrapped around your body were short, the links of them only a few dozen as you free yourself from the hold of your mother. Her own body weak from the poison and the collision of her back to the wall, allowing you to distance yourself from her. To gain a few feet of space as you begin to careen down the hallway. But she follows, far too quickly for comfort once she manages to find her balance.

Footsteps heavy, you feel the sedative try and take ahold of you, but you fight it off. Focusing inward to try and thwart it, negate in in a small bout of healing. Your mind worries for Din, for his own safety. What if your mother had told the guards of his true identity? Would they already have him held in the dungeons, his sentence being doled out? The entire plan of killing and escaping fallen on his shoulders and the blame placed on him?

No thoughts were running through your head other than to get to her quarters, but as you approach the hall, there’s a fear that he’s not there. The bag in your hand grows heavy as your hunch it proved correct, he’s no where to be seen inside her large room. As she’s rounding the hallway herself, slower than you but no less determined, she sees the end of your robe disappear around the other side of the long hall.

Back to the medical wing, you think as you move as quickly as you can down the stairs, far too many of them for you to move at a faster pace. You didn’t want to risk tripping on your tensing muscles. As soon as your boots make contact with even ground once again, you’re careening down a wide hallway, the servants back rooms and paths the goal to travel across the grounds without drawing any more attention.

A distraction never hurt anyone, you reasoned as you dug a hand into the bag for a small round disk. It feels alive in your palm as you nearly slid into the dining hall, the destruction of it paramount to call for servants and guards alike to the scene, to keep everyone in the main part of the palace. To ensure you time to find Din and make the call to Cara for an emergency escape right from the grounds. You trusted her skills, her ability to get the ship low enough for you to load an unconscious Din and then yourself with minimal firepower. All the focus would surely be on the dining hall, the ruined wedding, the craze of your mother claiming her whatever story she concocts.

The three high-pitched chirps of the grav charge you recognized from Din’s weaponry echoed in your ear as you planted it along the ornate door the second your mother was rushing through it after you. The dining hall had been transformed into an extravagant set up for the ceremony. Rows of chairs lined up, beautiful collections of flowers adorning each column, lanterns set up high and in vast numbers, the candles in them unlit. But it all lays in disarray now, covered in debris.

“San!” You heard Din’s voice through the dust and floating debris, but the ringing in your ears drowned it out much the same way the drugs still in your system convinced you it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, your mother, she already ensured his death with nothing but a single word. Hoping to crush the very last bit of your heart and will to fight. The only thing on your mind was survival. He was too far, he was fast and he was skilled beyond many but he was down the hall based on the way his voice echoed to reach you.

You called back, hoping that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, the term of endearment echoing back to let him know your precise whereabout should he really be searching for you. But you were sure it would be too late; your mother was already surging up from the blast. Her body covered in ash, dust billowing off of her as she moved as quickly as she could.

You spied the remote on the ground but instead of rushing toward it, you went for your mother who was still sprawled on the ground from the force of the detonation. She roused slightly but burst into movement when she saw you heading straight for her with anger in your eyes. As soon as she scrambled to her feet, you whipped your hand out to send a piece of broken pipe across the room and into her legs.

“San, please, you’re not angry with me! It’s him! He’s the one whose done all this!” She shouted as she regained her footing and tried to flee out into the hallway, she dove for the remote when she spotted it abandoned on the floor. You were already swinging your chains, gathering momentum and just as she broke the threshold you threw it out. The chains wrapped around her middle and you pulled as hard as you could.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Din’s form burst into the entryway, his entire body moving lethargically. He was fighting the sedative; he was fighting it to search for you. His voice called out again, as his head swayed slightly. The

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself as her body collided with yours just as she pressed the trigger on the remote, she had managed to get in her grip, just standing back up from reaching for it as you closed in. The shock was debilitating, originating at the crown of your head, pulsing in your temples and flying across your body to ignite your very nerves on fire. The chains around your wrists, making it even worse, the electricity feeding off of itself for a long moment. You gripped your mother’s body tight to you, the shock transferring to her as well.

Din shouts out your name, louder than you’d ever heard him speak before. But it barely registered over the scratch of your own voice torn from your throat as you cried out.

You both fell to the ground, your teeth gritting so hard you feared your jaw would break.

As soon as you were able to, you rolled over to pin your mother’s rousing form, the chains clinking around you, the metal heavy where your muscles braced against it. She was blinking up at you, her own body no doubt feeling the dangerous effects of the electrocution. Faintly aware of quick steps thundering in the hall, you didn’t dare look away from the woman beneath you as your hands came up to bunch at the front of her robes.

“You will control me no longer!” Using your shaking limbs, you lift her up by the front of them and slam her back down to the ground. Voice wrecked and trilling.

“S-San, ple-please.” She coughed, voice broken as she tried to reason with you, her breathing labored and her mind still with her.

“No!” You couldn’t help but lift her slightly off the ground only to slam her back down to collide with the lavish and polished floor again and again. “You- have- done- nothing- but- take advantage of me my entire life! You had no right to be that way toward me, to do the things you did to me. Your own flesh and blood! Your only family, your only child! I’ve known more kindness from strangers, from those who don’t even know me!”

“I only did it to protect you!” She cries her own words, sweet voice no longer pitched high in an act but raspy as you recalled it being as a child, the voice that haunted your waking hours just as much as your sleeping ones. Pleading with you, the dynamic completely turned now. But there was no reasoning with you, even if Din were to approach you now, even if your old protector Akiz rose from the dead to ask you to show mercy- you could not.

“You never protected me, you’ve only hurt me. Over and over and over again. Every time you chose to load up the needles, every time you closed the shackles on my wrists and ankles, every time you locked me away in the dark with no way to even know I was alive! You made me want to end my live, mother!”

“I didn’t mean- I only wanted-“

“You made me so unaware of everything, I didn’t even know I was a person!” You were shouting at the top of your lungs now, for all to hear. The small crowd of servants and the people dressed in decorated robes surrounding Din in the doorway. Everyone unsure of what to do, of how to break the scene up. But when Din’s figure tried to, he suddenly halted as if there was an invisible barrier preventing him from entering the room. “You treated me as harshly as those that corrupted me!”

“I sold you to give you a better life, to give us a better life! One I couldn’t give to you on an armor’s earnings. It was for your own good. The things I did were for all for your own good, San, you have to believe me!”

Your knuckles popped as you curled your hands around her throat, the flesh and tendons forming to your tight grip. Her own hands scrabbled at any part of you she could reach but you ignored the dig of her nails into your arms, into the base of your neck, eyes locked with hers as they widened in fear and desperation.

“I won’t let you, I won’t let you, not anymore!” You snarled, teeth bared and emotions raw as you watched her gurgle your name, voice tapering off and turning raspy the longer you held to her. Your own shaking and distorted, hoarse from the power behind your shouted words. The same power you felt flooding your veins was all your own, no influence of the Force. You could feel her, the energy of her very being waver, fade, the light going from her eyes as her hands fell limp to her sides.

Tears sprouted from your eyes, falling onto her slack face as her lips tried to form your name one last time. When her last breath left her chest, your hands loosened thought you didn’t remove them. The fear of her suddenly springing up and turning the tables on you all to real even as you took in the way her slightly parted lips were slack, the spittle and splotchy red patches decorating the skin of her face and neck. Her golden skin tainted and marred, just like that about your wrists, about your ankles, about your heart.

Bowing, you nudged the crown of your head underneath her chin, hands moving down to her shoulders, tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body as you nuzzle into the body of the woman who was supposed to love you, support you, help you navigate the world. The woman who had failed you in every conceivable way, who had taken what little parts of you had survived the events of your life. All of the power and fight leaves your body, energy drained and muscles slack.

All you can do is weep.

You didn’t jump when a hand settles on your back, when the warmth of it seeps into the layers of fabric and into your skin. A comforting weight, a familiar weight. Din.

“Vaabir nayc ku'rukar, bic cuyir shi ni.  Ner kar'ta, gedet'ye, vi linibar at ba'slanar.  Ogir cuyir naas olar par mhi payt.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he speaks softly to you. As he calls you back to the room, to the time, to him.

Do not startle. My heart, please, we need to leave. There is nothing left for us here.

“Val cuyir dar.” You rasp out, voice strained and small. So much like a child lost in a crowd and searching for someone, anyone to help them get back home.

She’s gone.

“Ni kar'taylir, San.  Vi…vi linibar to-"

I know, San. We…we need to-

“Ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh!” You lift your head, eyes meeting Din’s with a fierce desperation. The meaning of your actions settling in as you feel the body beneath you. “Val may ganar let ni slanar, val may ganar harmed ni, a ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh.  Liser't ba'slanar kaysh baar olar, ogir. Ogir cuyir kebise vi vaabir! Bat K'ath.  Val- val deserve at nari bat.”

I can't leave her! She may have let me go, she may have harmed me, but I can't leave her. Can't leave her body here, there...there are things we do! On K'ath. She- she deserves to move on peacefully.

He’s suddenly turning his back on you, broadsword held up in defense as two figures approach. They’re surrounded by more guards dressed exactly like him, like you. Dark billowing robes, though their hands remain gripped around handles of their own weapons. The steps of so many approaching falling on his ears alone, you are too lost in your grief, too focused on the woman who lays dead before you. Because of you.

“Stand down, we do not wish to harm her. Nor you.” A woman’s strong voice, cadence lilted in the way that conveyed a high standing. Her robes were shining in the sun filtering in from the tall, arching windows in the room. The colored, faceted glass at the top allowing for prisms of color to splash over the room even as dust continues to settle. Highlighting the damage done by the grav charge. Tables and chairs strewn about, petals from flowers littered over everything. Glass glittered about, as did the remnants of stone columns, two of which hadn’t been able to withstand the explosion. The perfect set up for what was supposed to be a joyous union, shattered down to the very details.

“Aliit, the queen commands you. Heed her words.” Another servant tempered, bridging the gap between the man standing guard before you and those that commanded all of the planet.

“The only words I follow are hers and those of my Creed.” He spares a glance back at you over his shoulder. The confidence in his stance and the conviction in his words pulls you to your feet. You gaze around him, eyes landing on the two figures standing before him. The depictions of them cast in oil paint and in holo nets the only time you’ve seen them, but you would recognize them anywhere. The king and queen of Maldovan.

The people who had been set to become your family.

The people whose son you murdered with your bare hands.

And they stand before you and Din, hands up and placating even though they just witnessed you strangle your own flesh and blood.

Instincts of flight light you up from the tips of your toes to the still aching crown of your head. Though you do not move, you simply stand behind Din, who is poised for a fight. Ready to defend you, to protect you, to ensure your freedom now that your mother’s clutches can no longer control you. You stand still and strong behind him, to match his devotion and willingness to face a potential new threat head on.

“San of K’ath.” The man steps forward, the golden jewelry adorned around his neck and the clasps on his ceremonial belt jingling as he bows at the waist toward you behind Din’s large frame. “We want to express our deepest apologies for the tragedies you’ve encountered while here in our home. From the way you were coerced here against your will to the attempt on your life just last night.”

“We want to extend the offer to undo any medical procedures your mother conducted alongside our medic. There are locked files on our system, we can only assume they worked together willingly. As well as offer you the suite in which you’ve occupied for however much time you require to recover. We humbly request peace from this point on, your skills are beyond anything we wish to fight against. Should you wish to leave this moment, we would allow you to. The contents of your room are yours, the gifts given to you for the union ceremony are yours. Should you want for any of it.” The queen bows as well, her headpiece secured over braided hair glinting in the sunlight.

“You are the Mandalorian, the one Lena had requested we put a bounty on.” The king rises from his bow, eyes focusing on the stance Din holds, the way your fingers had wrapped around the back of his robes. A question, his words are not. But a fact that is now out in the open. His fierce protectiveness, the manner in which he had held back guards that followed in his movements about the palace in his attempts to locate you, the way he holds himself, shields most of who he is from all to see.

They can see the was you hold yourself, how you had nearly effortlessly taken out the threat your mother had revealed herself to be. The use of the Force minimal, but still seen by those who had crowded the entrance to the damaged hall, called forth in haste by the grav charge you had deployed. It is obvious now, the strength you possess yourself, the skills you had hidden away in order to play the part of a willing daughter until a moment for your escape made itself known. Two trained and skilled individuals that now have no reason to hold back. The glimpse of freedom right in front of you both, yours to take, to defend with everything you had.

“She had said you were part of the people who had hunted her since her younger days. A threat that always lurked around the corner. But- that is false. From the way you’ve gravitated to her since your arrival, you’re bonded. A pair that cannot be separated. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” Your answer was immediate. “He’s…he’s my-“

“We are to be joined, according to my religion. Should she still want that after this ordeal.” Din fills the silence when your words falter. When the conviction in them at labeling what he is to you in Basic fails you.

“I see,” The queen looks between you both. “Then the proposal to wed you to our son was ill-intentioned. Stolen away from one you love for another of status. The culture of others is so foreign to us, we couldn’t imagine taking the happiness of our child away. Even if he…had incongruities.”

“The poison, it was an attempt on both your lives. We can only assume it was politically motivated. We will not discuss it here in the open.” The queen’s eyes connect with yours and you nod your head to let her know you’re not just listening, but understanding too. The Medic, the one they employed. They place the blame for all that has happened with him, with your mother. She sees the betrayal for what it is, a plan to infiltrate her family.

“We…we need a moment. If that’s...amenable.” Your fingers tighten where they are wrapped in the fabrics flowing from Din’s broad back, falling in layers from his shoulders. There’s…there’s so much to discuss, to decide. It’s not what you had expected, when your mother had all but chained you up one last time and tried to lead you back to the medical wing. There’s no telling what she had planned to do but…the kindness of the two people before you is genuine. You can sense it, there is no underlying scheme to get you to remain here. No game they are playing, simply extending honest hospitality and understanding of what you’ve been through.

“That is perfectly acceptable. We understand that this- it’s a jarring shift from just this morning. We will step into the hall to give you some privacy.”

You can’t help but feel anxious as you follow them to the medical wing, a hushed exchange of words with Din revealing that he too knew your mother had something implanted into your temples. A control device to shock you, should you step out of line or display powers. Your charts easy to hack into with the clearance code he had seen a droid enter during his time trialing after your mother the night before.

Cara is called back to the grounds, both by Din on the comm link he’s got hidden just inside his outer layer and the guards patrolling the docking yard. She and ad’ika are accepted immediately, the two of them escorted to the medical wing where you wait with Din. Plush chairs and a long couch surround a low table, food served to ease your nerves, to show that they will still provide for you despite what has been revealed.

“Everything’s okay, little one.” You let him burrow his face into the crook of your neck, small body barely a weight against your chest as you held him to you. He wasn’t making a sound, but you could tell he was trying to connect with you mentally. It was fuzzy, your body strained and exhausted so you gently shushed him and patted a gentle hand on his small back. “I can feel you trying to, but let’s wait until I’m a little more in control, okay? Don’t want you to stumble across anything bad in my mind.”

He just nuzzles closer, the point of his little nose cold as he presses it to your neck.

“He’s trying to ‘connect’?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot right now. Those shocks really- they didn’t do any damage but my mind isn’t strong enough to put up walls should he be poking around in there. Don’t want him to stumble into any bad memories or thoughts.”

“Are you…having ‘bad thoughts’?” Din’s tips his voice low, eyes focusing on you as he stands between where you are perched and the door. On the defensive should something happen, even now.

“Yes and no. I’m not…Din, I’m trying to be okay. But it’s going to take some time for me to be.”

“I understand, I just worry. You- you deserve to feel safe and protected. To be at peace.”

“I’ll feel better once these transmitters are removed,” You try not to raise your voice though the emotion flares through you. The anger and hurt and betrayal of your own flesh and blood submitting you to something so controlling. It was already a hard enough reality to accept that she was willing to keep you in chains that would shock you should you move suddenly, but to implant something into your very head to do the same? To control with a remote should she see any sign of defiance in you from the twitch of an eyebrow to the raising of a singular finger?

It’s a vile thought, the things she had been comfortable in doing to control you, to keep tabs on you. To get it removed, the transmitters as well as a blood transfusion to rid your system of the poison and subsequent sedative, it would be a lot to undergo but you were willing to. For your peace of mind as well as a healthy reboot.

The recovery takes a few days, the faint cuts in your temples healing quickly and painlessly with the aid of bacta patches, with the tender and caring hands of a replacement medic. The one who had worked alongside your mother jailed for his corruption and manipulation. It didn’t matter that you were no longer intending to fold yourself into the royal family, you had been a part of it while engaged to Prince Cala. The principle of the matter stood firm, you had been important, of high standing, the princess at the time- there was no forgiving the man’s actions.

Din remains close, during your recovery. The suite you had resided in is where your little group set up for the time being. Din opted to sleep atop the couch across the pair of chairs clustered around the low table opposite the room from the bed. Ad’ika resting with you in the large bed or alone when his tiredness grew into an afternoon nap. Cara was quick to take the fainting couch in the closet, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy but still remain in close quarters.

She didn’t want to part from either of you just yet, to ensure that everything would be okay. That there wouldn’t be any need to transport one of you to another place. Or both back to Nevarro and then you somewhere else, either your home planet or Tatooine where your hideaway was.

The ashes of your mother, are condensed into a small ceramic box, detailed with gold over a black base coat. It’s heavy in your hand as you stare at it, mind blank and eyes losing focus and blurring the longer you stare at it. Din is standing beside the door, Cara having left the room with ad’ika at the arrival of the queen. She had wanted to hand it directly to you, her words quiet as she explained that it is customary to place the remains in gilded boxes and display them alongside photos of the deceased.

You listen solemnly, words failing you when she asks after your own customs. You tell her of the ones you know of Manda’lor. Your own from K’ath lost in your memory, something you don’t recall witnessing during your first years on the oceanic planet. It had never been something discussed or explained by your mother, questions of your father always bubbled up to the surface but had never been voiced. Not when it was as if he never existed in the first place.

She sits with you for a while, asking after how you’re feeling. If you needed anything from her at that moment, that the cooks are ready to prepare whatever you wanted should you ask. You thank her for her kindness, for her generosity, genuine feelings of admiration and appreciation for her the way she’s folded you under her wing. Her eyes shine as she takes your hands in hers and simply holds them. A lamentation for her son missing out on being the same way for her is the only depressive thought she’s voiced over his death. Her and the king both place the blame of it on the medic and your mother, something you did not correct.

It felt…wrong to lie to her. She was obviously conflicted over the actions of her son and the willingness he displayed to go along with the plan to use the lack of your memories to instill false ones into your mind. The influence of your mother strong on him for reasons she wished to know, but never would. Her son was gone, so many questions would remained unanswered, though the compassion she’s shown you a sliver of obvious as she dressed in mourning robes and does not leave the palace. The fact that you did not feel guilt for ending his life spoke volumes of your own thoughts on the matter, but you wouldn’t add to her turmoil nor disturb it.

With a quick dab of a folded cloth underneath her eyes, she’s clears her throat to explain that clearance has already been set for you to depart when you wish to.

You thank her again, standing when she does. Her hands twitch as if she wants to reach out, but she reads the way you tense at the mere suggestion of it. She bows instead, you return the gesture and that’s the last you see of the woman.

The question of where to go hangs in the air. Both parties sure of voicing it lest the answer be something they are unable to agree with. But they would willingly take you to wherever you choose to go, giving you back the freedom you nearly lost once more.

“I would like,” You clear your throat at your voice falters on the words, packing the ship had been a silent affair. The guards stacking three crates of your belongings as well as supplying you with a token of their symbol that would grant you instant access into their air space. The invitation was offered despite the fragility of the connection, born of remorse and a wish to make things right, for you to stay at one of the few seaside homes they keep up should you want to return and enjoy in the offerings of the city. “I would like to go to Tatooine. To retrieve something from my hide away there. If that’s…if that’s amenable.”

“Tatooine it is, then.” Cara treks up the ramp, cracking her knuckles as she goes. Din is silent beside you, eyes ever watching closely. Though there is something hidden behind them you can’t quite make out and refuse to reach further into his mind to figure out, not wanting to impinge on his privacy.

“I want to…I would appreciate the…um…” You trail off, feeling so offput by the way he’s focused solely on you. You know he doesn’t mean to put you on edge by doing it, used to doing so behind the visor of his helmet. He’s well-meaning with his intentions but you feel very much like a specimen under supervision, your every move giving away information on internal workings. “Maker, I’m sorry. I c-can’t think with your eyes boring into me so plainly.”

“I didn’t mean to unnerve you.”

“No, I know. I just…feel vulnerable and like you’re waiting for me to make a run for it or something.”

“You don’t have to leave with us if you don’t want to. You can…take one of the ships they offered you and go on your own. You don’t owe us anything for-“

“I-I don’t…I don’t want to be alone anymore, Din.” You whisper, feeling the thickness of your tongue in your throat as tears prick behind your eyes. You think back to traveling alongside Akiz, how much you felt like it was the right thing to do, like he was the right person to place your faith in. To care about and be cared for in return, a truly selfless person who had done so much to ensure your protection and safety, someone you had tried your best to do in return. The same feeling you had alongside Din, though there was that…additional layer of connection that sprouted warmth in your entire body and made your heart both beat rapidly and calm. “I want- I want to go with you. I want you. If that’s…if you still-“

“I do,” He breaths out, hands reaching for your own fidgeting ones. The heavy pendant revealed as he opens his fist to you, the shining beskar catching both the light and your breath. He had found it, going through the contents of the medical wing, when he had figured out what the medic had done to you at the request of your mother. “I didn’t…I was waiting for a moment alone. But yes, San, I-I do want you, beside me, traveling with me, anything you are comfortable with.”

“I had hoped she kept it,” You reach a hesitant hand out for it but think better of it at the last second, pulling your hand back and flattening in against the center of your chest. “But it’s yours, you…you should keep it. It was stolen from me, I can’t be trusted with it.”

“Mesh’la- San, I want you to have it.” He steps close and offers it once more. “I gifted it to you, it is yours.”

“I…I like the thought of carrying around something that once belonged to you,” You admit almost shyly, he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the admittance, at the willingness to share such a thing with him, even no, especially now. He feels the fabric covering his mouth shift as his lips twitch when you look up at him with wide eyes, your hand uncurling to accept it.

“Everything I have, is yours as well. I make that promise to you.”

The ship is an blend of quiet beeps and the low hum of the engines as they power the craft to move through hyperspace. You don’t let go from where you gripped tight to Din’s hand as he sits beside you, nor the hold you have on ad’ika as the child sits securely in your lap. Everything is still in the control room as the glowing blues and greens move over the glass paneling of the vantage deck. Cara is staring down at the controls, her head hung slightly.

“I reset the security protocols when I left,” Din speaks into the silence, hoping to put his own mind at ease. Everything is okay….you’re onboard the ship with him, wanting to travel with him, wanting to be at his side. Though he doesn’t know in what capacity just yet. But he could…he had to be patient. You endured so much the last few months, the last year since he had first stumbled upon you chained up in that compound. He could wait for you to approach him, to speak with him about the things you both agreed needed to be discussed. To open your mind and hear to him even if his is beating rapidly each time you suck in a deep breath or stutter our a question you wouldn’t have asked before.

He really…dislikes the idea of thinking of things and before and after. But the reality is that you both went through something, you more so than him. Way worse than him, your own autonomy stolen from you along with the very memories that make you who you are. The death of your mother, even knowing it was the only true way to be free, was going to weigh heavily on you. Greif and loss were not linear, you would feel it for the rest of your life. The levels of it waning and cresting much like the waves you admire every time the ocean is near. And he would stand by your side through it all, as long as you let him. As long as you wanted him to.

“I’ll be catching a ride back to Nevarro, once we land.” Cara announces, taking the quiet moment for herself. “I’m truly glad I could help to get you back, San. But there’s a lot that needs to be tended to, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, of course. You have responsibilities and things that require your attention.”

“That’s not to say I regret how long it took to find you,” she turns to pin you with a somewhat pinched expression. Her eyes giving away her trepidation, even if her smile is small on her lips. “I just feel like there’s a whole lot you two need to hash out and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

The jump would take only a few hours, Cara further explaining her choice to return to Nevarro and her responsibilities. With the assurance that she would eradicate any other calls for your capture, dispute them herself if need be and that there would be a plot of land with each of your names on it should you choose to lay low. That you both have a place to return to, should you want for one.

You thank her for everything as you share an embrace with her, her own arms tight around you. She’ presses a kiss to your cheek, a smirk on her lips as she pulls back.

“He’s an alright guy, that one.” She nods to where Din is standing beside Pelli, ad’ika’s small body between the two of them as he inspects a droid no bigger than him. “He just got confused it all, I hope you two can work it out.”

“Be safe, please leave contact of your return. I’m sure we’ll be back at some point.”

Travel to home planet of K’ath is mapped out and set into the panel, a quick jump to light speed signals the journey has begun. Din had yet to put his armor back on, sensing you need to see him for who he is, not the wall of armor he typically is. His soft edges exposed to you in your low moment, someone to reach for and find a hand or a shoulder unobstructed by protective leather and hard beskar.

It’s quiet, but you could hear the faint sounds of Din’s rumbling voice as he lulled ad’ika to sleep in the hammock strung up in the small hold space. You’re laying in the moderate bunk space

The second he steps through the door, before it can shut behind him completely, you’re surging forward from where you’re perched on the very edge of the bed. Your hands reaching for his face, fingers curling into the cowl and mask, pulling the fabric down and pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss.

His reaction is instant, his own hands coming up to cup your face and flatten on the small of your back, his head tilting just so to deepen the kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His stubble is a scratching tickle against your face, but you don’t care. His bottom lip is between yours and you pull back to catch your breath, realizing that you can’t see even a twinkle of light reflected in his eyes as the bunk is in total darkness, the door shut behind him.

He whispers your name as he takes a breath of his own, pressing his lips to yours firmly. They’re so soft, so plush, they feel like nothing you’ve ever had against your skin. All fond softness and genuine intention, a true kiss in the very definition of the word. Your hands move up to shove the band of fabric keeping his head cover in place. Both the leather and soft cotton fall to the floor, his curls exposed for you to dig your fingers into.

“I-I want to see, but, Din. I can’t…I can’t make the vows to you.” You part from him for a moment, wanting to be honest, wanting to voice your thoughts.

He’s loosening his hold on you, beginning to pull away and your heart stutters. You rush to explain it further to him, the feelings tangled up inside you.

“I can’t make the vows to you right now, I….I want to. Someday. Everything is too fresh, it’s all- jumbled in my head. I want to be yours, I want you to be mine. Maker, I want that more than anything, but the idea of reciting vows right now…it-it- Din, it’s too much.” You hiccup, grasping at his shoulders so tight your nails dug into the shoulders of his robes.

He pulls you back into him, closing the small gap that had formed as he loosened his hold on you. He clings to you just as you do to him, noses touching and sharing breath. You know he wouldn’t demand anything of you, whether you voice concern or trepidation or not.

“I want you to see, even if you don’t have intentions to make the vows. I…want to be seen by you, even if it means breaking my Creed.” He pressed closed lips to yours, simply feeling you. “You are what is important.”

“I wish to see you, more than anything.” You whisper, the feel of his facial hair sending sparks to flare low in your stomach. Your fingers are still in his hair, though now they are running through the thick tresses to calm you both. “I just- can’t right now. It’s- too much, Din. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize, I will never force you to do anything. I promise that to you. But please, mesh’la, let me feel you, let me hold you. I’ve- I’ve-“

“I’ve missed you too,” You read his thoughts and repeat them to him, they are the same you’ve been having. The kisses slow down, become openmouthed as desire flourishes and heat sparks in both your bodies. He’s running his hands down either side of your neck, your shoulders. Down your back to grip you tight around the waist, fingers digging into the fabric at your hips. The robes still in place that you hadn’t yet removed, too anxious to speak with him once the little one went down for the night.

He tugs you closer, letting you feel the swell of him between his legs. The sensation dizzies you, the weight of it against your hip, though he doesn’t move against you, simply holds you close. You lower your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he bends his knees and grips you behind the thighs, lifting you without a second thought. The weight of his becomes trapped between your legs wrapped around his waist, pressed right over the softness that had developed in your lower middle. It’s a heady sensation, pulling a soft sigh from you.

He groans into the kiss, at the feel of you clinging to him. Taking slow steps toward the cot so as to not jostle you. But it all simmers when he leans down to rest you atop the covers. The stifling mood bubbles as his eyes adjust to see the faintest outline of you caressing your hands down his arms and to the fastened front of his robes. The air is warm on his skin as he lets you undress him, soft fingers pushing the fabric from his body with great care not to poke or prod any sore spots. He hadn’t been doing any of the fighting but the care and sensitivity you showed made his heart soften and a sigh escape his chest.

Your hands still at his waist, the belt and harness for his broadsword cool to the exploring tips of your fingers. The blade isn’t in place, removed for him to pilot the ship and safe in the control room. The clink of the clasps being undone causes him to twitch and you barely manage to stifle a huff of laughter before you’re tugging his trousers down his slim hips. The front of them catches but he doesn’t move to or breathe a word of argument as you drag the fabric down until it falls to collect at his feet, completely mesmerized by your slow actions. Leaving him in just his undercover.

The mood tempers even more when you lean forward and press your face to his middle, feeling the softness of the hair that adorns his middle, cheek to his warm skin as you loosely wrap your arms around him. He no doubt feels the heavy breathes you take in and exhale, centering yourself and focusing on the feel of him, the very real man in front of you. The one who had come looking for you, to rescue from those who had stolen you away…the one who had caused you to run in the first place.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Din’s hands cup the back of your head and along the back of one of your shoulders.

“Mesh’la,” He heaves a deep breath, unsure of how to voice the incessant thoughts since the moment you had stormed out of the bunk back on the Crest. He says your name, voice giving way the emotions he’s consumed by as his voice falters. You lean back, pulling him along with you. After a few moments of shifting and moving together, you’re both on your sides. Facing each other while wrapped up in each other’s arms. One of your legs thrown over his hip to keep him close, one of his wide palms cupping your cheek, heads resting on the pillows.

He whispers his apologies to you, over and over again, his lips brushing over your face to pepper kisses along every spot he can reach. He whispers his thoughts to you as best as he can explain, how he felt in that moment, how he was unsure of how to navigate such a delicate matter, how he was more than willing to make it up to you until everything was right once again. You whisper back assurances that everything is okay, that you’ve both made mistakes in that moment. That he is okay, and you are okay, that you are okay together.

“I will wait, until you are ready. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His forehead connects with yours, his nose brushing yours as he confesses to you in a moment not born of panic or on the brink of death as he had done before. You return the words in a moment of full clarity, not on the cusp of sleep as you had done before. Both of you professing for the other to hear, to take to heart, to carry with you a better memory of the words.

I love you.

The land is disturbed before you, dug into deep and the ceramic box placed into the well wrapped up in delicate chainmail, covered back up with a few words spoken softly. A language not recognized by those beside you. Who had helped you to make the thought a reality. Allowed you the closure you so desperately sought after.

Crashing waves fill the crisp, salted air all around you. Enveloping you and transporting you to a moment in time you would much rather be in. The time of standing at the shore and watching the waves rush to kiss the sand, whitewash foaming up and making mesmerizing shapes as the bubbles fizzle out.

A small hand of your own dug into the damp sand to feel each little grain, the air filling your lungs and your back warm as you sit in the lap of your mother. Her arms around you, nothing separating you from her as she holds you steadfast to watch the sun dip below the horizon.

You knock your head back to look up at her with a gummy smile, some teeth missing while others wiggle, wile others slowly grow into place. Hair a mess of dark waves and curls as the evening breeze whips through the tresses. She smiles beautifully back down at you, her features soft and rosy. A giggle bursts from you as she ducks down to press a firm kiss to the middle of your forehead. Once, twice, three times.

She can’t hold in the soft laughter as she gazes into your eyes, seeing the world through them in how wide and bright they are. The call of gulls doing nothing to divert her attention as you purse your lips and mimic the kiss before giggling again and looking back to the vast ocean before you both. The water so close to tall reeds of grass your home is surrounded by, the smell of dinner simmering on the stove wafting in the air as it nears readiness.

“I love you, my darling. I will always love you.”

Closing your eyes as they begin to sting, you feel the memory slip away from you as you stand amidst the same tall reeds of grass now, overgrown and wild. The sand still just as pale and shimmery as it had always been. It all hushes around you as you move about, your skin feeling the energy in everything around you, the whispers of it as you feel the long-lost attachment to the woman in your memory flare up.

You weren’t sure what happened to her, what altered her so resolutely. What drove her to do the things she did, what things festered inside of her and turned her into a stranger who bore the look and face of your mother. But you promised yourself that you would never treat someone born of your own body the same way, should you ever find your identity shifting and taking on the facet of ‘mother’. Even with the all too familiar clutches of corruption you could recall as clearly as the sight of the ocean before you, the chilled breeze whipping around the ends of your dark robes, you wouldn’t succumb to it again. You would use your powers to protect, to ensure a long life, to ensure a happy life.

The sand dipped beside you as Din settled down at your side. His robes matched yours, his armor and helmet still aboard the ship. Eyes watching you closely, he turned to face the ocean when you didn’t meet his gaze.  All he could do in that moment was reach his left hand out in search of yours and pull you to rest between his propped-up legs. Willingly, you moved with him, leaning to rest your back into his warm and sturdy chest. The painful thoughts of how life had once been so simple quieted as you felt ease flow through you at his touch.

Little chirps and huffs of exertion announced ad’ika as he climbed out of the bag resting in the sand at Din’s hip. The small child shuffling and climbing over limbs to settle in your lap like you were in Din’s.

Ad’ika knocked his head back to gaze up at you with his wide, brown eyes. He coos as you look down at him with a soft smile. Bowing over him slightly, you touch your forehead gently to his own, feeling the velvety texture of his soft skin and fair hairs there. His giggle ignites something in you, a devotion springing to life deep inside of you. A shared past, shared experiences and struggles bonding you to the older being in your lap. He’s got so much more time than you do, but you vow to ensure that as long as you’re breathing, he will know love and peace.

“You will know love, ad’ika. I swear it to you.” You murmur into his soft skin, earning another giggle that flows into the air to mingle with the sound of gulls overhead.

His little face ducks out from underneath you, gaze going back to the ocean. Before you know it, he’s pushing up and away, running as best his little legs can manage over the sand until it smooths out on the shoreline. The waves reach for him but he stands just out of their touch, turning to hold out a claw to you with a question in his eyes.

“Gar aalar guuror yaim, ner kar'ta.  Nayc vaii has ru'aalar guuror yaim par a munit ca'nara ni sheber olar sa adiik.  Ni'm glad at aalar bic tug'yc, ti gar bintar.” You whisper as you lean back a little further, prompting a huff from the child watching you closely. Din’s arms wrap around you securely, making sure to not irritate your sore muscles. He’s gazing down at you with eyes so soft it makes your stomach swoop and your breath leave you quickly. Craning up slightly, you press your lips to the bump of his nose, hidden beneath his cowl and mask. His eyes are closed when you open your own back up.

You feel like home, my heart. Nowhere has felt like home since I sat in this very spot as a child. I’m glad to feel it again.

“Gar cuyir ner yaim, shi sa ni cuy' at gar. Sa munit sa gar vercopaanir par, mesh’la.” His words are soft, barely audible over the cresting waves. But you hear them, and they settle into your heart. Another kiss is pressed to his hidden face before you disentangle yourself from him with an airy laugh. Your robes bounce and flow all around you as you approach the child, feigning looking out at the water until the last moment, and you’ve closed the distance. Your sudden scoop of his small body startles laughter from him and you’re twirling effortlessly in the shallows as you hold him up in the air.

You are my home, just as I am to you. For as long as you wish, mesh’la.

Din watches from where the sand begins to slope, far enough from the water’s edge to not get sprinkled as the waves meet the shore but enough so to step in should something happen. You know he can see the small smile on your lips and hear the ringing of your combined laughter as you splash about in the cool water, never going in past your calves. Ad’ika is enjoying the way you dip him just at the waves receive, pulling him up to your chest when they flow toward you, little claws reaching for it below him.

His happiness infectious as you soon begin to commit the moment to your memory, tumbling the edges of old ones so they aren’t so sharp anymore.

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[badchoicesworld]

heard you were desperate for requests!

im oriented aroace and i'd LOVE to see a hobie x spider!reader where they're not dating or putting labels on it, they're just in a mutually loving and supportive symbiosis. everyone in the spiderverse keeps trying to figure out if they're in a relationship or not and are incredibly confused that hobie will straight up kiss the reader's neck and they'll give him massages at work but they refuse to say they're a couple

where you and hobie have the most loving connection, but don’t label it

hobie brown x gn!reader

u just like me fr i miss when u could platonically kiss people, was that just me ?

warnings: none

pairing: hobie brown x gn!reader

requests: OPEN

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

so you two have a completely unlabelled dynamic that benefits the both of you w the untethered love you can just casually give out without really giving a second thought

there might be something romantic, there might not be- you’re not naming it anything at all

it’s completely natural for the two of you to hold hands, kiss, comfort each other and generally just be there whenever the two of you need it

you’re not afraid of PDA, especially if hobie’s involved. you physically cannot shy away from PDA, the man simply won’t allow it

naturally, speculation will start over your guys’ relationship and the exact details

are you dating ? is it something less or more ? is this a prank ?

but those questions remain unanswered

hobie will either shrug or say something along the lines of “we’re just there for each other,” or if he’s feeling a bit snarky he’s like “wouldn’t you like to know” but that fucker knows what you’ve got going on don’t got a label at all, just the way he likes it

again, you two will straight up refuse to confirm or deny questions about your relationship- it’s no one’s business but yours and you both are completely comfortable remaining unlabelled but loving as fuck

cause why do we even need to label that at all ? stop limiting love u fucks

hobie views it as people tryna dictate your relationship sometimes and he doesn’t give it the time of day

actual benefits of this dynamic ? spontaneous affection whenever you need it, words of affirmation.. hobie’s capable of being real loving i think

almost always has an arm around you, especially around spider society

within HQ there’s always an arm around your shoulder or maybe you guys hold hands, he likes to playfully tug you along with him randomly while you hold hands

like you could literally just be following a group together and for some reason he’s pulling at your hand as if you’re walking the wrong way, y’know he’s smiling too while he does it

you two are probably way too comfortable around HQ, too

especially since you guys don’t really label your relationship as anything, so you don’t see why you should hide certain actions if they’re not inherently romantic, y’know ?

spider-people can literally find hobie chilling in ur lap whenever in headquarters while he fixes his makeup or you fix it for him

you can swear on ur life it’s just a more practical way to do it, or that you’re just lending a hand

dozens of spider-people are so sure you’re dating, it’s split evenly down the middle

the other half think ur gross and need to get a room

there’s probably one or two hobie x you fanatics out there (pav, it’s pav. probably peter b too, loves young love)

you guys don’t help your case when you get back from missions and hobie’s massaging your hands from swinging all day- if you’ve got organic webs he’s working away the kinks in your wrists too

hopefully he’s wearing a mask to hide that concentrated, idle look he’s wearing that’s somehow charming

the speculators are even further convinced when you’re eating one of those miguel burgers in the cafeteria and hobie appears from literally nowhere, bends down to kiss you on the side of your neck while he snatches some of your food and then walks off

daylight robbery

now everyone at the table is perplexed, including you when you realise he just stole ur fucking chips

in meetings you two are fucking insufferable i just know it

if you’re more sensible, you can probably distract hobie by letting him draw on your hands during the meeting

if not, you two always sit together and are so bothersome (ily)

plz stop snickering in the back miguel cant take this stress in his old age

naps around spider-society are top tier

make like a web hammock suspended from anything and you two are sharing it, out like a light

hobie loves it cause he’s simultaneously shitting on the establishment while he gets to bask in the comfort you two share

probably a community game about the locations people have found you guys slacking

loves it when he can come back from a mission and kiss you casually before telling you all about it, pulling you away from everyone else with an arm around your neck

you are not spared from his typical hobie-ness however, still preaches anarchism to you on the daily while saying the most outrageous punk statements like you guys don’t share a bed every other day

he just incorporated compliments into it somehow to be supportive

“you’d make a great anarchist” thanks man

miguel will claim you guys cause a hostile work environment and all hobie’s gotta say is “i don’t believe in hostile work environments” before walking off w you to go set a miguel burger on fire or smthn

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

if hobie drew on me i’m getting that shit tattooed i’m just sayin

[blessedbygookim]

The Queen Of Busan.

Part one: the meeting.

Part two: defeated.

Part three: years.

This has been in my notes for so long, it was starting to collect dust. Had holes in it too like a fucking overused tissue. Took me way too long and way too much procrastination to do at least something with it. 😭

But here it is finally! Enjoy (pls.) Btw it’s s long, so make sure to grab some snacks and drinks and all before you begin. 🫶🏻

Three years.

Three, and perhaps a bit more has passed since then.

But who counts, right?

Well, not Nova.

Not in a sense that she marks her calendar, crossing out every day and counting down every minute with a sense of pride.

No, it’s a bit different.

She is a bit different now.

Victory has a way of leaving scars, even when the battle is won. For Nova, the echoes of her clash with Gun and Goo lingered like a ghost, haunting her in the spaces where silence should have soothed. She had defended Busan, saved her people, and reaffirmed her rule. But the harder she clung to the city she loved, the more fragile it began to feel in her grasp, as though the very act of holding it might shatter it to pieces. Paranoia crept into her like a thief in the night, curling its cold fingers around her mind. She began to see shadows where there were none, hear whispers in the cracks of laughter, and sense betrayal in the most loyal of faces. It wasn’t fear for herself—Nova had never feared anything when it came to her own life. But the idea of her people, her city, being destroyed by some unseen hand tore at her like a blade.

She became a hurricane disguised as a queen, her calm exterior hiding the growing storm beneath. Anyone who so much as looked like a threat, anyone whose loyalty seemed even a shade of gray, was erased from her world. She struck preemptively, not from malice, but from the gnawing dread of what might happen if she hesitated.

Busan remained alive, still thriving under her reign, but the warmth that had once defined her began to cool. The kindness she had wielded like a lantern in the dark was dimmed by the weight of her vigilance. Each decision made for protection, each life ended for the greater good, chipped away at the part of her that had once loved freely and trusted easily.

So, who is Nova now?

Nova had become something more than human, and less. There was a divinity in her now—something sacred yet terrifying, like the wrath of an angel carved in the firelight of old myths. She moved through Busan like a specter, her presence haunting and magnetic, commanding worship without a word.

She no longer sought connection; she had become untouchable, unreachable. People admired her as one admires a star—brilliant, distant, and wholly impossible to grasp. Beauty once made to disarm had become a weapon, sharper than any blade, the kind of beauty that made you question your own humanity. She was a marble nymph come to life, skin kissed by the moonlight, eyes glowing with the weight of a thousand secrets. Her lips could promise salvation or damnation; no one was brave enough to ask which.

Even her movements were a symphony of chaos and control, weaving between the earthly and the unearthly. She operated on a different frequency now, untethered by mortal logic. Her unpredictability was a blade that kept the city’s predators at bay, a dangerous dance of intellect and raw power that no one dared interrupt. Each step, each word, was deliberate yet chaotic, calculated yet mad.

The city felt her in its bones—her rage, her fear, her brilliance. In her, they saw something that outmatched even the chaos of Goo and the calculated terror of Gun. She had become a new breed of monster: fluid, unrelenting, and impossible to define. Busan was still hers, but it bore the scars of her transformation—the quiet streets, the muffled breaths, the lingering bloodstains in places she deemed necessary.

And yet, she knew this could not last. The whispers reached her like a cold wind. The King of Busan, the man who once ruled these streets, was returning. Released from his prison, where he had spent years plotting and waiting, his shadow stretched long over the city she had fought so hard to claim.

Nova had always been three steps ahead, but now the clock ticked louder. She could feel it—the shift in the air, the weight of her reign buckling under the possibility of his return.

“Well, it is what it is,” she murmured to herself, a short laugh slipping past her lips—dry, devoid of humor, like a hollow wind passing through dead trees. It wasn’t bitterness, nor resignation, but something quieter: acceptance.

No, Nova had never feared challenges. They were the marrow of her life, the thing that kept her alive in more ways than one. But she’d learned that some battles aren’t worth the blood they demand. Sometimes, the hardest choice is to let go.

Vengeance? She scoffed at the thought. The two boys, and Charles Choi—they were never worth the weight of her anger. Rot always consumes itself, she knew that, and rotten fruit falls from the tree eventually.

And fall they did. The news came in whispers and headlines, carried on the tongues of her network and glowing screens alike. Charles Choi’s empire, the colossus of corruption and greed, had crumbled under the weight of its own secrets.

And then came the final note in his symphony of ruin: his leap from a skyscraper, a plunge into the abyss broadcast live to the world.

She hadn’t smiled at the news. There was no triumph in witnessing the inevitable. Only the quiet hum of the universe in perfect order, like a thread tying itself neatly in place.

And Gun—the unshakable, unmovable Gun—had taken the fall, as if shouldering the sins of his master. His prison sentence was whispered like a legend in the making, the kind of story that would ripple through the underground for years to come.

The mighty had fallen, indeed. Life worked its strange magic, whether cruel or harmonious, and Nova watched it all unfold from the throne she no longer wanted to hold.

Let’s rewind a little though, back to the aftermath of their fall three years ago. Gun and Goo—two untouchable legends brought down by a woman who operated like no one they had ever encountered. Her victory felt like something whispered in the dead of night, a fairy tale spun from improbable threads. A queen who felled kings.

And yet, such defeats linger. They don’t dissolve into the air like smoke but instead carve themselves into the memory, stubborn as scars. For most, it might have meant retreat, or the slow, smoldering fire of revenge. But for Gun and Goo, it became something far more dangerous: obsession.

For Gun, it was the kind that sharpened his senses and fed the hunger he lived for. She was proof that power could always be pushed further, boundaries could always be broken. Her strength, her unpredictability, and the sheer artistry of her defiance—it was intoxicating. She became his unspoken benchmark, the ghost of a challenge that whispered, Wow, can’t you do better than this? Better than her?

For Goo, the fascination was… messier. He’d always been a man who lived for the next big thrill, the next shiny thing to chase. And Nova? She wasn’t just a thrill; she was an obsession wrapped in silk and steel. That face, those eyes, that terrifying grace—she was every temptation he’d ever entertained, tasting like every dark thought he ever had. More than that, she was opportunity personified. She was a future, a wildcard, a queen in the making who could flip the board in ways he hadn’t even imagined yet.

She lingered in their minds, unshakable. For Gun, she was the fight that got away, the opponent he hadn’t truly bested. For Goo, she was a door left ajar, the promise of something more. Maybe a love interest? Well–give or take–yes.

Her decree had been clear: Gun and Goo were never to step foot in her city again. The words, sharp and final, had left no room for misinterpretation. She had built Busan into her sanctuary, her dominion, and their presence was a nuisance she would not tolerate.

For Gun, the ban had become a ghost he could not exorcise. Not because he feared her wrath—fear was an emotion long absent from his repertoire—but because he was caged. Locked behind cold bars for sins not entirely his own, he now had nothing but time to replay the memory of her. The way her strength had shattered his expectations. The way her movements had seemed to defy gravity, reason, logic. She was his unbroken record, the one challenge he couldn’t replay, and that haunted him more than any prison cell.

But Goo? Goo had no such limitations. He was free, unburdened by Charles Choi’s schemes and Gun’s watchful shadow. No longer a pawn in someone else’s game, Goo had become his own master, a chaotic force of nature with nothing to lose and everything to gain. His Secret Friends were thriving, his plans were unfurling like a meticulously crafted symphony, and the world itself felt ripe for the taking.

And yet, amidst all the chaos he orchestrated, she remained. A persistent thought in the back of his mind, like a song he couldn’t stop humming. Her image, her power, the electric charge of her presence—it was an itch he couldn’t scratch, a curiosity too tantalizing to ignore. The thrill of her had never left him.

Goo had always been a creature of impulse, but now he was something more: refined chaos. Experience had tempered him, not into a calmer man, but into a more calculated one. He understood the value of patience, the power of letting the game play out before tipping the board. But with Nova, patience was a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore.

The idea of seeking her out again wasn’t just tempting—it was inevitable. He didn’t care about her ban; in fact, it amused him. The queen of Busan thought she could draw lines he wouldn’t cross? She had underestimated just how far he was willing to go for the thrill of seeing her again.

And so, plans began to take shape. Subtle inquiries, discreet movements, the kind of groundwork that would lead him back to her city without a single warning flare. Not for vengeance, not for power—simply for the exhilaration of stepping into her world once more.

For Goo, the anticipation was everything. It was the prelude to chaos, the moment before the storm, and he relished it like a fine wine.

Busan’s queen didn’t yet know it, but the game was about to begin again. And this time, Goo was playing to win.

Playing to win. Only playing.

For Goo, life was a stage, a grand and unpredictable theater where he thrived on improvisation, on stirring chaos and watching the pieces fall where they may.

That day they were in his apartment. The room, dimly lit and filled with cigarette smoke, was a chaotic blend of personalities that somehow orbit around Goo’s gravitational pull.

Samuel Seo sat in the corner, tapping ash into a small tray. He was quiet, listening with that unreadable expression of his, his eyes sharp and calculating. Samuel rarely wasted words, but his silence carried a weight that even Goo acknowledged—albeit grudgingly.

Taejin Cheon, a stark contrast, sat stiffly, his cold and precise demeanor radiating a silent judgment of everyone else in the room. His calculating nature was as intimidating as his reputation.

Logan Lee, however, was the odd one out, hunched in the corner, picking his nose with no shame, his oversized frame slumped in the armchair that creaked with every move. His presence was always a question mark, his attitude laced with bitterness toward anyone more attractive, successful, or likable than him—which was, frankly, everyone. Yet Goo kept him around, maybe for comic relief, maybe for the sheer irony of it.

Goo was in his element, as usual, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table, juggling a golden pen between his fingers like it was a toy. He smirked as he spoke, his tone dripping with amusement and sarcasm as he laid out half-baked schemes and provocations, each one more outlandish than the last.

Yet deep down, he knew better. He knew when someone was several steps ahead, and even as he laughed it off, the thought of Nova’s face flickered through his mind.

She wasn’t playing. She never was. And that thought lingered, unsettling and undeniable, even as Goo turned back to his ridiculous plans with his mismatched crew.

Oh then there is Alexander, he was outside, “guarding the door”, so to say. He always been a man of pretense—bold when he could hide behind stronger shadows, and soft when the world grew too sharp around the edges. Goo’s plans—chaotic, absurd, somehow brilliant—had a way of infecting everyone with belief.

Then sound of heels—sharp, deliberate—echoed down the hallway like a metronome ticking against the silence. Each click reverberated with a weight that made his skin prickle.

He told himself it was nothing. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe someone delivering something. Nothing unusual.

But when he snapped out of his thoughts, a woman was already standing before him, like she just appeared out of thin air. Her frame cloaked in a sleek black coat that draped around her like liquid shadow. Her posture was relaxed, yet the air around her was suffocating.

Unsettling.

Alexander tried not to stare, but his eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She looked out of place, but not in a way that suggested she didn’t belong—rather, in a way that suggested the space was simply too small to contain her. Her presence expanded and pressed against the hallway walls, filling every crevice with an unspoken tension.

Her hair was tied into a high, slick ponytail, the strands catching faint glints of light like threads of silver. Designer sunglasses perched on her face, shielding her eyes, but Alexander felt them on him nonetheless. Or perhaps staring through him. The coat swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and for a fleeting moment, the golden sheen of her heeled boots caught his gaze.

He cleared his throat, trying to summon a shred of authority. “Uh, excuse me, miss… Can I help you with something?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her head turning ever so slightly as if deciding whether to bother acknowledging him. When she finally tilted her face toward him, no words came. Instead, she simply tilted her head down a little to peak above her sunglasses to look down at him, her gaze cool and clinical.

Alexander felt his stomach twist. Her eyes weren’t cold; they were empty—a void that somehow managed to feel like it could see right through him.

“Is Joongoo here?” she asked, her voice low and smooth, unbothered and yet somehow impossible to ignore.

Her tone carried the weight of someone who didn’t ask questions often. Someone who didn’t need to.

Alexander blinked, caught off guard by her directness. “Uh… And who’s asking?” he stammered.

She didn’t flinch. If anything, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s not important who’s asking. Is he here?”

Alexander’s confusion morphed into suspicion. She didn’t look like a threat—no visible weapons, no bruiser stance—but something about her was wrong. Danger oozed off her in invisible waves, subtle but suffocating, like smoke in an enclosed space.

He straightened his back, puffing his chest slightly, trying to muster some of the confidence that had carried him through lesser skirmishes. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re looking for trouble, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Her lips twitched, and this time the smirk fully formed. She chuckled—low, dark, and amused, like a lion humoring a mouse before the pounce.

“Oh, trouble?” she echoed, her tone dripping with mockery. She adjusted her coat with a casual grace, the ponytail behind her bouncing ever so slightly as she moved. “No, no. I’m not looking for trouble.”

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “But it’s funny, isn’t it? What if someone is asking for trouble from me? That makes quite the difference, doesn’t it.”

The words shouldn’t have sounded so threatening, but Alexander’s throat tightened all the same. He swallowed hard, the gulp audible even over the weighty silence. And then she chuckled again, softer this time, stepping back just slightly to assess the door once more.

“You know what?” she said suddenly, the grin returning to her lips. “Hell yeah.~”

There was no malice in her voice, but something about the way she said it made Alexander’s blood run cold. He couldn’t quite explain why—it was as though the promise of something catastrophic lay just beneath her words, hidden in the velvet smoothness of her tone. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. His feet felt rooted to the spot as she shifted her weight, standing tall and poised, utterly unshaken by his presence.

And then, just as suddenly as the moment had started, she tilted her head slightly, letting the smirk linger for a heartbeat longer before settling back into her neutral, unreadable expression.

“Well,” she said softly, almost to herself, “time to see if he’s as amusing as he used to be.”

Three minutes. Who knows what happened outside under a mere three minutes.

It ticked by in near silence, punctuated only by the muffled shuffling of feet behind the door. Alexander appeared in the frame—a man who looks like they just faced death itself.

His forehead was wrinkled with a sheen of sweat covering it. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts, a twitching smile on his lips betraying an undercurrent of horror. His eyes were wide, unblinking, like he’d stared into the abyss and seen it staring back.

Goo, seated with one leg draped lazily over the other, narrowed his eyes, irritation blooming across his face. “Did you have a very uncomfortable shit or something?” he quipped, his tone lilting with mockery, though there was a razor’s edge of suspicion beneath it.

Alexander didn’t answer immediately. His mouth opened, closed, then finally worked to croak out a single sentence:

“Someone is here… to see you.”

Goo groaned, rolling his head back and gesturing dismissively with his hand. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.~”

But Alexander didn’t move. Instead, his body gave a subtle tremor, his laughter bubbling out in an uncomfortable, broken chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m afraid that would be… useless now.”

The air in the room seemed to thin as he spoke those words. Goo straightened slightly in his chair, the laziness melting from his expression as something more serious replaced it. His mouth opened to question Alexander, but before the words could form, the familiar prickle of danger crawled up his spine like a whisper.

Nova entered like she was born to command every eye in the room. Her movement was smooth, deliberate, each step exuding a lethal grace. The air shifted as though it, too, bent to her presence. She brushed past Alexander with barely a glance, and he collapsed without a sound, crumpling to the floor like a marionette with its strings severed.

But the others couldn’t spare him even a glance.

Samuel, always sharp and calculating, adjusted his posture with quiet precision, his fingers itching toward the cigarette perched between his lips. His narrowed eyes gave away his thoughts—Why is she here?

Taejin shifted in his seat, his impassive demeanor betraying little, but his attention locked onto her like a predator sizing up another. He had the look of a man who could feel the temperature of the room plummet and knew better than to underestimate what caused it. Logan scowled almost instantly. His lip curled, his beefy form tense with distaste, as though the mere sight of her polished beauty offended him. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, muttering something incoherent under his breath.

And Goo… Goo said nothing.

He wasn’t the type to lose his composure too often, but something about the sight of her again—her presence, her ease, her smirk—momentarily knocked him off balance. The playful spark that usually danced in his eyes dimmed. His expression hardened into something that bordered on serious, a rare sight indeed.

“How the fuck did she find me..” He thought to himself.

Nova let out a slow, audible sigh through her lips, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat. Her smirk widened slightly as she took in the scene before her: the four men frozen in place, each one trying to decipher the storm that had just walked into their midst.

“Mmm…” she mused aloud, her voice soft but sharp enough to slice through the silence. She inhaled theatrically through her nose, tilting her head back before wrinkling it in mock distaste. “It smells like male desperation in here.”

It definitely earned a few blinks of bitterness and disrespected confusion from the others. Bristle they did indeed.

She shook her head, clicking her tongue against her teeth like a disappointed schoolteacher. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, her smirk fading into something unreadable. She reached up to slide her sunglasses off, holding them delicately between her fingers. She inspected the lenses with the same casual care someone might use when checking for smudges on fine crystal, before pulling a cloth from her pocket to clean them.

The tension in the room stretched taut as a bowstring.

And she wasn’t in a hurry either.

It wasn’t what she said or did—it was what she didn’t do. She hadn’t barked orders. She hadn’t made demands. She hadn’t thrown a punch or even raised her voice. And yet, somehow, she had the upper hand.

Goo’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair, his brow furrowing as he studied her. She was like him now—but more. More calculated. More bloodthirsty. More dangerous. It was as though someone had distilled all of his charm, his chaos, his danger, and polished it into something razor-sharp and terrifyingly deliberate.

Red lights flashed in his mind like a siren, but he couldn’t help the faint tug of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

Nova, oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the weight of the gazes on her, slipped her glasses into her pocket with the same languid grace. She finally looked up, meeting Goo’s eyes across the room with a knowing glint.

“I do have to hand it to you, Joongoo,” she said, her tone warm with mock amusement. “You’ve really gone and assembled quite the… crew.”

Her voice dipped just enough to make the word crew sound like the punchline to an unspoken joke.

She rocked back on her heels slightly, hands still in her coat pockets, tilting her head as if assessing her next move. The smirk returned, sharper now, her eyes glittering with something dangerous. She tilted her head slightly as she examined the occupants, her sharp gaze stopping on Goo. Slowly, her lips pulled into a faux pout, theatrical enough to rival any performance Goo himself has ever put on.

“But you know…” she began, her voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, “I’m kinda hurt…” she tapped her chest lightly, the feigned injury marked by a dramatic sigh. “Somewhere here, I guess.” Her perfectly manicured finger gestured lazily toward her heart, her expression shifting between mock surprise and wounded disbelief.

“How come I didn’t receive an invite to such an important meeting?~” She let the question hang in the air, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. Her tone was syrupy, her cadence playful, but every word cut like a well-sharpened blade.

“And this crew?” Her gaze darted to Samuel, Taejin, Logan, and then back to Goo. Her lips quirked into a smirk, her voice dripping sarcasm. “How come I didn’t get scouted? Wow… I can almost feel my heart crack…”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the mocking edge in her words loud in the silence.

It was so him. So much like Goo that it felt like someone had taken his own brand of chaos, wrapped it in silk, and handed it back to him with a sharper edge.

But then came the laugh—a low, rich chuckle that curled around the air like smoke. She waved her finger at him, her smile widening. “Joongoo-ya..~” she cooed, her tone carrying that dangerous, teasing note. “You made it big now, didn’t ya?~”

Her eyes shone with something unreadable, the undertone of her words enough to send a chill even through Logan, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, muttering something incoherent once again. Nova, unfazed, continued, shaking her head slowly as if she were in disbelief.

“Wow,” she mused softly, circling around him with the leisurely pace of a predator toying with its prey. Her sharp boots clicked against the floor, echoing through the room like a countdown. “I like what I see…” She paused deliberately before gesturing toward him, her hand fluttering in the air. “You. Polished and so handsome…~”

Goo didn’t say a word. His eyes followed her every movement, calculating, his signature smirk trying to hold steady but faltering ever so slightly at the edges. She chuckled again, the sound a deliberate contrast to the tension she was weaving. “I could just pinch your cheeks right now!~” She reached out as if to emphasize the thought, her tone sweet but dripping with mockery. Her fingers stopped just shy of actually making contact before she chuckled again, pulling her hand back and shaking her head.

Samuel shifted in his chair as Nova moved closer, stepping directly into his path. Her eyes slid over him like he was merely a piece of the furniture, and her smile widened playfully.

“Oops, sorry, hot stuff,” she said with a mischievous lilt, side-stepping with a deliberately exaggerated sway. “Step aside, please.~”

The casual dismissal of someone as sharp as Samuel was comical in a sense, designed to make its mark. And it did. His lips twitched slightly as he leaned back, choosing to observe instead of engage.

She grabbed an armchair with the ease of someone who had already claimed the room as hers. She dragged it across the floor, her strength apparent despite the soft scrape of the chair legs against the polished surface. It came to rest opposite Goo, right in the heart of their gathering. She sat down with an air of absolute entitlement, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back like she belonged there more than any of them.

It was a clear mirroring of Goo.

For a moment, she studied him. Her gaze was assessing, almost clinical, before she nodded approvingly. “Look at you…” she murmured, the mock sweetness of her voice still carrying that edge. “All grown up now…doing adult shit… playing big man games.~”

The others exchanged glances, clearly unsure how to process the scene unfolding before them. Nova wasn’t just commanding attention; she was demanding it.

“I am so happy to see you again.” She said finally, the words dripping with contradiction. The tone should have been warm, nostalgic, maybe even genuine, but instead, it carried a dangerous undercurrent. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, locked onto Goo, and in that moment, they weren’t just greeting him—they were dissecting him. Goo’s fingers twitched against the armrest of his chair, the first crack in his otherwise controlled demeanor. He wasn’t used to being on the back foot nowadays, and Nova seemed determined to keep him there. The smirk playing at Goo’s lips faltered for a heartbeat before he regained his composure, but by then, the power dynamic had already shifted.

Nova leaned back further, her smirk widening as if she could read the thoughts running through his head. “So…” she began, her voice light, almost playful, but carrying that undeniable weight. “Shall we get to the part where I tell you why I’m really here?~”

There were many questions brewing in their heads, but none dared to voice them.

Who was this woman? How did she find them? And, more importantly, why was she talking to Goo like they shared an infamous, bloody history?The answer was there, lingering like smoke from a distant fire, but none of them could grasp it. None, except Goo, whose eyes betrayed recognition and unease.

Nova let her head tilt to one side as she fixed Goo with a look that seemed equal parts mocking and predatory. “A little birdie told me,” she began, her tone playful yet deadly, “that you now feel bold enough to—not just make plans about—but actually step foot back into my city again.~”

Her words trailed off into a sharp, cold silence. For a fleeting moment, the air felt impossibly heavy, suffocating, as if the room itself braced for what would come next.

Then her expression shifted. The playful smirk melted away, leaving her face unnervingly blank, her sharp features cold and unreadable.

“I didn’t take you to be an actual idiot.” she stated flatly.

The air froze again, a tension that clung to the walls like frost.

And just as quickly, the smirk returned, disarming and unsettling in equal measure.

“I guess even I can be wrong sometimes, huh?” she mused, her voice light and teasing once more. She tilted her head, humming softly to herself. “This is the only defeat I’m willing to accept, then.”

It was the kind of emotional whiplash that left the room reeling, the kind that made it impossible to tell if she was moments away from embracing Goo like an old friend or popping his head off its place. Her tone, her body language, even the air around her seemed to shift with every word, keeping them all teetering on the edge of discomfort.

“Well…” She shrugged, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t.”

The word hung in the air, weighty despite its simplicity.

“It’s as simple as that, ya know?” She straightened her posture, taking on a nonchalant air, but her sharp gaze didn’t lose its edge. “Actually, hold that thought until the former King comes back.”

The words landed heavily, a thinly veiled reminder of who still stood at the top in her mind.

“I’m a woman who doesn’t like being bothered,” she continued with a sigh, her head tilting back as she fixed her gaze on the ceiling. “And, trust me, my plate’s already full, especially because not long ago Busan became a little divided.”

She yawned audibly, a casual display of disregard for the danger the others felt pressing against their chests. Craning her neck to one side, she let it crack softly, the sound somehow more unnerving than her words.

Finally, Goo broke the silence. His voice cut through the air, low and sharp. “You changed.”

It wasn’t a question; it was an assessment.

The Nova who sat before him wasn’t the same as the one he remembered. The woman from three years ago, the one who had once been all soft-spoken charm and warmth, was gone. In her place sat something steelier, something forged in the fire of whatever trials she had endured since then.

She opened her eyes slowly, her expression unreadable as she nodded. “No shit,” she said simply, her tone blunt. “Who doesn’t?”

Goo leaned back slightly in his chair, his smirk returning as he tried to read her. “True…” he muttered, letting the word hang for a moment. Then, tilting his head, he asked with a smirk, “So what makes you think I couldn’t take you now?”

It was a challenge, one that carried the weight of history and unspoken threats.

But Nova didn’t flinch.

Her sly smile returned, one brow arching slightly as if she were indulging in a private joke. “Take me in what way exactly?” she asked, her voice slipping into a tone that was deliberately suggestive.

The innuendo was clear as day, and it caught Goo off guard, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second.

She chuckled softly, her laughter like velvet laced with steel. “Ahh,” she said, waving her hand as if dismissing the very idea. “You never fail to not make me feel threatened.~”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with tension.

Her gaze shifted to the others, lingering on each of them in turn. She studied them as if they were pieces on a chessboard, her sharp mind calculating every move before it was even made.

“So…” she began, her tone light but her words weighted. “What are they for?”

The question hung in the air, almost rhetorical.

“World domination?” she mused aloud, her tone dipping into mockery. “Business ventures? Making a bank?—Shit, opening a bakery? One would never know with you…” She shook her head slowly, disapproval flickering across her features.

Then she paused, her expression sharpening.

“But then again…” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied Goo. “I have a weird feeling, ya know? Like you’re trying to replace a certain someone with these people.”

The weight behind her words were undeniable.

“Which he would certainly take as an insult,” she added casually, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Hell, even I would too…”

The room grew impossibly tense as her words sank in.

Goo’s jaw tightened, and his smirk disappeared entirely as he realized exactly who she was referring to. There was no mistaking it now—she was talking about Gun.

The air in the room had turned into an almost dizzying atmosphere, as if the gravity of Nova’s presence had sucked all oxygen out. Her sharp words were laced with biting mockery, the kind that left wounds more emotional than physical.

“I mean, you miss him, I get that, but…” Nova hummed softly, her tone almost considerate as she tilted her head in thought, gazing off like she was trying to solve a mild puzzle. “If my ex-partner in crime were to ever try and replace me with multiple Temu versions of me, knowing the reputation I have… ouh brother—I would be seething.”

She cringed to herself dramatically, her nose scrunching in disgust. “The absolute disrespect… ouhh!”

Her exclamation was almost playful, but the undercurrent of insult wasn’t lost on the others. The three men stiffened visibly, their pride simmering into something volatile. She wasn’t just mocking Goo—she was outright dismissing them as well, labeling them nobodies not just compared to Gun but even as a collective group.

Nova wasn’t done yet.

“Either way…” She shrugged with an air of dismissal, her eyes half-lidded in amusement. “Now that he’s on topic, I was actually thinking about visiting him, ya know? For old times’ sake.”

At the last sentence the other three’s eyebrows knit together momentarily.

Her tone was casual, almost whimsical, but it carried a weight that even Goo couldn’t ignore.

He audibly scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Good luck,” he sneered, voice low and laced with derision. “He doesn’t take visitors.”

It was true—Gun refused everyone, even Goo ever since he has been rotting away in jail. As far as he knows.

Nova merely hummed, seemingly unbothered by the obstacle. She crossed her arms, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “Interesting…” she mused, as if the revelation were some grand mystery unraveling. Then she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing ever so subtly. “Doesn’t take visitors at all… or just doesn’t take visits from you?”

The blow landed hard, and Goo’s smirk vanished instantly.

“Truth hurts, I get that.” She continued without missing a beat, her voice light and conversational, though the blade of her words remained sharp. “I mean, my time’s almost up as the one who reigns over Busan anyway… It’s right around the corner. Hell, it even makes my heart beat a bit harder, so I get it!”

She gave a little nod as if she were genuinely sympathizing, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her mockery.

Goo, meanwhile, sat there brooding, her words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.

Nova, ever perceptive, shifted her gaze to the other three, her expression softening into something resembling mild confusion. She leaned back slightly, one brow quirking.

“Why do they look so confused, by the way?” she asked, her tone genuinely curious as she glanced back at Goo. “Like they know who I am, but not really.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and Goo finally snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze sharpening.

“Especially when I said, ‘for old times’ sake. I definitely felt a shift in the room after my statement,” she added, her voice dipping into a teasing lilt.

And then, as if a realization dawned on her, she turned her entire body toward Goo, her expression shifting into one of mock shock.

“Don’t tell me…” she gasped, her voice dripping with faux disbelief. “They don’t know?~”

The silence that followed was deafening.

It was clear none of the three men—Samuel, Taejin, or Logan—knew what she meant. No one, except for her, Goo, and Gun, truly knew the history they shared. And Charles of course, but he already took this secret to his grave.

Nova pursed her lips, nodding slowly to herself as the pieces clicked into place.

“Oof…Now this is fucking awkward,” she muttered, rubbing her temples like she needed to process the absurdity of it all.

She sighed softly, lowering her hands and glancing back at Goo. “Well then, I guess I won’t run my mouth either.” Her voice was almost empathetic, as if she was doing him a favor. “You gotta keep your dignity intact? Understandable.”

And then, she slowly stood, her energy shifting once more.

Taking a step closer to him and ruffling Goo’s hair in an almost affectionate gesture, one that made him flinch slightly, and followed by two light pats to his cheek.

“I’ll leave you be then,” she said breezily, her tone as casual as if they were old friends. But just as she side-stepped him, she leaned in close to his ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“If I even sense you anywhere near Busan, you’re immediately a dead man. Yeah?~”

Her words weren’t a threat—they were a promise.

The chill in her tone, the sharp edge of her whisper, engraved itself into Goo’s very survival instincts. He stiffened, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

And with that, Nova straightened, her smirk returning as if she hadn’t just rattled the room to its core.

She waved to the others casually, like they were old friends she was saying goodbye to. “Be good, boys!~”

And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

For a moment, no one spoke. The other three exchanged wary glances, each of them trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Finally, Goo let his head fall back against his chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath like he’d been holding it in for years.

“I love her so much it makes me wanna throw up…” he muttered, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and dread.

Samuel crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “Who is she?”

Goo didn’t answer immediately, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“She’s trouble,” he finally said, his tone soft and almost wistful. “The worst and best kind of trouble.”

The others didn’t know whether to take that as a warning or an understatement… or what he even meant by it at all.

“But we’re still going to Busan, right?” Goo asked, his neck suddenly straightening, his tone light and almost hopeful, his eyes darting between each men, as if he could somehow ignore the very real danger that Nova’s words had cast over the plan. His mind, however, was still replaying her threat on an endless loop. It gnawed at him, and yet, despite it all, his typical confidence found a way to resurface.

Logan immediately scoffed from where he sat, his massive frame tense with disdain. “Do I look like I want to die by the hands of a girl? Fuck no.”

Without another word, Logan shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stood up, his expression sour, and strode toward the door. His presence had already been tested more than enough today, and he wasn’t about to let a single woman undermine him further—yet he wouldn’t dare challenge her, either.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the room one body lighter.

Hah. Puns. (author’s note: I really don’t fw him, sorry.)

Taejin, for his part, remained still for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating. But inwardly, he felt like the entire foundation of his confidence had been shaken to its core. Nova had stepped into the room and shattered that image in a matter of minutes.

He cleared his throat softly, nodding toward Goo with his usual air of politeness. “I’ll have to pass as well. I’ve seen enough for today.”

With that, he exited quietly, his footsteps deliberate.

Goo’s gaze flicked to Samuel, who had remained silent throughout the ordeal. He raised a brow expectantly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “And you, Sammy? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out too?”

Samuel’s jaw clenched visibly, his pride warring with his self-preservation instincts. He knew better than to challenge Nova—especially after what he’d just witnessed. The way she carried herself, the sheer confidence she exuded, made it clear she wasn’t someone to trifle with. And the fact that she seemed to know things—deep things—about Goo and Gun made her even more dangerous.

“I’m not stupid,” Samuel muttered, his tone low and grudging. “If she says you’re dead if you go near Busan, I believe her.”

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Good luck with whatever suicide mission you’re planning.”

Goo pouted, his usual playful demeanor masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Y’all are no fun…” He crossed his arms, rolling his eyes, but he understood their decision. It was the smart choice. No one should be foolish enough to go against someone like Nova, not with how powerful and untouchable she seemed. “What do you think, Alexander?” He asked, his voice light and almost hopeful.

Silence.

Alexander, still sprawled on the floor, didn’t even stir, his body utterly limp.

“Oh—never mind, actually,” Goo muttered, sighing as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was clear that Alexander wasn’t going to provide any answers anytime soon.

And so, in the aftermath of her perfectly executed performance, Nova left behind an impression that even Goo—master of chaos himself—couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

Ladies and gentlemen, and/or nonbinary people, this is how you utterly annihilate someone at their own game without breaking a sweat. No swords, no fists, no flashy moves were necessary. Not even a hint of physical aggression.

After all, why would she need to swing a katana at him? For comedic effect? She didn’t like those things anyway. The scar Goo had given her in their last fight, jagged and deep across her abdomen, served as an eternal reminder. Not of defeat, no—but of her own resilience.

Besides, what was the point of clashing swords when you could cut deeper with words?

All she needed was to dip into that unpredictable essence Goo prided himself on, twist it with her own chaotic brilliance, and let him taste defeat in a language he could understand—one he excelled at but couldn’t keep up with when wielded by her.

She was, in short, playing him better than he could ever play himself.

Why did she go through all this trouble, though? A fair question. The answers, as usual with Nova, weren’t exactly clear-cut.

Maybe it was the thrill of it—the pure satisfaction of planting herself so much more deeper in their heads that they wouldn’t forget her anytime soon. Perhaps it was a subtle reminder of the transformation she’d undergone, a subtle jab at the fact that her growth—her evolution—was, in part, thanks to them.

But most likely? It was to hammer home a truth they couldn’t ignore: no matter how much they evolved, no matter their blood and past, no matter how strong or smart they thought they were, they would never surpass her.

She existed on a level above them. Intellectually, emotionally, physically—she was untouchable, and she wanted them to know it.

The correctional facility’s visiting room was as sterile and uninviting as one would expect—grey walls, a faint hum of fluorescent lighting, and a large motivational poster hanging on the wall:

“LET’S LIVE A HEALTHY LIFE WITH MORAL INTEGRITY!”

Nova barely managed to suppress a laugh as she took her seat on one side of the glass divider, leaning back leisurely in the chair like she owned the place. The guards stationed nearby exchanged uneasy glances, her presence radiating an almost suffocating authority despite her calm demeanor.

Getting in here had been surprisingly easy. The request for the visit went as planned.

Of course, he accepted.

Gun’s initial reaction to hearing about the request had been predictable. The moment the guards mentioned someone wanted to see him, he’d been ready to decline outright. After all, he didn’t take visitors. It was a rule he upheld without exception… except for Daniel but– does that even need an explanation?

But then came the addendum, delivered with a mix of hesitation and disbelief:

“The person has kind of alluded to the fact that even if you decline, she will appear in your jail cell instead… which was sort of a threat and a promise at the same time.”

Gun had paused.

The guard’s tone was nervous—borderline frightened—but what caught Gun’s attention wasn’t the warning. It was the pronoun.

“She.”

He knew exactly who it was.

There was only one woman audacious enough to make such a statement. One woman whose promises, no matter how outrageous, weren’t just empty words but inevitable outcomes.

And now, as he was escorted into the room, the guards unlocking his cuffs before gesturing for him to sit, he finally saw her.

The first thing that struck him wasn’t her hair or her striking eyes, but the sheer presence she carried. There was no mistaking it—it was her, but different. Stronger. Sharper.

The guards seemed to shrink under the weight of her gaze, and even the most hardened inmates passing by stole glances, their expressions flickering between confusion and outright fear. She didn’t look like a woman visiting someone in prison. She looked like a queen surveying her dominion.

Gun took his seat across from her, his face carefully neutral despite the strange sensation churning in his stomach.

“Haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “I wonder what your reasoning is for being here.”

Her response was immediate, and it wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Just wanted to see for myself how funny life can be sometimes.” She smiled softly, leaning forward slightly. “And this right here in front of me? Is the butt of the joke!~”

Gun blinked. Once. Twice.

He didn’t know what to focus on—her tone, her words, or the sheer audacity of them.

“…What.”

It was all he could manage.

He had been prepared for a lot of things when he walked into this room—small talk, a bit of mockery of his situation, syrupy words and kind advice. But this? This casual, biting banter mixed with an almost childlike sense of wonder? It had completely blindsided him. Nova simply tilted her head, her expression unbothered, almost amused, like a predator watching its prey squirm.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Nova’s voice was soft yet sharp, laced with mockery as she tilted her head slightly. “This is, like, the biggest joke I have ever witnessed in my 23 years of living!” she exclaims.

"And you know, real recognizes real...and you're looking pretty unfamiliar to me right now." She adds, looking him up and down while she reached into her coat, pulling out a slim pack of cigarettes. Gun noted the lack of reaction from the guards, their indifference as clear as day. They didn’t even flinch when she took one out and tapped it against the pack, settling it between her lips, even though smoking was prohibited inside.

“I mean, it’s especially funny that you’re the one in this predicament, not Goo… or at least both of you.” She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly as she patted herself down. “I can’t tell if I should be disappointed… or just resigned to acceptance. Either way, it’s not surprising at all at the end of the day… you had your head stuck up so far up Choi’s ass, you didn’t even see where you were heading in life.”

Her muttering was quiet, more for herself than for him, but Gun heard every word. She frowned, her fingers brushing over her coat.

“I don’t have a lighter with me…” she sighed in mild irritation, before turning her attention to one of the guards stationed in the far corner. Raising her voice slightly, she called out, “Excuse me, sir? Can I borrow a lighter? You seem like someone who smokes.”

Gun blinked. He was certain the guard would ignore her, brush her off, or at least tell her she was not allowed to smoke here. Instead, the man moved without question, walking up to her and handing over his lighter like she’d cast a spell on him.

With a quiet click, Nova lit her cigarette, taking a slow drag before holding the lighter back out. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice dripping with nonchalance.

Gun stared, his chest tightening for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

But she wasn’t done.

She gestured toward him with her hand, her cigarette balanced delicately between her fingers. “Can I also give him one? He looks like he needs it.”

Gun stiffened at the suggestion, his eyes narrowing slightly.

The guard, however, shook his head, his tone apologetic. “Apologies, ma’am. Inmates aren’t allowed to smoke.”

Nova sucked in a breath through her teeth, her nose scrunching slightly as she nodded. “Ahh… right. Inmate.”

The word hung in the air like a slap.

To an outsider, her behavior might have seemed nothing more than arrogant—a woman with too much confidence and a penchant for theatrics. But to Gun, it was something entirely different.

This wasn’t arrogance. This was a demonstration.

It didn’t matter where they were—inside this facility, outside in the real world, or anywhere else in the universe. As long as Nova existed in the same space as him, her power would always eclipse his. The room itself seemed to bend to her will, her authority turning even his once-feared presence into an afterthought.

He glanced down at the blue uniform he wore, its number tag glaring back at him like a taunt. Here, in this moment, he wasn’t Gun Park, nor Shiro Oni. He was just another prisoner, indistinguishable from the rest.

The realization stung more than any insult she could have thrown at him.

“What a tragedy…” she began, her tone softening into something almost sorrowful. “You could’ve gone so far in life by yourself. You’re a capable, strong, and intelligent man—no dickriding intended,” She raised an eyebrow slightly, as if daring him to challenge her words. “But no...”

Her voice hardened, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You decided it would be a better idea to devote loyalty to an old fart with one arm who, by that time, wasn’t ‘Elite’ anymore but just a nobody. A nobody who used you like a cumrag, puppeteering you around because he knew damn well that he himself had no power left.”

Gun’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“And if that’s not enough…” She brought her free hand up to her temple, as if the thought physically pained her. “…you took all the blame for it. All of it. How stupid can you be?~”

Her voice carried an almost sing-song quality, but the edge in her words was unmistakable.

“I mean, what about Goo? Your friend? I heard you don’t even let him visit you for god’s sakes..”

Gun’s hands curled into fists under the table, his knuckles pressing against his knees.

“He’s not my friend. I don’t have any.” He says plainly, making Nova cringe visibly.

“Eugh.. okay edge lord. Your self-rot is palpable… and smelly.”

She shook her head, taking another drag from her cigarette and exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around her like a halo.

“Anywho, now you’re here. In your stained blue coat…” Her lips curved into a smirk. “Looking like every peasant in there. Congradolances.~”

The word—a blend of “congratulations” and “condolences”—was the final blow, as fitting as it was infuriating.

For the first time in years, he felt utterly, undeniably small. Again.

Gun clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he now forced his voice to rise again, though it came out low and taut, a simmering growl wrapped in defiance. “The world is all about results.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the phrase bouncing around her mind like a loose bullet. The corner of her mouth quirked, her cigarette lingering near her lips.

“Is he for real?” she mused silently, taking another slow drag, her lips curling just slightly as her eyes flicked back to his face. His expression was dead serious.

“Ohhh, he isss.~” She chuckled inwardly, a soft sound escaping her lips as smoke twisted from her exhale.

“It’s okay, Gun.~” Her voice was soft now, a touch of something almost tender threading through her tone. “There’s really no need to keep clinging to delusions anymore.”

Her gaze softened briefly, but the edge was unmistakable, like velvet draped over steel. She tilted her head slightly, her platinum hair catching the light as she spoke again, her tone almost patient, as if explaining a basic concept to a child.

“You know, it’s actually called the consequences of one’s actions.”

The words were deliberate, every syllable an arrow hitting its mark. She leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed, a perfect foil to the storm brewing beneath Gun’s composed exterior.

Nova watched him, her pale eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as the reality of her statement struck him squarely in the chest, another crack in the fortress of his pride.

“But you know what? Let’s go with your little mantra…” She cleared her throat softly, still holding his gaze as she tapped ash from her nearly spent cigarette. Her voice dipped, taking on a smoother, more conversational tone.

“So… what kind of result is this one, then?” She gestured loosely around the room, the stark walls and buzzing fluorescent lights an unspoken testament to his fall from grace. “Or, better yet…” Her eyes narrowed, her curiosity genuine but sharpened to a fine point. “…is this the result you actually wanted?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than the cigarette smoke that curled between them.

Gun stared at her, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to look away. The weight of her words pressed against his chest, every syllable forcing him closer to an abyss he’d never dared to look into before.

Nova tilted her head again, her tone light but unmistakably victorious, as though she’d just played her winning hand in a game he didn’t even realize he was losing. “Hmm, no answer? That’s fine.”

She stubbed out her cigarette—on the back of her hand, no less—and not even a single mark marred her flawless skin. The act was casual, but the power behind it was palpable. She smiled faintly, her voice dropping to a murmur that was somehow even more cutting.

“You live, and you learn, White Ghost.~”

The nickname rolled off her tongue with the weight of air—light, dismissive, and utterly devoid of reverence. From her lips, it felt meaningless, stripped of the fear and awe it once commanded.

Gun’s chest tightened further, an ache building in a space he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Nova suddenly clapped her hands together, the sharp sound breaking the charged silence between them. “Well then!” she exclaimed brightly, her tone breezy, almost cheerful. “I should go now. I have a life to live.”

She smiled warmly, but the dagger hidden beneath her words was impossible to miss.

Gun stiffened, her parting statement slicing through him far deeper than he expected.

“Thank you for allowing yourself to see me,” she added lightly, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from her coat as she stood. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece. Alive? Well… that’s questionable.” She shrugged, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

Flattening her coat, she tapped a manicured finger against the corner of her nose, like she just remembered an itch, pretending to think of her conclusion. “So, it was nice seeing one another, eh?”

She straightened, her pale eyes locking onto his as her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Ganbare!~”

She sing-songed the word as she turned on her heel, her hand waving lazily over her shoulder.

Gun paled. Talk about a white ghost.

The word echoed in his mind, more deafening than any scream.

‘Good luck.’

It wasn’t just a farewell. It was a reminder of his insignificance in her presence, a taunt that lingered long after her departure.

His chest burned, anger, shame, and something deeper twisting together into a knot he couldn’t untangle. His fists clenched beneath the table, nails biting into his palms as he fought to suppress the storm rising within him.

And yet, despite the fury coursing through him, there was something else—a pull he couldn’t deny.

Gun sat in the suffocating silence of the visitation room, staring at the empty chair across from him, his thoughts whirling in a chaotic frenzy. It wasn’t the kind of storm that came from rage—no, this was deeper, darker, and infinitely more disorienting. The silence didn’t soothe him; it mocked him, amplifying her words as they echoed in his head.

Who talks like that? Walks and acts like that?

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the weight off, but it clung to him like a shroud.

Funny, though.

Because him.

He does.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, his breath stilled in his chest.

“Oh.”

The realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He leaned back in his chair, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly, casting his face in sharp relief.

It clicks.

There was no escaping the truth now. Her departure left him with a hollow ache that no fight, no broken bones, or bruised pride could compare to. He was utterly defeated by her, again, not just by her sharp words or her unbearable dominance, but by the sheer brilliance she held—a brilliance that mirrored his own.

Only this time, he wasn’t the one wielding it.

“This hurt a bit more than the previous ass-whooping I got from her,” he muttered aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words tasted bitter, but they were undeniable as his fingers brushed against his own lips, almost in a manner of stopping it from more truths spilling out.

God, her presence was an inescapable weight. The way she carried herself, the way she knew—like she had stripped him bare without even trying. She didn’t need fists to hurt him; she didn’t need power or rage. She had cut him with precision, wielding her words and presence like weapons he couldn’t defend against.

He talks like that.

He could see her face, the faint smirk that wasn’t meant to mock but still stung all the same.

He walks and acts like that.

Her exit replayed in his mind, the lazy wave of her hand, the light delivery of his own words—a devastating parody that lingered like a ghost in the air.

“Good luck, huh?…” he repeated quietly, his lips twisting into a grimace.

His own mantra, thrown back at him, stripped of all meaning.

“Goddamn.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. No matter how much he wanted to hate her for this, he couldn’t. Not fully. Beneath the bitterness, beneath the anger, there was something else. It was the way she spoke with such clarity, such precision.

He hated her for it.

And yet–

He respected her for it.

No—more than that.

He craved it.

Her power, her brilliance, her ability to command a room without lifting a finger—it was maddening, infuriating, and utterly intoxicating.

Gun leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cold surface of the table, his fingers clasped tightly together. The burn in his chest hadn’t faded; if anything, it had intensified.

“God damn,” he muttered again, the words heavy with a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration this time.

She had walked out of his life just as quickly as she had entered it, but the mark she left behind was seared into him, impossible to erase.

She had been right about everything, of course.

That was what hurt the most.

And Nova strode through the bustling streets of Seoul with the kind of elegance that couldn’t be taught—only possessed. She moved effortlessly, a living enigma who didn’t seek attention but commanded it nonetheless. Her silhouette danced between the glow of city lights, her platinum blonde hair gleaming like a beacon under the neon signs.

“Today was very stimulating…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, laced with satisfaction.

Her gaze flitted across the passersby, their heads turning as if drawn by some unseen force. Men and women alike stole glances, their curiosity piqued by her undeniable presence. But Nova didn’t care for their stares or their admiration. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

The countdown was over.

Three years and some change since she had last stood face-to-face with either of them. Gun and Goo—two men who thrived on dominance, control, and a touch of chaos.

Today, she had proven them both right and wrong in ways neither could have anticipated.

Nova smirked to herself, the corners of her lips tilting upward as she exhaled deeply. “They’ll get over it,” she mused, kicking some rocks.

She cooked, ate, and left no crumbs, as today’s generation would so aptly say.

Her heels clicked against the pavement, the sound a rhythmic reminder of her triumph. She inhaled the cool night air, savoring the freedom of the moment. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing she had set something in motion—a shift, a ripple in their otherwise unshakable lives.

“Three years,” she muttered, her tone reflective. “All for today.”

And it had been worth every second.

[floweroflaurelin]

So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

of

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, Violence, Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Injury Detail, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

Word Count: 6.1K

October 1940

The bombardment started the second he rounded the corner.

“Got time to play?”

“Maybe later, Joseph.” Joseph Mason, his older brother Albert and little sister Betty ran along the ginnel in Tom’s wake. A few of the younger children, which were Mrs Mason’s Tom didn’t know, struggled to keep up on their chubby legs.

“Haven’t you got anything else to wear?”

Betty shushed her brother. “It’s his uniform!”

“Well?” Joseph ignored her. “Haven’t you?”

“Free sweets and tram tickets with the uniform, Joseph.” Tom continued ahead, his little battalion of children trotting along beside him. He smiled.

“What’s that?” Betty pointed to the silver coin pinned to his navy shirt.

“Distinguished Service Medal.”

“Are you a hero?” Albert suddenly seemed interested. Tom smirked.

“Always was, always will be.” Thank God Bess wasn’t here to hear him say that. Or Albie. He’d have laughed himself into next week.

“What you doing here then?” said Betty.

“Hitler sunk my ship, gotta find me a new one.”

“Did you kill any Germans?” Albert was still awed by Tom as he tried to keep up.

“Loads.” Tom said, turning on his heel. The children stopped abruptly and stared up at him. A wry grin quirked the corners of Tom’s mouth. “Killed a few kids an’ all.”

They shuffled back in fear. Mrs Mason told them to keep away from Tom Bennett before the war. Now he was back, and he’d actually killed people! Joseph found his quavering voice. “What for?”

“Asking too many questions.” Tom left them behind in the ginnel and turned into the street. The smile faded from his face. The kit bag on his shoulder fell to the floor and, for a brief moment, his mind stilled. The house. What had happened to the house? Why was there rubble across the road? His mind sped up, images flashing like a zoetrope through his mind.

“Lois?” he croaked, running to the house. “Dad!?” His feet carried him up the pile of bricks scattered outside the front door, and he peered into the kitchen. The table and chairs had splintered, fragments of them remaining, and he saw it. The bomb. Its inactive shell lying before the fireplace. Pressing his face against the little glass that remained in the window, Tom looked up. His father’s iron bedframe dangled precariously from the hole in the kitchen ceiling, and above it, the cold and grey Manchester sky stared back at him.

Tom slipped as he took a step back. His chest was rising rapidly, the panic that accompanied him every day since the Exeter awakening every nerve. Blood pumped through his fingers. He balled his fists a few times to regain their feeling. Find them. He was as untethered here as he was at sea. Find them. An image, Vera in her little cot, gazing up at the ceiling as it came crashing down around her, flashed into his eyes and he rubbed it away. Find them. He slid down the rubble pile and before he’d taken his first step towards the abandoned kit bag, terror froze him once more.

The Vaughn house. It was intact. Still standing, but the windows were boarded with black-painted wood. Tom hammered on the door. “Fergal? Dot?” He waited. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a whisper.

“Fuck.” The word hissed from his mouth in panic. He grabbed his kit bag and raced to the only place he could think of. The hospital. If anything’s happened, they’ll be at the hospital. And Bess – fuck – Bess will be on shift. She would have been on shift, why would she be in Longsight? Please let her have been on shift.

“They found you a ship then?” Joseph shouted with a smile as Tom ran past. He didn’t hear. All he could think about was his family. His little family, shrinking. I can’t lose anyone else, not after mum. Not after Vic. Not after Albie. Already, the world felt smaller as he ran towards the Royal Infirmary. Through the parks, ginnels and scrapyards, the world was the hiss of his breath, the thundering of his heart and thoughts of his family. He rounded into the dockyard, sprinting towards the canal bridge that led to the city’s centre. The dockyard.

In an instant he changed direction, pelting along the dockside between engineers and labourers. Some tipped their caps to him, offering their thanks and “welcome back”, others hissed at him to get out of the way. Still, Tom thought of only one thing.

“Fergal?” He called as he pushed through the crowd of workmen. “Fergal Vaughn? Does anyone know where I can find Fergal Vaughn?”

“Tom?” The rasped Cork brogue cut through the clatter of metal. Tom launched himself at the squat man in relief, his arms wrapping around Fergal’s broad shoulders. Fergal barely had time to comprehend this out of character display before Tom pulled back and unleashed a tirade of questions.

“The house-I-I went home and the house-” Fergal placed his hands on Tom shoulders to calm him but the young man continued. “Bess? Bess? Is she ok? And Dot? And-”

“They’re all fine, my boy. Just fine.” Fergal rubbed his shoulders soothingly. “It was the same strike as what got your place. Only blew the windows out, thank the Lord.”

“And Lois and Dad? And the baby? Where are they? I-I don’t know where to go,” Tom’s voice cracked, thinking of his childhood home destroyed, the last place that held any concrete memories of his mother. Through his panic, he saw a piece of Fergal’s lightness dissipate. The round and reddened face of Fergal Vaughn, the man Tom had known since childhood, displayed that one thing he had never seen cross it before. Pity.

“Oh, my dear boy.” Fergal said softly, taking Tom by the hand to sit between the metal sleepers and tell him everything.

Bess was in no mood to stop and chat. Sister Stern had given her a bollocking for not changing the beds quickly, and Joan was in a foul mood because the soldier she was seeing had dumped her unceremoniously. So when she approached Carver Mills to see Mrs Russo waving, her cigarette leaving a trail of smoke in the air, Bess groaned. The silk scarf wrapped about Mrs Russo’s head took flight on the autumn wind and bustled towards Bess’ feet, and she knew a conversation was unavoidable.

“Ta, Bess.” Mrs Russo said brightly, holding her hand out for the scarf.

“Hiya,” Bess rubbed her eyes and fussed with her keys.

“Had a good shift?” Mrs Russo’s voice was offensively loud.

“Yes, fine.” Bess shifted uncomfortably under Mrs Russo’s watchful gaze and tried to squeeze past the round woman to reach the door.

“I’m expecting best behaviour from you girls while I’m away at my daughter’s,” Mrs Russo said, tying the scarf around her permed hair. “Caught Joan trying to sneak in that new beau of hers-”

Bess pushed the door open wearily. “They aren’t together anymore.” Mrs Russo paused her bustling.

“Poor girl. I’ll see if I can get some chocolate at the corner shop. Try and cheat my ration book.” She winked and tottered away. “Ta-ra, Bess.”

The door to the old mill swung shut heavily behind Bess, and she trudged up the stone stairs towards her flat. A glint of light cut the gloomy stairwell in two, and Helen poked her head out of the door to her own flat.

“Bess! A few of us are going to The Crown tonight for a lock in, do you want to-” She stopped as Bess turned to face her. “Christ, you look awful. Tough day?” Bess could do naught but nod. “Tell you what. You stay home and rest, I’ll take Joan. Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else and all that. There’s bound to be a desperate soldier looking for an easy girl.” She laughed and closed the door.

A moment later and Bess was in the welcome peace of her little home. Smalls were strung across the kitchen on a length of rope. The morning’s empty cup of tea still sat on the rickety table beside an old copy of Vogue, the christening dress she was making for Vera abandoned on the armchair by the window. Since the start of the war, fabric was hard to come by, lace and silk especially. Douglas let Bess take a cutting from Marie’s wedding dress. She wanted something from each side of the family, and parting Robina from her store of antique lace had been a challenge, but she persevered. Still, the gown was almost complete. Bess removed her nurse’s wimple and placed it by the garment, running her fingers over the ivory silk. Darling Douglas. The christening couldn’t come soon enough. After everything, Lois needed some happiness. It would be even better with Tom on leave. Bess’ heart skipped and she padded to the bedroom. She perched by her simple vanity, a mirror balanced on a school writing desk, kicked off her shoes and took the stack of Tom’s letters out from the drawer.

October 16th can’t come soon enough. Lois’ food, Cora and Dot making a fuss. Little Vera and you.

The last letter was dated early September. Bess knew Tom couldn’t write all the time. He was either too busy onboard or, on occasion, they were prevented from writing during particular missions. Her only knowledge that he was ok were the continued reports of the Navy’s skirmishes on the wireless and in the newspaper. The HMS Keith had sunk, but Lois received a telegram that Tom was fine and awaiting the next ship home. Bess looked at the calendar on her wall. October 15th. Tomorrow. God willing, he’d be here with her, tomorrow. Instinctively, her hand reached for the photograph of Tom, now propped against the mirror. Every morning and every night, he watched her in sepia as she dressed and undressed. She kissed it and, placing it back, caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Helen was right. She looked awful. The swift removal of her wimple caused tufts of the hair to stick up at odd angles. The uniform she wore was bloodied and dirty. Her hands, hard now from hours work at the hospital, were grubby. She wiped them on her face. Her dark eyes were framed by circles of purple and grey, and her usually plump cheeks were gaunt and pale. The only thing that remained were her full and pink lips. Against the dullness of her skin, they looked garish. Bess sighed and one by one removed her hair pins. Watching her hair come undone, in some places curled from the pins, others straight and frizzy, she wondered what it was that had so changed the Longsight boys towards her. How she went from “witch” to something desirable. What drove Walter Watson from bullying her to forcing himself upon her behind the Palais.

It wasn’t as though she had changed all that much from those difficult years to now. When presented with the option to speak or remain silent, Bess always chose the latter. That is, unless someone cast insult over her chosen few. Then, as Cora said, “there’ll be none so fierce as Bess on judgement day”. She wasn’t as kind as Cora, with her thoughtful gestures and selflessness. Nor did she have her gentle charm and beauty. Dot, on the other hand, was an entity unto her own design. Despite her tendency for the flighty and sudden outbursts of judgement, wherever Dot went, the sun seemed to follow. Funny and light, the world seemed brighter in her company. Bess still stared at her reflection. What did she bring? A haughty quietness that most found intimidating? Her use as a seamstress and pianist? Over her shoulder, she caught sight of the photograph pinned to the wall by her bed.

It was at Albie’s birthday celebration in the summer. Dot had taken it with the camera Harry gave Bess in the spring. In it, Tom and Bess stood side by side. His arm was gripped tightly around her middle, pulling her to him and highlighting the slightness of her waist and fullness of her hips. The blouse she wore, tucked into her slacks, curved around her breasts. At her ear, Tom was whispering something sinful; Bess could tell by the girlish giggle captured in celluloid. For the first time, she was embarrassed by the image. Her womanhood was so wantonly on display. So, that’s what the boys saw in her, that summer she came back from Manchester.

“Never thought I’d be in this position with Bess Vaughn. That little freak from school.”

Vomit rose to her mouth as the memory of stale smoke and alcohol flooded her nose. Bess’ eyes snapped from the image to her reflection. Gaunt face, dark eyes, grey skin.

“Then you came back from Manchester with this. And these-”

Bess rubbed her hand across the bodice of her uniform. Her chest felt tight. Heavy and not her own.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

The memory of Walter’s assault on her was plaguing Bess of late. With Tom at war and Douglas-. And Douglas-. Her two defenders were gone. At night, alone when she imagined Tom with her and her hand slid beneath her nightdress, Bess recalled the way his neck strained as he screamed at the man. The crack of his fist against skin. But no sooner had the memory of Tom’s dominance warmed her cheeks, chest, thighs, was Walter’s sweaty face swimming into view and ruining her bliss.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

Her near lifeless eyes blinked back at her in the worn mirror and, body humming with hatred, she pushed herself away from her reflection. The stool fell backward with a thunk onto the wooden floor and Bess stood motionless. The day had been full of misery at every turn. Bloodied soldiers to be sewn back together. Wrecked buildings pouring onto Manchester’s streets. Her own self-loathing. Too tired to drag her body to bed, Bess hovered at the centre of her room, lulled into an imitation of sleep somewhere between lucidity and nightmare.

Downstairs, the front door of the mill crashed closed, and she jolted from her half-sleep. Joan was obviously back from the infirmary and still in a foul mood. Bess sighed, ran a hand through her tangled hair and uncovered the duvet. The clock read 6 o’clock and she hadn’t even removed her apron. Beyond the door, Joan was tearing up the stairs of Carver Mills, her heels sounding more like jackboots as she pounded the steps. Bess stomped across the floor. Her hand closed around the doorhandle, ready to slam it shut-

BANG BANG BANG

She froze. From her spot in the bedroom doorway, Bess watched the front door rattle on its hinges. On tiptoe, she edged forwards. The thundering fists hammered on the door again.

BANG BANG BANG

She tried to remember if she had locked it behind her. No, of course she hadn’t. Shit. Only Mrs Russo and the other nurses had access to the flats; there was no need to lock it until curfew. Not even Helen or Joan, in her anger, would bang down the door. Bess rushed forwards, ready to bar the intruder as best she could. She knew there was little she could do to stop them. Even with her nurses’ strength and steeliness, an intruder would overpower her. Walter Watson flashed across her vision. What if he was home? What if Queenie or Frank told him where to find her?

BANG BANG BANG

Hang on. An intruder wouldn’t knock. Again, she froze, this time in confusion. The last knock had barely rung out when, as if in slow motion, Bess watched the handle turn. The door flew open and the person on the other side stormed in.

It was like watching a cat stalk its prey. The whites of his eyes burned like a wild beast’s, the blue at their icy centre darted around the room madly until they landed on her. They widened, then narrowed. A predator locking onto its next meal. For them, everything faded from view. The peeling wallpaper, the laundry, the few scattered belongings. Everything, except for Bess. Excitement, or was it fear, fluttered in her ribcage. The pathway to her was blocked by the kitchen table and, striding towards her, he threw it aside in one swift motion. She shivered, swaying where she stood at the flex of his hands. Bess barely had time to register his thin cheeks, the lines that framed his eyes, before those same hands gripped her face hard.

“Tom-” His mouth crashed into hers. It was hard, a clash of teeth and tongue. With her words stolen, Bess grew light-headed and struggled for breath between Tom’s harsh kisses. A hand moved from her face to her neck as she tried to speak, keeping her head in place against him. The other fell to her waist and gripped the flesh there roughly.

“Tom, I-” He silenced her. Swallowing Bess’ words, he roughly tugged the hair fisted in his hand and bit the exposed flesh of her neck with a growl. She whimpered, hand gripping onto his shoulder for support. For something real. Surely this wasn’t real? “Tom,” His assault on her neck was rough and through it, still Bess struggled to speak. “Tom, I thought-I thought you weren’t back ‘til tomorrow-”

He ignored her. The hand holding her waist moved to grope the fullness of her bottom and pull her harder against him. The strength of the action forced the breath from Tom’s chest in a huff as, overwhelmingly, his world became Bess. The scent of her sweat. Old perfume. Her pathetic whimpers. The small hands clawing at his body. The swell of her breasts pressed against his chest. The ripe flesh of her bottom. The smell of her sex. He was an animal on the hunt. Uncontrollable. Terrified. Surviving. Hungry. He bit the meat of her shoulder and she cried out, at last pushing him away. Tom’s hands flew once more to the sides of her face and held her in his vice-like grip.

They stood watching each other. Beneath the furrow of Tom’s brow, the hard crease of his forehead, the usually bright eyes that Bess so adored, always full of mirth and mischief, were desperate. If she looked closely, she swore she could make out tears, taunting him. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, the air passing through his flared nostrils. The line of his mouth was shut firm, though swollen from the way he kissed her, and his jaw- fuck, that jaw, was set hard and strong. Bess should have been worried. Scared even. Instead, her heart flooded with unease.

The dark eyes that Tom so adored, always full of certainty and knowing, were searching. Not disgusted by his depravity, or the violent lust with which he needed her. Her hands wound up his arms and grasped the hands still on her face, and Tom watched as the same emotion that had washed over Fergal’s face, washed over Bess. Pity.

He didn’t need fucking pity. He needed stability. Comfort. Home. Something real. One of Bess’ thumbs stroked the side of his hand and he snapped at its tenderness. Tom brought his face to hers, devouring her in a hungry kiss. He walked them backwards until Bess hit the bedroom door. Breaking momentarily from her lips, Tom bent down, a hand sliding up one of Bess’ stockinged legs, and hitched it around his waist. She barely had time to steady herself before he thrust his groin against hers, his hard length pressing against her through the sturdy cotton of his bell bottoms.

Still, he didn’t say a word. As Tom’s hands roamed greedily across her backside, her hips, her breasts, Bess tried not to think about his silence. It was true, she had imagined the devouring ferocity of what having him would be like when he returned home. But each time, it was bookended with tenderness. Whispered adorations and gentle devotions. Not this…anger. The first prickle of fear ran over her. Not at what he would do, but why he was doing it. She tried to reach out to him. To caress his face or run her hand through his hair. He batted it away, gripping her wrist and pinning it to the door as, with ferocity, he ground his hips into hers. The movements were hard and desperate. Whether by the hand caught beneath his bruising grip, or the urgency with which he rubbed his clothed length against her, Bess’ mind went blank and she moaned. At last, Tom spoke.

“Fuck.” His head lolled to nuzzle at her neck, and when she met his hips with the thrusting of her own, he growled. He could take no more of this. He lifted Bess over his shoulder and kicked the bedroom door open. It banged against the wall, and when Bess shushed him, he ignored her. Tom threw her down onto the bed and knelt between her parted legs. Without hesitation he tore at her uniform. Tom pulled the apron so hard its bow gave away, and he tossed it aside. His hands fisted her layers of skirt to reach her suspenders. He unhooked them roughly and pulled down Bess’ woolen stockings. The second ripped, and through the haze of her increasing arousal, Bess noted that they’d need darning. The thought vanished when Tom pushed her knees away and rolled her suddenly onto her front.

“Tom-” Whatever she was going to say died in her throat at the sound of ripping fabric and buttons hitting the floor. Tom tore the back of her bodice open, kissing the skin there as he pushed the sleeves away from her shoulders. Bess slipped out of her uniform, squealing when Tom let go of her. Her body fell forward onto the bed and he roughly pulled the skirt away from her legs. Bess was near nakedness now, and excitement warmed the apex of her thighs. When Tom pushed her small chemise over her bottom and smacked the skin there, she burned.

“On your knees.” His voice was low and cracked, as though his throat were full of gravel. Her cunt clenched. Immediately, obediently, Bess pushed her body off the bed. She was too slow for Tom. He grabbed her by the hips and wrenched her towards him. Resting on all fours, Bess tried to look over her shoulder. Tom pushed her face away. “Don’t look at me.” The darkness of his order made her shudder. She faced forward, toward the damp-stained wall and the photograph of her and Tom. The one she’d been gazing at mere moments before he arrived.

“This is all you’re good for, Bess Vaughn, all you will ever be good for.”

No. She shook Walter’s words from her mind. This was Tom, not Walter. Rough and angry and needy, yes. But Tom. Not Walter.

Tom’s hands rested on the apples of Bess’ backside, and she felt him lean his weight there a moment. Heard him hit the ground. He was kneeling, wrenching the now soaked knickers she wore down her thighs and, before she could comprehend it, lapping greedily at her core. How long they stayed there, with Tom’s arms wrapped around her thighs as he worshipped her cunt, Bess couldn’t say. Only that with every grunt of his throat, every suckle at her sex, every eager flash of his tongue against her folds, the tension in her abdomen increased. The worry she could not put aside, did the same.

If the callous and unashamed way Tom devoured Bess caused her arousal and anxiety to grow, his next movement all but obliterated any thought of him regaining his senses. With one last smack to her bottom, Tom departed. Bess’ thighs clenched. His sudden absence was frustrating. Infuriating even. She knew she needn’t wait long for him, though. Atop the mussed bedding, the navy of his uniform shirt landed. A thud on the ground indicated he had abandoned his boots, and the hush of fabric and panted breaths told Bess he was battling with his slacks. She yearned to help him. To turn around and with fast hands rid him of his last barrier of restraint. But Tom knew Bess. He’d known her long enough, well enough, to recognise her craving for control and independence. Not today. Not now. She was alive. She was here before him, bottom raised, sweating gleaming at the dip of her back, panting with need, doing whatever he asked of her. Just as she began turning her head, he ran two long fingers through her wet slit and she moaned his name, pushing backwards against his fingers for relief.

“Sheath.” Tom grunted, taking himself in hand. He was painfully hard, precum already weeping from the angry head of his cock. His eyes roamed over Bess’ exposed heat, pink and slick and waiting for him. The urge not to drive forward, full into her, was overwhelming.  

“We used the last before you left,” Bess was breathless, waiting. A hard warmth brushed against her entrance and she groaned. “Please, Tom.” He wasted no time. That was the certainty that the sheath didn’t matter. One hand one the small of Bess’ back, the other gripped at the base of his cock, Tom thrust forward, heading falling at the tight heat that welcomed him. Both hands holding the flesh of her hips, Tom withdrew himself from Bess before slamming forward. Bess buried her face in the bedsheets, muffling her cry. She had missed him these last months, and though her fingers temporarily satiated her longing, nothing could prepare Bess for the sensation of Tom Bennett filling her completely.

Over and over, Tom’s hips snapped into Bess’ cunt. His sandy hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat pouring from his brow. The hands that held Bess in place were unmoving, the nails biting into her tender skin. Over and over, Bess moaned his name. When she tried to reach a hand back, desperate to touch him, Tom seized it and, body bent low across her back, held it against the bed. His breath was hot in her ear, hard with pants and grunts of what should have been desire. Between her paroxysms of pleasure, Bess thought they sounded angry.

Like all these other thoughts, they disappeared with every thrust of Tom’s cock into her. His passion was confirmed again when he gripped the auburn hair at the base of her neck and bit her pulse point. Pain fluttered through her veins and excitement lit her core. When Tom did it again, she sped towards painful release. Her hip was burning under his hand, the skin of her buttocks sore from the continued slam of his hip bones. Her back, bent and pressed against the bed, ached and the pulse of a headache crept under the spot were Tom pulled her hair taut. Tears were beginning to prickle her eyes, and when Tom pulled again on her hair, a mangled sob of pain and pleasure ripped from her throat as her walls spasmed around him.

That was it. With a final few violent thrusts, Tom spilled himself inside her. Blinding white light flashed across his eyes and his whole body seemed to crackle with electricity. This wasn’t a release of passion or love, but something more depraved. A violent shock to the system that proved he was still alive. Could still feel. He’d seen men charred beyond recognition, heard the tear of bombs through the sky and torpedoes in water. The groaning of metal as it gave way to bullets. Feared drowning, being mown down or else ripped limb from limb by enemy explosives. Come home to find his childhood didn’t exist and missed the death of his father, years after he watched is mother slowly succumb to nothingness.

Tom looked sideways at the body beneath him. Though her face was half-hidden in the bed, hair frizzy and in disarray, there was no mistaking the tear tracks that ran down Bess’ face. Her breath was ragged and erratic, the small whimpers she made so different to her usual sounds of pleasure. Tom pulled out of her suddenly and though she didn’t move, she gasped. He looked at her lying there, so still and vulnerable. With tentative hands, he caressed her legs and knelt on the bed to lie beside her body. She didn’t look at him, even turned away once he had brushed the hair from her face and, crumbling with shame, Tom buried his face in her neck and began to cry.  

7 o’clock. The sun had just descended below the Manchester skyline and only Tom and Bess’ laboured breathing could be heard throughout the flat. Bess hadn’t moved. Not for a long while. Against his thighs, Tom could feel the gentle shake of her legs. Breath still shuddering from their exertion, her back occasionally brushed against his hard chest. The sight of her like this, quaking because of him, should have made Tom proud. But when she shivered, actually shivered, he felt nothing but disgrace. He should have ravished her when he got home. Instead, he'd used her. And she’d let him.

“Are you cold?” he whispered in her ear.

“A little, yeah.” Grabbing the quilt from the floor, Tom draped it over Bess, his warm hand beneath the patchwork rubbing lazily at her side. It was only then did she roll over to face him. Her small hand, with its long, dexterous fingers, brushed across his cheek. Tom knew she was studying him. “You’ve become a man far too quickly,” she said. Tom didn’t need her to explain. His hair was lighter, already on a stress-induced course to grey. The youthful fullness of his cheeks had gone, and now the skin stretched too tightly over his prominent cheekbones. Sometimes, when he caught sight of himself in a mirror, he could see his skeleton sitting just below the surface of his pallid skin. He knew too, that the hardness had settled not just about his face, but in his soul. War had sunk its terrible claws into him, and the man he swore he’d never become, his father, was beginning to appear. Tom brushed some sweat-stuck hair from Bess’ forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She continued to stroke his face, and Tom placed a palm there to stop the action. If she carried on with this gentleness, he’d cry again.

“I just had to make sure you were real,” At this, Bess laughed.

“What do you mean?”

Tom sat up, leaning on his elbow and, distracted by the hair wrapped around his finger, hurried his words. “When I saw the house, I just panicked-And I didn’t know where to go and then I went to your dad-I was thinking-I was gonna come here but I didn’t know if you’d still-and then I went through the dockyard and your dad-your dad told me everything-and when he said you were ok I-I,” he took a shaking breath. “I had to come and see for myself. That you’re still here.”

Bess was silent. Her eyes darted about his worried face, unsure of what he meant. “Did you think something had happened?” It was Tom who looked confused now.

“Bess, I went home and the fucking house had been blown up and neither you or my family were anywhere to be seen.”

“But, I thought-”

“No. I didn’t know.” Tom spat. His anger was flaring again as he swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his bell bottoms. What he was planning to do, he didn’t know, and when Bess quietly said his name, he deflated, slumping back onto the bed. “I didn’t know,” he said weakly, and immediately Bess was at his side, rubbing circles on his back and kissing his bullet wound scar. He collapsed against her, and slowly she pulled him back under the covers with her, his head resting against her naked chest.

There was nothing to be said. What could she say? Tom Bennett had been away at war and come home to learn his father had been killed by the very thing he was fighting. As if reading her mind, Tom spoke quietly into her chest. “What’s the point? We go and fight, to keep you all safe, and it doesn’t fucking work.”

“That’s not the only reason-”

“It is for me.” Tom said firmly. “I’ve got nothing else but my family, and you. You’re what makes this bastard war worth fighting.” Bess looked down at him. At his elegant nose and furrowed brow. At his lean and muscular body curled around hers, and her heart swelled with enormous affection for Tom Bennett. She kissed his head and he settled for a while. Content to have him home, nose buried in his hair, the first comforts of sleep beckoned to Bess.

“Your dad said you were there.” Though quiet, she jumped at his voice and, swallowing the lump that appeared in her throat, she murmured that yes, she had been there. Tom chewed his lip, considering his next question. After Bess, it was all he had thought about since Fergal told him of that night’s events. “What did he look like?”

Bess froze. “Tom, you don’t need-” He cut her off.

“It can’t be anything worse than what I imagine.”

He had a point. Gripping one of his hands in hers, she told him about the events immediately after the bomb detonated over his childhood home.

“Dadda was trying to get us back to the shelter, it was difficult to see because of all the smoke, but when the ambulance arrived, I could see it was Lois and Connie. And when Dadda came out of your house, there was blood on his uniform. I didn’t know what state your dad was in, but I knew that whatever it was, Lois couldn’t see him. So me, Connie and one of the paramedics went in to get him out.”

Tom sniffled against her chest and Bess hugged him tighter.

“He looked so peaceful, Tom. I won’t lie to you and say he was perfect; a beam from the ceiling got his arm so there was a messy gash there, lots of blood, and what I assume was falling rubble had caught his head. Nothing dreadful!” she quickly said when Tom flinched. “Just a few little cuts around his face. But he was sat in his chair by the fire, newspaper hanging out of one hand. Like he’d just drifted off to sleep. Thinking of you, I expect.”

“Shut up,” Tom wiped his nose. “He was probably thinking about Mrs Chase’s smalls-”

“The sooner you realise that your dad adored you, Tom Bennett, the better!” She pinched his arm. “You know, him and Lois had a fight that day. She’d gone off to work and he was so down in the mouth about it, we said we’d look after Vera that night.” Tom said nothing and she continued. “What did Lois say when you saw her?”

“Eh?” Tom looked up at her through his long lashes.

“Lois. What did she say when you saw her?”

Tom’s arm around her waist grew tighter. “I came straight here.” Bess hid her smile from him, trying not to let her joy show as she ran her hand again through his hair.

“I think perhaps you should go and see her. Now,” Bess added when Tom tried to argue. “Tom, she’s so unhappy. Missing you, and your pa, raising little Vera alone. I suppose Dadda told you about Vernon?” Tom nodded. “Go. Now.” She kissed the top of his head and shooed him from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Notes: I read an article about a gunner who fought in the Battle of River Plate getting the Distinguished Service Medal, so I figured Tom would get one too. The HMS Keith actually sunk during the evacuation of Dunkirk but for the sake of the story, I made its sinking a little later.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel@greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Venomous

Part 5 of my Dracula x Reader

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3// Part 4

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, threats of murder, mentions of murder, vampire stuff, vampire compulsion.

The way he'd made you feel couldn't be described in simple words. He was the feeling of eating something sweet after a long week, like dropping into your bed when things were just too much. He was like being wrapped in your favourite coat, or your softest blanket, while the world stood frozen around you.

That's what he'd become.

Your safety, your warmth, your peace. A hand, holding you steady when you felt the earth shifting beneath your feet.

It was shifting right now.

Like an earthquake that just shook harder the longer in went on, you could only scramble as everything trembled around you, threatening to fall and crush you, or splinter at your feet.

You only see in blurry flashes. Slamming your front door shut, your hand on the wall as you use it to support yourself. You can hear people around, but none in immediate observance of you. Why was your vision so shaky? Why could you hear this loud thundering in your ears?

You almost trip on the first step, but you catch yourself in time, your ankle bouncing harmlessly against the edge.

Where was your anchor? Where had he gone? Why'd he leave you untethered like this? You felt like you would float away if you didn't hold on to something.

You make it to your room, a few more steps before you crash into your bed.

A bitter taste in your mouth, a swollen feeling in your throat.

Your first sound of pain is a pathetic little sound, so pitiful that you can do nothing more that open your mouth to let out a proper sob.

There was so many emotions careening through your mind, your body shakes as you begin to cry.

There's no thoughts except the feeling of some great big unimaginable loss. You feel completely unattached from everything and everyone. It makes you yearn for him, your sire, and then you feel disgruntled for wanting him, because maybe you shouldn't... but maybe you should.

The argument is too complex to work through in your head. You keep asking yourself why? Why would he do this? Why did you have to be this way?

It's annoying how easily your head can supply answers. A defense of him mounted so simply, it could make you scream.

You sort of knew that your accusations were unfair, but then you remembered the pain you'd be forced to inflict on your family, and you got angry all over again.

It was unfair to get angry with him, and that was the worst thought of all. Because then, if he didn't deserve it... then why did you do it?

Why did you pick a fight with the one man holding you to the Earth? Didn't you deserve to float away then?

You sob and sob until your body feels as if it's run out of moisture, your skin remains cold, your tears too, and you lie awake for a long while, staring off into space, curled up on your bed, until you don't remember falling asleep.

.

Two days pass in a heavy blur. You don't know where you're going, and you can't remember where you've been. Everyone dodges you, because they know you by now. They know you prefer solitude to comfort... but not even that is entirely true.

Sure, it may have been true before you left home. Now, there was one person that you would accept comfort from if you ever saw his face again.

The prospect of seeing him was getting more and more bleak with each passing hour. He wasn't coming back... you'd pushed too hard this time.

You were stuck like this. In this new body, in a new life, and you were floating away.

Where was he now? Was he sitting somewhere, curled up like you were? Was he safe and well fed?

The thought of him being well fed reminds you of the way his teeth felt on your skin, and you have the irrational fear that he could have already replaced you.

There's no way though. Even after the scary things he suggested, you know that his words are true. That he didn't turn you because he was lonely. Maybe that was a partial reason, but definitely not his only one.

Perhaps there was something in you that had been worth saving. Maybe the world could be a little better place with you in it.

It makes you cry.

Tears spring to your eyes and you don't fight it because how could you have pushed away one of the only people that believed in you so much? Who saw the good in you when you thought you were a monster.

The tears don't stop.

You miss him. The way he laughs and the way he kisses and the way he rolls his eyes when you make a stupid joke.

What power adoration holds, what a grip love has on you-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a pebble softly hitting your bedroom window. You raise your head.

The first thing you do is check the time... 2am.

Had he come back? Was he there? You sprint to the window to look out.

No. It was some scrawny kid, standing outside your window. He's wearing all black, hanging on to a little black lunchbag as well.

You frown, deep in thought, when the boy, who cannot be any more that eighteen notices you, he waves.

You swear a couple of times in your head, before turning away from your window and racing down the stairs.

If he's surprised by the speed that you get to your door, he doesn't say anything.

Instead, all he says is that he has a delivery for you, confirming your name before he extends the lunchbag.

You take it quietly, a million questions in your head, moving too fast for your mouth to catch one.

"My number's in there, if you need more." The boy says, and you finally look up at him.

"He sent you? Did he- did he say anything about me?" You ask.

"Not really, just to make sure you got the best."

Your lip wobbles, you thank him, turning away before you can cry in front of this stranger.

You're not completely sure what's in the insulated bag, but you can make an educated guess based on the circumstances. Drac had never really taught you how to hunt, or even the skill of compulsion that would definitely make it easier. You were really still just a fledgling, and though he wasn't around, here he was, still taking care of you.

It's enough to make you cry again, curl up in bed clutching the little black bag, wishing he would come back, so you could apologise for acting so irrationally towards him.

You can't even eat, staying awake till the sun rises, and then finally falling asleep from all the exhaustion.

When you wake up later in the evening, your stomach finally gives a pain of protest. The last time you fed was on him, and your body demands sustenance.

You take your time, unzipping the lunchbag, finding two bags of blood, one labelled O posive and the other labelled AB negative.

You find that you can't do it. You hate the impersonality of it all. It's a waste of your venom, drinking from a lifeless bag, where you once had soft skin and caring hands.

You push the bag away from you, standing, and opting for a glass of water instead.

It takes you a minute in the kitchen before you're ambushed.

"You have to talk to me. This is getting ridiculous." Your mother pushes, cutting straight to the chase.

You take a deep breath, putting down your glass of water.

"I don't want to talk about it." you try, but you knew better than to hope that would work.

"I figured you probably had a fight about something. Did you two break up?"

"We're not-" you start to say, but in reality, you didn't actually know. You frown, was this the end of your relationship with him?

"I really don't want to talk about this." You try again, moving around the kitchen island in an attempt to escape.

"Maybe it's for the best? You can get someone who's not at least twice your age now."

You almost laugh, if only she knew how far in age you really were from each other.

"All I'm saying is," she continues, following you into the other room, "what could a man his age have to really talk about with someone as young as you?"

Anger burns in you, you're not sure if her implication is that he's too mature, or that you're too juvenile to hold a conversation with him.

"I thought you liked him." you say, feeling a little betrayed.

"As a person, yes, as partner for my youngest daughter? Hell no."

You stop short, trying to fight the tears that threaten to spill, raising your hands to hide your face.

"He saved my life." you try to argue.

"And I'm thankful, but is that the only reason you like him, because he saved you?"

"NO!"

"Is it his money? Or the way he babies you? What are you going to do when he gets old and sick? I don't want you to waste the rest of your life your life caring for him!"

It's too much, and before you can resist, the anger bursts from you blindingly.

"STOP." You hiss, making youself look as menacing as possible and drawing satisfaction from her horrified face.

It's her heart hammering in her chest that's told you what you've done, and you don't need a mirror to realise that you've bared your fangs and flashed your red eyes at her.

"What the hell happened to you?" She asks in whispered horror.

"Mom-" You try, voice freezing as she takes a shaky step back.

An ache in your chest, as you feel like the monster you knows she sees now when she looks at you.

You eyes fill with tears, your lower lip trembles.

Before she can spit another word of hate at you, you turn, and get out of the house as fast as humanly possible. 

.

.

You're far from home when the black car pulls up alongside you.

You pause, sniffling as the rear glass rolls down.

The first thing you see is blonde hair, and a woman who barely spares you a glance, her eyes trailing up and down before raising an eyebrow and turning away.

"Get in, and I'll take you to him." she says simply, and you swallow, finally turning to the car. You can tell that she's a vampire, and going on the lack of heartbeats in the car, the driver is undead too.

"He sent you?" You ask hopefully, and the corner of her mouth twitches upward.

"No, but he needs your help."

You don't hesitate, pulling open the door and getting into the space beside her. She finally turns to you again, gives you another distasteful look. You feel grubby under her judgemental eyes, observing her designer white dress and sharp heels.

"You'll definitely need to change before we go to see him."

You look down at your aged t-shirt and sweats in betrayal.

She taps one sharp nail against the door twice, and the car takes off into the night, the glass rolling up.

"Who are you?" You ask shyly, unwilling to have this woman look at you for longer than absolutely necessary.

"He's never spoken about me?"

You don't respond, giving her a confused look instead.

"I'm Sophia, the only other person he's ever turned."

You stiffen, remembering everything he's said about her. That they ended things because she'd become something unrecognizeable to him.

"Stop the car." You say firmly.

She gives you a toothy grin.

"So you have heard of me then." She says.

"I won't ask again." You warn.

She gives you a tilt of her head, her blue eyes piercing into you.

After a moment of quiet stares, she taps twice on the car door.

The car slows to a stop. You reach to unlock the door, grabbing the handle.

"If you leave, I'll have your family killed." She says softly, her voice stopping you in your tracks.

You turn back to her in shock, her tone is so casual that for a moment you think she's joking.

Something ugly, Drac had said, and now you understand.

"If you hurt them-"

"You're not really in the best position to be making threats now are you?" She says, raising her hands to study her pristine claws.

"So come with me, do as I say, and I'll think about letting them live."

You grit your teeth, leaning back against the seat in compliance.

A smile, and another two taps, and the car is moving again.

"To be clear, I will be killing you tonight. Not him, just you, I don't like sharing my sire."

You blink, swallowing, fear and anxiety making its way through you.

You can't figure out what to do. If you leave, your family dies, if you stay, you'll inevitably die...unless Dracula manages to have something up his sleeve.

You were fucked.

.

.

She'd taken you back to her hotel, where she'd instructed you to take a shower, pointing out your own grimy skin to you in disgust. You'd listened begrudgingly, willing yourself into some kind of acceptance of your fate.

When you were clean, she'd let in a small team of stylists to offer up some dress designs. You note that they were mostly casual dresses, with form fitting material and an expensive design.

She makes you try all of them on for her, and you oblige with gritted teeth. She's mean in the way she gives her opinion, needling at every flaw in your body.

"You're definitely not his usual type." Sophia says, tapping her fingernail to her chin, deep in thought, and you let out a sigh of annoyance, tired of hearing people comment on your body.

"How did you two meet?" She continues to ask.

You almost don't want to tell her, wanting to keep it a secret, something sacred between you and your sire. You feel your heart make a great tug. You wanted your daddy.

"I was dying. Swerved from hitting a deer. She was standing in the middle of the road trying to coax her baby onto the asphalt so they could cross. I was going around a bend... couldn't stop in time. My car flipped." You find that you struggle to continue speaking.

"He saved you." Sophia says.

You blink, looking at her, her eyes reading into you.

"Yeah," You say softly, "No idea why."

After a few moments, you have more courage to speak.

"What about you?"

She gives you a delighted smile.

"We met in Athens, about two hundred years after his supposed death. He'd been living on one of the nearby islands, contemplating the horrible things he'd done. One of the humans under his care had gotten sick, and he came to the city for medicine."

Her face is alight with nostalgic bliss.

"I was a healer, insistent that I treat his 'friend' myself. He admired the way I cared, the way I fought for the people I treated to give them the best. We fell in love."

Your chest burns at the thought.

"It was more than I could have ever imagined. He became a healer to help me, he showed me who he was, he cared for me and protected me. He changed me the night we got married."

Her smile turns bitter.

"But he wanted my obedience, wanted me on a leash like a pet when I'd become a God. How could he expect me to keep healing people, living such a humble, pathetic life when I could rule the same people that once looked down on me? He gave me power and grew upset when I wanted to use it."

"The hypocrite." She scoffs.

"When we broke up, I burned a village to ash." She says, hints of satisfaction and awe in her voice. The sound terrifies you.

"We tried to kill each other. We barely made it out alive. I went searching for a weapon to kill him, I got trapped in a tomb of my own making."

"After all of that, I still love him. And then I find out about you."

You try not to shudder at the way her red eyes meet yours.

"He doesn't love you." She says.

"I know." Is your reply.

What amazing, and painful history they have, you can't help but compare it to the few months you've known him. Sophia has loved him for lifetimes, in her own twisted way, where you've barely begun.

Your heart sinks in your chest.

Maybe this was their story, and you'd just been getting in the way.

"Do you think I could get him back?" She asks.

You swallow. What did you know about the lives of immortals that could make you answer that question accurately?

"I'm sure you can try." You suggest.

It's enough to get her smiling. She stands, reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress, you hold her gaze as she takes her dress off, you can tell she's once again trying to intimidate you by flaunting her small stature. You're over it at this point.

She picks a loose flowing, flowery dress, it makes her look beautiful and somewhat innocent, and you figure you know what angle she's going to play for Dracula when she sees him later.

Having been doused in her products, you no longer smell like yourself, and you figure she does this to conceal you from him for as long as possible.

She wants you to witness it, you can tell. She wasn't subtle about her intentions, and you knew it was all an act to make you as insecure about your relationship with Dracula as much as possible.

Honestly, it had worked a little. Their history had taken root inside of you, made you wonder how you could ever hope to compete with not only his ex-lover, but his ex-wife too. A woman he'd chosen, where you were just someone he stumbled upon by accident.

.

You still didn't know what her overall plan was. You knew she had a weapon that could kill you, that she was intending to after she got what she wanted, and though she made it seem that reconciliation was her aim, you knew better.

The club she takes you to is dimly lit with a neon blue hue to everything. The music is soft, and there's the use of mirrors behind the bar to make the room seem much bigger than it is.

Overall, it's beautiful, blue crystals protrude from the walls, giving the room a lovely geode effect, the soft lights catching and reflecting off the crystals occasionally. The room was almost like a living organism, pulsing and breathing, where its patrons were not.

Sophia had instructed you not to speak beforehand. She'd shown you a picture of your sister, standing in the kitchen window, warning you that if she doesn't check in every thirty minutes, that the vampire she'd stationed outside your house would go in and slaughter them all.

It had been enough to scare you straight, and she'd assigned two large, burly vampires to sit on either side of you in one of the booths in the corner of the room. The club is filled with a moderate amount of people, all vampires, there's only a few stray heartbeats here and there.

While most of the patrons of the club look human, you can't help notice that some of them have non-human attributes.

You remember Drac explaining that there were different races, and you try not to stare in facination at some of the vampires that have glistening silver teeth, and others with pointed ears and pink skin.

It's beautiful, they all are, they move with the grace of ancient beings, perhaps even sacred idols at one point.

And when you finally spot him, your sire, sitting in a darkened seat at the edge of the bar, your heart gives one big squeeze.

Sophia, looking like the heart of innocence, slides right up beside him, and you realise that you have a mostly uninhibited view of them.

"Hello, sire." You hear Sophia say.

Drac turns slowly to look into her eyes. He blinks for a moment, raises a hand to carefully cup her cheek. You let out a slow breath, trying to ease the pain in your chest at the sight. The nostalgia between them.

"Sophia." he says casually, "I thought you were dead."

"I thought the same of you, love. When I finally escaped from the tomb I'd been trapped in, you'd become nothing more than a myth."

"Why are you here?" he asks, his thumb sliding along her cheek. Her eyelids flutter closed for a second.

"I came for your forgiveness. To say I'm sorry for all the things I've done. I realise now that it was wrong. If you would consider rekindling what we once had." She whispers, looking right at him with her most alluring eyes.

There's a long silence between them, and he drops his hand from her face, turning away.

"I've done a lot of bad things too, and I've spent lifetimes trying to atone. If you would like my help, I won't deny you. But... I don't think we can be together like we were before. Things change. They have to." He replies.

Your lip wobbles, remembering the first time you'd said that to him. Your eyes fill with tears at the idea that you might have said something to him that could stick with him like that. You squeeze your hand into fists, fighting to urge to go to him, hold him.

"Are you sure? We could just try. You loved me once. Don't you remember? Lying beneath the stars the first time I gave myself to you?"

You watch his shoulders drop.

Her words made you angry, the manipulation she was trying to pull on him when you knew it was all for show. You wanted to tear her blonde tresses out of her head for trying to hurt your sire this way.

Drac shakes his head.

"Whatever love I once had for you, it burned up when you set our house on fire with our friends still inside." he finally says.

His words hurt you. You want to go to him, you realise how selfish your accusations had been the nights before. He'd been hurt so badly, and you'd only made it worse.

"A shame, really." Sophia says, dropping all the pretense in her voice.

"I can't imagine that you would choose her over me." She says, and Drac raises his head to look back at her, in what you assume is confusion.

The man beside you takes it as his cue, grabbing you by the upper arm and hauling you up. You let out a little grunt as he grips you too tightly, and you try to move with him.

When he hears more footsteps approaching, Dracula turns to face the sound.

He freezes when he sees you, and you try to show him how sorry you are with the look in your eyes.

He stands angrily, but before he can make another step, a knife is brought to your chest. It glints in the light. The entire blade is made of some type of crystal, looking teal or magenta depending on the way the light hits it.

When the knife is pulled, the entire club freezes. All eyes turn to the spectacle happening near the edge of the bar.

"Now maybe you can stop him from killing her, or maybe you can stop me from sending the order to kill her family, but you definitely can't do both, Dracula."

The crowd erupts into murmurs, no one's apparently seen the infamous vampire in centuries.

"And if you use your compulsion, I'll kill her family."

While Sophia has been dealing her threats, Drac's eyes have been fixed on you. He looks a little worn, slightly pale, as if he hasn't fed in the same amount of time as you.

You want to tell him how sorry you are. That you said all those shitty things to him. He didn't deserve a single word of it.

You want so much in that moment, to throw yourself into his arms, to ask him why he didn't come back, to demand he stay, and not think about leaving you ever again.

He looks pained too, and you're almost glad to see it. Hoping that he missed each minute he was away from you.

He takes a step forward, and you gasp as the knife breaks your skin.

The man holds it there, your skin trying to heal and unable to with the foreign object blocking its path.

"Let. Her. Go." He says with red eyes and gritted teeth.

"No. I need her to keep you in check. Because I want you to make a vampire for me."

That gets both of your attention.

She looks calm at the reveal, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?" He says in disbelief.

Sophia shakes her head.

"You're so annoying, love. You've had centuries to make a line of vampires capable of compulsion, to set up comfortable lives for all vampire kind, and instead you've squandered your gift. Hidden it away like the coward you've grown to be."

He looks at her in shocked silence for a moment, before letting out a little huff, and a shake of his head.

"I figured you were lying to me. There's just no empathy in there anymore, is there?

"Is that what you like about her? Her empathy? Disgusting."

His eyes meet yours. Warm and reassuring.

"I like everything about her."

You can't help the happy smile you give him. Despite the situation, his clear display of affection makes you happier that ever.

"Anyways," She pulls her phone from her pocket and sends a text. The man behind you keeps the dagger in your skin, the pain of it holds you in place.

All you can do is look at him, and yearn for him.

"I'll do anything you ask if you let her and her family go." He tries to bargain.

Sophia laughs, still looking at her phone.

"You'll do what I ask anyway, because if you don't, she's dead."

You wanted to tell him that you were dead anyway, that she'd all but guaranteed it to you in the car.

You don't get a chance to speak, before a vampire is moving up to the group of you. He's dressed neatly, a dark blue suit with golden embellishments. His teeth glint like silver when he speaks.

"This club has a no violence policy. Please leave, and do your business elsewhere." He says to Sophia.

The blonde simply laughs.

"I will do what I want, when I want." She simply says, and when she speaks next, you hear the power in her voice.

"Leave, and do not bother me again."

The sound doesn't vibrate your eardrums as much as Drac's does, and you figure it's because she's not as powerful as he is.

Her voice does it's job though, and before the man can protest, he's turning and walking away, his movements stiff in an effort to fight back.

After her display of power, some of the other vampires take their leave easily, and you can't really blame them.

Some remain though, too curious about the spectacle to go.

"Why do you need me?" Dracula finally asks, "Why can't you turn someone yourself?"

She checks her phone again before sighing.

"I want a coven with the strongest capability of compulsion possible. The last child I birthed was weaker than me because I mixed the races. The only way to get someone stronger is to mate with a vampire of the same kind."

What the fuck was she talking about?

Birthed? Mate? Your mind was spinning.

"What?" You say, distracting both of them. The man who's holding you tightens his grip.

"What do you mean birth?"

Sophia turns to Dracula.

"You haven't told her?"

"She's only a few months old." He answers, as if this is some type of reasonable explaination.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this." She says decisively, turning fully to you.

"Haven't you noticed by now that there are somethings not quite vampire about you? The fact that you get sleepy for example. Other vampires don't need sleep."

You glance at Dracula, he's got his eyes on you.

"They don't?" You ask.

"Nope. We're something different, something very special. We can sleep, we can dream, we can get pregnant." Sophia answers.

You swallow.

"We can?" You say in disbelief.

Dracula's eyes hold no denial.

Something blooms in your chest.

You could actually have babies if you wanted?

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask him softly.

He gives you a sad smile.

"It's a lot to put on you. The mating cycle can be very intense. You're still learning how to control your thirst."

You think you understand.

Sophia approaches, cups your cheek and turns your head to hers, breaking your eye contact with your sire.

"The mating cycle happens once in about five years. Your body burns and it aches and if you're alone you wish you were dead. He could never understand what you go through. Are you sure this is the life you really want? Wouldn't death be a blessing?" She taunts.

You sigh in defeat, and then the back door to the club swings open.

"Finally," She says with a toss of her golden hair, "You're late."

Two men enter, and you take in as much information as you can.

One is old, with a lanky stature and a bald head. He's dressed in a three piece suit, wearing a large amount of gold jewellery.

Even his ears are pierced, lined with gold hoops and you get the idea, based on his movements and mannerisms, that he's some type of old royalty.

The other man is human, dressed casually, the sound of his heartbeat echoes in your head. It reminds you of how long you've gone without feeding.

"Apologies for the delay." The older man says, "But I am here now, and ready to witness history. Oh, hello Dracula."

Drac's fangs are bared in distaste.

"Tepes, I thought I killed you."

"Yes, well... no." The man answers dismissively, with a wave of his hand and as you watch them carefully, you can see something of a resemblance.

The amount of history in the room is spinning in your head. The amount of things you've just learnt disorient you. You just want everyone and everything to stop.

Sophia throws her arms around the human, giving him a very inappropriate kiss that she subjects everyone to the room to observing and you let out an annoyed breath, jerking in place in an attempt to move.

The man behind you takes it as disobedience, and you cry out as the knife gets deeper.

It's right on your sternum now, and tears spill from your cheeks at the amount of pain you're in.

All eyes turn to you, but your vision has become too blurry to focus.

You can almost feel Dracula's anger, filling the room, making the air thick with his power. It somehow manages to make you more antsy, his irritation is yours.

"So this is the little vampire that's made everything possible." The old man says, and you raise your head to observe him wearily as he approaches.

"Very pretty, I bet she takes orders very well." The man raises his hand slowly, preparing to trace the tips of his fingers over your cheek.

"You'd make an excellent addition to my collection."

"Don't touch her." Dracula compels, and the man's hand freezes right before your face.

Sophia spins, pulling her phone out.

"Compulsion gets her family killed." She says decisively, moving to send a message.

Dracula takes a step toward her, and the knife goes deeper into you chest.

"Say goodbye." She taunts, and it's all too much, there's a great rushing in your head, a pressure that builds until it bursts, one word escaping you.

"STOP." 

You hear it, the vibration in your own voice, you feel something shift in the room as the power of your one word settles over everyone that hears it.

The entire room goes still.

You raise a hand, carefully pulling the knife from your chest, and taking it from the man before extracting yourself from his grip.

You let out a low gasp, bending over, rubbing the space over your heart, sighing in relief as the wound begins to heal.

You gasp in surprise as someone puts a hand on your shoulder. Jerking upright, you realise that it's him, the only person immune to your compulsion, your sire.

"Drac" you gasp, throwing your body into his arms forcefully, ignoring the sharp sting in your chest from your healing wound.

"I'm here baby, I'm right here." He soothes, a gentle hand over your back.

"I'm not done yet." You gasp, pulling away and turning to Sophia.

Her hands are frozen on her phone, her mouth parted in surprise as she looks at you.

You can see the appeal of her beauty, the innocent way she looks, and you can also see the serpent beneath.

"You will never, harm me or my family, directly or indirectly ever again." The words leave you easily, you watch her register the compulsion, the terrified look in her eyes as she comes to terms with the power you hold.

"You will never act against me, or my sire." You finish, turning to the older man, behind you.

When you're done, you turn back to Dracula for approval. He lets out a harsh breath, takes two long strides to stand before you, cups your cheeks and drops his head to kiss you deeply.

Sweet bliss.

Pleasure explodes in every cell of your body. You toss your hands over his shoulders and sink your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, one hand still gripping the dangerous blade.

He groans, arms wrapped around you, he lifts you until you're just barely on the very tips of your toes.

Like coming home, the smell of him, the taste of his tongue, every easy motion he makes to pull you even closer to him. Overwhelming in the very best way.

"I'm so fucking proud of you." He says between kisses, and it reminds you that you're not alone, that you have an entire room frozen, being forced to listen to you kiss him.

You giggle into his mouth, pulling away.

"I'm sorry, for what I said- I didn't mean a single word of it-"

"I know- I forgive you. I know. I just wanted to give you some space."

You grip his shirt, burying your face in his chest.

"I hate space. I don't want it. I want you, Dracula." You raise your head shyly to look into his eyes, you don't think you could go another breath without him at your side.

"If you would have me." You whisper meekly.

He cups your cheeks, studying you.

"I should be asking you. I've wanted you from the moment you looked at me. From the minute you said my name. I've wanted nothing more since."

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes, happiness so potent you couldn't contain it. You let out little happy sobs, and he holds you through it.

When things finally settle, he guides you through freeing the club from your compulsion. You apologise for your actions, watching the rest of the club leave quickly, throwing you dirty looks, until only Sophia, and the two other men remain.

Defeated, she looks at you angrily, calling off her men from around your family home.

"How?" She whispers in disbelief, and you know she's wondering how exactly you managed to compel not only other vampires, but her as well. You suspect it has something to do with the connection, or lack thereof between you and Sophia, but you're not totally sure.

Drac huffs in amusement as if he knows the answer, and you turn to him for an explanation.

"She only drinks from me." He murmurs, looking at you with affection, one hand cupping your face, leaning in to kiss you easily, in front of his ex-lover, his ex-wife... whatever.

"A nice, steady diet of power will do that." He says, giving you a sharp grin, "Though compulsion at only a few months old? That was all you."

You smile, turning to look at Sophia, satisfied with the sour expression on her face.

That's right, bitch, you think easily in her direction.

You pass the knife over to him, and you watch as he tucks it into the waistband of his pants for safekeeping.

He wraps a hand around your shoulders next, and you lean into him as he guides you out of the club.

"Did you drink the blood I sent you?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Uuummmmm....."

"Oh baby," he says with disappointment in his tone, "You must be so hungry, you're lucky your control didn't slip."

You swallow, remembering the actions that happened right before you left your house.

"So about that..." You mumble, acknowledging that you still had loose ends to tie up.

The night wasn't over yet.

.

.

.

A/N: WHO'S OUT HERE CHOPPING ONIONSSSSSSSS 🧅

[mariadotcom]

pennhurst - the start of going down (P. I)

hey guys, it's been a while since we last had some (or nay) interactions but life have been getting crazier by the second. i apologize since i left the blog untethered and filling with spiders and moths, but i'm (partially) back and hope you like this little romance, thrilling horror or something i've been working on on my free time. if not, dm me and i'll hear ya! xo maria

prompt: y/n is an immigrant from south america, she owns a bodyshop and there's where she meets sam and colby. as the friendship between them blossoms, other things arise as well, perhaps some of them should've remain buried. ghosts from the past, a difficult romance and a carrousel of ups and downs between them form a storm - but the living aren't the problem alone amidst this tempestuous story. WARNINGS: none, i guess. but strong language, NOT for minors, and i am a mess so god knows - and popular demand tells - when will i post the following chapter.

we promised we'd be back in full blast but not to exaggerate much and get ourselves - especially colby - hurt. since chemo ended, he's been more active and i, as friend who's been there through good and bad, think he deserves a time doing what he loves, performing his job oh so gracefully.

usually, i'm off-screen and i'm glad about it - helping the boys carring their stuff around and exploring places with friends on my days-off. this time around the only differencial would be colby's health on watch; sam was being careful and watching over him more than any of us would, despite that being expected. although something was off, i could feel it. the way colby would glare at people sometimes, with tears in his eyes. he'd be saying the most deep and thoughtful shit, but usually was hitting harder. "say what you feel to the ones you love, y/n" he'd say and i'd anwer "i love you, colby. it's never enough how much...". we met when they moved to Vegas at a bodyshop i own. they trusted their cars with me and we ended up bonding and becoming friends, colby was more standoffish at first but he came around once he learned that i was to be trusted - at least a bit.

the cancer news hit us all like a brick to the head, a cold rush of familiarity through my veins. it was all so new yet so similar. gladly, the treatment and the operation were enough, and he was never alone. not a single second. sam was alway there for him and so was i, whenever they chimed me in. anyways, on the welcome-back trip, sam thought a trip would do him good whereas i thought an exploration would serve better. combining both, for colby, was the greatest so that's what we did. sam chose the location through some people he met along the way of the chanel, i was so excited to finally know the spot i barely focused on colby and what was he saying.

"....then we could try to explore the place ourselves. what you think, y/n?" he said while scrolling through his phone. it wasn't sam and colby's first visit there, but it was mine and they wanted me to have a good time and full immersive experience. "huh?" i questioned "this whole thing is about YOU, colbert. you should be the one 'thinking' of something."

"yeah, yeah. i just want to make sure we all have fun, you know?" his pale blue eyes stared at me for a second and, as usual, i stared back. i couldn't get enough. "y/n?" he called.

"sure, colby. i'll do whatever you want me to..." i stated focusing on the pile of e-mails stacking in my inbox.

"isn't it time for you to take a vacation? some time off?" colby asked seeing how busy and overwhelmed i was. i sighned, he moved from one couch to another to sit closer. "c'mon you could stay some time with us, ditch the company for a few days..."

i cut him off before he could finish his line of thought "colby, you know i can't. the company is expanding.... i need to focus" i rolled my eyes and rested my head upon his shoulder. we watched as sam entered the room, sweaty shirt signaling he just came back from the gym "hello, lovebirds," he said jokinlgy "what are we discussing?"

"how y/n should get a few weeks of vacation" colby gently backed up, laying my head on the couch as he stood up to greet sam and the grocery bags i just now realize he had been holding for a while. "you're obviously in need of some of it, y/n. why don't we make this trip a bit longer so you can take AT LEAST a few days more to reset?" sam suggested.

"but i...." "you can't run no company if you're worn out, dude" sam cut me. "besides, it is YOURS. you're the boss! c'mon, we'd love to have you for a couple days more, right colby?"

"yeah, besides you still owe me a movie night!" colby stated. it's been months since i've been promising the movie night with thrilling and horror movies, just colby and i, to talk about how he has been feeling lately and other stuff. it's always a pleasure be around such a good friend. [wish we were a bit more than that].

"you know what, you two!" i started with and angry tone, eyes still closed, still laying on their couch. "you're right...." i cooled down. "i need to get some rest. i'll take 3 weeks off and nothing more but please, you both are in charge of me"

"couting now?" colby joked.

"no, robert, couting monday..."

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°\/°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Friday afternoon after my last meeting, i was still rushing around, making sure every inch of the bodyshop was clean, organized, ready for monday morning's routine of receiving and fixing cars and guaranteeing excellence to costumers. my CEO (and godfather, altogether) made sure they'd be fine without me for a couple weeks and he'd only call in emergencies. i was hoping for little to none, but leaving for the first time in years was still frightening.

i saw the old toyota corolla make a corner, if there were a better picture than that, colby's glass were not really dark-stained so i could see through it. he was wearing, shockingly, a dark green shirt, black and green jacket and i could swear i saw someone on the backseat for a split second. knowing him, i'd be either surprised or scared the second i set foot in the car. gathering my stuff from my office quickly, i found my old devotion notebook. i remembered that work has been draining me so much i forgot i am too a sensitive religious person - but not the convetional one. the door was pushed and the fragrance that followed screamed his name, i didn't even had to turn around to recornize him but his words affirmed what i thought. "are we going?" colby questioned. "mhmm" i replied. "let me just check my e-mails one last time...."

"oh fuck no!" colby shouted, running around the table and taking the laptop from me. he then locked it inside a drawer and kept the keys. "i'll give it back to you in a week or two, when we're far away from this office." he said firmly.

after a moment of silence, he said "you deserve this...." "hey! we're traveling! it'll be fun! plus, your family can handle everything else."

"and we'll call if we can't." my godfather/uncle Victor entered the room, his arms crossing in front of him once he stopped beside colby. them both being tall made a shadow fawn over me, intimidating a little. "we will miss you, but you haven't stop since forever. get some rest, kiddo" my uncle Victor said. "and you make sure she stays alright! i'll need her back!" he warned colby.

"sure thing, sir! i'll bring her back in one piece in maybe 3 weeks." colby said gathering my stuff and pulling me to the car. "maybe? it's a definitely, gentleman." Victor said. we both giggled making our way to his car.

"every time i come around to pick you up, i feel like we're 16" colby joked as i looked around in the car. [who the fuck was inside]. he arched an eyebrown confused to as why was i snooping around. "yo, you good?" he asked. i shaked my head 'yes' but there was some sinking feeling something was off.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°\/°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° the flight was scheduled to sunday morning, this way we'd be in pennsylvania by noon or so. it was still saturday morning when the first nightmare hit, it was still dark outside and the guest room in sam and colby's place felt degrees colder than usual. i guess it was so intense i screamed and sam woke me up, worried. colby followed him suit behind with flustered cheeks and heavy eyes.

"what's wrong?" sam asked, sitting in the bed beside me. his weight made the covers safer, calmer. my thoughts coming down from a high as soon as he pressed his warm hand on my forehead to see if i had a fever. "you're not hot or anything...." sam said and colby giggled.

"yeah she's definitely hot, jus not your type, bro." colby corrected and sam's cheeks brigthen up red, you could barely see through the soft and dim yellow light from the tiny lamp that stood beside the bed. "you know i don't mean that...." sam started. "you're... you're pretty hot you know. i'd rather say beautiful but..."

"romeo, i guess she just had a bad dream, right?" colby leaned on the doorframe. his white ripped tee a little too ripped and sam's soft grip on my face slowly became a light caress. "i guess i'll leave juliet to go back to sleep then." sam said giving me a concerned look. "okay?" i nodded.

"i'm sorry" i muttered, my voice coming back to me. "didn't mean to wake you up, guys" sam rolled his eyes and lightly pinched my cheeks. "stop being a dumbass..." he said getting up and making his way out. "i'll be in my room. if you need anything, CALL! don't scream. you scared the shit out of me" sam said as he made his way to his bedroom.

it was colby's turn to say something. do something. but instead, he just stood there, leaning against the door while i sat on the bed, still processing what was the nightmare about. only flashes flooding my memories, little by little. drowning my thoughts. "can i come in?" he finally asked after what felt like forever in silence. "mhmmm" i hummed.

different from sam, colby was more straight forward with whatever he wanted. this being said, it wasn't hard to agree that he, in fact, went under covers and laid beside me. "robert, what are you doing? are you insane?" i coiled beside him. my dressing wasn't very modest to welcome him in bed with me as i was using a big tee and panties. "as if i never laid next to another woman. get off yourself" he complained.

i sneakily grabbed my pajama shorts from my side of the bed and put them in under the blankets, by this time, colby had rolled over. his face turn to me but his eyes closed - perhaps privacy or just him trying to fall back asleep. i facepalmed breathing loudly trying to erase the feeling of uneasyness from my body after the terrible dream, but colby's hand on my tight and his firm grip startled me a bit. "c'mon, lay down. it's 2:30 in the morning... i'll stay here with you" he muffled in the pillows. "c'mooooooon" colby whined.

"i just...it was so vivid, you know.... these buildings, the feeling i got...." i started but my as soon as i did, my heart went racing. colby sat, his eyes barely opening, one arm around me and the other caressing my leg. "are you okay?" he asked, his hand moving upwards trying to soothe me. "sometimes reals can feel so real, right? but don't stress over it too much, i'll stay here." he said calmly. "maybe we can call sam and...."

"ugh you're such a whore, brock" i laughed as i laid in bed, him doing the same. "thanks, by the way..." he raised an eyebrown, eyes fast closed. "for the what?"

"for staying."

°°°°°°°°\/°°°°°°°°

the day went smoothly and sunday noon was approaching. pennsylvania sounded near althought a 6 hour flight separated the two states and increased in a rapid speed our hunger. i slept through most of it since the nightmares became a thing over the weekend - minus the screaming, thankfully - and sam became my personal caressing pillow. his soft words, as soft as his hands, lulled me to sleep seconds into the flight. colby was an aisle down to us and never stopped chatting with the pretty petite blonde girl sat next to him, when i finally woke, they seemed more acquainted then when the flight was getting ready to take off.

"they kissed" sam filled me in, first thing when i woke. "wow, really?" "mhmm, colby's like that now" he said turning a page from a book he was reading. "yeah i guess he always had been, but it's more of a show off about it now" i replied adjusting my messy cruly hair. "i'm glad i'll always have you, never normal sam" joking, i said. he just elbowed me lightly, giving the most warm upside down smile.

"how are you?" i asked noticing he'd been refusing to look at the notifications on his phone. he just glared. "i mean, this number must belong to SOMEONE. won't you answer?" sam sighed. "it's kat. we.... i...." his words started to crample together but luckily the pilot interrupted him with the announcement of landing. both of us releasing the air inside our lungs we weren't aware we'd been holding. "hey... i know it must be hard. i'm always here to hear you.... and maybe crack joke about it though." i reaffirmed. sam held my hand and gave it a caring kiss, leaving it as a thank you note with everything he wanted to say but couldn't right now.

the plane landed, we got our bags. sam and colby rented a car and decided this could make a video: traveling with friends, living the now, doing what they like and going old fashion - no hardwire equipments, no electronics by the dozens, no mediatic pressure and no place for nothing but good times. it came late, but it didn't fail. colby surprised sam and i at the restaurant. we were peacefully eating like dinosaurs when a pair of hands gripped sam's shoulder tight - not enough to hurt him, but enough to have him startled. sam and colby's friend, nate, stood behind sam and i while we ate.

nate is a cool guy, very chill and funny. he's always down to whatever the boys propose him to, thus incouraging me to do the same. although we have a good time together, sometimes and only sometimes, i have a glipmse of myself and feel a little unconscious. the many women approaching them - being for fame, recognition, looks or whatever - are gorgeous, the kind of girl you'd see on tampon commercials or maybe a lame movie with only hot chicks using ridiculous clothes to perform complex tasks. i'm just normal and - for a while - it's good being average, but oh boy, how i wish i was....

"hey, gorgeous!" nate complimented me as he plopped on the empty chair beside me. "how have you been, girl?" he sassed. i rolled my eyes, smile growing wider. "i've been good, nataniel." i teased back.

"what's with you and names?" colby asked downing a bit of his drinks. he had a halfway fresh oranje juice glass that i insisted he'd take instead of whatever processed shit he'd prefer. "you see, COLBERT," i emphasized before continuing, earning everyone's smile "it's funnier that way. plus, i get to tease you all about fictional names that suit you fine" i gulped my juice myself.

"well, we should think about a nickname for you to call it your own, then" nate threw his arms around my chair and said, leaning over a bit. "maybe we should call you...." as soon as nate was forming a thought, sam's phone rang. it was the person responsible for our tour and stay, so we went quieter so sam could figure whatever out. we couldn't help ourselves to kick one another under the table and whisper sweet nothings to each other while making dramatically silly faces - or copy whatever sam was saying in a husk tone, just to ease up the mood. "yeah, sure. i guess it'll be a great idea!" sam said. "i guess we can share some rooms, there's no problem with it...." finally, we fell dead silent to hear what he was saying and when sam noticed, he put them on speaker.

"i'm sure you can all share, but wouldn't it be fun if you got separate rooms?!" the person on the other end asked with a malice in their voice. you could tell it was a sllightly older man and if it wasn't from previous experience, you barely couldn't differ the amount of cigarretes he'd smoken before. "i mean, it's a haunt tour but we have buildings able to accomodate you 3 perfectly nice, and the area is still new to renovations so you guys could do some recording if you'd like"

"actually, josh, we are in a group of 4 now. a friend decided to join us, is that an issue?" sam asked. "not at all, sam! we love to have you and any friend of yours as guests! is colby coming?" the man asked "surely he is!" colby answered affirming he was part of the group listening. "well, then it'll be awesome having you guys!" "it'll be awesome staying with you, josh! see you in a bit" sam hushed and ended the call.

"well, i hope you're in for a ride," sam said. "we have the place to ourselves and...." "yeah, but where is the place? WHAT is the place?" nate asked, finally tackling our doubts. "we're going to pennhurst asylum."

author's notes: thoughts? call the roaches and complain. (kidding, leave it here under NOTES or message me)

[kaurwreck]

you remind me of a time i wish i could go back to; a time in which i would obsessively read and keep reading about anything that interested me slightly. i would stumble into entirely new ways of thinking with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop, and learn to engage with it on its own terms. the ability got lost somewhere in the haze that was school and uni and people and work and now i’ve… lost the ability to think on my own. it comes maybe twice a month, in random bursts, and i fucking hate that i don’t have access to it continuously anymore. i hate that now when i’m bored i can’t think up stories in my head and chew on ideas in my free time. i see you and i’m so happy and so envious; i wish for my thirst for life back. i’m so tired. i’m saying this to you because, of all people, might be able to see it clearly. i respect the fact that you managed to retain it to adulthood or beyond is so much. you don’t know how much that means to me, as a young adult.

If it helps, I don't read nearly as much as I did as a kiddo. Like, not even remotely close. Quite frankly, I've only recently gotten back into reading lit, after years of only reading comics and manga, and not nearly at the volume I did before.

But! There are all sorts of opportunities to engage with stories and ideas and reconnect the synapses that spit where they used to spark. Once, in the throes of a heavy and prolonged period of uncertainty, I was gripped by the color of spray paint on the sidewalk on the way to pick up an espresso while sleep deprived. I consciously chose to stop and appreciate it.

Which is to say, I also get exhausted and burnt out and go through periods where I wonder if I've lost some fundamental part of myself. But then I rest or I change my routine or I receive an affirmation I didn't realize I desperately needed, and my verve returns, as it does. I think having pediatric onset bipolar disorder has advantaged me in this regard because even when I feel like nothing, I know that the intensity will return, and that it will continue to ebb and flow like the tides. I used to dread the ebb, but the ebb has its own value, too; in the ebb is where I nurture roots.

But to my earlier point, there are lots of stories and ideas buried in all sorts of moments. We can imbue meaning in the things we do as an observed ritual until it becomes habit until it becomes sincere. And for the periods in which we can't, it's worth remembering that the winter solstice is the longest evening of the year, but the sun will come back because it always has. In the meantime, you can stoke a hearth and sip on coaxed together warmth while tucking into your memory this grief so that you will recognize what you've been missing when it returns, so that feeling excited is remarkable enough to cut the present ennui. In time, you'll start to feel substance in the contours of the grief, too, because to be exhausted and numb and tired means that you exist enough to be anything at all.

And, if you're too untethered from yourself for even that, find something mundane and look for a glimmer of anything worth observing. If you can't find anything, choose to give some facet of what you see meaning anyway.

(It's not that the sidewalk was purple. It's that I chose to see that it was that particular, beautiful shade of purple rather than remain adrift into my own ether and, in doing so, tethered my intangible enormity in something tangible enough for me to stoke while I weathered the season.)

If you practice enough, this becomes muscle memory. Same with thinking on your own. I don't think reading is ever enough on its own anyway; sometimes, we mirror ideas and mistake them for our own. Or we encounter ideas but don't allow ourselves to be changed by them.

It's why it's important to engage intentionally, and it doesn't have to be with text. It can be with movies, art, those around us, our environment, our own understanding of the world, the condensation on a window. Mindfulness helps, but so does adopting the mindset of a toddler and asking why? Constantly. Again, it may begin as a rote exercise, but the more you do it, the more it becomes muscle memory. If you think you know something, consciously stop and ask why? Where did you learn that? What assumptions does your conclusion rely on? Could there be another explanation? Pretend you're someone else for a moment, a favorite character or historical figure or loved one. What would they think given the same facts? Also important is saying, like a toddler, because I said so! as the only reason you need. Try things for the sake of having not tried them before. There's a reason why Lao Tzu advises being like a newborn baby, soft boned with a strong grip.

There's very little I do, read, watch, or consume that I don't think about applying elsewhere, too. This is sometimes exhausting. But it's also where I get my well of passion. Because there's always an opportunity for meaning, my life bursts with it.

This doesn't mean I don't still have rough weeks or months or years. I have bipolar, adhd, cptsd, and social phobia; I have frequent insomnia and sleep paralysis, etc. etc. But I look forward to what I might learn next, and there's purpose and intention to how I experience even my lows. The life I'm currently living is so unlike where I came from, in part because I decided I wanted meaning and purpose. Before I knew what that was supposed to look like, I picked a direction and strove for it, feeling out what I couldn't see. I still do, when necessary. It will always be necessary.

So, while I don't know if what works for me will work for you, I can promise that something will excite you again, eventually. Adulthood isn't a linear decline or a separation from yourself. It's variable and dynamic, and you have agency in what you do with that. There isn't any objective meaning or purpose to be assigned, so you get to choose it for yourself, and it can be as variable and dynamic as you need it to be. So, if you don't want to grow into someone who can't think on your own, you don't have to. If you don't like your current state of mind, you don't need to settle in it.

tl;dr: It's not what I've retained, it's that I've ebbed and flowed and changed, and given myself the space to clumsily stumble towards what I want and what I value, even if I'm not always sure what those are. I'm letting go of the construct that I have to be anything, and I emphatically choose not to be lots of things. It's a process, and it's nonlinear. But nothing is, and there's grace in the inevitably of ebb.

[animehouse-moe]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

You're all good! This is the first time I've been asked this. I'm usually terrible with favorites so I always feel like I don't pick the "best" in hindsight, but I'll try to be as accurate as possible. These will also be in no particular order since they all occupy such different areas.

(edit: I just realized in my incredible morning brain state that this said male or female, but I only read the female part haha. So this is just the female lineup, I guess).

Iwakura Lain - Serial Experiments Lain

Lain's a character that has, and will always remain enigmatic. Subjectivity and personal experience remain intertwined with works like Serial Experiments Lain, so what each individual takes away from it will change. Personally, what makes me love Lain is her desperation to communicate, to connect with the people around her. To make friends, to do fun things with them, to understand the people that comprise her life. But that desire spirals, she gets absorbed (like so many do) and becomes something else entirely. Fracturing and separating herself, spreading those instances across the internet in a desperate way to connect. For existing prior to essentially all forms of social media, it depicts the struggle and addiction that trouble countless people in freakishly accurate fashion.

Iwakura Mitsumi - Skip and Loafer

Had to put them next to each other on this list haha. Iwakura Mitsumi though. I don't hate the approach of a lot of Shojosei in terms of high school slice of life/romance, but I find much more to love with the more grounded ones than the more fantastical, just a personal preference. Anyways, Mitsumi. She's just the perfect representation of high school life. A dash of confidence, a good bit of deep seated anxiety, lots of stress over school and friends, but a positive and hopeful outlook in spite of her stumbling and struggles that's wonderfully accented by blossoming feelings of love. She just occupies a space that is very rare these days, so of course I love her.

Ryougi Shiki - The Garden of Sinners

Okay, hot take since (spoiler) Saber's not going to be on the list. I just haven "completed" Saber's story if that makes sense. I've read a lot, experienced a lot, but I haven't gotten 100% of it like I have with Shiki. That said, Shiki's story. I mean, as a character they're so damn hard to really capture. After all, there's more than one of them, and their story is told through the experiences of others. Shiki as a character, and The Garden of Sinners as a series, just holds a special place in my heart as Nasu's first real creative work that remains untethered by the requirements of a visual novel. If Nasu's work on the VNs is the base level, then The Garden of Sinners stands a cut above from start to finish.

Hatsuseno Alpha - Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou

A robot that is startlingly human, but surprisingly childlike. Alpha was is just the perfect vehicle to experience YKK through. Vast understanding and interest, but meaningful naivete and curiosity. She explores a world peacefully accepting its death, and is able to pull such beautiful moments from it. She doesn't struggle or bemoan the end, but rather takes it in stride and focuses on the beauty of humanity, how it's adapted, what's been lost and what's been created in its stead. It brings it all together under this character that is so deeply passionate about exploring life even under these circumstances, that you can't help but feel an indescribable warmth in her story.

Biwa - Heike Monogatari

Okay, maybe I'm cheating a little bit with Biwa here, but it's just a character that I think is incredibly beautiful. Witnessing the murder of her father, she's taken in by a clan doomed to death, where a man possesses a similar ability to Biwa. Together, she struggles to create the family she never had, all the while forced to come to terms with their deaths. She fights tooth and nail to keep them alive, but her attempts are futile. In the end, she is given her adoptive father's ability and completes what one might call the "cycle". Seeing life and death, the eternal struggle that will never change, she experiences her life, her family, her future and past to its fullest, and commits her life to telling the story of the Heike that she was so fond of. It's a beautiful story centered around Biwa's experiences, and her fear of death and not having a family, truly wonderful stuff. Also Aoi Yuuki kills it as Biwa.

Kusanagi Motoko - Ghost In The Shell

This was baby's first big kid series for me. I'd always watched anime here and there, but mostly things like Bleach/Naruto/DBZ. Ghost in The Shell was the first really big series I'd dip my toes into via those 4 minute YouTube videos at 480p. Kusanagi's nature as the bridge between technology and humanity is endlessly explored and just such a great idea, that through the countless (good) iterations, there's a wealth of her to experience. Undoubtedly an iconic series, and one that's certainly remembered very fondly by me.

Kirigoe Mima - Perfect Blue

Mima's an incredible character driven to the psychological breaking point. Under the scrutiny and pressure of being an idol, the facade begins to crack and what seeps out from the gaps is nothing short of incredible. Satoshi Kon remains a wizard in what he did with his works, and for me, Mima's character in Perfect Blue is the pinnacle of that. An implicit story of the stress and strain placed on idols (and the entertainment industry at large) by those that string them up and sell the souls of these girls, Perfect Blue and Mima remain in a realm of their own in a lot of ways.

Nozomi - Sonny Boy

Well as they say, the proof is in the pudding, and the pudding in this case is Nozomi's name. Translating from Japanese it means "wish" or "desire" in English, and is the personification of Nozomi's role in Sonny Boy. As close to a catalyst as one can be, she spurs on the wishes of the characters around her, providing the foundation for our main character Nagara to grow and develop. In the end, the desires of each individual can be connected to Nozomi, even in her death. She's arguably more central to the plot of Sonny Boy than Nagara, so of course I see her as a deeply special character.

Kamikoshi Sorawo - Otherside Picnic

A somewhat different pick to help round out the list. Sorawo Kamikoshi, and Otherside Picnic at large, are certainly things that I don't think most people would fall in love with. But I did. The vitriol that her character expresses, the toxicity and self hatred and destruction. Her character is a very damaging and "bad" one, but that's what I love about it. There's no grand scheme behind Sorawo's personality, or any ideal that her character chases. She follows the whims and curiosities of her life as she willingly casts herself into the abyss of the Otherside alongside Toriko, and along the way, she learns to slowly grow and improve as a person while maintaining her core personality.

Osaki Nana - Nana

The duality of Nana as a character is just so well done to me. A character with two sides isn't anything special, but I think the way that Yazawa approaches her as a character, and introduces those cracks in her façade and the struggle that they represent is just really, really good. It has me really desperate for Yazawa to return from hiatus and continue on with Nana.

And that's the list. I know I've left off characters like Tohru or other massively popular (and well written) leads and characters from shojosei series, but a lot of what I desire out of a character can't quite be found in a lot of what ends up popular and translated (and what I tend to remember) I feel. If you take a look at the list, for example, you'll find that the majority of my favorites are from older series, as well as ones that feature more "tragic" or "twisted" characters. Personally, I find a flower most beautiful after you've understood how it's wilted and withered before it fights to bloom once more. Endless blooms that grant an eternal summer are undeniably beautiful, but that beauty tends to lack context and in turn can become simplicity. So that's my list, as imperfect and everchanging as it is. If I'm asked once more in a year, it will probably look startlingly different, but that's how these things will go with me.

[longislandcharm]

TIMING: Mid March LOCATION: Thea's house/Worm Row PARTIES: @longislandcharm and @notstinky SUMMARY: Thea invites Winter over to check her house for ghosts. Things don't go as planned. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Thea stuffed what remained of her hair into a beanie, hoping it looked like a style choice and not the attempt of a desperate woman—girl? It still felt strange to call herself a woman; most days she still felt like she was twelve years old except for the days where she felt impossibly old. She wasn’t an adult or a child but a strange in-between thing she was meant to figure out. When would her adulthood finally start feeling like an adulthood? The past year had only felt like a fever-fueled nightmare. She’d missed the major marker of it, running away before the final year of university. Now she hung in the air, unfinished, untethered, waiting for something to prove that she had left adolescence behind. With a sigh, Thea pushed her thoughts away and opened the door, smiling brightly. “Winter!” As she had learned the woman’s name was online. “Come in!” For some reason, with a name like Winter, she had expected the woman to be dressed in thick winter clothing. 

Thea stepped aside so Winter could enter her extremely humble abode. Aged by time, shitty landlords, and the occasional pest, her house was nothing to look at. If the paint wasn’t bubbled or peeling, then there was a weird stain. Still, it was a house; the heating and air conditioning worked and her toilets clogged the normal amount. “I know it’s not a pretty house,” she said, “but it’s really not bad once you get to know it!” Despite currently staying with Van at Dr. Kavanagh’s much nicer apartment, Thea was unable to let go of the room she rented here. She needed the space to cry, to be weird, to do all of the things that she knew Van would hate her for. She was fond of her shitty rented room and the freedom it gave her. Financially, it might have been better to move out for good. But Thea couldn’t do it; she needed this house.

For a moment, she’d forgotten why she’d invited the woman over, and thought of it like a fun hangout between friends-to-be. “Oh, I bought one of these off the internet.” Thea pulled a cheap plastic device from her pocket; its sides were adorned by dials and knobs and a small silver antenna stuck out at the top. “It’s a ghost radio! It says it helps with communicating with them! Um, when I turned it on once it was just playing top forty hits but maybe it was a singing ghost!” 

For a while now, Thea was sure that the house was home to spirits. Things moved around, whispering was heard in the walls, strange chills erupted in certain corners and sometimes the electricity fizzled in and out like an anemic rave. Winter had said she could help, even if Thea wasn’t sure how that could possibly happen. Still, having people over was nice. Mostly, this was an excuse to make friends. 

It wasn’t like she didn’t know that this was a bad idea. Not only was her mood sour but deep down Winter knew that she did not have the skill to be doing something like this. If she identified a ghost what the hell was she supposed to do then? Lil had been teaching her about a few things here and there but getting rid of them was something entirely different. It was still better to know so she could get someone who could do something about it right? The internal battle had been playing out in her mind ever since she was asked to do this and still there she was, standing in the girl’s living room and staring at the hat on her head. What secrets was that hiding? 

With Thea’s words, she was able to tear her gaze away from her head and let it wander around the house. The girl was right, it wasn’t much to look at, but knowing she liked to hang out in toilet stalls at work, what could Winter really expect? “Hey, you keep it clean, right? That’s all that matters to me. I’m not the one living here.” 

Raising an eyebrow as Thea brought out the device, Winter’s lips quirked up, shaking her head softly while looking over at Henry. He was also amused, the ghost rubbing the back of his head while trying to avoid looking at the other girl as if she could see him trying to hold back his laughter. Thea obviously didn’t understand the whole situation with the medium and Winter didn’t know whether to fault her or not. The conversation online was a blur of toilet talk and self love in her mind so she wasn’t sure if it had been mentioned. 

“I don’t think we’re going to need that, Thea. I’m not even sure if they work, honestly.” Another question to add to her growing list. Lil was going to love her by the end of this mentorship…if they even got through it. “This might help though.” Winter dug through the bag that was slung over her shoulder, pulling out a container of salt that she’d brought with her. She didn’t make it a habit to carry this around but she knew what she was coming here for. If this ghost was as mischievous as Thea was making it out to be it might be handy to have it. “Do these strange things happen in a concentrated area or throughout the whole house?"

“Are you sure?” Thea made poor work of disguising the disappointment in her voice. The radio wasn’t expensive—a respectable twenty dollars on amazon—but still. Still. Thea clicked it on and jazzy notes singing over the crackling bass of some new hit filled the air before she snapped it off again. “You’re the expert,” she said. She was sad as she stuffed it away in her pocket. She stared at the container. “Is that sugar?” she asked. “Um, do ghosts like sugar? Should I have baked them a cake?”

Thea shut the door behind Winter, nervously picking at the ends of her sleeves. “Upstairs,” she said, pointing up the dark staircase. “They seem to popup everywhere but you can always feel something weird upstairs. I mean, stuff moves around my room all the time and it’s cold--like seriously cold! Heat rises, right? So you’d think the ground floor would be cold but it’s not. Even on hotter days, it was cold up there. Come on…” She led Winter up, hugging her arms. Darkness clung tightly to the corners of the second floor and it was cold, no matter what she did. “It might just be a ventilation issue?” She didn’t believe in ghosts, not really, but after Nora’s floating, nose-punching one, she thought it was probably more logical not to rule things out. “Hey, are you going to sprinkle that around?” She gestured to the container. “It--um--I just mean, it would be such a pain to clean up…” Haunted people probably shouldn’t complain but Winter wasn’t the one who was going to be vacuuming. 

As disappointed as Thea sounded, Winter couldn't in good conscience recommend a product she wasn't sure would work. In her research, she'd read about these devices and how people tried to use them but she had also read about everything that could make them malfunction too. Besides, she could see them. She didn't need anything for them to talk to her. “I'm sure for right now. But I'll look into it more and let you know if they work or not, I haven't done too much research on them.” She would ask Lil. Winter trusted her judgment and she was the real expert in this situation. Again, it occurred to her that maybe Lil should be the one handling this but if she didn't practice how would she ever get better?

“This?” She looked down at the container in her hand and slowly shook her head, the girl's words making her question this whole thing once more. “Why would you bake a cake for a ghost? They can't eat it. No, this is salt. And they hate it.“ Even Henry was eyeing the container, his amused disposition completely gone. ”The stuff hurts.“ Winter glanced at him and stuck her bottom lip out in a mocking way, prompting him to scowl at her. 

As Thea started explaining the situation, she knew that it sounded like a haunting but there could always be explanations. “Do you ever witness the stuff move on its own or do you notice it when you go back into the room?” If it was the latter it was plausible to say that was probably her roommates doing but she could see how uncomfortable Thea was while talking about this. “Heat does rise...” She looked up the stairs, eyes searching for any sort of movement before they began their journey up there. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? The lack of confidence was foreign to her and it felt so unnatural. 

As they made it to the landing, the hair on Winter's neck started to stand up. It was freezing on the second floor and she knew this wasn't a ventilation issue almost immediately. Something felt very...off. Before she could say anything though Thea was asking about the salt and Winter gripped it more tightly. “I think you can handle a little salt in your carpets. I'm not going to lay it out anywhere, it's only going to be used if I really need it.” As she spoke, the medium made sure to open the container, causing Henry to step back from them. She didn't even need Thea to point out her room, Winter could hear muttering coming from inside one of them and she was pretty sure they'd been alone when she got here. ”Let me guess, that one's your room?“ Without an answer, she took a few strides towards it and caught a glimpse of someone inside before the door slammed shut in her face. ”Yea…there's somebody in there...and I'm assuming there shouldn't be.”

Thea pulled her lips into a thin line. She thought about the ghosts in movies and shows and how, maybe, some salt was involved. Mostly, she thought about how slugs didn’t like salt. Were ghosts like slugs? “Maybe the ghosts would like a cake,” she mumbled; Winter was slowly destroying her dreams of a fun ghost adventure. She hummed as they moved and considered her answers. “I’ve never seen it move. I mean, I come back to my room and things are different: the lamp’s tipped over or my mug’s been moved, stuff like that. At night, when I try to sleep, I hear this horrible scraping noise…and when I turn on the lights, everything’s moved over by, like, an inch. Even the bed!” If she did have ghosts, which she wasn’t convinced of, she also wasn’t sure what she did to piss hers off. 

And she didn’t believe in ghosts, not really. Not actually. When the door closed in Winter’s face, nearly taking her nose, Thea laughed with a quick, shrill sound. “Must be the draft!” she said, opening the door again. A gust of frigid air shot around the room and poured into the hall. At once, goosebumps rose along Thea’s skin and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her moth-eaten curtains billowed, but her windows weren’t open. As she opened her mouth to speak, a plume of white breath burst from her chapped lips. “M-maybe something’s broken? I-in the pipes?” She swallowed. “Are you sure…are you sure that…” Was now really the time to be skeptical? She was sure if they spent any longer here, hypothermia would claim them.

Her room, despite the odd circumstances, looked like it always did; sparsely decorated but adorned with all the old wooden furniture that had been here when she moved it. Everything was kept in great condition and Thea didn’t see a need to change it; whoever had lived here before really loved the place, she thought. The large dresser didn’t have any scratches, the vanity mirror was decidedly uncracked, and the bed didn’t even creak when she flung her body on to it after work. 

“That wasn’t a draft.” Something wasn’t right here. Ghosts that wanted to talk were usually willing to come and find her, not try to keep her out. This didn’t seem normal when she looked back on her other interactions. But before she could stop the other girl, the door was once again open and the rush of cold air was making Winter shiver. She’d gotten used to the cold ever since Henry showed up but this was…this was much more intense. “Thea, wait!” But the girl was already inside and Winter let out a growl of frustration. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. 

Sure enough, when she followed Thea into the room she noticed the other entity standing in the corner staring at the girl who now took up residence in this room. They didn’t look happy, not one bit, the rage in their eyes as they stared at her while ‘breathing’ heavily frightened Winter. “Thea…” She whispered the words but the ghost’s eyes still landed on her despite the effort, making Winter audibly gulp. “I’m sure. We need to get out of here.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth the door behind them slammed shut again. She moved as quickly as she could to the door to try the knob but it wasn’t budging no matter how hard she pulled on it. “It’s okay, this is okay.” The medium was nodding her head as if she were trying to assure herself, not just the other girl, before she turned to face the room again. The salt in her hand trembled while she tried to open the top without drawing much attention but the poltergeist only tilted their head before the container was flying across the room, breaking through the bedroom window and falling to the ground below. Henry’s voice cut through, the sarcasm only slightly present as the ghost eyed their foe. “Yea, I think you’re in over your head here, Winter.”

“Not. Helping.” Venom laced the words, Henry shrinking back from her with his hands raised in surrender. Before Winter could say another word to Thea something started to build within the room, some sort of energy flowing through every inch that made up the bedroom furniture. It all started to shake at once, vibrating the floor beneath them as the vanity and the bed posts hit the ground harder and harder. The ghost was still staring at them both but a sneer had appeared. “Where can we hide, Thea? Anywhere?”

“Who are you talking to?” Thea asked with a trembling voice. Okay, ghosts weren’t real. Probably. Maybe. Truly. But her room wasn’t right; everything was shaking. It was like a very cold, very scary earthquake. “I don’t like this!” She told Winter. “I really don't like this!” The furniture shook with a ferocity that sent her shrieking with every rattle and knock. It was like everything had been tossed into the blender. Thea couldn’t even debate the validity of ghosts with herself; everything felt like a battle just to survive. 

“The closet!” She gestured to it. “Let’s go into the closet!” There was some irony in how hard she, as a lesbian, had battled to get out of the closet only to run back into it, but Thea wasn’t going to make the joke. She ran up to the worn doors and threw them open as furniture crashed against the wall, lifting into a violent vortex. The wallpaper peeled as Thea gestured for Winter to follow her. “Run!” The room raged like a typhoon, smashing wood against the walls which cracked and blistered like a burn. 

Inside, Thea’s voice dropped to a whisper. “D-do you know anyone that can help us?” She sniffled. “Can you help?” 

“The ghost standing next to you.” It had been a deliberate act to leave out more information. Winter was annoyed by the both of them at that point and she really was in over her head a feeling she was not used to but was starting to become more prominent in this town. That was enough to get her to lash out at anyone who dared talk to her in that moment, even the sweet girl who was just as terrified as she was feeling. Deep down she knew that Thea didn’t deserve any extra taunting in this moment but she couldn’t bring herself to explain any further after a lamp went flying in her direction and she had to duck out of the way. All she could muster was a high pitched squeak before dropping to the floor to avoid damage to her face.

It was as if the thing standing across from them knew why Winter was there and it was not happy as it glared in their direction, the sneer still ever present. The room was starting to get destroyed all around them but all she could do was stare at this…thing wondering if poltergeist was a better word for it than ghost. Lil had only briefly covered the topic with her but she was sure that this entity was just as angry as she was imagining them to be when they spoke. 

She heard the word ‘closet’ and then the sound of scrambling feet but she sat there for a beat longer until Henry was yelling at her to ‘get the hell up.’ She then heard Thea yelling for her to run and Winter was scrambling to her feet just before the poltergeist sliced through the space she’d been sat with a large piece of the mirror that had been smashed during some point of all of this. 

It was trying to kill them before they could get rid of it. Her shoulder slammed against the back wall of the closet, her feet not able to slow her down in time before she got to it, and Winter slid down the wall to sit. Thea’s questions were going in one ear and out the other while her mind raced. What had Lil said about poltergeists? What had she told her to do if she ever ran into one? Henry was walking through the door then, making her realize that this other ghost could do just that but it seemed its anger was getting the better of it. It wanted to continue its tantrum first. Then Thea’s questions hit her again and Winter nodded as she pulled out the cell phone from her pocket. Lil. She could call Lil. At least that medium knew what she was doing.

[shamrockqueen]

Wasteland paradise

Chapter 2

Pairing: Boyka X Reader (Post Apocalyptic AU/ inspired by but not in the universe of Fallout new Vegas

Warnings: R18, human trafficking, purchased reader, eventual Smut

Word count: 1793

Chapter 1

Scott Adkins Masterlist

No one ate nor drank for the next 3 days as the diesel-driven truck lumbered along the dusty landscape. Sadly, you were all too weak to protest the degrading conditions, too weak to fight back, and with too little hope for what was to come.

That was until a new sight seemed to spring up around the truck. It was a budding town surrounding the cracked road that you were all being carted along. With the change of scenery, there seemed to be a new spark of life in the back of the trailer, but whether it was a flickering flame of renewed hope or growing fear was another question.

It was still a shanty-like place, but much more put together than where you once called home. The truck came to a shaky stop, screeching just a little against the remains of pavement and kicking dust into the air and into the back of the half-open cab. It wasn’t like any of you could jump out and run, not while you were all chained to your seat.

The driver door clicked open, and the awful man that sat behind the wheel leapt from his seat before rounding towards the doors at the back of the rig. He unlatched the back hatch before jumping into the back of the truck and pulling a handful of captives out to stand in a line next to it. You were part of that unlucky group.

He doesn’t even speak to you before unhooking your chain, yanking from your seat, and leaving you to stumble forward along the dirt. The guns are up again as the hatch to the back of the truck slams shut. They’re armed and ready in case any of you feel like making the mistake of running. One of the raiders took the rope still tightly wrapped around your little wrists and tied it to the side of the truck's rigging before calling out for any potential buyers to take you off their hands.

They must not have deemed you all worth taking to the ‘acropolis’, a nifty name for a beast of a trade city situated further than you thought you'd ever reach. People say it’s hidden within an old amphitheater and spiderwebbed out in a few miles of slums. You’ve only ever heard stories of it, and from the few angry whispers you could hear from the raiders around you, if you're not sold today, you may not live long enough to see it anyway.

You must not have been particularly desirable, as thankfully not one person gave you a second glance as they came by. Yet, you couldn’t help but fidget as you fought to stay standing. You could feel some unwavering gaze drag over you, roughly like a dull blade along your skin. You couldn’t see any eyes in the passing crowd, but you knew someone was glaring at you from some unseen alcove, letting their eyes cut through to your weakened bones.

A woman tied beside you was untethered before being torn from the side of the truck and dragged towards her purchasers. Two burly men held her by each arm, but she seemed too weak to scream. Her head lulled to her shoulder as the one man shook her to stand on her own. You and the few others watched as she was led away, leaving the raiders to count the payment they received for her.

A few of the captives were picked away as the afternoon burned out, but you and at least two others remained beside the truck. At least it looked like two from what you could make out through your blurry vision.

Your time was ticking away, and as you bit down on your cracked lip and let a dribble of blood wet your tongue, you figured that at least the end would be quick. There will be no more pain, no more aches, and no more despair. You’d never have to feel the lingering burn left on your skin or the pangs of hunger in your stomach. Maybe you might see your mother once again.

You closed your eyes as the sun began to dim, wishing only for a slight breeze as you listened to the dull liveliness of the surrounding town. The Raiders spoke amongst themselves, but you didn’t listen—not until a new voice joined them. Something deep and smooth. It was neither hoarse nor graveled, only heavy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from opening your eyes and looking over at the new patron.

This man stood far taller than the raiders, but had his face and body covered from the sun with a thin cloak, as well as a scarf to protect his nose and mouth from the toxic dust that blew through the wasteland air. It left only his eyes visible, letting you feel them rake over your skin as they turned back towards you.

You felt an unerring shiver crawl up your spine as he lifted his hands and pointed at you. In the next instant, the raider was trudging towards you as you shook against the side of the trailer. Your tether was torn away and tied to a slightly longer rope, surely the better to lead you away with.

When you didn’t move with the tug of the rope, one of your captors seized the side of your arm and dragged you over to stand beside the large buyer. That way, the customer could get a better look at you.

An exchange of goods is made before the trailer is closed back up. The rope is handed to the hooded man as your previous captor smacks the back of the truck to signal the driver to leave.

This man now owned you in exchange for car parts. You knew you weren’t worth much, having not been built for hard labor, but you didn’t think your life would be worth so little.

You couldn’t believe the sight of it as the last of your kin disappeared between the rows of shanty houses. Some of those people were your friends and neighbors. After all the blood that had been shed in your own home to be severed from them, this felt like the final crooked nail being hammered into your coffin.

You didn’t know if maybe you were too tired or too dehydrated, but the tears just didn’t flow like they had days prior. You felt a pang of guilt in your chest that, after all these hardships, you had no tears left to shed as you watched the last of the people you used to know just disappear. Maybe it wasn't worth crying about anymore.

You felt a tug on the rope, pulling only slightly towards this hulking figure. It was uncharacteristically gentle, but soon he became impatient, and he started to walk with the rope held tightly in his fisted hand, towing you away with him. There isn’t anywhere left to run, and you didn’t have the energy to do so anyway, so you followed not too far behind this new man.

The town was small but bustled, at least a little bit. Many people unfortunate enough to look at you being pulled away on a lead just averted their gaze. It seemed that whatever ill will had befallen you, they didn’t want to make it their business.

He stumbled behind him, trying your best to lift your feet, only to drag them through the dust. You can't think any further than moving forward for as long as your body will allow, not realizing your poor efforts will easily be noticed.

All of a sudden, he stopped walking, leading you to absentmindedly collide with his broad back. Your legs buckled upon impact, and you crumpled towards the ground. But, you didn't hit the dirt; instead, you barely grazed it as a pair of strong, calloused hands grappled with your weak shoulders.

You sagged into his arms as he held you upright and looked down at your sorry form. You looked back, your vision blurred by the sun overhead as it darkened his figure further. He dipped his fingers into his scarf as your pupils began to shrink from the assault of sunlight.

Your world moved around you as you settled down to sit in the dirt, those hands still holding you to sit up as you pulled back.

Someone was talking, but it sounded strange. It got louder, and you blinked to see that large cloaked man that had once been tugging you along as he knelt over you.

He was shouting down at you to “STAY AWAKE” as he repeatedly shook your upper body so as to rouse you before exhaustion could take hold.

He had to move quickly before you fully collapsed, digging into the packs tied to his side for something to help you. One of those hands moves to cradle the side of your head, hoping to steady you as he brings his canteen close to your face.

You felt it first, the cold metal spout spreading to your cracked lips before the water hit your tongue and chilled your teeth. You gasped into the bottle as a rush of cool liquid shocked your system, making you choke on what had already flooded into your mouth.

He leaned you forward as you began to cough, your body shaking in his arms as panic overtook you. You were livelier, for sure, but only in the sense that you were squirming against his hold. He had to wrap his arm around the back of your neck, locking his hand around your jaw, and holding you tighter to his hard body just to keep you still.

“Drink. Drink, Pozhaluysta!”

His voice was barely a hum against the buzzing in your ears, but as the spout of the flask met your lips again and that water began flooding in, all your senses were dulled.

Your body finally moved on autopilot, letting you chug back the water until the flask was empty and your stomach ached.

You shuddered as he pulled it away, taking in each sharp breath like it was your first lungful of fresh air.

“khoroshaya devochka”

You pulled your eyes open, letting them go wide as his face came into view. He’d pulled the scarf away, letting it hang around his neck and leaving his face open to the mercy of the sun.

He was tall, even as he bent over to look down at you. The light shining into his eyes, making their deep brown glimmer like the translucent gold of an amber stone. Yet his gaze seemed pointed as he narrowed it down at you before grabbing at the rope that was still tethered to your bound wrists and pulling you up.

[anueutsuhos-touhou-profiles]

Doremy Sweet:

Doremy Sweet is the Ruler of the Dream World. She's a baku: a tapir-like youkai that eats dreams, but she tries to be nice and mostly eats the nightmares.

What is the Dream World, you may ask? It's the dimension in which everyone lives in when they're dreaming. The dreams of everyone in the world are as interconnected as the real world is. The you that’s in all your dreams can be considered their own person, almost identical to you except completely untethered by social norms and public appearances. An exaggeration of your true self, if you will. 

Those pink blobs she has are dream souls she's preparing to eat, by the way.

That book of hers is a record of every dream anyone has ever had. How does she see everyone's dreams? She can copy herself indefinitely and see everything that goes on in the Dream World.

That said, she's a baku, not a god. She doesn't have complete control over the Dream World or anything. She herself likens her role to a zookeeper: she can keep all the animals fed and in their cages, but she can't create new animals from scratch or mold preexisting ones to her whim.

Indeed, she might be lying that she has any real power. After all, she's just a dream, and baku were never known to be among the most powerful youkai anyway.

Doremy first appeared as the 3rd boss of Legacy of Lunatic Kingdom. When the protagonist traveled through the Dream World in order to reach the Lunar Capital, she confronted them, thinking they were having a nightmare, only to be defeated. It turns out the Lunarians had hired her to create an identical Lunar Capital in the Dream World they would hide out in until the invasion was successful. However, Doremy is no henchwoman, and she hated being bossed around. She sent the impure protagonist to the real Lunar Capital as a bit of revenge. She returns as the Extra stage miniboss when the protagonist returns to the Dream World.

In the book Alternative Facts in Eastern Utopia, Doremy puts up an advertisement for a "Sweet Sleep Pillow" that she developed. Apparently shortly after buying one and using them, people tended to see Doremy in their dreams, asking them what they thought of the pillow, rating it on a scale of 1-10, that sort of thing. People showed a sketch of the woman they saw, which was a reference to the "Ever Dream This Man?" viral marketing campaign to a movie that got cancelled. If you're wondering, the pillows were indeed very popular, they're nice and comfy.

She then made a MAJOR reappearance in Touhou 15.5: Antinomy of Common Flowers. It turns out that the Dream World counterparts of many people in Gensokyo have somehow escaped into the real world as a side effect of the incident, and Doremy is trying to resolve this. She ends up taking a special interest in Sumireko's unique predicament of coming to Gensokyo in her dreams. I might need to explain this more later!

Following Antinomy of Common Flowers, she appeared in another major role in Touhou 16.5: Violet Detector. Here, she tries to persuade the Dream World Sumireko Usami to remain in the Dream World and stop wreaking havok.

It doesn't seem like she'll appear much after this, though, as the Dream World is no longer a major story point.

Doremy is suprisingly polite compared to the rest of the cast, always introducing herself with "I am Doremy Sweet, the ruler of dreams. A pleasure to meet you." She acts very relaxed at almost all times, and doesn't appear to care much about the chaos going on in Gensokyo. In general she seems apathetic whenever anyone has problems around her, or at least she never outwardly shows concern. The only times she truly loses her cool are when her Dream World is violated. She's very knowledgeable about the Dream World and so does a great deal of exposition dumping throughout her dialogue.

She doesn't believe that the Dream World counterparts are really any different from their Real World selves, comparing it to Zhuangzhi's whole "Am I a man dreaming I'm a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I'm a man?"

As you might expect from the ruler of dreams, Doremy has some pretty wonky attacks. Her most mundane attacks use lots of dark purple and blue shots. Her spellcards tend to be named after colors, like "Scarlet Nightmare", "Indigo Dream of Anxiety" and "Ochre Confusion". In the Extra stage, she has an attack called "Super Express "Dream Express"" where she shoots a rainbow of bullets at you. Of course, then there's the weird attacks. She can shoot her dream souls at you and then suck them up with a vacuum cleaner, she can throw entire beds at you, she can blow a trumpet very loudly in your ear, she can even throw sheep at you! She also can shoot large orbs of darkness and open up portals to the Dream World. Her ultimate attack even has her trapping her opponent in the Dream World and locking them away!

In Antinomy of Common Flowers, she demonstrates the ability to turn into... that thing. What do I call it? Apparently ZUN told the sprite artist to have her "turn into a sheep and fire sheep bullets" but they got very creative. The attack is called "Sheep Sign: Nightmare of Chimera". She fires sheep missiles and then explodes into robot parts.

Doremy Sweet is named after two cable cars in Nara, Japan, named Do-Re-Mi and Sweet, respectively. Her name is actually written Doremy•Sweet in Japanese, to suggest her name actually is in English.

Oh, and while her hair may appear short, it's actually incredibly long: it's all stuck in that nightcap of hers.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵Doomed Commercial Area

"It's obvious -- this is what remains of Soona's radio game studio, Fortress Accident."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, I got that." The lieutenant shifts on his feet. "What I meant was -- what were they trying to achieve with this damn game..."

"What were their ambitions? Because this here looks rather *advanced*."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He has respect -- and curiosity -- for this failed endeavour.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Legendary: Failure] - This is *way* above your tiny little policeman head.

"I don't know, I'm not an artist."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay, well, *I* think..." The lieutenant takes a step back, steepling his hands.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - Like he's ready to lay out a fine theory, crafted together like a puzzle box.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It looks like one of those popular pen-and-paper role-playing games -- only these people were trying to *automate* it. Make it work on *radiocomputers*."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Utter madness, he thinks -- as a compliment.

"How were they planning to do that?"

"Has anyone ever done this before?"

"And this was a role-playing game?"

"Wow." (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Through call-in stations." He nods at the fireplace. "None of the players have to be physically present... Anyone in the world can participate in the game, as long as they have a two-way radio."

"Then there's the Game Master Frequency that listens in on the smaller call-in stations. I think that was supposed to coordinate the stories. Functioning as a master of ceremonies of sorts."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - His fascination has swept aside other concerns for the moment. He's a little *hooked*.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - Coordinating so many games would take a whole switchboard of people, possibly divided into sub-frequencies.

2. "Has anyone ever done this before?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Not to my knowledge. They make automated games in Graad, Messina, Königstein... You know, places with industry."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - *Not* in Revachol West, among the ruins.

KIM KITSURAGI - "But I don't think *anyone* has attempted to create an *interisolary* game before. We just don't have the technology."

3. "And this was a role-playing game?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Indeed. Those *welkins* are a dead giveaway." He points to the chalkboard. "Role-playing people love that stuff. The world looks like a modified version of the Wirrâl boardgame... with heat death thrown in."

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Super cool! Someone should give them millions of reál *immediately*. This game is too good to be left unfinished.

4. "Wow." (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Indeed. It's ambitious. And *untethered* from reality, but..." The lieutenant tilts his head, thinking.

"They were insane if they thought they could do this."

"It was just a play to cheat money out of their investor's pockets."

"The world is cold and lonely. This would keep it company. Let's *finish* it."

"Do we have any *money*? Let's give them more money so they can finish it and make it even bigger."

KIM KITSURAGI - A half-smile breaks out on his face. "It's too late for that, I'm afraid," he says, looking around the derelict room. The pipes howl and a rat crosses the floor.

"Okay," he concludes. "Let's keep moving."

+5 XP

We're going to start by retracing our steps a little. Let's engage in unsafe practices.

BARBELL - The barbell waits patiently on the floor, like a dog for its master.

3. [Physical Instrument - Legendary 14] Lift the barbell.

+1 Noticed collars. -1 head hurts. +1 High performance weightlifting gloves.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Legendary: Success] - Conjuring up an inhuman amount of strength, you raise the barbell up in the air. Your biceps tremble, but you're a savage. This is a children's game!

"Oh yeah."

"I'm a true champion!"

(Say nothing, revel in the feeling.)

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - A warm wave of accomplishment washes over your head, as you drop the barbell to the floor. For a moment it feels like you're strong enough to succeed at anything you ever set your mind to.

+1 Morale

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Hey, but you're still in a ghost house... What if someone heard this? What if they know you're here?!

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good technique." The lieutenant nods with approval.

Now... I kind of want to see what Plaisance thinks about us breaking down her door.

🎵 Bookstore

PLAISANCE - "You... broke down... the back door?" She looks very sad, resigned even. "The wards... the door... it's all gone now. Dark psychic energy, leeching onto my shop..."

"I don't know what I was thinking, barging in like that…"

"Sometimes it's necessary to resort to extreme measures."

"Look, I've got this decomposing body I *really* need to put in a fridge down there."

Well, actually, we took care of the body already. If we *hadn't* been able to find the bullet on our first try, we might have needed it for this. Still...

PLAISANCE - "You fool! You've gone and unleashed unimaginable evil, all for the sake of a refrigerator!"

"What are you talking about? It's just a door."

PLAISANCE - "Just a door?! This place is cursed, detective! They don't call it the Doomed Commercial Area for nothing -- just look at the sheer amount of companies that have failed in this house!"

"I hope you're happy now, happy that you've *ruined* everything... Now that you've broken the door the curse is coming to get *me* as well." She closes her eyes and starts mumbling something to her pendant.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - "Host Almighty," she prays, "guard me and my honest business venture from the curse that lurks behind the door, blessed be your name..."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know about the curse."

"Cursed? But I thought the curse wasn't real."

PLAISANCE - "Of course you did, you're nothing but a policeman." She shrugs, visibly dejected.

"Alright, you know what? I'm willing to let you investigate the Doomed Commercial Area. We are set on the path… there's little else to do."

New task: Investigate Doomed Commercial Area

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success]- Her façade has dropped. Now you see the curiosity behind the fear.

PLAISANCE - "But... before we go on, tell me... did you encounter *the malignant Entity?*" Her eyes narrow, as she whispers the name.

"The Entity? No, I don't think so."

"Of course, the Entity..." (Close your eyes.) "I didn't see her, but I sensed her presence."

PLAISANCE - "Yes, the malignant *Entity* that lives inside the chimney... It takes the shape of a woman, a witch probably. I've suspected that she knows more about the curse than she lets on ever since I first saw her."

"Chimneys aren't big enough for anyone to live there."

"Chimney... the passage between heaven and hell, of course. It all makes sense now!"

PLAISANCE - "No, this chimney is part of the building's central furnace and it's enormous. She has barricaded herself behind some metal security curtains... God knows what she's doing there."

"Some unnatural magic, I assume." She shivers. "You should go find the *Entity* and ask what happened to all the companies in the building. And do return to me after you've talked to it. I'm quite *anxious* to know what she has to say about the curse."

"I had a few more questions about the curse..."

PLAISANCE - "Okay, but please, only a few questions." She peers at the curtains. "You wouldn't want to disturb the spirits..."

"How does this curse manifest itself?"

"Why didn't you just tell me right away it's the curse?"

"Have you sought help from anyone?"

PLAISANCE - "The curse... is so much worse than you could imagine. It's a *disease*, eating at the very foundation." A shiver runs through the woman, as she looks around the dimly lit store.

"It's the curse of *financial distress*." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Of *ruin* -- and bankruptcy." She peers at the curtains again…

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Didn't... didn't that curtain just *move*?!

"Okay. I'm a little confused. What does that mean?"

"Ah! Annette mentioned that the previous tenants have experienced some financial troubles."

"Wait, that's it? I was hoping for something more... *paranatural*."

PLAISANCE - "It's not just that, officer, we're dealing with something *supra-natural* here. It's the *caco-daemons* feeding off bad business practices and disappointing income statements!"

"There's something *wrong* with this building, I can tell you. Ever since I arrived, I've sensed an eerie lingering presence -- as if I was *unwanted* here."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Sounds familiar.

"Strange… I feel unwanted too. What does it mean?"

Don't mention it.

PLAISANCE - "Truly so?" Her eyes narrow, as she tries to get a read on your energy. "Perhaps the dark energies are leeching off you? You shouldn't stay in the store too long, it may be dangerous."

2. "Why didn't you just tell me right away it's the curse?"

PLAISANCE - "It's not good to talk about the curse, not in detail. The negativism..." She shivers. "It's dangerous. Talking about the void wraiths angers them!"

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Wow. *Void wraiths*. You have new words.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Medium: Success] - Such wraiths may prove a formidable enemy. Suit up.

3. "Have you sought help from anyone?"

PLAISANCE - "Yes, I've contacted numerous parapsychologists and even a pair of Semenese mediators -- they provided me with the wards." She nods at the strange cage-like trinket on the curtains.

"The wards help to keep the doom at bay and protect us against the darkness that lies further in the building. Even though now I fear... it's not enough."

4. "Is your pendant part of the wards as well?" (Point at her necklace.)

PLAISANCE - "Oh, this?" She holds the pendant in her palm. Its ochre heart glistens under the lights. "No. It's a special *Himean amulet* blessed by desert pygmy shamans with a *spell of compulsion*. It's to compel people to buy books..."

"There are numerous spells cast throughout the store. I had the books anointed with a different inducement spell, for example." She nods. "It's guaranteed to boost sales *fifteen percent*!"

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Desert pygmy shamans...? That sounds like a rather questionable way to describe a group of people.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - Doesn't seem like the spell is working... There are no customers around except you.

"There are hardly any customers in the store. Do you think it's really working?"

"Honestly, it seems like this pendant thing is a scam. You could be doing so much more."

PLAISANCE - "Sir, I am well-educated in the commercial and esoteric arts. I know what to do and what to avoid." She nudges her spectacles.

"Have you ever thought about a sale? Maybe this could lure in some customers."

"I'm only trying to help... What about some neon signs and blinking lights?"

"You could try to be friendlier with the customers."

"Maybe you should try to *reconceptualize* your business... Martinaise doesn't look like the best place for a bookshop."

That *definitely* worked for the ski shop.

PLAISANCE - She stands silent for a second, before exhaling sharply. "You're right. A bookstore wasn't even my original plan, I actually wanted to sell esoteric paraphernalia to help to balance out this neighbourhood's dark energies."

"Great idea. What happened?"

"I'm not sure that a trinket shop is a better idea for business."

PLAISANCE - "My husband suggested otherwise. He said it's less... stupid. More appropriate. Cultured and all that."

"But being *cultured* doesn't offer any protection against the curse, does it?" She looks around the dusty store. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened to him after all..."

5. "What about the wards on the back door? Are these Semenese as well?"

PLAISANCE - "Yes, the Semenese are very crafty and their wards are extremely powerful. Lesser wards simply won't do here."

6. "Never mind, I had other questions."

PLAISANCE - The woman looks aloof, her features much softer. Occasionally she glances at her daughter's silhouette.

Well... let's go see if we can track down this 'Entity'.

🎵Doomed Commercial Area

The floorboards creak.

POSTCARD "LA DELTA '51"

The sunlight has made this postcard almost completely sepia-toned. Midtown traffic passes, overhead the ghosts of skyscrapers disappear into a beige mid-day mist -- vapour rising from the delta on which the district was built. The postcard is pre-paid.

Shoes in a puddle of melting snow.

We apparently can't take these.

SAFETY CURTAINS - An iron safety curtain curves before your eyes, folded like a bellows. It covers half the room -- blocking the way into a colossal industrial chimney.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - This must be where the *Entity* lives...

Knock on it.

[Leave.]

SAFETY CURTAINS - What an odd thing to do.... Nothing happens.

Knock on it harder.

SAFETY CURTAINS - Still nothing. No one's home.

Knock *even* harder!

-1 Health

SAFETY CURTAINS - Those curtains prove to be surprisingly sturdy... Your fist hurts now.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - If this is really an entrance to the chimney then there must be a furnace somewhere as well. Maybe there's another way to get in?

KIM KITSURAGI - "Can you please try to refrain from attacking random things?"

"I need to find the *malignant entity*, Kim. This is the chimney."

"This is not random, this is *significant*. I want to see what's on the other side."

"I can try..." (Blow gently on your bruised knuckles.)

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs. "Ghosts aren't real, didn't your parents tell you that? In any case, there's no way we can get in right now. Let's investigate further."

2. [Leave.]

There's a door to the far left of the Fortress Accident room.

Which apparently leads to a flight of stairs down into the basement.

The wind howls in from the coal chute above.

ICE BEAR FRIDGE - You see a terrifying ice bear with a strange compartment in its belly. The door is covered in frost and the bear's eyes are glowing red.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - This ice bear is a hypercarnivore. Be careful.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - The bear looks oddly realistic. Is it taxidermy?

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - This must be the giant ice bear fridge that Soona mentioned. Look inside.

Crack open the door...

Back off. [Leave.]

ICE BEAR FRIDGE - A gust of freezing cold air rushes to greet you. You hear a low grumble, as the bear regulates itself... This is the inside of a refrigerator.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant takes a peek inside. His hand has found the holster of his gun.

"Relax, Kim, it's a fridge."

Look inside the refrigerator.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Of course. Just a giant, ice bear shaped fridge..." He relaxes his hand, his face bathed in the harsh light of the open fridge door.

"Let's take a look inside."

Look inside the refrigerator.

ICE BEAR FRIDGE - The shelves are empty. All you see are crumpled ice cream wrappers with the brand name *Revachol Ice City*. A handwritten note has been attached to the door. The fridge is huge.

REACTION SPEED [Trivial: Success] - But where's the filament memory? It's not here...

"Hey, I can't see the off-site copy anywhere…" (Check the shelves again.)

Take the note from the door.

Examine one of the ice cream wrappers in there.

"What is a giant bear-shaped fridge doing in an abandoned cellar in the first place?"

Close the door. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Someone must have taken it... What does the note say?"

2. Take the note from the door.

ICE BEAR FRIDGE - You pocket the note -- *and* the little fridge magnets keeping it on the door.

Item Gained: Handwritten Note from the Fridge

2. Examine one of the ice cream wrappers in there.

ICE BEAR FRIDGE - A friendly cartoon bear smiles back at you from a glossy cellophane wrapper. It looks nothing like the fridge.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - The paper still smells of vanilla and chocolate.

3. "What is a giant bear-shaped fridge doing in an abandoned cellar in the first place?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good question. It looks like an ice cream fridge." The lieutenant reaches for one of the wrappers. He studies it in the light.

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - Somewhere in the past it's summer. Five-year-old Fifette lets go of her mother's hand, change jingling in her pockets, as she hops towards the ice cream stand right across the plaza.

Shake from the sudden cold sensation.

"So they tried to sell ice cream from this hypercarnivore?"

SHIVERS - As she makes her way to the market stall the girl starts crying: a ferocious ice bear is guarding the fridge! Its paws raised to ward off any potential customers.

Her mother rushes to soothe her, but Fifette doesn't want ice cream anymore, she just wants to go home. The ice bear stares at them as they leave the plaza. A gust of wind flies one of the wrappers right past the sobbing girl...

"So they tried to sell ice cream from this hypercarnivore?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I know," says the lieutenant, "what an unfortunate marketing choice."

"What is even worse -- the bear is still costing them money, to this day..." The lieutenant points at the red snaky cable running from the fridge.

The fridge buzzes with energy. The electricity bill on this thing must be *catastrophic*.

4. Close the door. [Leave.]

HANDWRITTEN NOTE FROM THE FRIDGE

A handwritten note you found from the giant ice bear fridge. It still bears some marks from the fruit-shaped kitchen magnets that were used to secure it to the refrigerator door.

>INTERACT

A NOTE FROM THE FRIDGE - The note is written with a blue pencil on a piece of lined office paper. The kitchen magnets have left spots on its surface.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Does it say anything interesting?" The lieutenant leans closer to read the crumpled note over your shoulder.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Trivial: Success] - This is tangential at best, but the lieutenant's *detective instinct* is still active.

Read the note.

[Put the note away.]

A NOTE FROM THE FRIDGE - Someone has scribbled: "S, I can't believe the off-site copy is still here! The illiterate ginger kid keeps stealing stuff from the studio, so I had to hide it somewhere safe."

"You'll find the filament memory with the off-site copy in the frozen ice cream maker. Please take it home ASAP, it's important. I'd do it myself if I lived in a civilized place with a freezer. Take care, Sulisław."

2. "Someone has moved the filament! But who?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Sulisław... wasn't he one of Miss Luukanen-Kilde's coworkers?" He tilts his head. "I remember coming across this name when we were reading her personal log."

3. "Remind me again -- what's a filament memory?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It belongs inside a radiocomputer, storing its memory. It's like a tape -- you listen to disco tapes, right? It's like one of your disco tapes, only for a computer."

INTERFACING [Easy: Success] - It's like the *production schedule* you found, only this one's an *off-site copy*.

3. "Who's the illiterate ginger kid?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Really?" The lieutenant looks at you, the corner of his mouth curved into a smug grin. "You don't have a single guess?"

"You mean Cuno?"

"No, no idea at all."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Oh, I'm sure that child would *love* to get his hands on a filament memory -- even if he doesn't know what to do with it. He'd probably try to pawn it for speed, based on our encounter."

+5 XP

4. "Do you have any idea where the frozen ice cream maker could be?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't know... I assume it's somewhere close to the ice bear fridge."

5. [Put the note away.]

The wall collapsed. It's inaccessible now.

CENTRAL FURNACE - A thick layer of coal dust covers the furnace, colouring it pitch-black.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Looks like this furnace has a face and it's a face of agony.

"Kim, what is this thing? Is it a furnace?!"

Look inside the furnace.

Smear your hands with coal.

Kick it with your foot.

[Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like it. Looks like an old central furnace used to heat the building. It's connected to the chimney..." He opens the door and gingerly peeks inside.

"No one has used it in ages... No signs of any recent fire, only dead rats."

2. Look inside the furnace.

CENTRAL FURNACE - It's dark and grimy here. In the darkness, you can hear *chatter*. It's coming from above. A voice -- or several voices -- talking to each other, near the smoke chamber upstairs.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - The echo is so prominent, it's impossible to discern what the voices are saying. Or what's producing them.

KIM KITSURAGI - "What are you doing?" the lieutenant asks when he sees you climb half-way inside the furnace.

[devitalise]

IMO im sending this so early NOT because I'm trying to beat you (though it does feel nice 🤭) but I'll be offline during our usual end-of-month wrap-up + i SHANT make you wait long!!! HOW DID AUGUST GO! I read ur goodreads review on The Picture of Dorian Gray but I'm dying to hear more 👁️ + do u think you're gonna try and shift into ~fall vibes~ for reading now (whatever that means to you) or continue to go with the flow?

hi cas this was such a jumpscare getting this over a week ago but i'm glad you were able to beat me! of course there's a new autumnal vibe in the books i'll be reading i've even updated my discord profile (goodbye summer kendall you were great)

but i can go into more detail in the

august book wrap up

(2 days early but i'm not finishing a book in 2 days)

The Picture of Dorian Gray (The Original 1980 Uncensored Edition) by Oscar Wilde

well i read a book. there were some really interesting threads in this, i thought Dorian being a narcissistic weirdo was cool to read about, but other than the end of the book taking a much darker turn, i did't find much about this impressive. i don't like reading books expecting them to work harder for me to enjoy them, but i struggled to want to read this.

Must I Go by Yiyun Li

wasn't what i expected it to be, not really a fan of what it was. you give me an 88 year old woman who's survived her eldest daughter's suicide and raised her granddaughter and is looking after her greatgrandaughter and what do we do? we spend almost 200 pages of her dissecting the journal of some random man who ended up marrying his cousin and lived his whole life not knowing he had said daughter? why. i don't care! i don't care!!!!!!! and then when Lila (the character in question) did talk about herself, her mother having her dreams crushed in her marriage, her three marriages and further 4 children, it's just brushed over and kind of shrugged at. none of the "important" men in her life are alive and yet they took up so much of the book. whatever you keep dead people alive in your memory but other than being reminded how selfish and uncaring Lila was there wasn't much about this i felt positive about. wouldn't recommend, went straight in my donation pile.

Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay by Elena Ferrante

i finally did it. what a rollercoaster! i absolutely hate reading first person books when i find the character annoying. not to say a bad person, or morally defunct or anything. just plain old annoying. Elena Greco is annoying. fine in the first 2 as she's 10-22 years old and it's expected, but the third book sees her in her mid 20s early 30s and i genuinely wanted to throw this book at a wall. i struggle to see this as a tale of friendship at this point just because like. they aren't friends??? they're two women who at this point are bound by history and maybe that's the point but i want better for Lila and she remains the star of the show

The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante

i finished the quartet and feel emotionally wrung out. this was going fine but i think it's around 350 pages in there's a full blown "relationship" between Lila's 24 year old son and Elena's 15 year old daughter???? reading from the perspective of an awful mother was so jarring, too. really enjoyed the series, i just feel like i felt very untethered towards the end and i just wanted it to end

september / autumnal reads

i'm annoyed that i've ended up in such a white reading space so will be fixing that for sure. also need a romance, i haven't read one i've liked this year! something fun is overdue. i have some horror books picked out but that's not for a little while yet. i don't see myself picking up anything new (maybe?) so i'll just be picking from what i already bought, trying some contemporary reads that have been rotting on my shelf for the past year

[acacia-may]

Ooo may I ask about “A Genuine Princess” for your WIP titles 👀? It sounds very interesting and I wonder if it’s based around some of the royals?

Hi there, Lyra! Thank you so much for the ask! I'd be happy to tell you a little bit about "A Genuine Princess." 💖

I actually posted a snippet from it once several months ago when I working on it, but it's a Nozel x Dorothy AU based on the fairy tale "The Princess and the Pea" and, specifically, the musical adaptation "Once Upon A Mattress." The premise of the story is that King Augustus is extremely angry that Queen Lolopetchka has broken the engagement that had been arranged between her and Nozel since their infancy in order to marry Gadjah. In response, he institutes a marriage ban across the Clover Kingdom until a suitable princess can be found for Nozel to marry and (thanks to Kirsch) has everyone looking for the lost Princess of the Forest of Witches (Vanessa) so that she can wed Nozel. Vanessa is already in a relationship and...*ahem* has to marry someone else asap, so she enlists Dorothy to pose as the Lost Princess in her place. The King doesn't really buy it, so Dorothy is subjected to a ridiculous test in order to prove she is, in fact, "a genuine princess."

The B-plot is a bunch of the shenanigans in which the other magic knights (especially the Golden Dawn & Black Bulls but also all the Vermillions) get involved to (secretly) rig the test in Dorothy's favor. I wrote about 4 chapters of it before I got distracted by other projects, and I didn't ever post it because I didn't want to start another multi-chapter WIP I might not be able to finish. 😅 I already posted my favorite snippet, but here's another one (this time from the first chapter) under the cut just for funsies. 😊

Nozel suddenly felt all of the eyes at the table turn to look at him, and he stared at his hands with a sigh. Truthfully, he was relieved to be out of his arranged marriage to Queen Lolopetchka, but that didn’t mean that whoever the king chose to pair him up with now would be any better.

The king huffed and rubbed his temples. “I am open to suggestions for how we may remedy this unpleasant business as quickly and seamlessly as possible so that we may ensure the successful continuation of the royal line of Silva.”

“Perhaps Lady Mereoleona—”

“Do you want to die, Damnatio?” she cut him off, biting and fiery.

Damnatio cleared his throat and began shuffling his papers again, and the king interjected in jittery, anxious ramblings, “Everyone here is perfectly happy to allow Lady Mereoleona to remain…untethered…”

Nozel sighed in relief. He could think of very few people he would less want to marry than Lady Mereoleona.

“Other ideas?” hummed the king with an aristocratic sniff.

“Your Majesty, if I may?” began Fuegoleon. “To my understanding there are no eligible women in any of the royal houses of the other kingdoms.”

“Is this true Damnatio?” The king turned to Damnatio who merely nodded solemnly in agreement earning a huff from his majesty. “How will we form proper alliances now?”

“Your Majesty,” piped up Kirsch Vermillion, and Nozel tried is best not to roll his eyes as he continued with an elegant flourish. “My sister, Mimosa, is good friends with the prince of the Spade Kingdom. I think you should consider arranging a marriage between them.”

“And I think you should shut up,” hissed Mimosa through her teeth, positively glaring at her brother.

Kirsch merely sniffed and fixed his hair. “Fine. Perhaps Noelle can marry him then.” 

“This discussion is about Nozel,” choked Noelle, a flush of pink filling her cheeks. Nozel’s brow furrowed. She looked embarrassed—did she have an interest in the Spade prince? He didn’t like the idea of that. “What about a marriage with the Clover nobility, like your niece, Your Majesty?”

Noelle caught him staring at her and mouthed “sorry” before the King puffed, “Absolutely not. That was a necessary evil that will not be repeated.”

Finesse’s pale cheeks flushed bright pink, but she said nothing, merely twisted her hands. 

“She’s still unmarried though, isn’t she? You could break that engagement and have her marry Nozel,” interjected Leo. Nozel let out of long, heavy sigh and reminded himself that Leo was very well-meaning even if he was incredibly stupid.

“I would not like holes in me, thank you,” he said curtly, to some coughs and stifled laughs from his companions. Nozel frowned. He was being serious. The Vaudes, particularly Finesse’s fiancé, had a terrible habit of blasting holes in their enemies.

“She’s too sickly to marry, Nozel,” huffed Solid, and Nozel shook his head at his brother’s impudence as Lady Finesse stared down at her hands.

“I am well aware of the situation,” interjected the king in annoyance. “And as much as I don’t like it, that matter was settled long ago. I am only interested in hearing new ideas.”

“What about the Forest of Witches?” asked Kirsch. “My captain Dorothy Unsworth says that they have a queen. I’ve heard rumors that they have a princess too, and she’s—”

“The Queen of Witches hates men,” Noelle interrupted—her words tumbling out of her mouth swift and nervous. “There’s no way she would agree to such a marriage.”

“You’ve met the Queen of Witches?” asked the king incredulously, and Noelle’s face flushed but she nodded. “Yes, some of my squad and I came to her assistance when her forest was attacked by the Eye of the Midnight Sun and the Diamond Kingdom.”

The king tilted his head thoughtfully. “So she owes us…”

“Your Majesty—” choked Noelle but the king ignored her.

“I shall write to her at once.”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” interjected Kirsch once again. “I understand that the princess is missing, but there is a rumor that she’s here in Clover…”

Noelle glowered at Kirsch while the rest of the table merely looked confused.

“Well that makes this all the more advantageous. We shall find the lost princess. Her Majesty will be so pleased that she will have no choice but to arrange a marriage between her and Nozel.”

“Good luck finding her,” quipped Mereoleona bluntly. “If she’s been missing, it’s probably because she doesn’t want to be found.” 

Fuegoleon cleared his throat. “I think what my sister means, Your Majesty, is that the princess will likely be unwilling to turn herself in and anyone close enough to her to know her true identity would also be unwilling to turn her in.”

The king hummed thoughtfully. “Then we shall have to make them. Anyone caught knowingly harboring the princess will be charged with treason.” He stood up from his seat raising his hand. “Furthermore, all marriages shall be banned until the lost princess is found and has wedded Nozel.”

“Your Majesty—” gasped a cacophony of voices the loudest of which was Noelle’s, followed by a flood of protestations.

“Silence!” The king pounded his hand on the table. “I am the king, and I have spoken. I shall make an official decree tomorrow.”