#so I say this in the least invasive way possible: perhaps you might need to change the way you get off by yourself

[heesimp]

heyy this is more of a personal question but.. how does one squirt? im a virgin and only get off alone so im thinking maybe its a factor as to why i Cant squirt? makes me so jelly when people say how good it is lol </3

ask away!! questions like this should be normalized because if we want to have sex and explore it, we should be able to be knowledgeable about it too. I don’t think there’s a clear cut answer as to how someone squirts because every body is different but I’ll give some advice I think is helpful. answers under the cut :)

so first it’s really important to be comfortable. whether you do this by yourself or with another person, the most important thing is to be in the headspace to engage in sex. I feel like porn overemphasizes squirting and we can get into our own heads, so being relaxed is the most importantly factor when it comes to it.

you can definitely make yourself squirt and don’t have to lose your virginity in order to do it (if you don’t want to). I don’t think there’s a clear cut step-by-step instruction but these are some tips that I find really helpful:

• masturbate a lot. you don’t have to go overboard but when you feel like you need to get off, masturbate. the more comfortable you are touching yourself and getting to know your body, the easier it becomes to squirt because you know how you react to certain movements and where you like to be touched.

to be clear I don’t mean masturbate all day/everyday but if you have the time/space to do so, take advantage of it and know what makes you orgasm. pay attention to your body because you’re the only person who knows it best.

• this is a less glamorous aspect but pee before you masturbate/have sex. the feeling of squirting similar to needing to pee, and while it might not be the traditional sense of what you think pee looks/smells like, it can be, and squirt will likely constrain traces of urine. peeing before you engage in sex eliminates the fear that you’ll pee instead of squirt.

edit: I amended the bullet point above and for anybody who needs extra reassurance, this is a resource I find helpful (reviewed by a gynecologist).

• stimulate your clit and g spot (whether you use your fingers or a toy, be sure to give your erogenous zones some love). with your g spot, apply vigorous and repetitive pressure (again whether with your fingers or a toy) and flex your pelvis. it’ll probably feel weird at first but the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.

• relax. when you feel like you’re about to orgasm, take deep breaths and try not to clench around anything. you want your muscles to be relaxed instead of tight.

• don’t get too in your head about it either. sometimes it happens and sometimes it doesn’t. focusing too much on this might take the pleasure out of it so even if you don’t end up squirting, try to get out of your head and enjoy the experience.

I hope these helped! for as much as I do love to talk about sex (in the way I’m sure you’ve seen on my blog), I really do believe in normalizing asking certain questions and being open to learning.

[girlfromthecrypt]

Can I write romance even though I hate romance?

Sooo I wanna write romance subplots. I already do; I put them into a lot of my stories. The strange thing is that I cannot stand to read romance in any other story/book. I don’t know why. I always felt very uncomfortable reading romances. Not only did I feel vaguely voyeuristic whenever two characters would get intimate, I also never really… liked any of the personalities presented.

The following is just my opinion, and perhaps very specific. I don’t intend to step on any toes. I’ll keep this as generalized as possible.

So the popular romances I came into contact with almost always seemed to run by a certain formula. There’d be a girl, and a guy. The girl would be… a blank slate, basically. She’d perceive herself as bland and unremarkable, but actually be very conventionally attractive according to descriptions. These main characters were disappointingly uninteresting. The things that were special about them didn’t seem special. Just so lifeless.

I genuinely don’t believe that my writing is superior or anything. I don’t want to seem haughty by saying any of this. 

Then of course, there’d be a guy. And it’s the guys I’d find particularly tiring. They were always… perfectly handsome, but in a very dull way. I can’t remember ever reading about a guy whose physical description piqued my interest. And of course the writer would go on and on about the guy’s eyes, it was always the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, the eyes. In real life, the eyes aren’t exactly the part I’m most fascinated by. I mean, there’s a lot to be said about GAZES and GLANCES and all that stuff, but I just got so bored of them. The guys’ personalities themselves never struck me as appealing either. At the very least, they’d be mildly threatening. If not downright obnoxious.

I always took issue with the way the romance would go, too. There’d be the typical drama, the possessiveness, the wax poetic, a lot of romanticized borderline assault—what these books described as passion I would perceive as an invasion of personal space.

Now here’s the thing. I want to write romance plots/subplots, but as you can see, I’m a horrible, horrible cynic. I can’t remember a single romance book that I’ve liked. So I’m wondering, can I write romance even though I’m so repulsed by the genre? Am I simply too critical? In case anyone who reads this is familiar with some of my stories that have romantic subplots, please, from a literary standpoint… am I doing okay? Was that good for you? Did you have fun? Does this feel like I'm hitting on you?

Because I wanna, like, make characters be in love but I don’t want to make the few readers I have feel the same way I did with most romances.

And, most importantly, is there anything I’ve missed? A story that you think might bring me around to the whole topic? I’m very much open to recommendations. Even if I end up disliking the book, my shelf needs feeding.

Side note: Anyone else tend their bookshelves like they’re some kind of hungry creature? I love my shelf, and it needs feeding.

[bookwyrminspiration]

E.L. James terrifies me. My mother thinks fifty shades is a beautiful love story (I might’ve already said that, but this is a cry for help). You are so brave for reading that godforsaken series. Please cleanse your mind soon

Did. Did your mother and I read the same series WHERE did she get that from. They meet, are immediately horny for each other (fair enough, if not my thing), and then spend a month and a half fighting, fucking, and fighting some more. And then they get married (yeah, month and a half. christian literally tells her they can get to know each other after they get married.) and guess what? they proceed to be married and fight. and fuck. and fight some more

Christian's way of "talking" things through when they have a problem is to say "I hate arguing with you" and to have sex. He says "let's not fight" and just wants them to move on without addressing it because he doesn't want to argue! I don't think they've once had a disagreement and talked it through like civil adults they're always yelling. And Christian's inner monologue is "i gotta seduce her. I gotta get her in bed. that way I'll know we're okay". and maybe this is just me but I feel like, perhaps, you should have at least one other measure of being okay

he's got this "need" to be in control and obeyed. and he is! so irrational about it! he literally canceled a meeting in DC and flew back from NYC to Seattle on his private jet once because Ana decided to go out for a drink with a friend instead of back to the apartment like she originally promised (there was a dangerous individual at large, but she had multiple security personnel with her at the time). he canceled his meetings and drove to her work to confront her in person because she wanted to keep her last name at work once. and he also literally bought the company where she worked when she got hired. i'm not even scratching the SURFACE of how annoyingly overbearing and invasive he is. he didn't speak to her for like a whole day when she said she wouldn't promise to obey him in their wedding vows

Ana promises never to leave Christian no matter what on multiple occasions and I'm. I think you should have a stipulation bbg. I think there should be a point at which you do walk out. Eternal devotion no matter what is not romantic or healthy, he can do things that are too much. You walked out on him once please keep that mindset

Oh my god. I was about to look up EL James' stance on queerness (because there's some questionable things in the books) and apparently in 2019 she teased that she might write a queer bdsm novel...I am so afraid.

Anyway. your mother needs to raise her standards, nonsie. and thank you, I fully intend to reset my brain as best as I can as soon as possible--fortunately, reading other books through this has lessened the blow a little :)

[sunshine-and-ladybugs]

"I'm glad you did not experience any trouble on the flight," Giorno said pleasantly as he brought out a tea set, casually preparing tea for himself and Rowan. "Also, your Italian is very good," he added, looking impressed. "Do you come to Italy often?"

A slight frown crossed his face. The way Rowan spoke about Viridian... bothered him for some reason. It took him a while to realise why. "Had"? What did he mean by that? He was getting a sinking feeling something was not right, but he didn't put the pieces together just yet.

"I'm more than happy to help. She's one of my good friends." He composed himself quickly, smiling again. "Besides, it is quite ridiculous that life-saving medication has to cost so much. At least I was able to put the drug trade to good use."

He noticed Rowan seemed to enjoy the tea, his smile turning warmer. "You know, I grow and cultivate the tea leaves myself. It's a complex process, but I find caring for plants very rewarding." Had he been just a little younger, he might have launched into a lengthy talk about extensive plant care that could last for hours, but fortunately for Rowan, adult Giorno held much more restraint.

He was glad the older man was receptive towards answering his questions. "You may refrain from answering anything you're not comfortable with. I apologise in advance for any invasive questioning.

"How different are dhampirs compared to humans and vampires? Well- clearly you're not adverse to the sun's rays, but would you say you're much closely related to either species? Do you need human blood to survive, or would animal blood suffice?

"How many of you-... us, are there? Have you met any other dhampirs?" He hesitated slightly. "I am aware that vampires are against our kind. If they seek to harm us, is there an organised effort I need to be aware of?

"Is there a possibility a dhampir may not realise their heritage? Perhaps they may appear human, only for genetics to kick in once they reach a certain age?" He remembered how he woke up with golden hair, several years ago, when his Stand ability grew stronger. "Would I have to prepare for anything... to avoid harming anyone?" His fingers curled slightly while they were laced, and he resisted the urge to dig his nails into the back of his hands.

"Lastly... I wish to know more about how you were involved with Kenneth Sanson, and how you were able to defeat him. I know he was virtually impossible to kill. Thanks to a Stand ability, I presume?"

[ ✞ ] - Doing as he was told, Rowan took the seat from across Giorno’s office, settling down as comfortably as he could in it. He really was doing his best to maintain an air of respect. After all, as polite as the younger man was being, Rowan wasn’t going to forget that he, Giorno Giovanna, was one of the most powerful men in Italy, and was the leader of a crime organization.

❝ Tea, thank you. ❞ Rowan responded in the country’s native language. Perhaps it was his own vampire heritage, but the sharp mind he had been born with made it much easier to learn and retain things. Italy was a country that captivated him with the food and culture, and so learning the language had gone smoothly for him. ❝ And the flight went well. ❞ 

On the plane, Rowan had eventually decided he would need to get some sleep on the plane and had managed to get a few hours, no knowing how long he’d be speaking with Giorno. He had even changed his clothes to a fresh set of his dark Victorian garb. The precious clothes he had been wearing were after spending all day in a mortuary after all. Still, even after freshening up and getting some rest while traveling, Rowan still found himself in a strange limbo between being sleep deprived and worry about wondering what was to come.

❝ Ah, yes. Viridian had mentioned you occasionally. You were the one who had assisted her with obtaining a more affordable source for her medication. I thank you for that too, as well. ❞ Lifting the cup to his lips, Rowan took a long sip, exhaling through his nostrils to sigh in satisfaction. It really was some of the best tea he ever had thus far, leaving Rowan to wonder yet again how much money the man had to be able to afford and obtain such luxury goods.

❝ ….? ❞ Rowan’s jaw tightened at the question. ❝ I’m quite familiar. ❞

Ah. So that’s what this was all about. He should have figured, based off of the articles Kenneth Sanson that the two mobsters had presented him with back in Las Vegas.

Reddened eyes followed the Don as he walked over to the window and examine the potted plant. Rowan had kept silent for the entirety of the story, remaining expressionless for most of it as he carefully listened and settled on sipping his tea. If he had been some regular human, he would’ve found Giorno’s explanation to be nothing more than a silly story that sounded like it had been crafted by a teenager. However, Rowan wasn’t a regular human. He had his own experiences dealing with vampires, multiple ones even, and he wasn’t sure if he would have made it out alive if he hadn’t had the strength and quick reflexes that he had inherited. Although the story sounded ridiculous, Rowan believed it. After all he had gone through himself, he was of the belief that almost anything could happen, by this point.

❝ So… ❞ The taller dhampir sighed as he set his nearly empty cup down in the saucer. ❝ You’re requesting that I give you knowledge about my heritage…. ❞

He matched the Don’s hand gestures, interlocking his fingers as he gazed upon the desk before him. ❝ What would you like to know? ❞

[wispstalk]

Mehunes Dagon is SUCH a fitting antagonist for Oblivion and I do wish his writing was better than just Random Evil Dude. Uriel’s reign wasn’t easy: I’m not a fan of the dude, but man, did shit HAPPEN. Then they come with words like these amidst a period of what already was political unrest, and it’s hard not to give in:

Can you imagine the MESS the last 40 years have been in Tamriel, between the Break in the West, the Red Year, the very ascension of Uriel to the throne? I don’t think Uriel was a particularly emperor, even if he was beloved by the Blades (which I do think must at least have a fat fucking paycheck). To your average citizen, their very God might as well have forgotten about them.

The Commentaries feed themselves on the unrest, on the dissatisfaction, on the hatred and rather than using it to fuel hope for a better future, they introduce a longing for the past in a way — a refusal to grow up and to walk with your own legs.

The want to return to the Mother is an interesting topic. To be with the Mother may be to be one, to have all your needs met, you’re safe, you’re secure. But do you exist? Can you call yourself human? Can you say you are alive? To live, to a degree, is conflict. To mature is to learn how to solve it.

The Magna Ge however live in stasis, as they fled Nirn in the infancy. They will never grow. They will never mature. They will never get to love this world, which is Other, and to get to love that Other. Living in the un-time, they seek the perfection that cannot exist in Mundus.

The Commentaries does raise a really good point: FUCK the Empire, stick it to the Man. But however, it takes the completely wrong turn with it, and rather than seeking to embrace the Other so we can join hands and walk together through the night, it forcibly wants to bring forth the dawn through annihilating said Other. In a way, it preaches equality, but only for a select few.

Which is why ultimately, Martin REFUSING to become the Emperor and in his humanity becoming Divine rather than becoming Divine manifest in humanity is such a fitting ending. The Empire is a relic of the Third Era, and Martin-Akatosh offered the Alessian Covenant to all of Tamriel by sealing shut the gates of Oblivion. It’s ultimately about the blessing of Time, of life, of living, of growing and maturing. That’s the end of the Arena, and the Beauty of Dawn.

Which may be why Skyrim in general is so disappoint LMAO

Really loved that you touched on the nature of the Magna Ge. Interesting to consider Mehrunes Dagon in this light: change and revolution are considered his spheres (perhaps through a mortal lens) but he was possibly created as a tool of these stagnant entities. It all comes down to perspective: people grounded in the flawed world and seeing the upheaval of his invasion vs. immortal timeless beings in stasis just seeing it as like, deleting a buggy section of code.

and the last paragraph... HOOO boy. your mind. "That's the end of the Arena, and the Beauty of Dawn." I have nothing intelligent to add I just love this

(answering this publicly w/ permission because it was so good, and also gonna add his disclaimer that this is personal interpretation rather than canon lore)

[arminsleftnut]

hi!! i’m so excited to see a blog that writes for death note, it’s become a recent hyperfixation of mine and i can’t find any good fics!!! 💗💗💗💗

could you provide some nsfw content for L? any is fine really, hc’s or a full drabble if you’d like!! i’m desperate for L content lol 💗💗

YES oh my god of course 💗💗 deathnote is one of mine too (i rewatch it like once a week) n L is my major comfort character. i did a kinda cross between a drabble and headcanons for this! I hope it’s what you were looking for <333

CONTENT WARNING: smut (MDNI, 18+), female-bodied reader (gender-neutral pronouns), fingering, begging, mild pain kink, overstimulation, L being .. himself and also mildly obsessive, voyeurism (read: L is a creep misa was right), slightest bit of dubcon if you squint, masturbation, pillow humping, dom!L and yes i will die on this hill, sub!reader, L is actually a little mean in this one, dacryphilia, thigh slapping, fluff at the end if you squint, let me know if i need to add more!

i.

being physically intimate with L was something you never really considered when you first got together. you weren’t even sure sex was something that was on his radar; he had so many other things to think about, and physical pleasure seemed like something he didn’t pay any mind to.

and you were right— for the most part. it’s not something L ever stops to consider. it’s not that he’s necessarily disinterested, it’s just never been a priority. he usually just takes care of himself when the urge arises.

with you here, though, it’s different. he’s not alone anymore, and your own desires are something he assumes he needs to factor in, and as many times as you assure him that it’s completely okay if he doesn’t want to have sex, that you can take care of it yourself and it’s a nonissue, he’s still . . . curious.

he’s seen you before on the monitors; those times late at night when everyone else has gone to bed and you forget there’s cameras everywhere, that he can see everything you do. he watches you as you’re spread out on the shared bed he rarely sleeps in, slipping your fingers in and out of your little cunt, your mewls and soft whines carrying through the speakers and shooting straight to his cock. he wonders if it’s wrong to watch you like this, but even as he ponders if misa amane was correct, that he is a pervert, he still doesn’t tear his gaze away from the screen. there is the possibility you hadn’t forgotten about the cameras at all. perhaps you wanted him to see.

he doesn’t say anything, less to save you any possible embarrassment and more because he’s found that a subject is least genuine when they know they’re being observed. it’s human nature, he knows, to alter yourself beneath the lens of others, to hide, and he doesn’t want that. this is a side of you he hadn’t considered might exist— an obvious oversight, and one he aims to correct.

that was how L always was. he loves you, yes, you can say that confidently. but as quiet and soft-handed a man as he is, his love is not simple, nor is it gentle. like him, it’s invasive and relentless. it’s not uncommon for you to feel somewhat neglected, or that perhaps he forgets about you altogether, but he never does. in fact, it’s quite the opposite. you are just as much a fixation, a complex puzzle to be torn apart and examined as any case, and rarely does a minute go by in which he doesn’t think of you. it’s perhaps not as romantic as you might like, with his owlish gaze pinned on you whether through a monitor or when you’re sitting next to him, picking apart every detail, but you can’t say he doesn’t pay attention to you. sometimes, you think he pays too much.

when he finally touches you, it’s no different.

he watched for weeks before he broached the idea. the hours you spent trying to satisfy yourself, with your hand between your legs or rutting desperately against a pillow— yet you never seemed truly satisfied. it was obvious in your expression, face screwed up cutely in obvious distress, frustrated tears welling in your eyes and streaking prettily down your flushed cheeks. you could only ever take two of your own fingers, he noticed; you’d tried more a few times, seeming to find your own two small ones dissatisfactory, but you could never quite make it, leaving you in a painful limbo that always has you in a particularly sour mood the next time he speaks with you.

the more he watched, the more he realized how truly unsatisfied you were. one night, you spent thirty minutes rocking against your pillow, and despite the wetness that darkened your pretty panties, you eventually gave up, tossing the ruined pillow away from you with a small, frustrated shriek. he wondered why; and more still, why he suddenly found his own hand unsatisfying, and why he could only curve his own thoughts with ones of you on the monitor, spread out prettily.

it was horribly distracting, really. and with anything else, L had to make sense of it.

in the end, he ends up with more questions than answers.

it’s not his fault, really. it’s yours. you’re so fascinating to study, and so eager to let him learn. you’d been so utterly pliant as he pried your thighs apart, stuttering out reassurances that he didn’t have to do this, asking over and over if he was sure. he doesn’t bother to tell you that this wasn’t for you— he wouldn’t be able to think properly until he’d gotten his answers.

there’s none of the awkward hesitation you might’ve expected, no unsure fumbling of hands or knocking teeth. no, L is sure of this as he is anything else he studies, tearing it apart as he sees fit until he’s satisfied with the conclusion. you’re no different, and he’s just as relentless as he always is.

there’s a certain desperate edge to it when he touches you, like he’s trying to tear everything from you by force. he watches you squirm beneath him, mewling and pleading incoherently as the walls of your pretty cunt spasm around his fingers for what feels like the thousandth time (it would seem you can, in fact, take three), and the only thing he can think of is how many more you’ll be able to give him. surely this isn’t your breaking point? no, he knows better, that can’t possibly be it. you can take more, and he tells you so, deafened to your mindless babbling and choked sobs as you try to push him away.

it’s strange that you do that. you get so upset when he actually does pull away:

he has to pin your hands down eventually; clawing at him the way you are is only a hindrance, and it reduces his overall effectiveness significantly. fortunately, you seem to learn quickly, responding especially well to a sharp slap to your inner thigh. (he isn’t sure if it’s a carrot or a stick, given the way you clench around his fingers when he does it. regardless, it works, so he does it again).

it really only occurs to him to stop when your body seizes again, this time falling entirely limp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. he might’ve worried, but your eyes flutter open only a few seconds later, and it’s then that he considers that you might be rather exhausted.

“are you alright?” his voice is quiet, hoarser than normal, and uncharacteristically gentle. he cocks his head at you, the puppy-like gesture such a stark contrast to the delightful hell he was inflicting on you only moments before that you can’t help but giggle tiredly.

at your assurance that you aren’t on the verge of collapse, not anymore at least, he takes time to clean you up, his touch feather-light and familiar in its softness. he lets you cling to him, winding his awkwardly long body around you in a sort of cradle, tucking your head beneath his chin.

he counts the minutes until you fall asleep, measuring your breaths against his own. as much as he enjoys tearing you apart to see what’s inside, there’s a strange satisfaction in putting you back together again.

this is my first published smut i apologize in advance.

[eldritch-spouse]

The clergy's reaction to the reader asking for a gangbang? I haven't seen anything like it on your page and thought the idea was interesting.

[Yeeeehaaaww, gangbang or a death wish? You decide!]

Morell is... Well, he doesn't really want in on it. The mushroom monster is not very inclined, even if you're the hottest piece of ass that he's ever seen, Morell can't picture himself being next to his coworkers in remotely intimate ways. However, you'd be surprised what a little encouragement, or maybe even a promise of foodplay, can do to rouse his interest.

Vinnel agrees, sure, after mocking you quite a bit for being such a slut. Though he's keeping himself mostly detached throughout the affair, since he highly doubts conditions will be favorable to his exposure. That and, of course, he's insecure about his malformed goopy body. He's mostly jeering and making you hump yourself on him whenever possible.

Patches may initially play hard to get, but truth of the matter is he's always been a bit of a whore. And a loser, so he'd take his chances. If he doesn't budge after a while, get him drunk- Drunk Patches has no breaks at all. Or, if you're brave enough, get him under the moon before it starts. The dullahan side of him will love a gangbang with his coworkers, purely because of how awfully chaotic it will inevitably be.

Grimbly might agree, after quite some time pondering on it. The thing is, he's demanding and he wants a lot of attention, specifically yours. If he's not getting constant stimulus, he's gonna whine and probably ruin the mood until you stuff something in his mouth. Honestly, just pass him around until he gets too fucked out to whine and

Santi does not let you finish speaking before eagerly agreeing. He's probably the one doing most of the work convincing the others and he'll steal your attention throughout the entire ordeal. In fact, you might see him bicker with Nebul over who gets to orient most of it- This is his fucking wet dream come true and he's not going to let the uptight wraith ruin it for him. Nuh uh. He absolutely wants this to happen again, even if he knows most of his coworkers now exist in perpetual awkward shame.

Nebul would probably agree to it without much convincing, surprisingly. He's more curious than necessarily aroused by the concept. And, of course, he will immediately seek to establish dominance over anyone in an attempt to orchestrate the entire thing. No one expected him to get as into the dom role as he did, but they should have seen it coming, as part of his (not so openly advertised) job involves training people into obedience.

Fank-e is PUMPED! An opportunity to see several squishies having sex? Count him right in! Oh oh oh- He can connect multiple intimate appendages to himself, so several people at once can use his cocks, and pussies. Do not let him do this for long, he will absolutely bust a circuit or two and fry himself with pleasure. The robot will probably lie down somewhere and just glitch the ever living fuck out while he processes being ridden, sucked and fucked all at once. Core damage? Worth it, would do it again.

Ludwig. Well. Huh. Hm... You're gonna need a lot of convincing. He'd probably enjoy himself, but to be fair, he's not sure how he's going to conjugate the gangbang with his hot and cold feelings regarding the establishment. This will just serve to jumble him more. For once, Lud will just focus on giving as good as he gets and work out the mental breakdown with you later.

Gallon will hesitate for a moment. Said moment is cut short the second he considers spit roasting you with someone else. A gangbang featuring Gallon is... Invasive, to say the least. The slime wants to wrap himself around someone, preferably you, so it's going to be a very odd but perhaps extremely erotic ordeal. Basically, you get your own living latex suit that's constantly liking and groping you while others are having their way with you.

Krulu, safe to say, is probably watching all this.

[firelxdykatara]

ppl love to forget that katara: 1. has her own taste, 2. developed around aang, he needed her for his development and vice versa, 3. ZUTARA IS SHIP BETWEEN AN OPPRESOR X OPPRESSED!!! Ignoring all of the development they had with their respective partners and the trauma Zuko caused Katara!!

In the infamous words of one Luke Skywalker: amazing. every word of what you just said was wrong.

It’s actually kind of ironic that you bring up Katara’s taste, since, throughout the show, we have examples of the guys she likes, to greater or lesser extents in canon--Jet (explicit romantic feelings on her part, word of god that jet was her first kiss--a kiss that would have been consensual, incidentally, something you should keep in mind for later) and Haru (she denies the crush, but that could just as easily have been because of the abomination he’d been growing on his lip rather than denying those feelings ever existed), both of whom have much more in common (in terms of both emotional and physical maturity, and physical appearance) with Zuko than either of them has with Aang.

Zuko’s book 3 hairstyle is almost exactly reminiscent of Jet’s, even, if not quite as floofy.

(This is probably in part because of Jet’s function as a foil of Zuko within the narrative, particularly given their book 2 encounters, which I think just further solidifies my point that, were it not for extenuating circumstances [like the fact that Zuko was introduced as an enemy and they had significant obstacles to hurdle before they could be friends], Zuko would have been exactly Katara’s type. Had they met under different circumstances, she could have been the girl he went on a date with in Ba Sing Se. Just something to think about.)

So, yes, we’ve established that Katara has her own taste. Her tastes seem to be boys with great hair who are taller than her, the same age or older, and of a similar maturity level.

Aang falls short (heh, short) on all counts. So it isn’t Katara’s taste in boys that led her to be interested in him. Hm!

Next, you claim that Katara ‘developed around Aang’--that she was necessary for his development, and that he was necessary for hers.

Let’s take a moment to examine that, shall we?

I will absolutely grant you that Katara was necessary for Aang’s development--only to a point, of course, but we’ll get to that later--but was he really necessary for Katara‘s growth? I suppose I could grant you this on a generous technicality--he did, after all, provide her with the means to finally leave the South Pole and find a waterbending master to teach her (although she wound up largely self-taught anyway). But that had nothing to do with his relationship to Katara and everything to do with the structure of the plot--Katara and Sokka find Aang (and he never would have gotten out of that iceberg without Katara’s own righteous anger, so even that leads back to her own power), and then they go on a quest to find teachers for the Chosen One and save the world.

The story could not have begun without first finding Aang and then providing means for the other main characters to travel with him (or, in Zuko’s case, chase him), but this has nothing at all to do with Aang’s relationship to Katara. Aang was not a mover in Katara’s developmental arc--if anything, he acted as an obstacle more often than not, his actions ranging from innocent but obnoxious (playing and flirting with girls rather than helping with chores like picking up vital supplies, leaving Katara to do all of the quite literal heavy lifting and keeping her stuck in the role of caretaker that she’d been thrust into following the death of her mother), to deliberate and harmful (hiding the map to Katara and Sokka’s father, a truly selfish action, regardless of his lack of malicious intent, and one for which he never actually apologized), to somewhere in between (”she didn’t really mean that” he says to the man refusing to train Katara because she’s a girl, when yes, she very much did mean that, and Aang was no help in finally getting the old codger to eat his words--Katara had to shove them down his throat her own damn self).

While Katara’s overall arc wasn’t exactly big and dynamic (like Zuko’s redemption arc), or in-your-face (like Sokka getting force-fed Respect Women Juice and his eventual growth into a tactician and leader), it was very much present and woven into her character--and Aang had almost no part in it. He provided her with the means to get to the North Pole, but left Katara alone to fight the patriarchy herself. He messed around while Katara took it on herself to do the chores and keep the Gaang alive, but he did almost nothing to decrease that burden so she could grow out of the caretaker role. (Contrary to popular shipper claims, Aang didn’t actually teach Katara to have fun. She already knew how to have fun. But she couldn’t indulge, because she had a responsibility to her family and her tribe, and later to her brother and Aang and Toph, and Aang goofing off and trying to get her to do the same only added to her burdens rather than subtracting from them.) He provided Katara with the necessary motive to learn to heal herself, but he certainly didn’t seem to learn from the experience of accidentally burning her, preferring instead to claim he was never going to firebend again, despite already knowing, at that point, that he was going to need to master fire along with the other elements to become a fully realized Avatar and defeat the Firelord.

He didn’t help Katara keep them alive during The Desert. (In fact, he ran off, leaving her to desperately try to keep Sokka and Toph from succumbing to the heat while worrying for his safety.) In The Painted Lady, Katara makes the decision to stall the Gaang and do what she can to help the Fire Nation villagers on her own--Aang agrees to help her when he finds out, but he wasn’t actually instrumental in her making that choice. The Puppetmaster was, again, Katara finding a master of her own, and having to deal with the fallout from that. And in The Southern Raiders, Aang was--perhaps unknowingly, if I’m being generous, because he is a child and could not reasonably be expected to fully understand the implications of what he was asking her to do or why it was impossible--actively impeding Katara’s development! She desperately needed closure, something he could not understand and actively belittled and dismissed. The only reason he relented in the end (but not without a condescending ‘I forgive you! Does that give you any ideas???’ parting shot lmao) was because Katara was planning to take Appa anyway, and letting her go (and hoping she’d just magically wind up doing things his way) was easier than trying to fight her on it.

While Aang’s existence was necessary for Katara to start down her own path, she needed neither his guidance nor his approval to follow it--and absolutely nothing would change about Katara’s arc if you removed their romantic relationship entirely.

Possibly because the only changes needed to do so would be to remove the two times Aang kissed Katara without her consent (which, hopefully, no one would actually miss), and the epilogue kiss (which was awkward and unnecessary to begin with, since ending the entire show on a romantic kiss as the final shot kind of missed the point of the story to begin with, but that’s another discussion). None of these kisses (which are the only moments in which Katara’s feelings for Aang are so much as addressed; do note that addressing them, or hinting that they needed to be, is not the same as saying she exhibited any sign of reciprocating them) altered anything about Katara’s behavior, her personal arc, or (and perhaps most critically) her relationship with Aang.

It’s that last point that is really damning, as far as ‘Katara obviously had feelings for Aang, she kissed him in the finale!’ goes. Because she didn’t ‘obviously’ have feelings for him. And the fact that he kissed her before the invasion and then she forgot about it (she literally had no idea what he was talking about during the play’s intermission until he reminded her that he’d kissed her) is pretty clear evidence that she didn’t actually have feelings for him. Not the kind he had for her.

I’ve been a teenage girl. I know what it’s like to be surprise!kissed by your crush. And I absolutely for a full fact know that I had not completely forgotten about that kiss three months later and had, in fact, spent most of my waking hours thinking about it and remembering it and trying to talk to him about it. Now, granted, I was not in the middle of a war, but even if I had been, I doubt I would have needed reminding about the fact that the boy I’ve supposedly been developing feelings for had kissed me and showed clearly that he had those feelings for me too.

At the very least, if Katara was harboring feelings that she was worried about approaching until after the war, her relationship dynamic with Aang should have shifted. But it didn’t. She acted the exact same way with him after the Day of Black Sun as she did before it--that is, as a mother figure and a caretaker, responsible for his wellbeing. (And it’s clear she never took him down off the pedestal she needed him to occupy, either--let it not be said that the unhealthy aspects of their relationship only went one way.)

And book 3 is, incidentally, where Katara went from being vital to Aang’s development to being detrimental to it--or, rather, Aang’s refusal to let go of his attachment to her (despite ostensibly having done as much at the end of book 2) was. Because despite having been told by, perhaps, the greatest authority left in the world on Air Nomad culture (even more than Aang, who had left his temple with a child’s understanding of his culture that was never able to mature because he got stuck in the ice berg while his people were wiped out) that he had to let go of his possessive attachment to this girl who never even expressed the possibility that she might harbor romantic feelings for him to begin with, after Azula killed him and Katara brought him back, he went right back into the mindset of Katara is mine, it’s just a matter of time.

And the narrative validated him for it.

Notice how, during Ember Island Players, Aang says the following (emphasis mine):

“We kissed at the invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.”

First of all, if you go back and watch the scene, it’s clear it wasn’t a mutual kiss. Aang sprang a surprise kiss on Katara, which left her shocked and unhappy after he flew off. (The decision to have her looking away and frowning was a deliberate one on the part of Bryke, who wanted Katara’s feelings kept ambiguous. Heaven forbid you allow the animators to make it clear that this fourteen-year-old girl who was just kissed without her consent by someone she’d never once demonstrated romantic feelings toward might actually have some. Heaven forbid she have a little agency in her own romantic narrative. But whatever.)

Second, he says he thought they were gonna be together.

He thought.

He never once even asked Katara what she thought--or even how she felt. He just assumes. He assumes that if he kisses her, she’ll kiss him back and they’ll get together. He assumes that she must have feelings for him, even though her body language is closed off and she told him with her words that she did not want to talk or think about this right now, and kisses her regardless of those signals, upsetting her and leading her to storm off.

And the narrative rewards him, because despite the fact that they don’t have a single significant scene together after that second disastrous kiss, Katara just decides off-screen that she Does Love Him Really and walks onto the balcony to make out with him.

The upshot of all this being that, while Katara was indeed instrumental to a lot of Aang’s early growth and development, Aang was not necessary for her own arc, and their romantic relationship (such as it was) actively hampered Aang’s development in book 3, while removing it would change absolutely nothing for Katara (except saving her from some painfully embarrassing memories).

As far as your third point, I’m simply not going to get baited into explaining how reducing Zutara to an ‘oppressor/oppressed’ relationship is not only insulting to interracial couples irl (not to mention any other couple with a potentially unbalanced dynamic of societal power, since there are many more axis of oppression than just racial), but demeaning to Zuko and Katara, their personal arcs as well as their relationship development together.

However, I will point out that Zuko was not responsible for any of Katara’s trauma. She did not find violence and fighting in bending battles to be traumatic--in fact, she reveled in it. She enjoyed fighting against Zuko at multiple points (especially noticeable in their battle at the end of book 1), because she wanted to fight--she always had--and once she had the ability, she was ready to throw down with anyone who gave her the slightest reason. (Including, by the way, her own potential waterbending master.) Aang’s death at the end of book 2 was Azula’s doing, and while I think that contributed to Katara’s extreme reaction to Zuko joining the gaang, it was not something for which she actively blamed him, and it wasn’t something she believed would be repeated--she let him go off alone on a journey to find the original firebending masters with Aang well before she chose to forgive him. So she already trusted Zuko’s intentions and that Aang would be safe with him.

Finally, because this has gotten long enough already, I hope you now understand that Zuko and Katara getting together would not require ignoring any of their development with their canonical romantic partners. We’ve already established that Katara’s arc wouldn’t change in the slightest if all of Aang’s romantic advances were removed, and I haven’t even gotten into how Mai meant nothing in the grand scheme of Zuko’s development because I’m pretty sure that’s just self-evident. I mean, the video compilation put together by Nick showcasing Zuko’s journey throughout the series doesn’t include a single scene with Mai, though it does include several with Katara, and even Jin makes an appearance--because Katara, and even Jin, played key roles in Zuko’s personal journey, while his relationship with Mai happened entirely off-screen and her only real function was to showcase just how unhealthy trying to force himself back into the role of the Crown Prince was for him.

What development, exactly, is there between them to even ignore?

At any rate, I’ve gone on long enough--I hope you enjoy the fact that you activated my wordvomit trap card right when i was about to go to bed, anon, because I just spent two hours writing this instead. In case you’re interested in the TL;DR: at the end of the day, there was no meaningful, mutual development in Kataang’s romantic relationship, and those romantic feelings that did exist were largely one-sided and ultimately detrimental to Aang’s development in the final third of his overall arc. Meanwhile, Mai meant nothing to Zuko’s journey--rather like Aang’s romantic overtures, she could be removed from the show completely and nothing about his story would change--while Zuko and Katara were both vital to each other’s overall storylines, arcs and development. This, coupled with the fact that Zuko never actually traumatized Katara and, in fact, helped her achieve closure from the biggest source of her own trauma, means that Zuko and Katara have better and more believable build up that could potentially lead to a romantic relationship than either of them have with their canon romantic partners.

So no, anon, I didn’t forget anything--I think you may have, though. Perhaps a rewatch is in order? Make sure not to close your eyes for the back half of book 3 this time.

[peachy-panic]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence  @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases. 

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy. 

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder. 

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw. 

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.”  Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered. 

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade. 

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t. 

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible. 

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him. 

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty. 

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun. 

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—” 

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before. 

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort. 

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible. 

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front. 

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice. 

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good. 

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer. 

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient. 

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed. 

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage. 

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating. 

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 38

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k (._.) ➻ rating: m ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: blood, fighting, violence, weapons, choking (not the sexy kind sorry), self-inflicted injury, some psychological torture, graphic depictions of death, drowning but not really? someone being held underwater, implied suicide (but no graphic depiction) ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part five

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Stepping onto the bridge with Wooyoung in tow is an experience to say the very least. Mostly because it is eerily quiet when you arrive, so startlingly empty that you pause the second you step into the room. Hongjoong sits still as a statue in his usual place even though he has truly no need to be in the captain’s chair since you aren’t going anywhere quite yet. The only movements he makes are to cross one leg over the other back and forth every few seconds like he can’t stay put for too long. Other than that, he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence at the edge of the bridge, which would be expected if not for the crucial nature of your mission.

The effects of Soojin’s little concoction are still weighing heavily on your muscles and bones, but you are at least able to keep your eyes open now. Jongho refuses to let go of your waist, and you might complain if you didn’t think you would crumble to a useless heap on the floor once he let you go. You don’t trust your muscles to cooperate that much.

“I see you’re bringing good news,” Hongjoong states as you draw closer to where he’s seated. One quick glance at the observation window tells you he’s carefully watching your every move, including the pair behind you that consists of Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Aye, Captain,” Jongho says through a smile. Hongjoong finally shifts to look your way, eyes hesitating on your slumped form for a moment before moving to where Wooyoung stands.

“Glad to see you back on board, Wooyoung.” His tone won’t commit to showing how he truly feels, but there is a certain light in Hongjoong’s eyes that he cannot hide, and you find relief in his features as he looks over Wooyoung. It’s brief and temporary, but the obvious warmth that his countenance holds as he and Wooyoung make eye contact is enough to show you how heavily this has been weighing on the young captain as well.

“Glad to be back, Captain,” Wooyoung answers in haste. You can hear the smile in his voice even if you cannot see it.

“Were there any issues with the mission?”

“No, just… a small hiccup.” Jongho glances down at you, and the slight shift has Hongjoong redirecting his focus to you as well. You steel yourself for some sort of lecture, a backhanded comment about staying focused on the task at hand, or maybe even just a comment about you being a weak link. Hongjoong’s gaze never hardens though. Instead, he offers a small nod then —

“I see. Be sure to check in with Yunho in that case.”

Something else nags at the edge of your thoughts then, mostly due to the absence of one certain person on the bridge at the moment.

“Where is Jisung?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

Cold, cold, cold. Red in your vision, hands on your throat, and everything is cold.

“In the brig. We — I decided it would be best to keep him there until the situation changes.” Hongjoong’s answer is spoken through a stiff and uncomfortable tone, and you expect that he was met with some resistance when it came to such a decision. But of course, that begs another question about the other person who is not on the bridge or by Hongjoong’s side like he typically would be.

“And Seonghwa?”

“Also in the brig.” Hongjoong presses his lips together, and he shifts to glare holes into the floor. The shift in his demeanor is slight but unsettling nonetheless, especially as he forces a tight grin onto his lips a second later. “Wooyoung, after you’ve settled and taken some time to recover, I’d like to chat. I won’t ask anything too invasive, but I need to know a little bit about the places you were held and where San and Mingi could possibly be. And Yeosang, a mission debriefing is needed as well.”

“We can talk now, Captain. I’ve got some news that should be helpful anyway!” Wooyoung steps around you to talk more directly to Hongjoong, Yeosang lingering at his side the whole time, and you pull back to give them more space. “I’ll go see our dear doctor after we chat. He’ll talk my ear off anyway.”

“Do you need to see Yunho?” Jongho asks, stepping back with you.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Right now I… I think I just need to see Jisung,” you murmur. How are you going to stomach looking at him without thinking of his hands around your throat and trying to kill you?

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“If he’s in the brig being watched by Seonghwa, how much damage can he do?”

Jongho falls silent at that, mostly because your point holds strong, but he still stays by your side during the walk down there. And arguably yes it is your first time heading down to that part of the ship; the only times you’ve wandered in that vague direction are when you went to the cargo bay with Jongho. There is a different kind of tension in your muscles now though, one that feels much more like walking to your inevitable doom than anything else. That feeling intensifies with each step closer to the small hatch leading down to the brig, a ladder with metal rungs taking you to a place you aren’t sure you want to be. A quick glance over your shoulder shows you a minor portion of the brig, only enough to see three cells lined up on the left then a sharp corner that no doubt leads to more cells in a narrow hallway. Typical of a ship of this caliber. They aren’t built to house prisoners, and any slave trades made with such a vessel would only carry that precious cargo in the cargo hold. They would only need roughly twenty of these cells — five by five squares with just enough space for the average person to stand up comfortably but nothing more than that.

Yet when your feet hit the cold paneled floor and echo a hollow noise, your gaze falls upon Jisung and only Jisung. He is safely tucked away in the middle cell, walls of bars surrounding him and separating your body from his, but that’s hardly noticeable compared to Seonghwa’s absence near his cell. Hongjoong had claimed that Seonghwa was down here with Jisung, and the initial lack of his presence immediately sends your brain into danger mode.

“What did you do with Seonghwa?” You inquire without hesitation, leveling the man you used to admire so fucking much with a glare full of heat you didn’t even know you were capable of. Jisung laughs from the spot where he is curled up on the floor. He has his back pressed to the only solid wall in the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and elbows draped overtop them so that his hands hang loosely down in the space before him. The huff of air that passes through his lips almost sounds like a laugh. It does nothing to quell your nerves — if anything it makes your anxiety spike a bit higher, causing Jongho to lay a hand down on the small of your back in attempts to calm you some no doubt.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your dearest captain that?” Comes Jisung’s scathing reply, complete with a sneer and curled lip. The disdain in his tone isn’t hard to miss at all. His chin tilts. Eyes blaze with some fury. Then he presses his tongue against his bottom lip and forces the skin there to stretch under the pressure. “To think you escaped my cruel clutches just to fall into the filthy hands of a scourge who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. A beautiful irony, don’t you think?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing any response from you.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll be safe in my hands soon enough,” he says, tone almost bordering on teasing rather than being serious with the threat. “What’s it? Got one back, no? Not the one you care about though, am I right?” Jisung brings his head forward again, staring down the line of empty cells before him like he’s taunting something nonexistent there. “Poor, poor lieutenant. Denied by both the people he loves. How much bending can an Elitist take until he breaks? I’ve always wondered that… never did get to see Hyunwoo snap after all. Perhaps now I’ll get to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

That stops you dead in your tracks, your whole body lurching as you are midway to stepping closer to Jisung’s cell. The words don’t come from your lips, nor do they come from Jongho’s, but the tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that no one snuck down behind you and Jongho. And that Jisung’s staring isn’t coincidental or meaningless at all. A cruel smile curls the corners of his mouth. He prods at one side with the tip of his tongue and releases a laugh that is more hollow than anything else.

You force your legs into action and push yourself forward, although this time you don’t head for Jisung’s cell like you originally intended to do. Instead, you round the sharp corner leading to the remaining cells in the brig with bated breath and a growing sense of dread in your gut.

As it turns out, that dread is not misplaced in the slightest.

Because the moment you stare down the row of metal cages perpendicular to Jisung’s own holding cell, your gaze falls on something heart-wrenching and horrid to see. And Jongho might be confused — a bit beyond merely confused, you’ll admit — but you? You recognize this to be the cruel picture your mind conjured up the day Hongjoong told you that you would be going on the rescue mission for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come to stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

It’s Seonghwa who sits far in the back of the brig, curled in on himself in the very last cell in the block with what feels like leagues stretching between you and where he is. Chains cuffing his wrists together and a shackle hanging so heavy on his neck that he can barely lift his head. You’ve never seen a man look so small and insignificant in your life; the knowledge and realization that it’s none other than Seonghwa under those chains burn so deep in your chest that you forget how to breathe properly until Jongho shatters the weighty silence by joining you in front of the row of cells.

“Lieutenant?”

“The mission, Jongho. Did you recover him?”

How dare Seonghwa look so gentle and confident even while being chained and held in the brig of his own ship?

“I — yes, Lieutenant, we recovered him but — but you—”

“Good,” Seonghwa interjects. He gives a heavy nod that makes the iron hanging from his neck rattle. “Then there is no reason for you to be down here currently. I’m sure our captain would have much better use for you now than I do.” Seonghwa’s dark eyes remain fixated on you as he speaks, but you’re too far away to even try to discern the emotion concealed in them.

Jongho turns back to the ladder leading out of the cellblock. He doesn’t put up a fight or argue about the matter; merely looks the other way and follows the order like nothing is possibly wrong with the scene unfolding before him.

You, on the other hand, hardly consider yourself the kind of person who gives in so easily.

Thus, against better judgment no doubt, you step around the wall of cells separating you and Seonghwa, then take the steely walk over to that far corner of the brig.

And against better judgment, with Hongjoong’s words of warning ringing in your ears of how dangerous Seonghwa was the last time he was in such a position, you get as close to the cell as humanly possible. You curl your fingers around the bars as you sink to your knees in front of him, eyes unable to find a comfortable resting place anywhere on his body and instead finding purchase on the sliver of the floor still exposed under his knees. He, like Jisung, has his back pressed to the cage, bars digging harshly into his typical billowing black coat. He can’t extend his legs all the way in the cell and is thus forced to keep his knees bent at an awkward angle that will surely hurt after some time has passed. Hands are held together by that short chain and stretched as far as possible over his knees. You would never go so far as to say Seonghwa could ever look pitiful, but this brings you pretty damn close.

“I do not wish for you to see me in this position, Y/N,” Seonghwa whispers without looking over at you. He maintains the same honed stare on Jisung, and now that you’re closer to him you can see that flames of anger that lick at his dark eyes. Despite his words, you can’t bring yourself to move. The weight of your bones suddenly feels heavier than ever and even if you wanted to get up and leave, you don’t think you could. “It was shameful enough to ask Hongjoong to put me here.”

“You… you asked him to do this?” You inquire through a whisper of your own.

“He didn’t want to, of course, but—” Seonghwa cuts himself short and you watch his chest heave as he inhales sharply “—I’m ashamed to admit that I know how to get what I want from him. And thus… I made him put me here.”

“Seonghwa, I — you — why?” If only eloquence could be your strong suit.

“I cannot trust myself. I am not needed for these missions. I am a liability. Anything I do must be under careful watch and instruction, otherwise, I could risk the safety of the crew and the success of our missions.” Seonghwa swallows around nothing and drops his chin to his chest. His mop of black hair falls forward to cover his eyes. You hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in recent days as he pressed it back constantly, but now you can see how the ends caress his eyelashes and near the bottom of his temples. “I pose more of a threat than anything else in this state.”

“Says who?” You insist, pressing your face so far forward that your cheek squishes against the bars. Seonghwa seems startled by your sudden fervor. His eyes go wide and dart over to your face, but they linger for only a second before turning back to his lap. “Was it Jisung? Did he say something? Before he was locked up? Or maybe after? He’s — Seonghwa, you can’t believe anything he says. He wants to cause discord and issues in the crew, he wants trouble because he’s an enemy.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Y/N. Absolutely nothing.” The skin around his eyes crinkles as he squeezes his eyes shut, almost as though he’s in pain. “Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

“What did you do? No, what happened while we were gone?”

The chains around Seonghwa’s wrist rattle so suddenly that it startles you, and his abrupt movements send you back from the cage in a rush without thinking twice. You merely acted out of self-preservation and instinct, and yet —

And yet the damage is already done.

Your eyes dart up to look into Seonghwa’s. He looks more lost and confused than anything else, like a child who can’t find his way home. From the way his lip trembles to the wobble in his gaze and how his hands clench and unclench as though in an unknown ceremony of their own. The man seems — is harmless.

“Go, Y/N, before I truly hurt you.”

This time, you don’t fight him on the matter. You force your legs into action and push yourself up from the floor where you just unceremoniously sprawled in an effort to get away from Seonghwa’s cell. The walk away from him hurts something awful in your chest, like each step you take to get away from him causes a new piece of your heart to break off, but still, you walk until you reach the end of the hauntingly short hall. You can’t keep yourself from staring down that corridor to look at Seonghwa’s crumpled form one more time.

In that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than half a second, you believed that Seonghwa would hurt you, and he believed the same. It only took that much time for the line of trust you thought could be unbreakable to shatter and give out under you. Was it not only recently that you told him you were willing to place your heart in his hands and trust him with it?

“Are you content with yourself yet, Spectre?” Seonghwa’s voice rings clear in the room, echoing off the metal walls with more venom than before. You don’t think that venom is directed at anyone other than himself right now.

“Not even in the slightest, Lieutenant,” Jisung laughs in response. You don’t intend to make eye contact with him, but it happens nonetheless and once it does, you are transfixed on each of his movements. He drags his tongue over his lips before tucking it between his teeth and biting down hard on the tip. “I know plenty about making people break. And I can guarantee that by the time your dearest captain loses his will and decides to let you out, I will have broken you in ways you fear to even imagine. Let’s see how well you can play my game, Lieutenant of Death.”

The urge to reach a hand between the bars and strangle Jisung where he sits is so overwhelming that you see red. Somehow you find it in you to turn away, using some shred of reason and logic because you know you need Jisung as much as you wish you didn’t — until San and Mingi are safely back on the ship, you cannot risk killing him.

And to your surprise, Jongho is not waiting outside the hatch when you surface in the corridor again. It falls shut with a loud bang, trapping Jisung and Seonghwa both in their little prison once more.

The pressure around your head is mounting and becoming hard to ignore, even through the lingering effects of Soojin’s concoction. It seems the drowsiness wishes to win out, however, seeing as you pull yourself to your bedroom without much thought and more like it’s some form of muscle memory instead. Between all the things happening around you at the moment, it’s hard to pinpoint just one thing and focus on it.

San is still missing.

Seonghwa locked himself in the brig.

Han Jisung is terrorizing you and your crew out of some odd desire to claim you.

Mingi is still missing as well and at risk of being reprogrammed back into the Brute of Kebos.

Wooyoung, in the very least, is safely back but no doubt suffered new and awful traumas that he’ll have to deal with in the coming months.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought for what feels like the hundredth time.

You found Soojin in a brothel then promptly got confirmation that your memories were indeed wiped a second time without you knowing. Delightful, truly.

All that swirling back to the mounting headache that pierces the left side of your head so hard you see little flashes in your vision. And despite the need to most likely think through things, weigh your options, try to do something other than just sitting around and waiting for someone else to plan, you merely curl up under your sheets in the darkness after wiping away your leftover black lipstick and changing into some more comfortable clothes.

Alone again. It’s odd how you went from being on your own almost constantly for three years to now being so dependent on having someone by your side. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had no one back then that kept you sane. Now, however, you know there are people around you, close to you, people you would almost dare to say you can rely on for safety and trust. An image of Jisung’s cruel smile flickers in your mind before you close your eyes to sleep.

Trust got you nowhere before.

Would it be foolish to make the same mistakes again?

…

There’s a cold hand wrapped tight around your own, but even as you look down at it you can’t figure out who it belongs to. Another hand is folded over your eyes, blocking every ounce of your vision and leaving you shrouded in darkness. You have no idea where you are or where you are heading, and though your first instinct is to fight, you feel somewhat safe under the hand that holds yours.

“Kan han ceso, Umiko. Nu an nadu. Un cu nu, Umiko, un nukon.” The words grate against your ears, a soft-spoken voice whispering the foreign language to you through the darkness, and you blink hard against the hand covering your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper back, only to be answered with more confusion and unknown words.

“Nadu, nadu. Sosun hen.”

The hand around your head slips away only to shove hard at your back. You don’t have time to turn to face your companion before a door is slammed shut on your back. You whip around to face the wall of metal, seeing nothing beyond the dark.

“Wait! Don’t — don’t leave me here!”

“Kidehon u Nurun, Umiko.”

Despite not knowing what any of the words mean, a chill rushes down your spine and leaves goosebumps all across your skin. Then a shrill scream tears you away from the door and back to the reality swirling together behind you. It’s moreso the contents of the scream that catch your attention because through the sudden swarm of yells and shouts, you catch one recognizable word.

“Yeosang!”

It’s like a veil is torn away from your eyes and you can suddenly see the world around you with so much clarity and brightness it hurts. And the first thing your gaze lands on is the sight of Wooyoung being dragged by the waist back into what seems to be a spitting image of the House of Lilies. His captors are hooded figures, unimportant and insignificant compared to Wooyoung who flails around desperately in their arms to get out. And across from him, running and running but never once catching up because a massive crowd of people blocks his path, is none other than Yeosang. You push your way forward as well in attempts to reach the Elitist. Each step is harder than the last with the way faceless figures shove your shoulders and force you back until his blond head of hair is out of sight. You can’t see Wooyoung’s face any longer either; all you can hear are a few distant shouts and screams that are unintelligible by now.

You have no choice but to let the crowd guide you to an unknown destination, shifting to follow their hasty steps before you get trampled to the ground. They’re too tall for you to see past their shoulders, all shrouded in black coats and suits with masks covering their faces as well, and you are only left with confusion the more you try to get a closer look at them. That confusion lingers for a while, and as you walk, the shouts and yells around you morph into cheering. It’s deafening, growing louder with each second, but the hoards simply continue into what seems to be the source of the sounds.

Once you finally reach that destination, your heart drops through your stomach because it’s tall colosseum walls that rise up around you. They are painfully recognizable, and you can almost guess what you’re about to witness given what you just saw transpire with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

The confirmation, albeit unneeded, hurts worse than you thought. As the crowd ushers you into the arena, you stumble up familiar stairs and come to a halt at the railing looking over the heart of the colosseum.

Mingi stands at the center of it all, donned in leather and copper armor like a gladiator of olden times that have long since become mere myths for children’s stories. Red streaks down his cheeks and covers him in a bloody glow under the sun. You watch him as though in a daze. Each movement he makes is like a dance between the way he swings a longsword in one hand and an ax in the other. The beauty of Mingi’s swings dissipates into a cloud of panic and horror when his opponent comes into sight across from his tall form.

“Jongho, Jongho, no!” You scream through the din ringing into your ears. A hand stretched down to the pit below in vain because there is no way for you to even attempt reaching them.

There’s a flash of red again, this time one that reaches across Mingi’s blade and spreads onto the sand below their feet. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears through your lips.

“It’s not real, Y/N, it’s not real,” you murmur to yourself, not daring to look back down even as the cheers continue to swell around you. “It’s just a dream, you need to wake up. It’s not real.”

The most obvious clue that this is not real is the fact that you see Jongho — another Jongho — stepping out of the gates into the arena just seconds after Mingi cut him down. The body hasn’t even dissipated into thin air; it still sits at Mingi’s feet, a lifeless corpse that will continue to haunt you for god knows how long. The second Jongho comes forward to replace the last, standing completely still before Mingi like he’s nothing more than a training dummy for Mingi to kill over and over.

That is exactly what you are forced to witness too because the tall figures surrounding you refuse to let you budge or turn. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut each time Mingi lifts his arm. This hell is almost worst than the last. Seeing Yeosang and Wooyoung being torn apart burned deep in your chest but this?

Mingi killing the person who cares about him perhaps more than anyone else? Like it’s only a game or a sport to be played for entertainment?

That leaves a different pain in your chest. One that cuts deep and tries to sever your heart from your body.

You lose count of the bodies down in the area, and counting them would only hurt more so it’s a foolish plight to even imagine right now. Your limit comes soon enough, however, and in a fit of desperation, you shove so hard at the figures behind you that they topple over like dominos.

The mantra of reminders of how this isn’t real still runs on repeat in your head, but even forcing your way out of the crowds grants you no reprieve.

You can still hear the cheering, the way the crowd shouts for more blood then delights in another kill. And now that you know it’s Jongho being cut down by none other than Mingi, it makes matters much worse. You don’t make it three steps out of the arena before you’re stumbling to the ground on your hands and knees. A dry heave wracks your form, forcing up nothing but air. The contents of your stomach are nonexistent in this hellscape yet your body continues to convulse until bile drips from your lips.

“Please make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please,” you beg to the sand under your form.

“Y/N?”

Normally the voice would fill you with a sense of relief, but given what you’ve seen thus far, it only fills you with incredible dread.

You lift your chin to look Yunho in the eye nonetheless. He stands several feet away from you, unmoving and nearly statuesque with his pose. That peace lasts all of four seconds. He chokes out a cough. It sounds far too thick and wet for it to be merely a normal cough. Your fears turn to reality when blood coats his bottom lip after the next cough.

“Y-Yunho, no, n-no, not you too, please.”

Another cough and Yunho is on his knees like you are.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I… I wasn’t good enough to keep this from happening.”

“No, no, no, p-please, no, Yun—”

“This was the only thing I could get right.”

Your chin drops to your chest.

“You’ll be okay, won’t you? Our little Ghost…”

“No more. Please, Daichi, if this is your doing, then end it! End it please, please stop this!”

The response to your pleas is a hand clasping hard at the back of your neck. It shoves you to the ground with little effort until you are sprawled out on your stomach. You release a weak cry into the dirt, thrashing hard under the stranger’s grip. Another hand closes around your ankle. You aren’t given any time to prepare as it yanks you forward, dragging your body over the scratchy ground. You can feel your skin splitting under the impact yet as much as you twist to get out of it, the best you can do is flip onto your back and let the abuse continue there. Your new position allows you to at least see your attacker, a tall and lanky figure with sweeping black hair. You can barely see the outline of her face, but she looks strikingly familiar, like a person you’ve seen once in your dreams. It isn’t until you have been pulled all the way to a new destination that you realize exactly who she is.

“Mother.”

Seonghwa stands in the center of this barely lit room you’ve been dragged into, gun in hand and shrouded in a black cloak.

This is Seonghwa’s mother. Of course it is. This nightmare is not only yours but both Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s as well, the thing that has been so glaringly present for a while now. And in your inability to stop thinking about it, it has landed you here to live out this unending nightmare.

Seonghwa lifts the gun to aim it at his mother’s skull. He doesn’t spare you even the slightest glance, so dead-set on this mission that nothing else exists in his mind. You don’t have time to react before the gun goes off and echoes through the room. You scramble back on shaky legs when the woman in front of you crumples to the ground. Scarlet ebbs from her skull in mere seconds.

You think that’s it — hope would be a better word actually. You wish for the nightmare to end here with Seonghwa killing his mother, but it gets worse as Seonghwa turns the gun to his own skull and places the barrel against his temple. Despite already knowing that nothing you do in this dream will make it stop, you rush forward practically like an animal to stop him.

Something — or someone, rather — beats you to it.

A force hits you so hard that you are sent sprawling to the floor again, landing somewhere near Seonghwa’s mother, and upon looking up to see your sudden attacker, you find Hongjoong standing before Seonghwa instead. He’s in the middle of trying to wrestle the gun from Seonghwa’s hand, aiming it high at the ceiling before Seonghwa can hurt himself.

“Stop it, Seonghwa, I won’t let you do this!”

“Let me die, damn it, you were supposed to keep me from doing this!”

All you can do is watch as the fight unfolds before you with a growing sense of horror because you know where this is going to end. It will end the same way it has for everyone else in this nightmare. The thought of watching Seonghwa die and not being able to do anything to stop it is almost too much of a burden to bear.

If that was the worst scenario your mind could come up with, what actually happens minutes later is far far worse. You don’t see where it comes from but you don’t need to either; all you see is Seonghwa barreling into Hongjoong’s smaller form with all his strength until both are them are pressed to the nearest wall. The silence that overtakes the room is deafening. You don’t realize that there is anything wrong until you see hear the soft pitter-patter of blood dropping to the ground.

There’s a pointed metal spike sticking out of Seonghwa’s back, dripping blood from not only Seonghwa’s body but also Hongjoong’s.

“I’m sorry, my beloved.”

In a cruel twist of fate, you see the metal joining their bodies together, watch the way their chests rise and fall in shaky patterns that show their diminishing strengths. Hongjoong’s chin is the first to fall, dipping down to his chest as his eyes fight to stay open. Seonghwa is crying — no, sobbing with all the effort he can muster and pressing his lips to the edge of Hongjoong’s hairline through muttered apologies.

You know your limits, and you know you are not nearly strong enough to witness them die like this, even if it’s together and at Seonghwa’s own hand.

Thus, you push yourself up onto shaky legs and stumble out of the dark room as best you can with Seonghwa’s shaky cries ringing so loud in your ears that you fear you will never escape it for a second. There is a lingering sense of dread curling in your gut at the moment, however, because you have witnesses horrors happening to every single one of the crew except for one. And arguably, it is the one you fear the most, the one you wish to avoid the most, yet every attempt to force yourself awake before you can come across him fails miserably. The next room you stumble into is another familiar one, much like the distant memories you have of being strapped to a cold metal chair, but in this room, the chair is occupied by a man with jet black hair and a tuft of white at the front. You can’t manage more than a pained whimper as you step close to the chair.

Rounding the metal brings you face to face with him, although his eyes are shut as though he is asleep. For a fraction of a second, you think the worst has happened and throw your hands down on his chest to lean over San’s reclining body. He jolts at the contact, a sharp gasp tearing through his dry and cracked lips when he comes back to the land of the living.

“San, oh S-San, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise,” you babble like a woman possessed. Your hands come up to cradle his face and brush a few long strands of hair away from his eyes. It takes too long for him to fully come to his senses, eyes blinking against the harsh light that filters down from the ceiling, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something as he registers your face. “Hi.” You’re too lost in the moment to remember this is a nightmare, too enamored with the mere sight of San’s face. When the reverie is torn away from you, it hurts worse than you could ever have imagined it would.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Your chest tightens to the point where it hurts to breathe.

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispers back, pulling his face away from your hands as best he can in his current position. You withdraw your hands as though burned and fall back onto your ass so hard you bounce a little. It should hurt, but the pain in your chest outweighs that by far. San sits up and slings a leg over the side of the chair, the other following shortly after. He steps down off the metal to come closer to you. His head is tilted in question, and his eyes search your face like he’s attempting to recognize you.

You hardly realize what’s happening before he’s bending over you and latching his hands around your neck. When he shoves you down to the ground, you aren’t met with the cold floor but rather a splash of water. It’s murky and an almost copper shade, like someone has doused you in blood and water. San’s grip on your neck tightens until you’re forced to choke up a few air bubbles.

“Did you think you were someone worthy of remembering?” San speaks to you through the water, voice coming to your ears in a muted tone. His features fall into a blur, and he squeezes at your skin so hard you see spots dance across your vision. You cry out in the water even though you know it won’t do you any good. “Did you think you earned that right? What use are you to me? Someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum and protect me when I needed it… useless.”

San huffs out a loud laugh that echoes around you.

“You are completely and utterly useless to me.”

Sleep might have come easy to you but it does not claim you for long. Rarely are you ever awoken by nightmares; your body tends to just continue on with sleeping until the morning, but tonight is one of those oddities where the nightmares wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. With the end of dream San’s cruel monologue, you startle awake, gasping for breath like you had been holding it the entire time you were asleep. A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table shows that it’s nearing one o’clock in the morning, so you were hardly asleep more than four hours.

You almost wish that Jongho stayed by your side through the night, if only to provide the comfort you want so desperately from someone who isn’t here. It wasn’t even an offer he posed or one that you asked for, but you find yourself wondering if it would have been better to seek out that comfort. And maybe it’s selfish of you to crave that peace that Jongho claims to have brought him for so long, but the appeal of not waking up alone is too tempting. Being able to have that with Seonghwa — the ability to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the knowledge that someone was there if anything went wrong — is something you took for granted. On nights like these, it’s all you could ever ask for. And while you and Seonghwa made the mutual decision to sever the more intimates parts of your relationship, it’s become glaringly obvious to you that you don’t have anyone to rely on for physical comfort anymore, even just the smallest action of holding a hand or sleeping beside you. Did you dream of him? Jongho might ask, hand outstretched to offer some sort of relief from the anxiety tugging at your heart. Either that or to try to take it away as best he can.

Yes, and it was wretchedly awful and horrible, you think. Something wet slips down the side of your temples before you can stop it. I feel I might lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

Why, why, why did this happen?

Surely you’ve been through worse in the past, but this feels so much more potent than those times, either because those memories are tucked away or because you’ve never felt this strongly about needing to protect someone before.

You roll onto your side and let the stray tears slide across the bridge of your nose now.

Staring at the bed does absolutely nothing (even though you knew it wouldn’t); neither does reaching out to put a hand over the cold sheets there.

These days you keep finding your mind slipping back to the memories of Echidna. They’ve become so much more vivid since the entire kidnapping situation, yet oddly enough you cannot bring yourself to recall the actual torture you and San suffered together at the hands of Cara. Rather, you keep coming back to a monotone hotel room with a creaky bed and fluffed pillows.

“I won’t leave this time,” you mutter. You can feel heat radiating from San’s cheeks even though you can’t see the flush to his skin.

“I’ll hold you all night to make sure you don’t,” San whispers back. Hot breath fans over your lips. You aren’t sure what comes over you but you lift the hand resting against San’s chest to trace over the outline of his lips with two fingers. He smiles into the touch.

It brings a startling realization to your bones when you find yourself reaching out to the nothingness before you like he will be there because how could he be gone, why is he gone, he isn’t supposed to be gone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

You should have never let go of the hand he outstretched towards you. It’s a hefty realization, one that weighs down on your body so much you struggle to breathe because you would do anything to have him back. And perhaps you didn’t appreciate him enough while you had him, perhaps you took that time where he was safe for granted and didn’t think it could happen again. Because even though you had told Yunho back around the time of the incident that you would never be able to look at him without worrying something bad would happen once more, you let your guard down and believed him to be entirely safe.

A huff of air passes through your lips, then you sit up in bed to throw your legs over the side of the mattress. Your gaze lingers on the bedside table for a moment, only to recall what’s been hidden inside there since you returned from Echidna. You haven’t forgotten about the pardon papers per se; your mind has understandably been elsewhere and things took a turn during that mission with San. Before then you were so dead set on leaving without a word.

It wasn’t Hongjoong who convinced you to stay back then even though you left you with several pretty threats and propositions.

It wasn’t Seonghwa with his comforting words and touches that burned your skin.

Nor was it any other member of the crew outside of San. It was always Choi San, the Spectre with a cat-like grin and pretty eyes, and he wormed his way into your heart with such little effort that it still scares you quite a bit. If you had absolute certainty that what you remember from your time in the military was true and real, you might say that the only time you felt this way towards another person was with Jisung, but you doubt that now with recent revelations.

How much easier would life be if you could simply roll back into bed and find San there waiting at your side, all warm smiles and gentle gazes as he urges you to sleep once more?

Unfortunately for you, life is far from easy and that is not an option, so you do the only other logical thing that comes to mind and that is to stand up and leave your bedroom without looking back at that cursed bedside table. If you can’t have San or anyone else to calm you down at the moment, perhaps a short walk around the ship will do you some good.

It is that very thought that lands you on the bridge and in front of the observation window. Despite the late hour, some workers are milling about in the hangar bay Hongjoong has landed you all in, doing their duties without cease. Some are cleaning and sweeping at the floor even though it looks spotless to you, others are polishing other ships in the bay, and you’re sure that if you could see near the bottom of The Horizon, you would find them doing the same there. There are a few others who don’t quite look like the workers do — perhaps people from the other ships — who sit on boxes and offer each other seemingly menial chatter based on the way their gestures remain casual. They seem so calm and at peace compared to what you have been experiencing with this crew where trouble seems to be around every corner and you can’t get a breath of peace for more than a day.

Briefly, you picture yourself in their shoes one day. It’s something you can only wonder about because you aren’t sure whether that’s even a possibility for you, but the image of sitting on one of those boxes with Jongho sitting on one side and Wooyoung on the other floats to mind. And maybe Yeosang would be wedged between Wooyoung’s legs with hands held tightly together like even a breath of air could separate them. You imagine Mingi would be lingering near Jongho rather than anywhere else, draped over the other Berserker and pressed as close to him as possible because it grounds him and keeps him in one piece for the time being. Yunho would probably be doing something like reading a medical article or book and muttering to himself about the contents of the writing, nearby but never too far from the rest of you. In that daydream, Hongjoong and Seonghwa would come around the corner of the ship side by side, and the captain would have a hand pressed to the small of his lieutenant’s back because he can’t bear to be any further than that. Then San — darling San — would rush around them with a smile on his lips and dimples flashing to barrel straight into your chest with a resounding laugh. You dare to let yourself imagine the peace and serenity of the scene, dare to picture San pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a laugh over your lips, but every image your mind conjures up hurts worse than the last.

You may want that desperately, but it’s not something you can achieve.

The daydream ends with hands around your neck and bloody waters clouding your vision. And thus, you startle yourself back to reality and tear your gaze away from the hangar bay below as not to let the images come back.

The peace you wish for is not one you can ever hold in the palm of your hand the way you wish. The crew cannot have it either so long as you are present in their lives. The next sound to tear through your consciousness nearly makes you believe that they wouldn’t be able to have that peace even if you weren’t around to mess it up. There’s a resounding shout of frustration followed by something loud thumping against the wall off to your left and behind you a bit. You whip around to stare at the door to Hongjoong’s quarters, the source of the sound, and wait with bated breath for something else to happen. You aren’t sure what exactly you’re waiting for — perhaps for the captain to step out in a huff of anger or something like that — but nothing happens for the next thirty seconds, which is what causes you to pull closer to the door. It’s hardly your place to eavesdrop on whatever is happening inside, although that doesn’t stop you from doing so anyway.

“I shouldn’t have had to put him in that fucking brig in the first place!” That clearly comes from Hongjoong; you can tell just from his voice, but he must not be alone in there as it sounds like his rant is directed at someone. “This isn’t the same situation as last time! He knows that the mission is our priority, that the goal is to get San and Mingi back, he wouldn’t let himself lose sight of that. The Seonghwa I know wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you shouldn’t have listened to him when he asked you to put him in there, Hongjoong! You were the one who bent over backward for him yet again.” It’s Yunho’s voice that rises through the door next, and that is equal parts shocking and unsurprising because you aren’t sure who else would possibly be in there with Hongjoong at this hour. “Your only two options are to either leave Seonghwa where he is or let him out to do as he wishes. If he chooses to go out there and kill his mother, then so be it!”

“That’s not what he wants, Yunho,” Hongjoong refutes without missing a beat. “And it’s not what I want either — I don’t care for either of those options. I want to let Seonghwa out and have that be that, nor for him to go off and murder someone! He hardly wants to kill her, it’s just what he thinks he ought to do as an Elitist but — you… you wouldn’t understand it, Yunho. You wouldn’t understand what goes through Seonghwa’s head or what he wants.”

The next sound to fall from Yunho’s lips is a scoff, and you can almost picture the way his eyes roll with the noise.

“You can’t pretend like you understand what all Seonghwa wants either, Hongjoong.”

There’s another clatter and something smacks into the wall again.

“I’m trying my fucking best! I am trying my best to know what he wants right now. All I know for certain is what he is afraid of, and I know that he fears turning into the kind of person his father was and he fears losing himself. This would—”

“You can’t know whether this would make that happen, Hongjoong, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Are you encouraging murder all of a sudden? When have you gone a minute without chastising me for taking an innocent’s life?”

“And when have you ever hesitated to let your precious Lieutenant of Death kill someone? How many people have you killed yourself? How many have you asked Seonghwa to kill? How many innocents have bled under your hands, Hongjoong?” Yunho fires back, seeming to grow louder with each question he poses. “Is his mother innocent of all crimes? Does she not deserve to die? Because Seonghwa sure talks about her like she deserves a fate worse than death!”

“And if she deserves death then I will bring it upon her myself!” Hongjoong accentuates his words by slapping his hands down on his desk, letting the sound echo after he speaks, and Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit.

“How angry would Seonghwa be if he found out then?” Yunho inquires, tone so low you can barely pick up on the words.

“He wouldn’t need to, Yunho. He wouldn’t need to find out. He could just hear that she passed away in her sleep a long time ago because of age or illness.”

“You’re so ready to base your relationship with him on lies when doing so was what caused things to go to shit between you in the first place. I can’t fix you a second time, Hongjoong. I can’t do shit if you are the one making things intentionally worse. You need to sit your ass down in that fucking brig like a god damn man would and take responsibility for your mistakes. Then you need to ask Seonghwa what he wants and hear it from his own damn mouth rather than assuming what Seonghwa wants and hoping for the best. Fucking listen to him and trust him for once instead of making every decision in his life for him. Why do you think he ran off to Y/N in the first place?” That causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and you seize up as though both men inside know you’re standing outside the door as they speak. “He at least got to choose her.”

“He chose to join my crew, he asked to join my crew, he chose a fuckton of things in his life, Yunho! You want me to be a man? I am his captain. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not, Hongjoong. You being captain doesn’t mean shit to me unless you have the balls to back it up, and from where I’m standing, you aren’t going to step up anytime soon. There are only two people on this ship who can put you in your place. That includes both me and Seonghwa, but Seonghwa stopped doing it a long time ago because you changed the dynamic of the relationship without stopping to ask him how he felt.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re in control now?” Hongjoong counters, but his voice has lost a bit of the edge in it.

“Act?” Yunho releases a tiny hum. You can almost feel the way the mood inside the room shifts despite not being inside yourself. “Now you’re just trying to rile me up so you get what you want and I forget about this conversation.”

“That would only be the case if it works, Yunho.”

You pull back from the door, having a slight sense of where this conversation is headed and realizing that you probably shouldn’t stay any longer. As you move to exit the bridge, however, you can’t help but wonder how much of what Yunho said is accurate.

Would — could Seonghwa really want to kill his mother? Maybe for a sense of closure and peace? To put that part of his life behind him for good perhaps?

If Hongjoong truly were to kill the woman behind Seonghwa’s back, then you don’t doubt that Seonghwa would be enraged, to put it mildly. Everything you have seen from him thus far since meeting him has shown you that he prefers to do things himself than to rely on others to do it for him. Yet… even if his mother passed of natural causes, you are not sure that Seonghwa could have his closure unless he saw her body with his own two eyes. So maybe that is why his inner voice is as desperate as it is for him to kill her.

You cannot speak for Seonghwa himself, but you do know a fraction about such closure. Not seeing Hyunwoo’s body after the execution and having to dig an empty grave was one of the most painful experiences of your life, even if you cannot remember much of it or if it was completely fabricated, the pain you were left with from said memory is still sore to the touch. You would have given anything to have his body to bury but instead, you were left with absolutely nothing, not even something small and of value to him in life. You were denied closure then. It causes you to think back to those pardon papers again. If you had been granted that closure, would you have even sought the pardon papers in the first place? Would you have gone off and settled down somewhere no one could find you?

Seonghwa has mentioned craving peace before. You know you will never have yours because of your lack of closure, so perhaps if he were to achieve his, then things would end better for him.

That thought stops you dead in your tracks, midway down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

Although… Seonghwa mentioned begging to be put in the brig. If he truly wanted this, then why the hell would he ask for such a thing?

“Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

You make a spur of the moment decision right then and there, spinning on your heel in the middle of the corridor and inhaling sharply as you head back to the bridge with a new thought in mind. You wish to hear from Hongjoong himself what transpired before Seonghwa was put in the brig and the reasoning as to why Hongjoong agreed to such a thing. Sure, now might not be the opportune time for such a discussion, but you have already made up your mind and it’s unlikely you would be able to sleep with this plaguing your thoughts anyway.

Less than a minute passes before you are back at Hongjoong’s door, this time rapping your knuckles as hard and loud as you can on the metal. You hear nothing more of a conversation inside — neither his nor Yunho’s voices filter through the door until after your knocking ceases. Then a bit of shuffling resounds followed by some mutterings that vaguely sound like complaints of some sort. That could not have prepared you in the slightest for the sight that greets you when the door finally slides open.

First of all, it is not Hongjoong who stands before you, but rather Yunho.

And not only that little shocking tidbit because Yunho is very much standing half-naked with pants hung low around his hips and absolutely no shame or insecurity in the way he leans against the doorframe to greet you.

The inherent shock from the sight causes you to sputter and choke on air, gaze darting off to the side and away from the healer as quick as humanly possible. You truly do your best to ignore the very obvious trail of bruises along the column of his neck and collarbone, along with the ones traveling lower.

“Oh? Looking to join us, Y/N?” He asks. An amused grin paints his lips, you can see that much out the corner of your eye.

“Abs-Absolutely not, Yunho, are you mad?” You refute through a stutter and dare to focus back on his face (and his face only). Yunho arches an eyebrow, not at all shy in the way he drags his gaze over your body from head to toe. You ignore him with a scoff then ready to duck around his stupidly tall form. He seems to catch that before you can though because he darts a hand out across the doorway and effectively blocks your path inside.

“You certain about that? You seem a bit eager to come in.” Your only reply is a pointed glare. Thankfully, Yunho picks up on the hint in that look after a second and shifts his tone. “Is it an emergency?”

“I need to ask Hongjoong something, it’s important. About Seonghwa.” You see movement just past Yunho’s shoulder and glance beyond him. Hongjoong stands back at the other edge of the room in the doorframe to what must be his bedroom. You nearly don’t recognize him right them because of how… incredibly fragile he appears to be. A blanket wraps around his shoulders and torso, dwarfing his already small figure and making him almost come across as something delicate. If someone asked you to point out the horrifying and menacing pirate captain in the room, you would glance over Hongjoong without a thought.

“I take it you’ve been down to the brig then?” Hongjoong pipes up. His voice bounces off the walls to reach your ears, confident and knowing.

“I have.”

Hongjoong ducks his chin to his chest, and the way his breathing shakes his form almost makes him seem like he’s laughing at your response. Then he comes closer to join you and Yunho where you stand. You hardly miss the way one of the captain’s hands darts out to touch Yunho’s bare waist before he brushes a soft kiss over the back of Yunho’s shoulder. It’s a rare — no, more than simply rare, it’s frankly a sight you have never seen from Hongjoong before in that you have never witnessed him be so openly intimate with anyone in the crew in such a way. Perhaps the closest he has gotten was when you were left in the medbay with him and Seonghwa, but even that was not as… openly blatant as the way he touches Yunho before you now. Yet it does not seem to be meant to tease you in any way; you moreso get the sense that it’s almost a threat in a way. After all, you are still the newest on the crew and you aren’t sure you have fully gained Hongjoong’s trust. If this is a challenge, you aren’t sure how it is meant to test you.

“Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there shortly,” Hongjoong murmurs against Yunho’s slightly flushed skin. The healer steps away with nothing more than a nod. Hongjoong waits until the taller man disappears into that room he just emerged from before turning back to face you. He still seems smaller in your eyes like this even though he is closer; the two of you are more evenly matched when he’s not wearing his typical heeled boots. The blanket around his body strains as he pulls it tighter. He, like Yunho, is very clearly not wearing much in the way of clothes underneath, but at least he covered himself mildly even if you can see a deep v exposing his chest through the folds of the fabric. It is enough for you to see numerous bumps and ridges along that strip of skin, all discolored and mismatched lines that mar an otherwise perfect canvas of tanned skin. Even if expected, it’s an alarming amount of scars for such a small expanse of skin. And if you look past the points where scars are, you can make out the barest hint of black ink accompanying the marks — it spreads over him like a constellation, connected by lines and threads of varying thickness to meet each other in other corners.

You tear your gaze away with great effort, clearing your throat as you blink up to look the captain in the eye.

“Seonghwa mentioned that something happened while we were gone on the mission. He asked me to leave before I had the chance to ask further about it but…” Your voice dies in your throat then, and nerves suddenly curl in your stomach. When you speak again, it’s in nothing more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Hongjoong hums.

It’s the only sound he makes for quite a while too, and you think he has no intention of continuing the conversation until he shifts his blanket all of a sudden and exposes the lower half of his body. Just as before with Yunho, you are swift to look in the opposite direction before you spot anything you do not wish to see.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Captain,” you grit out, finding a newfound interest in the wall to your left. Hongjoong exhales a laugh that’s so soft it sounds more like a sigh.

“Seonghwa stabbed me.”

Now that has your head jerking back to examine him, and thankfully, your eyes settle on pants around his hips rather than nothing at all. One of his hands slips down to tap what looks to be a bandage. He peels it back as gently as possible and reveals a narrow yet long slice along his abdomen, almost parallel to his side. All in all, it doesn’t appear to be too gruesome or gnarly, no doubt held together by liquid stitches of some sort.

“We had a small argument after putting Han in the brig,” Hongjoong continues. As usual, his tone is near impossible to read with no clues as to what he is feeling as he recalls the memory.

“Did it involve discussions of Seonghwa’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, of course, it did.” Hongjoong returns the bandage to its original placement then tugs the blanket back around his body. He brings a hand up to run through his mess of fading blue hair. “It didn’t start that way though. He accused me of caring more about him appearing to be an Elitist than anything else. Threatened to tell Jisung that he is a Siren along with the rest of the crew. I doubt Jisung even cares about Sirens in the slightest given the way he is hyperfocused on you instead, but Seonghwa has always been so adamant about being wanted by others because of what he is. And I know that we were both acting rashly and out of fear rather than reason, but it doesn’t — that does not excuse what we said to each other. I told Seonghwa that perhaps he might feel better killing me rather than his mother, and that obviously did not go over very well. That’s when he stabbed me, well, it was more a glancing blow than a stab. Hardly even deep enough to cause significant damage, but Seonghwa damn near acted as though I was fucking bleeding to death though. He called for Yunho to get me patched up them begged that I put him in the brig. As much as I wanted to deny him that, I complied.”

“I can talk to him,” you offer without a second thought.

“Talk to him? What is it you think to do, Y/N?”

“I was denied my closure, Captain, and that has haunted me every day for the past several years. You… you are a person who achieved that already; I don’t need to know the details of your backstory to understand that because it is more than clear in the way you handle yourself and matters around you. But Seonghwa? He hasn’t gotten his closure either. At least allow me to talk with him and see if this is what he truly wants before you rule anything out.” Hongjoong regards you with nothing more than a lingering stare for a bit. You take it as a cue to excuse yourself and leave, yet the second you turn to do so, he catches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to be face to face with him. The jerk of his arm sends you propelling forward more than you expect because it tugs you close enough to nearly smack foreheads with the captain.

“I am willing to trust you with this and with Seonghwa, at least for now. Take care to remember that, especially when it comes to Seonghwa’s heart. For if you mislead him in the slightest, there will be hell to pay.” Your subconsciousness has you straightening your back at those words, reading the thinly veiled threat with ease.

“I won’t do anything to influence his decisions. They should all be his own anyway, so I won’t try to change that for him. You have my word. Besides, you no doubt plan to talk with him again soon, right?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into a pointed glare at that comment, and you catch yourself a little too late. “At least, I’m sure he would appreciate that either way.” That soothes the captain enough for him to release his grip on your arm, and he lets you step away from the door after that.

“I pray for both our sakes that his mind is kind enough to have a reasonable discussion with you. But… don’t — don’t get too close just in case the worst happens.”

“Understood, Captain,” you whisper back. The warning is a bit haunting albeit necessary; it’s moreso unfortunate that Hongjoong has to even usher the warning in the first place because the Seonghwa you know would never willingly harm someone he cares about. Especially not Hongjoong.

As you walk away from Hongjoong’s quarters and off the bridge for a second time tonight, you have to remind yourself that it is still Seonghwa down there. He isn’t a different person, he’s not some monster even if there is a bit of fear curling through your gut as you walk down to the brig. He remains the same Seonghwa that you know and care about so much. Perhaps you have just been blessed enough to only witness the pretty sides to his character in the time you’ve known him. Thinking all the way back to the way you met — how you knocked him out cold in front of an airlock — he was not cruel or heartless then either. In fact, every ounce of evidence up until recently made you wonder how such a compassionate soul could possibly be such a deadly and fearsome pirate.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go home and face my demons after all,” Seonghwa whispers, letting his smile stretch a bit wider. It falls away a second later, and something dark takes over, something you decide you don’t want to see cross Seonghwa’s features again. Because in that moment, you see something sinister and cruel, and all the legends you heard about the man come to life before you. The stories of a man in a black cloak bearing a silver scythe in one hand with a gun in the other, the fearless killer who stands beside the Scourge of the Black Sea rearing death in his wake. When Seonghwa turns on his heel and leaves the room, you see it. The dark shadows billowing behind him curl outwards and sweep across the floor, crude shapes built by the light in the hallway, and that cloak of darkness sits on Seonghwa’s shoulders. It’s like the Lieutenant of Death has crawled his way out of the dark abyss of hell that Seonghwa kept him buried in, and the face he rears horrifies you.

That thought keeps you occupied the whole way down to the brig, and it continues when you climb down the ladder with hesitant steps. As before, Jisung is the first thing you see when you reach the bottom, although this time he is curled on his side and facing the wall. He must be asleep given his position, yet you’re hesitant to write him off as so without knowing for certain. You don’t dare stop to find out, however, and instead just move past his cell as quietly as you can.

You find Seonghwa still sitting upright in his own tiny prison. He has shifted to put his back to Jisung now though, and his head hangs at an angle that is uncomfortable to look at. Whether he was already awake or merely sensed your presence, you have no way of knowing. Nonetheless, he shifts to glance back at you when you approach, chains jingling and rattling in the silence of the room.

“I asked you not to return,” he murmurs once you are close enough to hear him. You don’t kneel before his cell in the same way you did last time. There’s a bit more distance between you and the bars now, enough to be just out of harm’s way but near enough for you to reach out if you so desired.

“You know I’m no good at following orders,” you reply with a melancholy smile. Seonghwa’s gaze softens a bit at that. He tilts his head back to rest on the bars, still staring at you out the corner of his eye. He seems exhausted beyond belief — muscles lax and with no strength to them, eyelids drooping every time he blinks, breath huffing out in deep sighs rather than even exhales. Despite that, you don’t get the sense he wants to rest at all.

“Why aren’t you resting? I’m sure you’re tired from the mission.”

“I rested enough earlier.” But couldn’t stay asleep because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which you killed both yourself and Hongjoong. Ones where San took the serum and forgot me. “I’m okay.” That seems to be more for your own ears than for Seonghwa’s. He hums a bit anyway, acknowledging your words as his eyelids flutter some.

“You don’t need to come keep me company, you know.”

“I can’t just see you because I want to?”

“Y/N…” Seonghwa faces forward before finishing the thought. Something seems to overcome him, if the sudden spike of distress that rolls off his shoulders is any indication at least, and he curls in on himself some more. Your first instinct is to move closer to him and offer some sort of physical comfort, but Seonghwa only pushes further into the corner of his cell when you move. “Don’t.”

“I trust you, Seonghwa,” you utter back. You heed his words though and stop dead in your tracks.

“That would be your first mistake.”

“Why?”

“What?” Seonghwa’s counterattack sounds nearly incredulous.

“Why would it be a mistake to trust you?”

“You are at a greater risk than Hongjoong, yet I still hurt him. Just like last time.”

“How am I at a greater risk, Seonghwa?”

“I don’t — I fear… I fear my mind mistaking you for someone who should die simply because you are a woman.”

“Ah…” you exhale. The implication is there: he’s afraid of mistaking you for his mother in the craze that his head is putting him through. You hadn’t even thought that to be a risk before honestly. From the memories you saw of her, you don’t think you look anything like said woman, but you also have no idea of what Seonghwa’s demons are capable of convincing him to believe. If they’re strong enough to make him harm Hongjoong, then no doubt they would be capable of that too. Seonghwa reaches down to rub at the skin around his ankles, where the flesh has already turned red and bruised from repeated abuse.

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I’ll lose my mind. I almost wish that fool behind me would do more to antagonize me, but it’s my own head that refuses to let me come up for air.” The chains rattle once more as he reaches up to massage his hairline. The thin black strands of hair cling to his skin like he’s sweating buckets, and under the little bit of light in the brig, you can see a sheen of sweat on his body.

The room is deathly cold.

“Hongjoong mentioned… he said you believe he is forcing you to masquerade as an Elitist.” The words are spoken quiet enough to where you don’t think Jisung could pick up on them even if he were awake.

“I don’t. That’s the thing — I don’t believe that. I know he’s not. I don’t know what came over me when I said such a thing. It isn’t his fault that I-I am like this, and he shouldn’t even have to b-blame himself for it. I’m the one who chose this and demanded the masquerade before he even knew my true identity.”

“But—”

You stop the thought in your throat, cutting off with a small grimace and sigh of air. Seonghwa jerks to look at you anyway. He waits and waits for you to finish the thought, and under his intense gaze, you have lost much of the confidence you had in saying such a thing.

“From what I saw of your memories, and what you told me of your childhood, you were not the one to decide that,” you say after some deliberation. “It was her.” Admittedly, part of you fears the reaction you might garner from Seonghwa in mentioning his mother directly, so you try to keep it as vague as possible. “You never asked to be kept a secret.”

“My worst crime then was being born,” Seonghwa murmurs more to himself than to you. “Now what is it? A son who wants nothing more than to kill the woman who brought him into this world? The more time goes on, the more I… I-I lose myself. I don’t know where my line of morality is, nor do I know how to adhere to it. Y/N, I’m—” Seonghwa falls silent, tongue caught between his teeth, and when he looks to you, there are tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

You don’t think you have ever heard Seonghwa utter such words, at least not with the raw conviction he says them with or the wrecked pain that radiates off his body.

“Are you afraid of what might happen if you do kill her or what might happen if you don’t?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away; instead, he hangs his head between his knees and you can only watch helplessly as the man’s shoulders tremble under an invisible weight.

“The right answer… what a good person would say is that I fear killing her. But I’m more terrified of what happens if I don’t. How much longer do I suffer if I don’t take this opportunity now? Can I justify risking your safety, Hongjoong’s safety, the crew’s safety for being a good person? I know the blood on my hands is already immeasurable, the infamous Lieutenant of Death shouldn’t fear one more life ended, and I don’t. I just can’t figure out if the Seonghwa who isn’t an Elitist believes that or if it’s the Seonghwa I’ve pretended to be most of my life. Maybe part of me fears how you all might view me if I do kill her.”

“I can’t say it wouldn’t change anything, but I don’t know if anyone would view you as a bad or evil person because of it.”

Seonghwa huffs out a weak laugh and pushes his hair back with the hand he’s not keeping clenching into a tight fist.

“I think Hongjoong is convinced I’ll turn into some sort of monster.”

“He believes that you don’t want to do it,” you counter. “He thinks that your definition of losing yourself lies in killing your mother.”

“I thought it did too.” Hopeless. That’s the word you would use to describe Seonghwa’s current tone, and it burns you from the inside out to hear such desperation on his lips. “If I keep pulling away simply because I’m afraid to hurt any of you, then what right do I have to call myself a lieutenant? To work as Hongjoong’s right-hand? I-I should have some semblance of self-control rather than continuing to distance myself. I thought back then that my mind was crying for her blood bec-because it wanted me to go insane, but now it sounds more and more like a cry for help. When this is all said and done, when it’s time for me to rest, I don’t want to have lost any of you along the way. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it either.”

To you, that sounds like a decision. And so, you echo his words back to him with a resolute tone.

“If you tell Hongjoong that, he would take you there, Seonghwa.” You aren’t strong enough to push the full meaning into your words, but it lingers between you. He knows what you mean. “He’s adamant that the decision be yours, as am I. Even Yunho wants you to do what you think is the best course of action. And should you get there and not be able to carry it out, no one would force you to, and no one would do it for you unless you asked that of them.”

“I could never ask anyone to take that burden for me, Y/N.”

“Then you have your answer.” You muster up the courage to slide closer to Seonghwa’s cage and slip a hand between the bars. You don’t push your luck and touch him quite yet, merely letting your hand rest on the bed of metal for Seonghwa to regard with a terrified stare. Although it’s slow progress, he inches his hand down to rest a little ways away from your own. “I promised Hongjoong that I would do nothing to influence your decision, and I plan to uphold that promise. I just… want you to know you are loved today just as you were yesterday, and you’ll be loved tomorrow as well. Whatever kind of that love is, it’s love nonetheless. These people — the family you have built and chosen yourself — will continue to love you even if you get a little lost along the way.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so certain of something before.”

It’s your turn to exhale a little laugh, although yours is merely one of faux amusement.

“I wish you could see the way they look at you, Seonghwa. The respect they hold in their eyes when they see you, the admiration and love and affection — I don’t need to feel what they feel to know how much they care. It’s not a matter of thinking you are strong because they know you are. You don’t have to force yourself to show restraint or continue to be the thing your mother wanted you to be for them to know you are strong. You have already been with them through some of the toughest moments of their lives, you have been at Hongjoong’s side and you have led just as much as he has. I firmly believe that is not a bond that could be so easily severed.”

Seonghwa’s fingers are so close to yours, so close to curling around your palm and holding you at last, taking that last step of the fickle little thing called trust. At this point, you are throwing yourself headfirst into it with reckless abandon. While there might be some hesitance hiding away in your bones, you would rather see Seonghwa take this step forward in trusting himself.

In the next second, that precious thread of peace snaps and frays at the edges.

“Bravo, Y/N, bravo.” You withdraw your hand from Seonghwa’s cell with a start, lips pressing into a thin line as you turn to regard the man who spoke with a glare. Jisung smiles back at you. It’s all poison and menace. His chains ring to an inaudible song as he claps his hands together. “Oh, you must be so proud of yourself for that one, little lady. Absolutely riveting and… encouraging and… inadequate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You hiss back without answering the question.

“I don’t think I do. Because every time I speak, I just dig my way under your skin a little more, and that? That amuses me to no end.”

“Don’t humor him, Y/N,” Seonghwa mutters. His hands are now withdrawn to rest in his lap again and curled into tight balls as he stares down at the floor. “I’ve found he wears himself out if you ignore him.” You can hardly imagine being trapped here for more than five minutes with Jisung, but Seonghwa has been in here for hours. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the same resilience that Seonghwa does.

You push up to your feet and stalk towards Jisung’s cell with no clear intent in your mind.

It feeds right into what he said though, it’s proof that he has gotten under your skin and bothered you to some extent, yet you don’t stop even with that knowledge.

“Don’t you have what you want? Haven’t you wreaked enough havoc in your stay here?”

“Oh? And what is it I want exactly, Y/N? Let me hear it from your pretty lips instead of my own.”

“You want me,” you spit back, leaning over the bars like it will intimidate the man behind them.

“And? Do I have what I want?”

“And you fucking have me. I made the deal, I did what you wanted, can’t you quit now?”

“Such foul language from my little lady’s mouth. A shame, truly.”

“I’m not yours to be clai—”

“Incorrect! You said it yourself: I have you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you mine. I really wanted us to find a nice peaceful place to settle down after all this, but you… you are so violent. Angry. I really would rather not be forced to deal with such behaviors, but if you continue to do so, then maybe we can try that method they’re using on the Spectre. What was it? Regression… therapy? I hear it’s quite effective in breaking someone’s spirit. Shall we try?”

You know better than to fall into that trap again. It’s all for show; Jisung is merely saying and doing these things to bother you because he knows how best to do so. He hasn’t yet even proven that he has the balls to follow through with anything he’s threatened, but he also understands that he doesn’t need to. Whether he proves it or not, he wins merely by garnering a reaction from you. It was a tactic you learned about years ago, something they taught your unit before you engage in high-risk intelligence-gathering missions.

“You don’t get to talk about San,” you fire back, right into the trap Jisung laid before you.

“San, is it? He’s the one you worry about most, no?” The smile painted on Jisung’s lips nearly seems genuine. It probably would be if not for the gleam in his eyes. “You always got too attached too quickly. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Jisung sits up on his heels and traces a finger over the bars separating you. Whatever the reason in doing so is a mystery to you, but you stand transfixed by the gentle movements.

“I bet you haven’t even told him how you feel. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? The part where they leave? Die? Or worse… forget everything about you? When the doctors go in to reset his brain, they won’t even think to keep those memories of you. If it makes you feel any better, I can take your memories of him away too.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The laugh that tears through Jisung’s lips echoes off the walls and bounces off your ears.

“Is this so amusing to you?” Seonghwa is the one to pose the question, voiced raised a bit so it carries over to where you and Jisung are.

“I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet. I do so adore seeing relationships crack under the slightest bit of pressure though. I suppose that’s one thing dearest Y/N and I have in common. I’m not sure she’s let you glimpse into the cruelest parts of her yet.” His smile drops with such haste that it causes you to visibly flinch. “I’ve seen them all, Lieutenant. Oh, the fun we’ll have once together again, doll~”

“Fuck you, Han,” you spit through the curling fear in your gut. Your words have no effect and offer no respite, however; all it does is bring the smile back to Jisung’s lips and another laugh from his throat.

“You should be grateful that Hyunwoo spared you from living with the weight of your worst crimes. I wanted to let you live with them but he said you would be too guilty and too much of a liability if we left you with them. He had to be the one to take the weight of those crimes after all. I wonder how many of those broken memories will still be intact when I go back into that pretty little brain of yours again. Since Hyunwoo won’t be around to keep me from playing this time, that is. Which ones should I release first, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

“You saw our lovely whore in Lynder didn’t you? Don’t tell me she forgave you for what you did… perhaps we should start there.”

“Shut the hell up, Han Jisung, if you want to keep your life.”

“Oh?” Jisung presses forward and gets to his feet without batting an eye. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to his cell until he comes face to face with you behind the bars, so close that the heat from his body radiates onto your skin. “I would be careful, Y/N. I’ve spent years learning how best to toy with brains using the military’s serum. If you want to keep your sanity, then I suggest you play nice like the good little doll you are. You wouldn’t want to be left with any horribly traumatic memories, now would you?”

Jisung’s lips fall into a faux pout, and you take a hasty step back from the bars in disgust.

“I told you: I know plenty about making people break. All I have to do is tell you the smallest white lie for seeds of doubt to take root. I can make you believe that you killed thousands of people without even taking a single step into your head. Take that into account before you attempt to threaten me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but we… we’re merely two halves of a whole crazy, Y/N. You need me to survive because if you didn’t, you would have forgotten all about me a long time ago, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it funny how someone who doesn’t even have any true and real memories of her past clings to it so desperately?”

“You know, from where I’m standing, you aren’t doing shit to help us find the others, so I have no reason to uphold my end of the bargain,” you deflect, turning the conversation on its head to escape his pointless scrutiny of your reasoning. It works to your advantage perfectly because Jisung huffs air through his teeth and rolls his eyes.

“We’re on Dorado, no? Your Berserker is in the Lower Echelon of Lynder near the Smokehouses. Large warehouse preparing for reprogramming no doubt. You won’t be able to get him out. Your best hope is to wait until after the reprogramming as my crew will take him back to our ship, then we can play tradesies and bring him back while you come with me.”

“Or you can go to that warehouse and tell them the deal is off and there’s been a change in plans.”

You squat down beside Jisung’s cell, hand slipping over your waistband and dipping underneath it to pull the sheathed knife you keep there out. It glints under the low yellow lights above your head.

“Scourge was right in saying that it’s hard to threaten a man like you. But one thing fucks your plans up, Jisung. If I’m dead, then what do you get out of this?”

The playful gleam in Jisung’s eyes fades like a candle being snuffed out. His smirk falls, expression growing grave in mere seconds, and you crank up the heat a little further as you dance the knife over the inside of your wrist.

“If it means ruining your plans, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my crew. You should know that by now.”

“You haven’t fucking changed in all these years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You fucking wish, you harlot. Do you really think—”

You cut him short by digging the knife harder into your skin, just enough to break through and cause a stream of red to slip out. He falls silent with a sharp inhale of air.

“I hope you agree before I run dry, Jisung. You want me to be a psychopath so badly? Let’s fucking play. Ten seconds until I cut again, and this time it’ll be vertical, so I sure hope you realize the stakes now.”

“You think your boy toy in the corner over there will sit still as you kill yourself to prove a point?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like neither of you is in any sort of position to stop me. Five seconds, Jisung.” A drop of scarlet falls from the tip of the knife to the floor. Jisung watches it splatter, eyes calculating and careful as it moves, then he blinks back up to look you in the eye.

“I’ll tell them to cancel the reprogramming and send your Berserker back to my ship.”

“That’s not good enough,” you reply without missing a beat. The knife careens back towards your arm, and Jisung lunges forward in his cell as you shift, a desperate attempt to stop you from continuing the damage. He can’t fit a hand through the bars with the shackles around his wrists though, and he’s left to hiss out a complaint when the knife penetrates your skin again. It’s closer to your elbow this time, a deceptively shallow slice the runs parallel to the bone. Red blossoms over the line immediately. “You go in there, get them to cancel the reprogramming, then bring him out yourself to deliver him to this ship and this ship only.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away, prompting you to lift the knife again in threat, and he snaps into action at that. Scarlet trails down the blade.

“Fine! You can even send some fucking lackeys with me to make sure I get the job done.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to fuck it up while out there; I will go with you, along with our Berserker Jongho just so you don’t forget what you’re supposed to do out there.” It’s hardly your place to make such decisions or plans in place of Hongjoong, but since he’s otherwise preoccupied at the moment and you have this chance before you right now, you are going to do the most with it. And if Hongjoong has any issue with that? You’re willing to take the consequences of your actions later.

“If that’s what will make you happy, then so be it. My intention has always been to help you recover your lost crewmates.”

“Even though you were the one who kidnapped and sold them in the first place?”

“Did you think I would make things easy for you, Y/N? Come now… don’t let my kindness fool you. You haven’t even thought to ask about the other one — the Spectre, was it? Here I thought he mattered to you. You were oh so concerned when I spoke of him before.”

“I’m fucking getting there, Han. You’re in no position to be impatient,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. Jisung merely laughs at the fire in your tone.

“I’m hardly impatient, doll. In fact, I have all the time in the world. However—” he hesitates to lift one of his shackled hands and points a finger directly up “—that Spectre has a countdown looming over his head, does he not? Countdown to the hard reset? I wonder what stage of regression therapy they’re at by now. Or maybe he’s already given in? My men told me that he was… so responsive whenever your name was mentioned. I wonder if he’ll beg like the mutt he is when it comes time for him to break.”

That tips you over the edge you’ve been teetering on since entering the brig for a second time. You drop your knife to the ground, letting it clatter and fall away from where you’re squatted in front of Jisung, then you thrust your bleeding arm through the bars to close your fingers around his throat where the band of his collar can’t reach. The strain and pull on your skin burns and causes the wounds to split a bit further. It doesn’t stop you from squeezing Jisung’s neck until his face turns purple.

“Run that by me again, Han Jisung, and see what happens.”

It’s that slight insanity creeping back up your neck and into your mind — the same craze that overtook you when Taskmaster Cara stabbed San back on Echidna.

“What? Is this not a fun game for you? You were enjoying it so much not too long ago. Do you not enjoy it not?” You taunt as you twist the blade in her.

“Y-You’re a fucking – fucking psychopath.”

The smile returns to your lips. You pull the knife out of her leg with haste then move forward so that you can squat down in front of her.

“I’ve heard that before too,” you mutter as you twirl the knife in your grasp. The smile coating your lips dissipates. “But only by the people who deserve their fates.”

It terrified you then, made you fear who you were and what you could become. Now? Your mind fights the urge to kill Jisung as best it can, but it’s a losing battle, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot peel your hand away from his neck. It’s like a voice is playing on repeat in the back of your head, saying ‘kill kill kill’ over without cease.

Your ears ring with the blood thumping through your veins. If you squeeze just a little tighter then—

“Enough.”

Your hand pulls away from Jisung’s neck with such haste that you slam it hard against the bars as you’re trying to withdraw it from his cell. You scramble back from the cell full of a terror that can only be directed at yourself because you don’t know what came over you in that moment. The figure creeping up on your left doesn’t even register until he is in your space and squatting beside you. A hand overlays one of your trembling ones and pulls your arm out until your injured forearm is exposed.

“Reckless. What else should I expect from you?” It’s then that you finally decide to look up at the owner of the voice, finding none other than the captain standing over you like you’re nothing more than a petulant child who can’t learn a lesson. Still, his tone holds far more softness than anger, and you don’t get the sense that he’s truly enraged by your actions. “Go see Yunho and get these cleaned, hm? You’ll need to be in top condition if you’re heading out on yet another mission tomorrow. Though we’ll have to discuss your tendency to jump the gun on planning things without orders in the future as well.”

Ah, so he’s been present for a while if he overheard that bit as well. Then he had every opportunity to stop you from harming yourself or making any propositions with Jisung the entire time. It’s almost touching in a way knowing that Hongjoong allowed you to have that moment of control — a moment to take matters into your own hands — even if he’s all but told you that there will be consequences for said moment.

You offer a hesitant nod in response, glancing over at Jisung one last time before Hongjoong helps you to your feet. You are about to step past the captain when he yanks you back by the elbow in a similar fashion to your earlier stand-off with him outside his quarters. He presses so close to you that you smell the distinct musk of a fresh shower on his skin.

“Yunho’s still upstairs so don’t bother dropping by his room.”

You don’t understand why he had to whisper that fact to you like it was a closely guarded secret, but you are not going to point that out either. Instead, you murmur a quiet thank you and turn to climb the ladder out of the brig. Just before you reach the top, you dare to cast one more glance down to Hongjoong. He has moved to assume your previous position in front of Jisung’s cell, squatted low enough to be eye level with the man, and he holds your forgotten knife between two fingers. The scene is telling enough, but you can’t help but wonder what Hongjoong saw when you had your hand wrapped around Jisung’s neck. If he saw the way you started to pull apart at the seams and become slightly unhinged, that is. An even larger part of you wonders if perhaps what he saw was frightening enough to cause him to step in when he did.

The thought does not dwell for long; you put the brig behind you and leave Hongjoong to his own devices in there, deciding it better to not think about whatever he plans to do or say until he inevitably mentions it later to the crew. And even if he deems it unnecessary for the crew to know, you would accept that as well. Either way, you wish to leave what just happened behind you, bury it in the recesses of your mind like it’s a memory that does not belong because you wish it didn’t.

Your hands continue to tremble by your sides for the entirety of the walk back to the Hongjoong’s quarters.

I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

✧✧✧ a/n: here we are again i really played myself and said yeah this will be under 10k so i LIED to mYSELF um yeah wow okay i never know what to say after finishing a chapter i just go brrr i have a lot of energy tho feeling good about this chapter bringing back the survey bc it’s been a minute and i’d love to hear how we’re feeling nowadays and as always let me know how you feel in the comments replies whatever you wish just bring it on let’s GO hit me with the theories and thoughts!

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[redorich]

Hello! I've enjoyed your hermitcraft au tremendously over the last few days, they've filled the void I've expirienced by missing EVERY LAST ONE OF TECHNOS STREAMS BECAUSE HE NEVER ANOUNCES THEM. ehem. I mean- it's a really cool story and I love your style! I just read the last bit of the dream invasion and now I am really excited for Dream on the Hermitcraft server? I assume he probably won't stay there. He's a warrior after all, not just by need but by choice. He's good at it - one of the best and hermits are.. Well, peaceful, ain't they? Plus, there is a country waiting for him back home. But I like the idea that perhaps he stays a little. So X can make sure he really did get all of the dreamon out. Doc possibly does some experiments on him for that - experiments are sort of his thing, after all, as the local crazy mad scientist and everything.

And all the while dream can get better. Sure he is a fighter and all but...the dreamon was with him for so long, it has to be traumatizing as all hell. I like the idea that he gets a bit of time to heal on the hermitcraft server. That Tommy helps him a bit - as much as he can without picking at his own trauma too much. That he learns to be at least a little more peaceful, learns that if people are allowed some peace they can make wonderful things. All the sights on the hermitcraft server are so impressive and I imagine dream is just as astounded that no one griefs them as Tommy is. Especially if so many hermits are just horrible at pvp (not just compared to his standards, he's used to that, but just objectively) they should really be to weak to keep their creations safe.

But still they're peaceful. No powerstruggle, no oppression. It's astounding - to dream anyways. Would that work back home? If he could take a little bit of this mindest back home, perhaps it could help him make up for all the horrible shit he did with dreamon?

If you're up for that, do you mind perhaps writing a little thing about something in that direction? I just want to see the green boy get better - specifically in ur style bc, as stated above, it's a pretty amazing writing style and I have fallen in love

Reconstruction of the Hermitcraft shopping district doesn’t take long. It wasn’t obliterated the way Old L’Manberg was, and there are a lot of hermits with lots of building materials and lots of ideas on how to make the shopping district even better than it was before. Dream revives everyone from the Dream SMP, even the ones who lost their last canon life in the battle, because “canon lives” are a concept that the dreamon came up with anyway. All the Dream SMP people return to their own server, save Dream himself. Tommy takes Dream to the little forested clearing he knows like the back of his hand by now: the waterfall he’s poured hours and gallons into, the cozy cottage, the library tower which hides his secret underground drug lab.

Tommy considers making Dream a house to live in. It would be spruce and cobble, and match the rest of Tommy’s builds. Tommy’s been meaning to try a trick Bdubs showed him involving trap doors and slabs, anyway.

Instead, Tommy gives Dream a shulker box full of stone bricks, random types of logs, and colored glass, then invites Bdubs and Grian over to help Tommy build a guest cabin, for when people visit him. Dream sits high up in a tree, carving random designs into a shield, and pretends that he isn’t paying attention. Still, once the builders are gone, Dream builds his own house using the advice the two hermits gave to Tommy. It doesn’t match, and it’s awkwardly square. It’s the prettiest thing Dream’s ever built.

Dream mulls over some advice he’d heard Grian depart on Tommy-- maybe he should strip the logs in this bit of his house? He doesn’t realize he’s talking aloud. Tommy tosses an unenchanted iron axe at the ground for Dream to pick up. The speedrunner freezes, recalling the many times Tommy’s given him tools, and the explosions that destroyed said tools. But no, Tommy’s got an enchanted netherite pickaxe in his hand, which he twirls idly as he discusses the pros and cons of stripping the logs on the corner of Dream’s house.

The house Dream builds is just one room. It’s got everything he needs: a bed, a double chest, a crafting table (embedded in the floor for conservation of space), a furnace, and an anvil. He spends more time in Tommy’s house than his own. Tommy’s home has a fireplace, with campfires that softly puff smoke out the chimney; the house has a dedicated bedroom with End rods that glow just enough, and in the main room his things are stored in barrels instead of chests even though it’s less efficient this way. A stonecutter perches itself on a raised trapdoor at waist height, sitting placidly next to some sea pickles. 

Jealousy pricks at Dream’s eyes. He’s so smart, he’s the Manhunt champion, a PvP legend, MCC winner. Why does he feel dumb because he doesn’t know how to make a house look like a home?

The hermits don’t extend any offers of help. He thinks they might be wary of him; yet, whenever he meets their eyes they have nothing but kind smiles for him. Are they trying to trick him or something?

Tommy understands. The hermits know better than to offer to help Dream right now. If Dream is anything like Tommy, he’ll accept the help with suspicions of espionage at best, and outright refuse what he perceives as pity at worst.

Tommy imparts what he’s learned on Dream. The role reversal’s irony is not lost on either of them. Still, Dream swallows his pride and learns how to create depth in a build, what an observer clock is, how to craft all the useless pretty blocks that he’d never bothered with before. Tommy’s painstakingly disinfected his own emotional wounds; the hermits have spent months of trial and error trying to learn how to help him heal. Dream’s a speedrunner, and Tommy’s got the strats. He’d sooner die than say it out loud, but now’s his time to practice what he’s learned and help Dream speedrun getting some fucking therapy-- one semi-ugly build at a time.

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING!  It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind.  (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again.  Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time.  Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me.  (Don’t really do that.  LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual.  We’ll see how that goes.  My money is on “not well.”  LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien.  This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.)  Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character.  Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this.  The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him.  While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden.  It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home.  It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City.  Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories.  In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice.  There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain.  Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself.  (Try not to hate me, everyone.)  These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one.  He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!”  This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial.  That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity.  Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish.  It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.”  In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.  

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?…  It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.”  (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy.  (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.)  One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene.  Take a moment to examine the images below.  Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus.  Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film. 

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence.  (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?)  Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.  

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted.   It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there.  And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school?  It’s bizarre.  Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges.  Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead.  Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis.  The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice.  If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it.  Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind.  Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other.  Which is true?  Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy?  Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down?  The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end.  No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

A Hall of Shame Ask

Remember this little segment I introduced during our last big asks post? I though this anon ask deserves its own post belonging to the Hall fo Shame series/segment. Most of the question was redacted because it just repeats things we’ve already talked about a million times, and also in several previous posts, and really, I’m just tired of talking in circles. If you need constant “proof” of two members being close in a way that you think is sufficient, I’m sorry but perhaps vmin (their bond and dynamic) just isn’t for you. 

So instead I focused on the two parts that made me mad.

From anon: Tae not posting (REDACTED) Tae lashing out today proves something is under his skin.

I’m sorry anon, but like I said before, while I try to never let asks make me mad, even the really stupid or degrading (toward the members or us) ones, this one just made me see absolutely red because that final part shows you completely didn’t understand why Tae was mad. And the fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with vmin or ships in general (except for the shippers who used the rumor as argument to prove their ship instead or some complete nonsense like that which was f*cked up to say the least). I’m sorry if this might come across as a bit mean or something, but enough is enough, you know?

Birthdays are treated publicly when it comes to Bangtan (and idols/celebs in general) in so far that the members usually post something for whichever member has his birthday on twt or weverse, but we should remember that those posts? They aren’t for the birthday boy, I mean, they partially are, but mainly they are for us. Do you really believe Tae didn’t go to Jimin and wish him a happy birthday in person? And if him not posting on Jimin’s birthday means he, what, doesn’t love him anymore, I guess that means Tae also doesn’t like Seokjin or JK anymore, and JK doesn’t like Namjoon or Jimin (he didn’t post last year as far as I remember and didn’t post this year either) anymore either. Or Jimin doesn’t like Namjoon anymore since he didn’t post on the day of Namjoon’s actual birthday.

I guess that means I must hate all my friends and they hate me since we don’t post for our birthdays on sns either. Sns posts aren’t the be all, end all of showing your friendships and bonds with people. 

Do I need to remind you of what Tae did for Seokjin’s birthday last year instead of making a twt? Or for Jimin’s? If he did that last year, is it really so hard to imagine he most likely did the same this year as well, as in found a different way to wish him a happy birthday that didn’t involve us? Jin’s gift for Jimin, the pine mushrooms, existed even before Jimin told us about it and would’ve continued to exist even if he hadn’t said anything to us.

As for Tae “lashing out”, this absolutely is the worst take possible. What Tae did wasn’t lashing out. It was showing his anger over something that was made an issue even though it absolutely didn’t need to be one, and he has every right to show he’s pissed (and hurt). I know it’s typical for idols to just take every blow given and then go and apologize for dating rumors, like they’re not allowed to be loved and feel love for and from anyone other than their fans or something, like they’re not even allowed to breathe next to and exist in the same space as a human of the opposite gender. But instead Tae showed he is angry, and it’s not even the first time he made it clear that there are boundaries he doesn’t want to see crossed. So in that sense, yes, something is under his skin. The invasion of his privacy.

Lashing out implies that his action wasn’t justified. That’s wrong. It was justified in every imaginable way, and instead of trying to connect nonexistent dots to make this “vmin is over” proof, maybe instead focus on the actual issue at hand, yes? Not everything any of the members do, not every emotion they feel, is connected to a ship. Especially not in a situation like this.

In a follow up to this post, a different anon also made a great point so I thought I’ll add this in as well: 

From anon: I think, too, that people might miss the fact that Tae might be mad not only on his behalf, but also on HERS. This person he was rumored to be dating also had their privacy invaded and their life affected. It’s highly likely given the toxic behavior of many fans that she received death threats or the like. I’d be mad as hell and annoyed if it was just an invasion of my privacy, but if I got wind of people going after someone I cared about in any capacity IN MY NAME? I’d be livid. Two people are affected by any dating rumor and neither of them ever deserve the invasion of privacy nor the backlash that comes when “fans” think they have a right to share any opinion at all with either party.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Here’s the final part of the “Raph is a system” theory compilation post! It’s the last of what I can scrape up from canon; while I still have ideas on how it might loop back into character interactions and plot and so on, they’re much more speculative in nature. (Part 1 is here) (Part 2 is here) (You’re reading Part 3)

---

"Red” is the alter with the least screen time, so it took a while for me to connect the dots on when and why he formed.

His shadowed face, the dramatic background music when he speaks, and his seriousness are reminiscent of the “brooding on rooftops in the rain while gloomily staring off into the distance” thing that Raphs throughout the franchise will do sometimes. That’s easy to poke fun at on a superficial level because most of us look back on our edgy phases with self-deprecation, but it’s a lot less funny in the context of the life he lives. Being a normal human teenager in normal human society is a fucking nightmare; being a mutant teenager who has no idea what to expect in terms of development or lifespan, only five people he can safely interact with ever, and a very limited future hiding from everyone else for as long as he lives has got to be just awful.

RR’s few lines in “Pizza Puffs” tell us a lot. “It’s the only way they’ll learn” and “this is for their own good” suggest that he formed when the turtles started exploring more of the sewers and going aboveground, and Being The Leader became more of a responsibility. A thousand new ways for them to get in trouble meant a thousand new ways Raph would have to bail them out, and that got old fast- especially since they didn’t have April’s knowledge to help them in the beginning. I doubt they met her the very first time they left the sewers. The wiki says April knew the boys for five years as of “Mystic Mayhem”, so they would have been nearly eight at the time, perhaps the mental equivalent of a ten- or eleven-year-old human.

A while back I sifted through all the eps with Raph in them in the vague hopes that “Pizza Puffs” wasn’t the only episode featuring RR... and lo and behold, I found something! The shadowed face and dramatic background music are also present in “Minotaur Maze”!

“I can’t do it. I got no mystic mojo. I’m useless.”

“Hey, that’s not true, brother. You just gotta believe in yourself, and know this: If I die in this maze, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

(I know that’s only two data points, but y’all canonically cannot scoff at me.) RR shows up when HR is no longer able to tolerate the bullshit at hand. “I’m not going to baby you Leo, get your shit together before your ego kills us all” was a reasonable response to nearly being shish-kebab’d.

“Pizza Puffs”, on the other hand... LDM pulled through in the end, but that RR got HR to stay behind added an unnecessary level of risk. Getting his brothers to learn a lesson should have waited until after the giant mutant cannibal had been dealt with and they were no longer poisoned.

This hands-off “figure it out on your own” approach probably came from Splinter. I swear to Pizza Supreme In The Sky I’m not trying to shit-talk him, but his lack of involvement with his sons was a major flaw. Before all that character development he was terrible at things like “emotional support” and “life lessons”, leaving Raph without the blueprints to deal with a lot of problems. HR would respond by rushing in and figuring things out as he went, but sometimes RR would have to say “No, we’re maxed out and can’t deal with this, we’ve gotta step back”. As we’ve seen in other iterations, when Raph is maxed out and doesn’t step back...

...he goes too far. Plenty of folks have commented on how rarely the Rise turtles smack each other around compared to other versions; it’s telling that RR spoke up just a moment after HR smacked Mikey in “Pizza Puffs”.

Raph is much bigger and stronger than his brothers this time around, meaning such an outburst would have a much higher risk of Genuine Grievous Injury. And while his size and strength also mean a measure of gentleness has been baked into him since day one, there would still be times HR would feel himself boiling over and RR would head off somewhere quiet for fear of the above situation; which was potentially alluded to in “Hot Soup: The Game”.

“You went out on your own when you were his age.”

The context of “Man vs. Sewer” suggests Raph isn’t going to go off on his own without very good reason- such as cooling down before he does something he regrets. That this detail shows up in Casey’s debut episode suggests it is how they will properly meet and bond, since befriending Casey and doing vigilante shit with him is what usually gives Raph a way to blow off steam while having someone nearby to keep him in check. But that probably won’t happen until partway through season 3, since I doubt we can cram the rest of Casey’s redemption arc into the movie alongside the invasion and time travel trauma shenanigans and leader drama. So in the meantime RR will continue to brood on rooftops in bad weather and listen to Ephemerality songs and monologue to himself because he knows nobody’s going to hear him over the incessant background noise that makes up the cities above and below.

I was a bit stumped about how that meeting would take place- the events of the finale (and possibly also the movie) would no doubt have both the human and yokai populations on high alert, making it dangerous for RR to slip away for some peace and quiet. But the events of the finale also gave us some insight on Raph’s powers; he has a way to leave without actually leaving!

Hardlight Clone Jutsu, baby!

So whenever HR finds himself in a particularly sour mood, a wisp of power winds its way up through the open-air portion of the lair and forms into a clone aboveground. HR doesn’t have to leave for a while to cool down before coming back and dealing with the situation calmly, because RR is already on a rooftop somewhere dissipating those bad feelings by listening to the rain and/or yeeting trash cans.

But mutants can’t freely walk the streets of New York, and the Hidden City Police probably still have it out for Raph. And someone, hero or villain, will eventually realize that Raph has a gloomy stray clone running around and ask questions that can’t be answered without cracking open the can of worms that is This Whole Situation. RR needs to get creative. That we’ve seen clones have both full color and the basic red/white palette suggests their color could be altered in other ways; and that the holo-form grew extra arms in the lair fight vs. the Shredder suggests their shape could also be changed further.

So what will he choose to look like, if not his body?

Obviously he’ll use a red and black color palette because it slaps, leaning more towards black since I compared him to Batman back in Part 1. A low-detail design makes it hard to identify him, giving onlookers the impression that they just couldn't see him well in the dark. Mentally filing down his spikes and decreasing the curve of his shell are easy enough, but it takes him a while to figure out five fingers instead of three, and there’s not much he can do about his voice other than lowering the pitch so he just opts to not talk much within earshot of others. A cape further disguises his silhouette and again, it slaps. The impression of a mask means he doesn’t need a face and it lets peoples’ assumptions work for him. Humans are more likely to think he’s human than a Very Human-Shaped Mutant, and yokai come in so many shapes as is that he could be anything from a witch to a dehydrated googlyschmootz.

(You know how it is with franchises. Old patterns repeating in new ways.)

New York City never sleeps, and I doubt the Hidden City does either. He’ll run into Casey eventually, but in the interim he stumbles across and intervenes in some attempted purse-snatchings and kidnappings and the like. Most of the would-be victims use his arrival as their chance to escape, but one of them is too frozen with fear to move until their attackers are chased off into the dark. He escorts them home, and it’s only once they’re at their doorstep that they work up the courage to ask him who he is.

It’s... a difficult question, in more ways than one. “Raph” is out of the question. “Red” isn’t quite right, and neither is “Angel”- they’re a tad too identifying still, and the R.A.P.H. thing was HR’s idea anyway. So he shrugs, and melts away into the shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Nobody.”

[rosiehunterwolf]

Face the Music

Prompts: Karaoke

Word Count: 5,572

Characters: Cole, Kai, and Jay

Timeline: Between seasons 9 and 10

Trigger Warnings: Brief Mentions of Toxic Parent and Eating Disorder

Summary: If you ask Cole, there are some things in life better left forgotten. Especially embarrassing experiences that you would prefer not to talk about. They certainly shouldn’t be used as blackmail or as entertainment for others, and everyone should just learn to move on. Although maybe his friends aren’t the only ones that need to move on. 

Link to read on Fanfiction.Net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13904278/1/Face-the-Music

Cole burst onto the deck of the Bounty, swinging the door shut behind him. Zane looked up from the control panel, looking startled. “Cole?”

“Zane!” Cole ran over to him, gasping for breath. “Quick, what’s Kai’s cell phone password?”

Zane pulled back, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Don’t play coy with me, I know you have the passwords for everything programmed into your database! Now hurry, what is it!”

“I never denied that I did, but why would I tell you? That’s confidential information.” Glancing down at the cell phone, he asked, “Does Kai know you have his phone, Cole?”

“Uh… yeah, if it helps you sleep at night.”

Zane crossed his arms. “Cole…”

“Come on, Zane, help a friend out! It’s important!” “Cole, that is not my secret to tell. Unless it is an emergency, you don’t need to know.”

“But it is an emergency!”

“Oh really? Who’s in danger?”

“My pride,” he snapped. “C’mon, Zane, please, what do you want? I’ll do your dishes for a month! Or- or, uh, take patrol duties for the next three weeks. Hey, hey, what about cooking, you like that, right? I’ll buy you some new appliances!”

“Cole, you cannot bribe me-”

“Hey guuuuys,” Kai larked, popping his head through the door and sliding over to Cole. Before he could even react, the master of fire was plucking the phone out of his hands. “I’ll take that, thanks.”

“Give it back!”

“It’s my phone!”

“I didn’t give you permission to take that video!”

Kai batted his eyes innocently. “What video?”

Cole lunged for him. “I will kill you, spike head-”

“Gotta catch me first,” Kai shrilled, neatly ducking his arm and dashing back belowdeck, laughing maniacally.

“Thanks a lot, Zane. Who knows what he’ll do with that now?”

“I don’t understand. What is going on?”

Cole sighed slowly. “He’s got… a video. I need it to be deleted.”

“What kind of video?”

“Seriously Zane? Can’t you take a hint? I obviously don’t want to tell you.”

Zane just stared at him expectantly.

Cole rubbed his face in his hands. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “He still has the video from… from Laughy’s. With the Sons of Garmadon.”

Zane is smiling now, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why you are embarrassed to tell me, Cole. I was there, remember? I saw you sing-”

“Okay, okay, Zane, I get it! Just stop talking about it!”

“I don’t see why talking about it would be an issue-”

Cole lunged forward, pressing a hand over his mouth. “You don’t understand,” he hissed under his breath. “They’re everywhere. They’re obsessed with that video, and they’ve been dangling it over my head ever since we returned from the First Realm. They’re trying to blackmail me!”

“They?”

“Oh yeah, it’s not just Kai- Jay’s in on it too, the jerk. You think you know who your best friend is.”

“Cole, I think you’re overreacting, what could they possibly do with it? Everyone here already saw you sing, it’s fine.”

“You really think Lloyd, Nya and Pix have spared a second thought to think about me after everything they had going on here? I was hoping they had forgotten about it by now, but if Jay and Kai have their way-”

“I’m not going to help you steal Kai’s phone, Cole. If you need me for anything actually important, let me know.”

“This is important,” Cole yelled after him, but Zane was already gone.

Fine, he huffed. If no one is going to help me, I’ll do it myself.

---

“Hey Cole? Kai and Lloyd want me to play Fist-to-Face 3 with them, will you take patrol duty for me tonight?”

“Yeah?” Cole reclined in the kitchen chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “And why would I do that?”

“Oh, I dunno… perhaps because you wouldn’t want a certain… video to accidentally leak…” Jay waggled his phone teasingly in the air.

Cole stood up sharply. “You wouldn’t.”

“I dunno… would I? I guess we’ll find out.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going, I’m going,” Cole grumbled. “Want anything while I’m out?” “We’re almost out of Doritos. And can you get the strawberry Fanta?”

“Are you a heathen? Who drinks the strawberry?”

“It’s not for you,” Jay snapped. “And for your information, it tastes very nice.”

“Whatever. You at least gonna pay me for this, bozo?”

Jay slapped a twenty into his hand. “This is all I got on me. Buy yourself a little somethin’ with the change.”

Cole mock bowed. “Whatever you say, master.”

“Ah, come on, I’m not cruel, come join us when you get back.” As Cole walked out the door, he called after him, “I’ll save you some Bagel Bites!”

Cole rolled his eyes. He didn’t know how he got into situations like this.

He was really starting to hate that stupid video.

---

By the end of the week, which had been filled with similar scenarios, Cole had had it. I’m not going to take this slander anymore! They can’t just push me around like this, I’m the master of earth!

The monastery was buzzing with the chatter of his friends on the hot afternoon. They were all wearing swimsuits, and Lloyd opened the door, leaning out lazily as a wave of hot air wafted into the cool monastery.

“Stop standing there with the door open, nitwit, you’re letting all the hot air in,” Kai snapped, shoving him out the door, nearly sending him to the floor, before Zane caught him by the wrist with his usual lightning reflexes.

“Kai, there is no need to get physical.”

“Can it, Zane, I’m just playing around, right bud?” Kai slung his arm around Lloyd’s shoulder, ruffling his hair.

Lloyd shot him a glare. “Get off of me, you lump, I’m melting here. Are we going swimming or not?”

“Ouch, looks like someone skipped his coffee today. What’s wrong, baby boy, did I hurt your feewings?”

“You wanna get punched? ‘Cause I will not hesitate to punch you.”

“You wanna throw hands with me, bro? I’d prefer not to have a squished pancake as a brother, but if you say so.”

“As soon as I cool down a bit, you are toast.”

“You cool it, mister. Are you forgetting everything amazing I’ve ever done for you?”

“Don’t mind him,” Nya called to Kai, coming over to elbow Lloyd from the other side. “He gets grumpy when he’s hot.”

“I hate you both.”

Zane sighed. “I swear, it’s like the heat is melting their brains.”

Nya shrugged. “They must have like, low heat tolerance or something. Don’t ask me why they always get so loopy like this.”

“Hey, it’s like 100 degrees, don’t blame me if I’m a little uncomfortable!” Lloyd snapped, his words slurring slightly.

“Yeah, bud, even I think you’re starting to get to be a little much now. Come on, let’s get you in the water.”

As the team shuffled out the door, Jay turned back to face him. “Hey, Cole, aren’t you coming swimming with us?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute, just give me a sec.”

Jay shrugged, and Cole waited for a moment, until he heard the door click.

Finally! I thought they’d never leave.

Hurrying down the hallway, he popped his head into the bathroom, where Kai and Jay had just thrown their clothes into a pile on the floor when they had changed. Getting on his knees, he dug through it and pulled out Jay’s shorts, extracting his cell from it. Pulling a slip of paper out from his pocket, he quickly typed the numbers in, and…

The phone unlocked.

Cole broke into a grin, praising Jay’s inability to remember passwords and always writing them down somewhere where a very desperate earth ninja could find them.

He opened the camera app and deleted the video.

There. Halfway done.

Kai’s phone wasn’t in his pocket, so he snuck over to his room and found it charging on the nightstand. Biting his lip, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the camera footage he had captured the previous night.

It showed a bird’s eye view of the living room, and Kai was sitting on the couch, watching TV. As he reached for his phone, Cole zoomed in on the device and watched carefully as he typed in the code.

Okay. Cole repeated the same code on Kai’s phone.

Incorrect Passcode.

Cole felt panic flare inside him. What were the chances that Kai had changed his password in the one night since he’d filmed this?

“It didn’t work because I have one of those fingerprint ones, too.”

Cole whips around to see Kai standing in the doorway, Jay hovering behind him. “Jay told me you were lingering, and I just got a feeling, y’know? That you were up to something.”

Cole huffed, tossing him the phone. “Why won’t you just delete it, Kai? This has gone on for long enough.”

“I like the video, Cole. It puts a smile on my face on the… hard days.”

“Oh, spare me the pity card. I know plenty well that you have more than enough other ways to keep yourself entertained.”

“What about Jay?” Kai grabbed the lightning ninja by the shoulders, shaking him gently. “Think of your friend, Cole. He has no sense of entertainment, he needs something to keep him going.”

“Excuse me-”

“Oh please,” Cole snorted. “Stick Jay on Youtube and he’ll be entertained for hours. He gets distracted way too easily.”

“Oh come on, Cole, this is way better than Jay’s stupid cat videos-”

“I do not watch cat videos!”

“Don’t lie to me, zaptrap, you’re lame.”

“Dude, who’s side are you on?”

“Look guys, I don’t have time for this. Just delete the video, and we can be done with this whole thing.”

“No, that’s not how this is going to work. You’re going to go outside with the others, and forget this whole thing ever happened. Otherwise, this little video might end up on the internet.”

“What?” Cole shrieked. “You can’t do that, dude, it’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“Last time I checked, this was a video of Rocky Dangerbuff, not you. Is it you in this video, Cole?”

Cole felt his face heat as he scowled at them, and Kai and Jay burst into laughter.

Kai slapped a hand on his back. “If it makes you feel any better, it wouldn’t have worked anyway. You really think we’re dumb enough to keep the only copies of the video on our phones? You’d be searching for hours to delete all traces of it.”

Cole balked at him. “Seriously? How many copies did you make?”

Jay grinned. “You forgot this wasn’t a solo operation, dirtclod. I’m the tech guy around here. There’s no way you’ll be able to override my programming.”

Cole groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I hate you guys.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Kai laughed. “C’mon, dude, it’s hot, let’s go swim.” Cole reluctantly followed them out the door, grumbling.

“This won’t go on forever, you guys. Sooner or later, I’m gonna find a way to stop you.”

Kai laughed. “We’ll see about that, Cole, we’ll see.”

---

“Are you sure this is really something I wanna be getting involved in?” The nindroid asked, her glowing green eyes scanning the monitor screen.

“It’ll be fine, Pix, I promise. They might be a little annoyed at first, but within a couple days, they’ll have completely moved on to something else to make fun of. All you have to do is get rid of one measly video for me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that, exactly. Jay went pretty deep with this program. But I think I’ve located the source material.”

“And?” Cole asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Does that mean you can delete all the data?”

“Yes. Every known record of it developed into the Bounty’s database will be erased.”

“Do it, quick!”

Pixal turned to the computer again, and Cole held his breath as her fingers flew over the keys for a moment. Then, she pulled back.

“Is it done? Did you do it?”

“Yes. It’s gone.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Cole sighed, slouching against the wall. “I’m so glad that’s finally over. Pix, you’re a lifesaver.”

A small smile played on her lips. “I do what I can.”

“Well, you’ve just saved me a lot of trouble. I owe ya one.”

“We’ll see. Anyways, if we’re done here, I’m going to go help Zane work on those hull repairs to the Bounty.”

“Thanks, Pix.”

When he walked down to the kitchen for dinner that night, for the first time in weeks he didn’t feel a constant dread hanging over his head.

---

The relief didn’t last long.

It was only the evening of the next day when Kai came marching into his room, Jay on his heels. Cole glanced over at them nonchalantly from where he was laying across his bed, reading a Starfarer comic. “Can I help you?”

“You know what you did, stop acting so innocent.”

Cole grinned, stretching. “What can I say, bro, I outplayed you.”

“You could never,” Jay snorted. “You had help!”

“Hey, two against one was never a fair game. Let’s just say I was evening the odds a little bit.”

“Who helped you?” Kai hissed, pointing at him. “Spill, now!” “Sorry fellas, but I’ve sworn to secrecy. You’ll have to find your information elsewhere.”

“It has to be either Nya, Pixal, or Zane,” Jay insisted. “Nya’s the only one with the advanced enough technical skills to be able to override me, and Zane and Pixal are attached to the system, so they can get pretty much anything they want with enough computer skills.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “Great job, sparky, now we've eliminated it down to three out of the four possible suspects. What amazing deduction skills.”

“Hey, I don’t see you doing any better! And it’s actually three out of five. We know it’s not Master Wu, either.”

Both Kai and Cole raised an eyebrow at that.

“Jay, you’re joking. Master Wu. Helped Cole. Delete a blackmail video?”

Cole snorted. “Zaptrap, if Wu ever found out about what was going on, he’d give us a stern lecture, make us meditate for a few hours, then, probably like, stick us on patrol duty for the rest of the night or something.”

“Shut up! Look, it doesn’t matter, alright? If you just tell us who it is, we’ll leave you alone.”

“Fat chance.” Cole got up out of bed and strolled past them, towards the door. “You don’t have anything against me anymore. That blackmail’s not gonna work anymore.”

“Who told you that?”

Cole stopped, turning towards Kai slowly. “What?”

“Who told you we didn’t have access to the video anymore?”

Cole gaped, glancing back and forth between Kai and Jay. “What!? That’s impossible, she-” he bit his lip sharply, cursing himself. “I mean… we deleted all copies of the video. How could you still have it?”

“Aha!” Jay gasped, pointing at him. “Did you hear that? He said she! Which means we’ve narrowed it down to Pixal or Nya!”

Cole ignored him, narrowing his eyes at Kai. “You’re bluffing. You don’t have the video.”

“Oh yeah? Jay, you still have it?”

The blue ninja stuck a hand into his pocket, and, pulling it out, flashed a small blue object between his fingers. Cole looked closer, and felt his stomach drop as he recognized what it was- a flash drive.

“Yep, it’s all in here! Even the most advanced computer codes will do nothing to reach our backup. Looks like you’ve run out of luck again, Cole.”

“Are you kidding me? This is impossible!”

“Come on, Cole- all we want to do is have a little fun with it. Let us keep the video, and we’ll leave you alone.”

“And if I try to get rid of it again?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe it could find its way… onto social media.”

Cole nearly choked. “Kai! You wouldn’t!”

“Keep your nose out of it, and I won’t! C’mon, Jay, we’re done here.”

Cole flopped back down onto his bed. Social media. Kai couldn’t put the video on the internet. It would be all over the city by morning.

He had said he wouldn’t do it if Cole stopped trying to get rid of the video, but Cole didn’t trust that one bit. Now that the idea was planted in his head, Cole was afraid he could do it at any time.

There was no question about it. He had to destroy that flash drive.

---

Kai and Jay were out on the last evening patrol.

This was the time.

Glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was there, he eased open the door to Kai’s room and slipped inside.

He was fairly certain they would’ve kept the flash drive in Kai’s room, specifically to throw him off after he had seen Jay holding it earlier. Also, Kai’s room, while still a mess, wasn’t as bad as Jay’s, so Cole much preferred to search his, anyways.

But it was still going to be more difficult than he had hoped, he realized with a groan as he glanced around the room.

Kai’s bed had a small stack of comic books and magazines strewn across it, with more on the nightstand and even a few on the floor. His laundry had been mostly shoved into a corner, but a few lone shirts and socks had been left randomly. Most of his stuff appeared to be in bins that had been stuffed under the bed and in the corners, but there appeared to be no order to what was in them, just a hag-tag of random junk, save for one crate in the corner which was full to the brim with various weapons, leaving several of them spilling out just asking for a sliced toe in the morning.

The worst was the dresser, though- there were several hair products lined up, even though Cole knew he already had more than enough in the bathroom, a handful of letters, only a couple of them opened, some more comics, a couple empty cups, and enough earrings and other jewelry to last him a lifetime. Cole never understood why he needed so many. Sure, Kai had a ton of piercings, more than the rest of them combined, but Cole swore he had never seen him even wear half of these. Kai had almost as much jewelry, (or, as he liked to call it, “bling”) as he did hair products, which was really saying something.

Sighing, Cole walked over to search through one of the bins that looked like it may have had the techy stuff in it- or at least, the somewhat mechanical stuff- maybe- or, actually, not really, he had absolutely no idea what kind of system Kai had going on here.

Reaching in, he pulled out a tablet, a flashlight, a spare video game controller, a baseball cap, a worn stuffed dragon, a barrette that he was pretty sure belonged to Skylor- Cole blushed at that one, shoving the box away. These things were Kai’s. There could likely be things in here he didn’t want Cole to see.

He wasn’t trying to snoop, though- all he wanted to do was find the flash drive, and leave.

Turning away, Cole began to sift through another bin. A sword- small and uneven, but fairly solid- this one wrapped away with much more care than the others- had a label scribbled on that read “Kai’s first sword.” A photograph, ripped down the middle, the remaining side with a very young Kai hugging an even younger Nya, and a ripped shawl stained with blood that had never come out-

Cole jumped back. Okay, so maybe there was some sort of order to these boxes. And that one was none of his business. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to look any further, anyway. He didn’t doubt that Kai and Nya had been reserved about their lives before meeting them for a reason.

Cole was beginning to feel guilt weight down on his chest already, cold and heavy. He shouldn’t have seen that. He shouldn’t have seen any of this. He was blatantly disrespecting one of his closest friend’s privacy just to delete some stupid video he was embarrassed about.

I should go.

As he sped towards the door, he tripped over something and fell to the ground with a thump. Turning back, he saw it was a book that he had set aside while pulling things out of the bin, having spilled open after he tripped on it, allowing him to see that it wasn’t a book at all, but a photo album.

It was open to a page where Cole had his arm slung around a very grumpy-looking Kai, ruffling his hair, with Jay and Lloyd bent over laughing in the background. It was followed by a bunch of pictures of Kai with the worst bed hair Cole had ever seen- desperately reaching towards the camera, presumably to strangle whoever was snapping photos. Occasionally, one of the other ninja would pop in, holding him back for the photographer, or posing goofily next to the groggy fire ninja.

Cole felt a grin spread over his face. He remembered that day, when Kai had stayed up so late playing video games that he had forgotten about his hair in the morning- and the whole team had been more than eager to take advantage of the one time the fire ninja wasn’t looking so attractive. Kai had threatened to murder them in their sleep, but he had been laughing through it all, too.

That’s the same thing happening here, Cole realized. I’m being a baby about this. They’re just playing around with me. Like I haven’t done the same to them a thousand times.

Cole neatly closed the book and slid it back into a bin, leaving the room with his heart feeling significantly lighter.

It hadn’t been a moment too soon, either, as when he was walking down the hallway, he passed Kai and Jay returning from patrol.

“Everything okay, Cole?” “I’m fine,” he said quickly, too quickly. Luckily, Jay didn’t seem to notice. Kai raised his eyebrow slightly but didn’t press the issue. “Whatcha’ up to?”

“Just heading to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, little glow worm.”

Jay burst into snickers, and Kai grinned wickedly. Cole put his face in his hands, and brushed past them. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t quite as over this as he thought.

---

The next morning, he was awoken by a knock on his bedroom door. Pulling on a tank top, he opened the door to find Zane standing there.

“What’s up?”

The nindroid had an apologetic look on his face, holding up his cell phone. “Have you checked social media yet?”

“No, why?”

“Kai posted your karaoke video.”

“He what?!” Cole shrieked, ripping the phone out of his hand. There, right under Kai’s grinning profile picture, was the video of him singing at Laughy’s.

“That dumbass,” Cole cried, flopping back onto his bed. “Do you know how bad this is? And it’s not just any old social media account, it’s Kai’s. The guy has like, seven million followers on Ninjagram, and almost as many on Chirp and ChatSnap. This will ruin me.”

“I’m sorry, Cole. I didn’t think he would do this.”

“I didn’t either. He promised he wouldn’t, as long as I didn’t try to delete the data!”

“...Didn’t you, though?”

Cole glowered at him. “Well, maybe, technically, I did, but he didn’t catch me! How would he know?”

“Cole, what kind of ninja headquarters would this be if we didn’t have security cameras?”

“Shit! Why would he be checking that? Oh, I’m never going to forgive him for this.”

“Cole, forgive me, but I think you’re overreacting a little. Sure, it’ll probably get a few laughs, but in a couple hours, everyone will have moved onto the next thing. You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that! I’m not just like some random cat video, I’m a famous ninja! Pretty much everyone knows about me, they’re going to linger on this for a while, trust me.”

“Cole,” Zane said patiently, amusement sparkling in his voice. “I think you’ll survive. Come have some breakfast, that always makes you feel a little better.”

Cole opened his mouth to argue, but Zane was already walking out of the room, so Cole reluctantly followed.

Cole sat down at the table, glaring down into his lap, as Zane slipped him a plate of waffles. He couldn’t even make it all the way through his meal before Kai and Jay inevitably showed up.

“Hey Cole,” Kai smiled, “wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“You shut your dumb mouth,” Cole snapped. “I don’t even want to look at you.”

“Woah, someone’s feisty.”

“I saw what you did! I can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe you went through my stuff,” Kai barked back, and, despite himself, Cole felt himself flinch. “I was just upholding my side of the agreement.”

“Hey, Cole,” Jay interjected. “Look on the bright side. You’re practically famous! The video already has five million views!”

“I’m already famous, you moron, which, in this situation, makes it even worse.”

Jay blinked, obviously not expecting the hostility of his response. “Cole, chill, it’s just a-”

“Hey guys!” Cole looked up to see Lloyd, Nya, and Pixal walking in. Lloyd grinned as he caught sight of Cole’s plate. “Aww, Zane, you made waffles? Did you buy-”

“Yes, Lloyd, there is plenty of whip cream.”

“I’m just checking! It wouldn’t be the first time I was a few minutes late and some hogs ate all the whip cream.” He shot a glare at Jay, who shrugged nonchalantly.

“Ya snooze, ya lose, green machine. It’s not my fault you have no sense of timing.”

“I have plenty of sense of timing! I’m just…”

“Easily distracted,” Nya chimed in.

“Am not! You were just as distracted as I was!” “You’re the one who showed it to me just as we were trying to go to breakfast!” “Well, you didn’t have to watch it, you could’ve just walked away!”

“How could I not? That one’s a keeper-”

“What are you two on about?” Kai laughed.

“There’s this video blowing up on the internet-” Pixal began.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Cole groaned. He glared at Kai. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gotten them-” he pointed an accusatory finger at Lloyd and Nya- “laughing at it too.”

“More like them and the rest of Ninjago-”

“Seriously? I can’t with you,” Cole fumed, then promptly spun around and stormed off to his bedroom, locking the door. He flopped onto his bed face first and yelled into his pillow.

He had wanted to laugh this whole thing off. He really had. But how was he expected to be chill when it was all over the internet?

Part of him was just angry with himself, though. Why did he let this rile him up so much? Why was he so upset? Zane was right, it was just another random video, wasn’t it?

Why was it the end of the world if people saw him sing?

---

“Back straighter, Cole.”

Cole flinched at the hit before it came, and the man rolled his eyes. “How do you expect to ever perform well if you can’t even have good posture?”

“I’m trying dad, but I’m tired. We’ve been doing this for hours. Can I go have lunch now?”

“It’s not time for that yet, Cole. First, we need to work on this piece more. Now, start again, from measure twenty-one.

He shuffled through the pages of music, and as he began to sing, all he could imagine was that stern face peering down at him, and all of a sudden his voice was coming out wobbly.

“Tone shape, Cole! You need to keep a consistent tone. Don’t let it sound wavery and messy.”

Cole’s stomach growled loudly, and he flinched at the look on his father’s face. “Please, dad, I’ll be able to concentrate more if I’ve eaten.”

“Fifteen minutes,” his father snapped. “Then right back to work.”

Cole remembered running to the kitchen, worried there wouldn’t be enough time, and eating as much food as he could manage. But it had been too much, his father would be angry with him, what was he going to do-

He had thrown most of it up in the bathroom later that night.

“Cole, you need to try harder. Singing and dancing of just “average” quality aren’t going to cut it when you become part of the next generation of the Royal Blacksmiths.”

“But dad, I don’t want to be a Royal Blacksmith. I don’t even like to sing.”

“Nonsense! This is a family legacy, boy! Do you wish to break such noble tradition just because you weren’t willing to work hard enough?”

“...No, dad.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, back to work.”

---

A knock. “Hey, Cole, can I come in?”

Cole pulled his face out of the pillow, frantic to find it wet. He quickly wiped at his eyes before getting to his feet and trodding to the door, unlocking it and opening it slowly. Kai stood there.

Great.

“What do you want?”

To his surprise, the red ninja flinched. “Can we talk?”

Cole turned and laid across his bed. “What’s there to talk about?”

Kai took a seat on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance from Cole. “Are you… are you actually angry about this? Like, for real? I thought we were joking around.”

Cole didn’t answer, merely grunting into his pillow.

Kai hesitantly scooted a little closer. “I’m sorry. I would’ve stopped if I knew it was making you so uncomfortable. I really wish you had said something about it.”

Cole shrugged. “Well, I didn’t.”

“I’ll take it down, if you want.”

“What?”

“Like, I know it’s too late now,” he said hurriedly, “and that a bunch of people have already seen it, that I’m not fixing my mistake by doing this, but- I can take the video offline now, so at least no one else sees it.”

Cole was about to thank him, when a sudden urge flowed over him. “Y’know what,” he said, sitting up, “No.”

“Huh?” “Don’t bother,” Cole told him. “It’s no big deal. It’s just some stupid video.”

“I thought you were upset.”

“I was. And still am, a little, if I’m being honest. But I’m tired of spending so much time worrying about what others think of me. It’s exhausting, and no fun. It’s time I started thinking about how I view myself.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you hate singing-”

“I don’t, though. I used to like it.”

“What happened?”

Cole shrugged halfheartedly. “Let’s just say… my dad didn’t make the right decisions. Pushed me too hard to be something I wasn’t. Kind of hard to enjoy singing with him barking over my shoulder about it every spare second. Basically sucked all the joy out of it.”

Kai swung his feet back and forth. “That sounds rough. I wonder if my dad would’ve been anything like that, if he… if he’d stayed.”

“You were forced, in a way, too. Forced to grow up too quickly, to raise your sister on your own.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.” He shot him a small grin, although Cole could tell it was forced. “We’re alike in that way.”

“I wish we weren't,” Cole sighed. “No one deserves to go through that.”

Kai laughed dryly. “I learned a long time ago that life’s never been fair.”

“Have you talked to your dad at all, recently?”

“...Not really. I mean, apart from letting him know we were alive and stuff… after the First Realm.”

“Maybe you should reach out to him. Before it’s too late.”

“I know, I know… but I’m not really sure if I want to. I don’t know if that makes me sound like an awful person, but… he was never there for me. They were never there. I know it wasn’t their fault, but… it still stings. Those years, before I came here, were some of the hardest of my life. And I was just a kid! How was I… how was I supposed to…”

“It’s okay,” Cole put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. “I’m not sure if I want to forgive my father, either.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. What kind of person treats their kid like that? Judges them so harshly? Oh gosh, why didn’t you say something, Cole, I’m really sorry about that video.”

“I told you, it’s fine. You guys aren’t my father. I know you won’t judge me for my quirks. And, if you want to laugh at me, if the people of Ninjago want to laugh at me, that’s fine. So I’m weird. So I sing stupid songs about glow worms and sing out of key and put on really, really bad disguises. You can tease me all you want, but really, you love me for it, and I’m done doubting that. That’s what true family does.”

Kai smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry that you didn’t find that out sooner, Cole. You’re an amazing person, and you deserve a family who will treat you like one.”

Cole smiled, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “I already have one.”

[sparklingpax]

We return to another episode of Kuni rambles incoherently on tumblr with a phone at 18%

Alternately titled, someone take my phone the f r ag away from me

Ok. I apologize if someone else has come up with this idea first and this is therefore a pale comparison to the original idea, but um, here goes. 

I want an au (?? Might have a different name based on what I'm talking about Actually, but brain Fried so I can't remember) where optimus gets to talk to his youngest self--to Orion Pax :0

Note: the times it mentions Optimus is like. from Op’s pov? Since Orion never learns his name?? If that makes sense?? Sorry this is so confusing aa a a--

so anyway Sorry for typos and grammar stuff, I'm typing this on my phone as it slowly dies Hfkdjsj hH 😳

///

Orion is pulled from his study books at the sound of footsteps.

A shadow is cast over him.

Wonder and disbelief spark in his gaze as he stares up at the rather grand figure before him.

This mech--plating a nearly exact match to his own in the red, blue, and silver coloring--seems to possess an air about him that is...neither true confidence, nor uncertain existence.

At the very least, it seems he knows who he is, and his purpose in this world. Something Orion is still working on.

Silence rests between them.

Optimus, meanwhile, feels an overwhelming sense of yearning.

Seeing Orion--seeing himself--he wishes he could go back to those days.

The simpler days of youthful naivety towards life.

When Cybertron still thrived under golden days and the silvery illumination of the moons at night.

When the buildings stood tall and beautiful and untouched.

When he could never have known the awful sight of a corpse at the end of his own sword, or the unnatural cries a bot makes as it is brutally murdered next to you, and you can do nothing but continue to fend for your own life...

"You are...studying for a quarterly exam?" Optimus asks, leaning closer to see the book. He recognizes the cover and feels a twinge in his spark.

He remembers the book.

...And that he never enjoyed Chemistry much.

"...I am.....but...how did you know?" Orion stands slowly to meet the gaze of the mech standing over his desk. His gaze turns to light worry and confusion.

Orion is acutely aware of a feeling in his spark that...a lot about this mech feels familiar.

Somehow even...intimately.

"A-actually...um...."

He stammers in the silence, fishing desperately for the words to use that would ask his question, yet still be polite.

After all, 'are you related to me?' is definitely an awkward--perhaps intrusive--question to ask a complete stranger...

Optimus continues to regard the young bot, slightly amused.

He knows what Orion is hoping to ask, but also that it would be hard to ask a question like that upfront, at least when he was a younger mech.

"Orion Pax," Optimus says, placing his servos on his hips.

"Y-yes?"

"Be careful not to stay up too late with that book. Tests require knowledge, but they also require one to be awake to take them...and sleep--"

"--helps a processor function, yes..." the smaller mech sighs, frustrated. He's heard that one before, but his mind isn't thinking about that at the moment.

Alright, so he knows my name, too. But...I've never met him? There's absolutely no way he doesn't know me somehow... but how could I possibly--

"Orion?"

He jolts at his name, almost blurting the question before pulling himself back.

The mech standing over his desk gives the gentlest of smiles and rests a firm servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I know what you are going to ask, Orion."

"You...do?"

"And I will tell you as much as I can."

What is he, inside my head now?

But he receives an answer that shocks him more than that would.

"I....am you, Orion, and beneath my title and age from my timeline....I am still you," he pauses, beginning to look a little sad now.

Orion blinks a few times, absolutely shocked.

"....but you're so....tall..." Is all he manages to murmur before realizing what he just said and instantly feeling heat rush to his face.

Optimus tightens his jaw as he doesn't wish to embarrass the archivist any further by laughing.

I was less careful with my thoughts and emotions once. If only I still knew how...

"I am a Prime, and I am fighting a war."

"A war?" Orion frowns in thought.

There's hasn't been a war since the revolution against the Quintesson oppressors.

What need had Cybertron to fight again?

"Is it an invasion of Cybertron to come? Or a resources conflict?"

And me? Fighting in that war? But...I fail every self-defense practice with Megatronus, at that's true no matter how hard I try...

Optimus feels his chest grow heavy as he remembers the pain Megatron's anger alone had caused him after the council of Halogen.

The guilt, regret, frustration at his friend's obstinance, fear, sadness...

He realizes quickly that he can't possibly unload the heavier truth to Orion--to himself--all over again.

He can't...bring himself to tell Orion that his closest friend and mentor would be the leading force in a centuries-long, gritty, bleak and somewhat horribly hopeless war against him and his cause.

So he instead offers a rather sad smile, and chooses not to answer the question.

"Orion, hear my words, even if you don’t understand them at present. No matter what happens or who around you turns for the darker path, you must never lose your spark, hope, or your character."

"My spark....and character?" He echoes, distantly. "Hope?"

"Indeed," Optimus affirms, feeling an uneasiness of his own. 

The light in his eyes has dulled, yet they also maintain a grim light to them.

One that tells Orion that this mech has seen things he wished never to have seen, and never to see again. 

A grief so strong it....scares him.

Orion feels a wave of uneasiness wash over his whole body.

Something very dark is somewhere in the future...and now he has something to do with it?

And...it involves him becoming bigger, taller, stronger? Learning to fight...to kill, maybe? 

To kill means to take a life. To end it. 

Orion swallows, at last processing the other part of what the mech had told him.

He had to become a Prime??

"I--but I couldn't...not in any dream could I..." He trails off, feeling almost too much at once. 

I cannot kill. 

Optimus senses the turmoil he's set in the younger mech and feels guilty immediately.

"Do not worry," he consoles him, reaching for his smaller servos. He then looks Orion in the eye, knowing the firmness will settle his mind. "My being here alone may be enough to stop what might happen to you, to this planet..."

Orion indeed beings to feel the pounding in his spark settle just a little.

A war would mean all kinds of devastation he couldn't begin to imagine...but this mech was from another timeline.

Perhaps we...are destined for another future.

"Above all, know that if you never lose yourself, then....whatever you become will be just as true as that," he tells him. The words are weighted with something profound. 

The archivist knows in his spark that it will be a long time before he can grasp that emotion, but he is fine with that. 

Orion blinks at him, feeling a new wave of mixed emotions he can't define. He feels himself tense as he tries to control it.

But the mech's hand reaches to his arm.

He nods encouragingly, and Orion just knows the Prime doesn't want him to pent up his emotions.

"In my eyes, Orion, you have always been a prime..."

Optimus draws back at last and slowly begins to leave.

It must be time for him to go...

Orion stands at his desk, staring, a forearm still raised.

"...Or so I am told by those around me..."

The mech adds with a mild chuckle before finally leaving the room.

Orion continues to stare at the now empty doorway ahead of him.

Was that even real?

Himself?

From another future?

And yet...there is that feeling in his spark...the gut instinct telling him to trust in what this mech had been saying, that it was all real...

He plops back into his seat, staring at the ceiling.

He is too lost in thought to try and get back into his late-night studying.

And then it sinks in.

I never asked him his name!!

He deflates a little and facepalms.

Orion, you dumbaft....

///

Nhjdjdjs I hate this, writing skils have left the chat 

bye ;w;