#surrounded by luxury but entirely careless

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just realised ive never posted my favourite lance video....

[eksvaized]

Part Eight [ Previous 〡 Next ]

Like a mouse in a maze, you trail behind Simon. Your senses are heightened to a near painful acuity as you’re enveloped in a choking cloud of fearful anticipation. Your neck feels stiff, almost petrified. You don’t dare move your head. Yet, your eyes are as alert as a hawk’s, wide open and scanning the surroundings. Despite the promise you made to yourself, the promise of not attempting an escape just yet, your mind can’t help but analyze your environment. As you walk, you’re noting every detail, every potential exit, every conceivable hideout.

Until now, your new reality has been limited to a dank basement and the meager comforts of your room.

Your so-called bedroom is on the second floor, opposite a bathroom down a long hallway. Other doors punctuate the corridor, two to be exact. When you had the opportunity, on your hurried trip to the bathroom, you found that they were locked firmly. Still, you suspected that one of these rooms was the eerily empty one you had first woken up in—a room marked by peeling wallpaper, bare of furniture, and filled with an air so pungent it was almost palpable.

As you and Simon descend the staircase together, his eyes keep darting back towards you. It’s as if he needs to constantly verify your presence, ensuring that you’re still walking behind him. Every time your eyes lock, even if it’s just a fleeting moment, you find yourself instinctively looking away, unable to hold his gaze.

At the very bottom of the long staircase, you find yourself standing in the grand foyer. The sight of the towering front door, ominous and foreboding in its stature, sends a chill down your spine. Your heart begins to quicken, thudding violently against your chest as a wave of adrenaline courses through your veins; your muscles coil tight. Every instinct, every fiber of your being, is screaming at you to bolt, to run as fast as you can towards the promise of freedom that lies beyond that door. But despite this internal chaos, your feet remain stubbornly glued to the cold, hard floor.

All the while, Simon stands idly by your side. Unbeknownst to you, he’s engaged in a silent wager with himself — will you muster the courage to make a break for it, or will fear hold you captive? Despite the turmoil raging within you, his posture remains relaxed, almost nonchalant. It’s clear that even entertaining the idea of sprinting towards the door would be utterly foolish because there’s absolutely no chance he would have been careless enough to leave it unlocked.

Suddenly, the trance-like state you’ve found yourself in is shattered as Simon’s fingers gently tug at your elbow. His grip is unyielding as he guides you towards an enormous living room. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpse something that resembles a kitchen, and directly opposite to it, another hallway stretches out, lined with a multitude of closed doors; you wonder if one of them leads to the basement.

One peculiar thing you can’t help but notice is that most of the curtains in this sprawling house are drawn shut. It’s an unusual sight, but not entirely unexpected considering Simon’s character — his paranoia of someone peering into the house is apparent, even if the likelihood of another living soul lurking within miles of this isolated place is practically non-existent.

“Sit,” he commands with an undeniable authority in his tone that leaves absolutely no room for protest or debate.

You take a moment to scan the meticulously decorated living room. Your eyes drink in the sight of the luxurious white couch that is contrasted by a plush, round rug of a darker shade. A towering bookcase stands against a wall. Its shelves teeming with a multitude of aged books that seem oddly out of place in the otherwise modern decor of the room.

You are gently steered towards a small, round table nestled next to the window. There are two chairs. You sit down.

Your attention is drawn towards the window as Simon, with a graceful flourish, unveils the view by pulling back the weighty curtains. Outside, the twilight’s soft, velvet embrace shrouds the world. Yet, even in the dusk’s muted light, you can discern the backyard of the house. This is a corner of his property you hadn’t seen from your upstairs bedroom. Under the night sky, you spot a large swimming pool, shimmering like a sapphire in the moonlight, a few lonely lounge chairs, and a notably tall, black fence standing out against the darkening horizon.

You’ve been told that the downstairs area is off-limits — that’s the non-negotiable rule. But as you take in the view, a longing stirs within you. You wonder if you could perhaps ask Simon to walk around the backyard. The thought of feeling the fresh air on your skin, the gentle wind rustling through your hair, and the simple yet significant joy of being outside is tempting. But when you turn to Simon, your lips parting to frame the question, you swallow it back. You decide that the answer is likely a firm ‘no.’ There’s no way he’s allowing you to step even a foot outside this gilded cage. Not yet, at least.

“For you,” he declares, his voice echoing like a soft melody, drawing your attention back to the here and now. With a gentleness that contradicts his usual demeanor, he nudges a paper cup towards you. It’s the sort of tall, nondescript cup you might stumble upon in a quaint, tucked-away café. As you wrap your fingers around it, you’re surprised by the soothing warmth that seeps into your skin.

A lid sits atop the cup. You hesitate, your heart pounding like a drum in a silent room, echoing your anxiety. You don’t dare to take a sip until you see Simon lift his own cup, an identical twin to yours, to his chapped lips, and take a generous gulp. It’s a silent demonstration.

“I’m not drugging you. Not tonight,” he grumbles, the words rolling off his tongue like thunder in the distance. His annoyance is palpable. His piercing gaze is locked onto your trembling hands, not wavering until you finally give in, raising the cup to your mouth.

The drink turns out to be a simple coffee, a plain dark blend that’s excessively sweet. The flavor is unbalanced, the sugary sweetness overwhelming, like a symphony played too loud, drowning the subtle bitterness of the coffee.

“So,” he continues, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat. The skirt rolls up your thighs as you move, and you find yourself silently thanking your luck that the table you’re sitting at doesn’t have a transparent surface. “What would you like to talk about?”

Your mind races like a wild horse with no reins. Your first instinct is to lash out, to pepper him with questions sharp as shards of glass, mirroring your frustration and fear. You want to demand to know why he’s such a crazy sick bastard, why he won’t just let you go—you would even promise not to tell anyone about what had happened and how he kidnapped you. But you’re smarter than that, you know better than to provoke him with such inquiries.

Unexpectedly, your knee brushes against his under the table. It’s an accidental and innocent contact, but it sends a jolt of awareness through you, making you pull all your limbs away from him as if you’ve been scorched.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, shrugging your shoulders when you don’t come up with a suitable topic of conversation.

The situation is beyond strange. It’s downright bizarre. You’re sitting in a living room with the man who kidnapped you, sipping on black coffee that is sickly sweet, like cough syrup masked with sugar, from disposable paper cups that crinkle under the slightest pressure; you’re both trying to maintain the pretense that this is just a normal, everyday date.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Simon says, his words wafting towards you, heavy with expectation. For the first time, his voice doesn’t cast a shadow of a command, but rather paints an invitation for conversation.

You take a tentative sip of your drink, the edges of the paper cup soft from the heat. The coffee slides down your throat. You wrestle to keep your face neutral, not wanting to grimace at the cloying taste that clings to your tongue.

You harbor no desire to peel back the layers of your life for him. He’s already intruded upon your most sacred spaces, seen the bare canvas of your body, treated you with a harshness that made your skin feel like fragile porcelain under his touch. Now, when you finally have some semblance of control over the situation, you want nothing more than to keep your private life just that - private.

The idea of telling him about your likes, your memories, or what your life is like outside of this strange situation, beyond these suffocating walls, feels as ludicrous as inviting a wolf into a sheep pen. You want to keep those pieces of yourself hidden, safe. He doesn’t deserve to get to know you.

The idea of lying crosses your mind. It could be harmless, and it would be easier than telling the truth. But the threat of him seeing through your deception, of him discovering your fabricated tales, looms like a storm cloud on the horizon. The potential danger of that scenario makes you hesitant, unsure if you’re willing to take that gamble. And so, you say nothing, allowing the silence to stretch on, filling the space between you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you eventually confess, your voice barely audible.

Simon lets out a weary sigh—a tangible display of his simmering frustration. He finds it incredibly challenging to have to coax the words out of you, to have to draw out your thoughts and feelings like pulling teeth. He despises the fact that this conversation is so difficult, all because he merely wishes to engage in a simple dialogue with you. Yet, you seem to erect walls of silence around yourself for no reason, making this simple desire of his seem like an uphill battle.

He had thought that by offering you a taste of normalcy - letting you out of the cold basement, allowing you to clean yourself up with a warm shower, and even going as far as to take you on this pretend-date - you might relax. But contrary to his expectations, these actions had only caused you to retreat further into your shell, made you more withdrawn, more closed off than before.

A part of him wants to give in to his rising anger. He is tempted to demand answers and to bark commands because he knows this approach would work. With just a bit of force, a slight nudge like a sharp gust of wind pushing a leaf from a tree, he could pry open your pretty pink lips, transforming them into a fountain from which words would flow freely.

But he restrains himself. His fists clench around his paper cup with such intensity that the sides crinkle like crumpled parchment. He forces himself to maintain his composure, deciding to throw you another lifeline, to offer you just a little more time before he resorts to confining you back to the basement if you decide that spending time with him is not worth it, even after he has been so kind to you.

“What do you like to do?” He asks, hoping that a simple question might finally elicit a response from you.

You ponder for a bit, mulling over whether you should answer or not. Eventually, you decide that it wouldn’t do any harm.

“Baking. I do like baking,” you say. Your sentences are short. It’s a struggle for you to provide more details, but you push yourself when you notice Simon unconsciously leaning in across the table as if he genuinely is interested in what you have to say. “I bake a lot on weekends. And I like to watch films.”

Simon nods. You fall silent again, not wanting to continue talking. Instead, you decide to pose him the same question, hoping to shift the focus of the conversation. But he shakes his head.

“Not important,” he says, leaning back in the chair and spreading out his legs. Your knees bump into his once more. “I just want to talk about you.”

It’s a struggle for you to suppress a sigh or a groan, but you manage to keep your emotions in check. It’s not really necessary, though, because your face is an open book that Simon can read quite easily.

For the next hour, he bombards you with questions. At first, they are quite innocuous, almost laughable. He inquires about your favourite colour, your preferred beverage, the time of the year you love the most, and your preferred cuisine. However, as time progresses, his questions take a turn, becoming more personal, and it all starts with, “Are you single?”

You are tempted to lie, to say no, even though you don’t have a boyfriend. But deep down, your intuition tells you that an imaginary man wouldn’t deter him, wouldn’t make him reconsider and let you return home. So, you just shake your head.

“So, you were at the nightclub when we met to find a one? Or were you just looking for a one-night stand?” he probes further. The sound of his teeth clicking together, like a predator ready to pounce, makes you realize that each word you utter must be carefully chosen.

The truth is, you were at the nightclub hoping to find someone, anyone, even if it was just for a single night. You have been feeling rather lonely… But despite hours spent in the club that night; you were quite unlucky with men. That’s why when Simon, an attractive stranger, approached you, you were thrilled and so eager to go with him.

“No, I wasn’t looking for anyone,” you lie, and instantly, his eyes narrow. He remains silent, clearly expecting a more detailed explanation, a plausible reason. “Since I only recently moved into the city, a couple of my college friends invited me for a night out and I didn’t want to decline their invitation.”

His eyes ignite, his face radiates with joy when you mention that you’ve just moved in to the city. It’s the perfect star aligning in his twisted constellation because now he won’t have to worry about prying eyes noticing your absence. It will be a significant amount of time before anyone realises you are missing.

However, his expression then abruptly shifts as he sternly says, “You’re lying. You don’t have any friends from college because you don’t go to college.”

Your lips part in surprise, as if pulled by invisible strings, and you inhale. How does he know that? For a moment, you forget that you aren’t supposed to raise your voice or show anger. You forget you should behave, keep your mouth sealed, and remember that you’re sitting across from a man who kidnapped you and would not hesitate to punish you. Thankfully, before you can react in anger, he continues speaking.

“I have taken the liberty of visiting your apartment—an atrocious neighborhood, by the way.” He rolls his eyes with a dramatic flair. “And I have taken the time to look around. You see, I wanted to get to know you better, which is precisely why I know that you are trying to lie to me now.”

Your eyes droop down to your lap. You feel like a small child being reprimanded. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, trying to escape the awkward situation.

“This is your one and only warning. Don’t lie to me. Never,” Simon’s voice drops to a threatening whisper. His tone is serious and chilling. He leans over the table, the distance between you two diminishing rapidly. His fingers curl around your chin with a firm grip and he forces you to meet his gaze. His face is just mere inches away from yours, so close that your noses are almost touching. You can feel the heat radiating from his breath on your skin, making it prickle with unease. “Because, trust me, I know more than you think I do, and — you are a terrible, terrible liar.”

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[maximura]

Ad Astra: The Theory Of Relativity | An Interstellar Ateez story Part I | Part II | Part III | Park IV (Words 5130, Warnings: mild swearing)

It's just after 7pm when they finally pull up the dirt driveway to their home. The sun has set in the sky, its blue hour casting a soothing indigo over the property, and although they can't see them clearly, the gentle rustle from the surrounding corn fields comforts something deep within Hongjoong's soul. They've all been so careless to take this scene for granted every single day. 

Kyungmoon is relieved as he greets the brothers at the door, indulging Wooyoung in his tall tales and energy but when he catches Hongjoong's eyes, he silently motions upstairs, where Yunho must still be. 

"He's been worried." The older man says by way of explanation, "He helped me make dinner but didn't want to eat it until you got back. You might want to go talk to him."

"Thanks Uncle Moonie," Hongjoong nods. "I'll do it now."

After Wooyoung finally allows their uncle to go home, they both head to the kitchen to grab a drink of water, still parched from the day's events, and that's when they notice that Yunho had set the table already, all three plates and glasses flipped upside down to prevent any dust collecting. 

"Oh nice, corn cakes!" Wooyoung rushes forward when he spots the food containers, only to be abruptly yanked back by the neck of his hoody.

"No."

"What? It's dinner time isn't it?"

"Wait till I get Yunho. You know he's upset about today. Do not eat anything until I get back."

"Because we went without him?" Wooyoung asks. "He should've come with us." 

Hongjoong sighs. "Just sit and wait." 

He makes his way up the stairs and knocks gently on Yunho's bedroom door. There's nothing for a few seconds but he resists the urge to barge in, remembering how much he hated that when he was teenager himself. 

"Yunho? It's just me, can I come in?"

"No."

"Well, okay, can I talk to you through the door then?" 

"Just go away Hongjoong. I'm fine."

They haven't fought in such a long time that Hongjoong wonders if things have been building up to this anyway. 

"Sorry I didn't radio in this afternoon. They took the truck from us for a while but we're both fine now."

There's silence after this and Hongjoong knocks again.

"Yunho?"

"Leave me alone Hongjoong, I said I'm fine!"

If today was any other day, if NASA stayed dead, if there was no hopeful future to think about, if their parents never died, if he was just an older brother who only needed to think about himself, Hongjoong would've walked away and given his brother the space to deal with his emotions on his own. 

But in his heart, even without committing to anything, he knows their lives will change now. He doesn't have the luxury of time, none of them do, and now more than ever, he doesn't want to waste it over small petty misunderstandings or disagreements. 

"Okay but I just wanted to say sorry for coming home so late." Hongjoong says to Yunho's door. "Thanks for making us dinner by the way, that was really good of you, but your brother is about to eat the whole thing if you don't come down."

It's then that he hears angry stomping and the door being wrenched open with such force that the rush of air ruffles Hongjoong's hair into his eyes. 

"But that's for all of us! God, why is he so annoying!?"

Yunho rarely gets angry for long but he's a teenager like any other and not immune to exploding with volcanic rage. Right now, he fills up the entire doorway and Hongjoong has to take a step backwards to make some space. 

He's grown so tall now, towering head and shoulders above nearly everyone, and for a split second, with his balled fists and tightly wound muscles, Hongjoong wonders if his brother has ever wanted to punch him in the face just to release the anger. 

But the rage always fizzles out as quickly as it boils over. 

On seeing his older brother standing there with tired shadows under his eyes and the same crumpled clothes he's seen a million times before, Yunho slowly lets the feelings of betrayal fade away, only to find them replaced by shame and guilt.

Hongjoong catches the change as it happens and knows he has to derail that train of thought.

"Well, hate to break it to you but he's not adopted and it's completely genetic."

Yunho huffs out a laugh, almost against his will, but the fight has left his body now. He isn't completely immune to Dad Jokes yet. 

“He’s kinda stuck with us forever, so don't be too mad at him."

"I'm not mad at him." Yunho says, voice back to normal.

"Are you mad at me? It's okay if you are."

Yunho doesn't answer, preferring to silently stare at their feet. Hongjoong was still in his sturdy old work boots but Yunho’s much larger feet were encased in blue slippers and the old dog socks that their mum had given them all one year. It makes Hongjoong suddenly nostalgic for Christmas holidays, back when it was a day to actually celebrate and not actively dread because another year was over. 

"Come on, it's been a long day, do you want to come down and eat dinner with us? You did all the hard work for it."

Yunho shoulders slump and he lets out a defeated sigh. "Fine."

The mood is a little brighter over dinner and even though Hongjoong is relieved that Yunho rarely holds much of a grudge, he also knows that his brother masks his hurt the best out of the three of them. Hongjoong is mostly too tired to pretend and Wooyoung broadcasts his emotions on every wavelength and frequency that exists, whether he realises it or not. 

But ever since he was a child, Yunho had often chosen to suffer in silence, especially if it meant keeping the peace.

It's why Hongjoong is knocking on his door again at bedtime. 

"Hey Yunho, it's me. Can I talk to you for a bit?"

This time his brother opens the door and invites him in. 

In stark contrast to Wooyoung's biohazard of a bedroom, Yunho's was much neater: with cleaned floors, a closet of folded clothes and a desk only half littered with homework. There are two photo frames on the bookshelf: one of them all at an amusement park with their parents and another from last year when Wooyoung had won a science competition at school. 

“I just wanted to say sorry about today again.” Hongjoong says as he sits down at the desk.

"It's okay Hongjoong, I know you had to go."

"Well, I didn't really and I didn't give you any notice so that was real shitty of me." Hongjoong says earnestly. "Is that what you were angry about?"

Yunho shrugs and looks at the floor. 

There's a long pause followed by a barely audible mumble.

"What?"

Yunho sighs with pained effort and looks everywhere but at his brother.

“You both just left.” He says quietly. “I thought you weren't coming back.”

Hongjoong chest aches at the words. He fucked up and he knows it. 

"I'm sorry," He repeats, knowing how inadequate it sounds now. "I know it was a stupid. I wasn't planning to leave you here by yourself. I didn't tell Wooyoung to come."

"Well, he went anyway."

"I know." Hongjoong says in exasperation, "I didn't want him to. He was supposed to stay here with you."

Yunho starts picking at the sleeves to his sweater but doesn't reply or look up. 

“I know you hate it when I do stuff like this.” Hongjoong continues apologetically, "I really didn't plan to leave you alone like that."

Yunho shrugs again.

"I'm....I'm really trying to make better decisions that are important for us, all of us. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I thought about turning back and taking you with us but your school's social worker is already hassling me about my "unconventional parenting."

Yunho looks up now. "She is?"

"Yeah, I think they're just waiting for me to mess up." Hongjoong chuckles bitterly. 

"Well, she doesn't know anything." Yunho says with a scowl. "It's just her job to be like that with kids when their parents die."

"Well, as annoying as she is, it's good that you have people like that looking out for you guys at school."

"We can take care of ourselves too." Yunho says defiantly, voice now regaining back some of its confidence, albeit shakily. "I'm not a little kid." 

"I know." Hongjoong smiles. "I know you can look after yourself and I know you can look after Wooyoung too but I'm still your older brother, so I'll keep trying not to do so many stupid reckless things. No guarantees but I'll try."

"You love doing stupid things though." Yunho mutters under his breath. "That's why you have no friends."

"Hey! I have friends!"

Yunho just gives him a withering look. "The Park uncles don't count and people you do jobs for don't count either."

"Yeah yeah whatever." Hongjoong says with a dismissive hand wave. "Hey, speaking of stupid things, what the hell happened with your driving test? And that punk on a bike?"

Yunho suddenly flops face down into his bed with a frustrated groan. "Why does everyone know about that?!"

"Because it's hilarious?" Hongjoong laughs. "So who is this kid? Someone in your class right? Have I met him? Her? Them?"

Yunho's ears turn bright red. "Do we have to have this conversation Hongjoong? I forgive you or whatever okay? Can we just stop talking about this now please?"

"Well, I'm trying to do more conventional parenting, so spill it: who is this giant that's got you so distracted that you almost crashed into Farmer Lee's paddock?"

With his face down in the pillows, all that comes from Yunho is muffled gibberish. 

"What? I can't hear anything you're saying."

Yunho rolls over now to look at the ceiling, there's a deep blush colouring his cheeks. "It's just.......well, um, it's a...guy...I think."

Honjoong chuckles, "You think?"

It's then that it hits him; he may have known about Yunho's preferences for years but his brother is only figuring it out for himself now. He's tried his best to give Yunho a safe space to tell him, whenever he was ready to, but it never came.

He can't fuck this up now.

"Oh hey, that's cool! What's he like?" 

Instead of answering, Yunho looks over at his older brother, eyes shifty and nervous at the over enthusiastic response. "So you're not...mad at me?"

"For what?"

"For....that it's not, you know, a girl?"

"No, Yunho. No. I am not mad at you." Hongjoong says gently but firmly, making sure there's no room for any misunderstanding. "That's the last thing I would be mad about, and besides, it would be kind of hypocritical of me to judge you for that."

There's a pause so deafening that they can both hear the wall clock tick tick in the room. Yunho eyes widen in shock as he slowly comes to the realisation about his brother. 

"WHAT."

"What?"

"Since when were you...."

"Into guys?" Hongjoong supplies helpfully, "Since always little bro. So when you need to have that other talk, let me know. Safety first!"

"Oh my god. Make it stop." Yunho flops down into his pillows again. "We are not having that conversation right now!"

Hongjoong chuckles but decides to take pity on his brother; he remembers how big, life-altering and world-ending all his teenage crushes felt back then too. Young love is as potent a blessing and as it is a poisonous curse.

Adult love wasn't much better. 

"Okay okay, I'm leaving. Get some sleep." Hongjoong rises from the table but can't resist walking over to thump Yunho's back a few times in solidarity. "I'm very proud of you today okay? Tell me when you want to have that other conversation. Anytime. Okay?"

There's a muffled "okay" in reply and a small “Thanks” as Hongjoong exits the room.

They will be fine.

But he can't go to sleep yet. 

There's still the matter of the manic fourteen year old banging around in their basement instead of sleeping. 

"Wooyoung, it's been a long day." Hongjoong rubs his eyes in exhaustion. "Can you leave the drone alone? It'll still be here in the morning."

Wooyoung is sitting in front of the dissected drone with a contemplative expression, like a surgeon about to engage in some delicate neurosurgery. Hongjoong sighs as he plucks the wire cutters from his brother's hand.  

"Seonghwa can build robots. Did you know that?" Wooyoung asks him. "He probably told you when you had your meeting. He's so smart. And he's so nice. And he's so tall, I think he's definitely taller than you."

"How is that even important?" Hongjoong replies defensively as he tidies the mess of papers and pencils strewn around the work bench. "He's a know-it-all, is what he is."

Wooyoung blinks at him for a few seconds before going back to the drone. "Yeah that's what I meant: he's really smart."

"Why are you even on first names basis with him? You met him for like ten minutes."

"But that's his name? Doctor Park Seonghwa? He said to call him Seonghwa." Wooyoung says in confusion. "Why? What do you call him then?"

"This isn't relevant." Hongjoong mumbles dismissively. "That place is full of astrophysicists, they're all smart."

"I have to start building more robots.” Wooyoung announces matter-of-factly. “Seonghwa said he built his first one out of Lego when he was thirteen. I'm a whole year behind Hongjoong! I've only built radios and circuits. Do you think we can find some Lego?"

Oh God. 

Raising a fourteen year old is a never ending cycle of lost battles.

“If you stop terrorising that drone and go to sleep right now, I'll ask around for some Lego. How's that?"

Wooyoung peers at him skeptically with a sharply raised eyebrow. “Tomorrow?”

"Sure, tomorrow."

"Okay, deal."

Hongjoong falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress but while his body is dead to the world, his mind is alive with visions of space shuttles, sunsets and a binary moon. He’s never alone in the dream but he doesn’t know who is next to him either. It’s someone kind. Someone who understands him. Someone he loves.

It isn't a nightmare, it doesn't feel like a dream, it just feels like a memory he hasn’t lived yet.

*

After their encounter with NASA, not that much changes for awhile. Hongjoong deliberately keeps it that way, not yet ready to face the big decisions looming in the distance. He doesn't tell Wooyoung all the details of that day at NASA, he doesn't tell Yunho or anyone else either, not out of sworn secrecy but out of fear for their reactions. It weighs heavily on his mind, like a persistent dark cloud that follows him everywhere.

Yeosang contacts him a few times to gather more details and sends through some proposals for his involvement. Professor Park calls him too, just to talk about the updates. He doesn't say 'yes' to anything but eventually agrees help with the training manual for the pilots. He can do that. It's easy to work on it when the boys are asleep. Nobody has to know. Nothing has to change. 

One day, a week after he sends his suggestions for the pilot program, he's in the middle of fixing their neighbour's tractor when a package arrives in the mail, hand delivered by a man he's never seen in these parts of town before. 

Dear Mr Kim, 

On behalf of the astrophysics and aerospace divisions at NASA, we would like to acknowledge and thank you for your submission regarding the current pilot program. Your suggestions will now enter the appropriate channels for review and consideration. Please contact me should you have any further questions or wish to extend your involvement. 

Regards, 

Dr Kang Yeosang

NASA Head Of Public Relations and Communications

Hongjoong folds the letter back into its envelope and stuffs them both in his desk drawer. This is enough involvement. He did what they had asked of him, his job is done for now, and he tries to put it out of his mind. 

The school year drags on to keeps them all busy. Wooyoung's suspension is revoked when he promised to retake the science test. Of course he gets an A and Hongjoong feels smugly victorious about it, knowing Kim Yonghwan would've absolutely hated grading that and how it means the fourteen year old would not fail science after all. 

Yunho passes his driving test on the second attempt. No bike distractions this time. 

As the year draws to a close, there was the small matter of his high school graduation. Despite always doing well academically, Yunho had simply announced one day that he intended to keep working at the Lucky Corn Mill after graduation but also wanted to help Hongjoong with his engineering jobs. 

"You can study at the university in the next town too." Hongjoong reminds him. "If you want that. We'll make it work."

But Yunho had shaken his head, "No, I want to stay here. I like working at the Mill and Uncle Moonie said he would level up my job if I learnt how to repair the machines like you do."

Hongjoong had been half skeptical, wondering if Yunho was keeping the peace again by taking the path that would be the most easy for their family. But when Hongjoong asks him this, he's met with an easy grin. 

"No, I really want to stay here. Our town needs the Mill. I don't want to move to another place and not know anyone. Seems like a big hassle if you ask me."

It doesn't come as a surprise to Hongjoong. It was what he had expected. Wooyoung always had his head in the clouds, dreaming big dreams and having big ambitions that he didn't know how to realise, but Yunho was grounded in this town's dirt and dust, rooted in the same community that he grew up in and cared for. 

The graduation day itself is a flurry of activity that seemed so unnecessary. It's unbelievable how stressful getting three sets of suits cleaned and ironed turns out to be. Wooyoung wears a tie and brushes his long dark hair only after the promise of more Lego and electronics to build his robots. Hongjoong caves in to the demands for the sake of his own sanity. 

It all culminates in Yunho having an uncharacteristic crisis in the truck on the way to the ceremony. 

"Don't embarrass me!" Yunho tells them firmly. "Especially you Wooyoung."

"What? Why especially me?"

"You always make so much noise and I swear to God, do not to ask every single person I introduce you to if we're dating. I'm not dating anyone! Got it?"

"Got it." Hongjoong salutes, while Wooyoung just mumbles something unintelligible. 

"And don't dad my friends." This one he directs at his older brother.

"I don't do that!" Hongjoong replies defensively.

"Yes you do!" Both younger brothers yell in unison. 

“Recommending sunscreen is not dad-behaviour. It’s just common sense. Our ozone layer is not what it used to be.”

Yunho sighs as Wooyoung wheezes like an asthmatic bird next to him.

“See all this?” Yunho says, gesturing to everything in the truck. “This is what I need you not to do!”

The graduation takes place in the school's indoor basketball court and it's all too familiar for Hongjoong, right down to the colours of the gowns, the cheerful balloons and streamers and the chatter of proud parents and overexcited teenagers. 

Wooyoung is inhaling the free food and Hongjoong leaves him there to mingle with some parents he knows, like he's an Actual Responsible Adult now himself. He does not make eye contact with the social workers, just in case they have any more unsolicited feedback about his parenting skills.

Against strict instructions not to do it, they let out loud cheers when Yunho is called out with his classmates and Hongjoong finds it endearing how red his brother gets at the attention. There are two other tall boys in the class, one he knows already, the Song's only son Mingi, and one he's never met before. He wonders which one owns the infamous bike. 

Wooyoung insists on being the official photographer of the event and sneaks up front to take copious photos of Yunho getting his certificate. 

Third in his class. 

Hongjoong is so proud of him. The overwhelming feeling sneaks up without warning and he doesn't realise he's tearing up until it's too late. The lump in his throat formed without his consent but as he claps and cheers, he thinks to himself, overcome with relief: I didn't fuck it up, he turned out okay.

After the formalities are done for the day, Yunho goes off to talk to his friends. They meet up later for a late lunch with Kyungmoon and Jonghoon, who gift Yunho with some new work boots that he tries on immediately.

As a treat, Hongjoong drives them both to a supermarket on the edge of town that still carried a small assortment of junk food that contained so many preservatives, they never really seemed to expire. They sit in the back of the pick up truck to eat it. 

"Hongjoong CRIED. How lame!"

"Thanks Wooyoung. That's real nice of you to point that out, you little punk."

Yunho laughs and uses the good mood to ask Hongjoong for a sip of his beer. Hongjoong gives him a bottle of his own instead. It's a maize lager that's barely alcoholic at all but Yunho relishes every single drop of it like it was the best thing he's ever tasted. 

Even in the time of a global food shortage, humankind will always find a way to manufacture alcohol.

Wooyoung sets the camera to takes a dopey photo of them all grinning like lunatics and while the boys fight over the last of the candy, Hongjoong can't help thinking that if life never gets better than this, it's okay. 

They're okay. This is okay. 

And they deserve so many more decades of it.

*

The weather is hot and dry over the summer school break. They have a few days of rain but it's not enough. Yunho takes more shifts at the Mill to help process as much of the existing crop as urgently as possible. On his days off from his regular jobs, Hongjoong takes Wooyoung to the Mill to help the Park brothers fulfill the orders that were coming in hard and fast. 

The town is thrown into panic mode by the threat of a drought and it only slows down when they get a solid week of heavy rains. Jonghoon chuckles at the fickleness of the weather, lamenting poetically how mercurial and precarious it was for humankind's survival. It was all meant to lighten the mood but even the jokes had a bitter nervous edge to them. 

Yunho takes renewed interest in mechanical engineering and Hongjoong is all too happy to pass on his knowledge, going as far as having Yunho tag along to his jobs, whenever he wasn’t at the Mill. As expected, he takes to it like a duck to water, but surprises them both with his capacity for learning.

Wooyoung litters the basement with what Hongjoong can only describe as a small army of Lego robots. They don’t question the teenager and leave him be, only periodically coming down to feed and water him. 

Life is peaceful for a period.

Then several letters from NASA begin to arrive, increasing in frequency and then urgency. 

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

Following review from the aerospace division, we are pleased to advise that your suggestions were met with favourable agreement. Given the sensitive and complex nature of operations, we would be grateful if you could make contact regarding an in-person discussion on the best way to move forward with your involvement.

Regards, 

Dr Kang Yeosang

NASA Head Of Public Relations and Communications

*

A week later, prompted by his lack of response, another letter arrives. 

Dear Mr Kim, 

I am writing on behalf of our aerospace division to follow up your response regarding your involvement with our pilot program. Please contact me to discuss this matter. 

Regards, 

Dr Kang Yeosang

NASA Head Of Public Relations and Communications

*

Dear Hongjoong, 

Yeosang's gotten himself in a stress spiral over the pilot program. I read your suggestions and proposal, it was brilliant as expected. Please contact my poor colleague to save him from his descent into madness. Our young pilots would most benefit from your guidance, particularly in person. 

The shuttle is coming along well. They will be mounting the boosters soon. I apologise for the urgency but time is always of the essence, as you know. 

Please send my best to the boys.

Kind Regards, 

Professor Park 

NASA Director of Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering, PhD

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

I am writing to follow up on the numerous unanswered correspondence you have received from our organisation. I have word that the letters have arrived safely to you in person, please advise if you have moved residences since or remain confused by the information provided and need assistance. 

As per our previous correspondence(s), I wish to reiterate the importance of our aerospace and pilot program and also remind you of their role in both our imminent and future stellar missions. We simply cannot proceed without their involvement.

I have read your suggestions for the pilot training program. It would seem your experience would be greatly beneficial to our young trainees. 

Please advise Dr Kang Yeosang if you do not wish to remain involved in assisting our mission as his time, and mine, would be better served in less futile pursuits. 

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

*

Dear Doctor Park, 

I am writing to confirm I have received and was able to read all the letters. I'm glad to hear my suggestions were helpful in some way. Contrary to popular belief, I have many other equally important commitments here.

I wasn't trying to waste Yeosang's time or yours but as I explained to your father before, my priority is to ensure the ongoing stability for my family. It would not be practical to travel multiple hours out of town to train your pilots on a regular basis. 

I remain available to offer assistance in other forms. 

Regards, 

Kim Hongjoong

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

It seems you are capable of answering correspondence in a timely manner after all. 

I have taken the liberty of proposing a relocation of our partial pilot simulator to a venue more accessible to you. I believe it will cut down your travel time to half an hour each way. Yeosang will draw up a proposed schedule, taking into account the days you are available from your current occupation.

Please reply promptly if this is agreeable to you as I would like to progress this situation without further delays.

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

*

Dear Doctor Park, 

Yes, that would be agreeable. 

Thank you, 

Kim Hongjoong

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

I have made arrangements for the partial simulator to be relocated to its new venue in 10 days. I have included all the details of such in this pack, including your security ID and paperwork, which you will need to return to Yeosang ASAP. 

There is no set launch date available at this time but I am compelled to tell you that all pilots need to be ready when they are called. 

Please do not lose your security ID. It is particularly tedious to obtain a replacement. 

Thank you for your cooperation. 

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

*

Dear Doctor Park,

Thank you for making the arrangements. It’s incredible that you were able to do all that so quickly. As per your threat, I have returned all the security paperwork to Yeosang this morning. 

There might be typos and one of Wooyoung’s robots spilled coffee on the pages. 

I’m looking forward to meeting your pilots.

Regards, 

Hongjoong

P.S I will try my best not to lose the security ID

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

I have confirmed that Yeosang has received your paperwork and processed it. It was rather difficult with the coffee staining but he is a professional after all. 

I am glad to hear that your brother has chosen to take his talent for science so seriously. Robotics is a noble pursuit with significant benefits to society. 

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

P.S Please do not include P.S notes in official correspondence letters

*

Dear Doctor Park, 

Please send my apologies to Yeosang for all the inconveniences. 

Wooyoung insists I say Hi to you on his behalf. He’s threatening to send his robot army to kill me in my sleep if I don’t. 

Regards, 

Hongjoong

P.S Okay

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

It is perplexing that you continually choose to be contrary to my recommendations. I also note the lack of apology to myself, who also had to assist with your coffee stained paperwork. 

Please advise Wooyoung that I said Hello and wish him the best with his killer robot army. I am certain their enemy will be of no match. 

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

P.S Please stop this, it’s unprofessional

*

Dear Doctor Park, 

I didn’t apologise to you because it seems like my brother is trying to follow in your footsteps and has taken over our entire basement. I had to ask the entire town for all their old Lego bricks, they all think I’ve gone nuts now.

The Coffee Incident is your fault. So I’m not sorry. Wooyoung wants to show you his killer robot army one day but I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other important things to do.

Yeosang gave me my new schedule, thank you for taking my job and brothers into account. I’m meeting your new pilots in two days. Will the rest of the team be there too?

Regards, 

Hongjoong

*

Dear Mr Kim, 

The rest of the team is not required to attend. Relevant members of the aerospace division will be present to provide you with orientation but I understand you are already well familiar with how the simulators work. 

You will be asked to provide direct feedback to my father or Yeosang, however you may also send your evaluation reports to me directly if it is easier. 

Please advise Wooyoung that when time permits, it would give me great pleasure to see his killer robot army. Unfortunately, at present I am trying to find solutions for interstellar biodynamic viability.

Your lack of remorse is deeply disrespectful but expected for one so unappreciative of robotics. I send Wooyoung my condolences.

Regards, 

Dr Park Seonghwa

NASA Deputy head of Astrophysics, Robotic Engineering and Interstellar Biology, PhD

P.S: I wish you the best for your first day with our pilots

[artemis1214]

'The Little Siren', The Little Mermaid AU

Alright, you asked, I delivered. Here is Chapter One of 'The Little Siren' 🧜🏼‍♀️

Inspired by @fanfictionreader0307 AU of Esme and Alastor

Also, feel free to add to this or continue this AU with your own ideas. I love it when readers take Esme in different directions. 💗

If you would like more AUs within Esme's story, please check out my AU book on Wattpad. 🥰

'The Little Siren' Hazbin Hotel OC AU

Warnings: Light cursing, cheesy disney, oc x canon pairing

Deep within the seas of the Gulf of Mexico, lay a hidden city of wonder full of shimmering seas, harps, and music. The seven seas were ruled by numerous different leaders, each possessing a specific power to gain control of their own territory. This particular gulf, warmed by the southern sun, was ruled by the Voxtek, a group of aquatic creatures with abilities envied by the surrounding fish. The seas and the land never mixed, with those beneath the surface fearing those walking on land, and those bipedal humans wondering about the hidden mysteries of the world below. 

There was one in particular who was constantly drawn to the unknown, a free spirit named Esme, the siren daughter of Vox the ruler of the sixth sea. As she was next in line to the monarchy, she was protected by most of the fish. Not that she needed it of course, with her voice emitting a hypnotic siren’s call that could easily warp the minds of those around her. But she never used it. She wasn’t like the other aquatic demons of her sea, finding the outside world to be fascinating and wanting to know more about this world. The world that she could hear from the waters, their songs and music. She longed to feel the warmth of the sun on her scales, to be able to lay in the sand and be amongst them in their luxurious parties. She would watch them from afar, seeing how several of them danced along the sand with multicolored beads around their necks and drinks in their hands. She wondered what their lives were like. 

She often explored the waters of her father’s land, scoring several treasurers from nearby shipwrecks and storing them in her hideout for safekeeping. She would swim there often, relaxing and imagining what it would be like to be in their company. They couldn’t all be as bad as the stories her father told her, could they?

Angel, a fellow merperson and her most trusted companion swam alongside her as he explored her finds, “Just imagine the parties we could have with this stuff here. With all the music they’re makin’ I-” 

“Music?!” Esme perks up from her rock, her fins standing up at attention on the side of her head, “The concert! Oh my goodness, he’s going to kill me!” She quickly swam up and took Angel by the hand, “We have to go!” 

The two swam off back to the headquarters, where she would surely be reprimanded for missing her father’s affair. It was a special one, where she was to be introduced as second in command for the throne. A siren performing a concert to remember and keeping all of their society in check under her control. 

~ Small Time Skippy ~ 

“I just don’t know what we are going to do with you!” Vox scolded her, 

“Daddy, I’m sorry, I just forgot! I-” 

“As a result of your careless behavior I-” 

“It was completely carelesssss and recklesssss!” Her father’s assistant, Pentious added from his side. He was assigned to aid Vox in his responsibilities, although he often failed even the most simple of tasks. 

“The entire celebration wa-” 

“Well, it wass ruined! That’s all! Completely destroyed! This was the pinnacle of my distinguissssshed career. And now I-” 

Angel was listening from afar, frantically shaking his head in frustration until he couldn’t take it anymore and swam over, “Yeah, well, it wasn’t her fault!” He shouted, something out of character from him, as he too was partly owned by her father’s monarchy. 

The ruler scowled at him. 

“Uhhh ya know…first there was a shark that chased us and we ran, and then the seagull was l-” 

Vox rolled his eyes and rested against his throne until his mind clicked and he sat up straight, “Seagull?” He announced, standing up, making Angel swim away and hide behind Esme, who shot him a nasty glare. 

“You went up to the surface again, didn’t you? Didn’t you!?”

“Well, nothing happened…” 

“Esme, how many times are we gonna talk about this? You could have been seen by one of those barbaric humans!”

Esme’s fins fluttered on her head, expressing annoyance, “They’re not barbarians!” 

“They are dangerous! Do you think I want to see my only child, the next in line of this throne, end up on the tip of some fisherman’s hook?!” He grabs her by the shoulders, but she wiggles free of his grasp, 

“Oh, for heavens sake, I’m 27 years old. I’m an adult! I’m not a child anymore.” 

“Don’t you raise your voice to me! As long as you live under this sea, you will follow my rules like everyone else!” 

Esme rolls her eyes and waves her arms in the water desperately, “If you would just rela-” 

“Shut the hell up!” He yells, “You are not to go to the surface again, do understand?! Never!” 

Her eyes glow brightly in frustration and she swims off as not to show any sign of weakness. Her father slumps back down into his chair, Pentious slithering up against the arm, “Hmphm, daughters, they think they know everything. If you give them the ability, they’ll swim all over you.” 

“Do you think I was too harsh?” 

“Definitely not ssssir! Why, if Esme was my daughter, I’d show her who was bosssss! No more surface nonsense, no sir I’d keep her under tight control.” 

An idea sparks. 

“You’re absolutely right, Pen.” 

“Of coursssse!” 

“Esme needs constant supervision.” 

“Constant.” 

“Someone to watch over her, keep her in line.” 

Pentious nods obliviously, “All the time.” 

“And YOU, are just the snake to do it!” 

~ Small Time Skip ~ 

“How do I get dragged into thisss? I should be making symphoniessss!” Pen grumbled to himself as he slithered through the castle in a huff, “Not chasing after some headstrong woman!” He hears a whoosh of water and turns his head to the sound, noticing Esme and Angel mumbling to one another before swimming off. “What is this one up to?” 

He took off after them, eventually following them back to their secret hideout. As he made his way inside, his eyes sparkled as they landed on several artifacts throughout the enclosure. The sight of gems, oil paintings, and books tucked away in the rocky walls. 

“Es, are you okay?” Angel asks, curling up next to her. 

“If only he could understand…” She begins, “I just don’t see things the way he does….I don’t see how a world that makes such wonderful things…could be so bad?” 

Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat? 

Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete?

Wouldn’t you think I’m the girl, 

The girl who has everything…

She spins around in the water, her dark blue hair circling around her in a lively bounce as her eyes dance across the glittery walls. 

Look at this trove, 

Treasures untold, 

How many wonders can one cavern hold? 

Lookin’ around here you’d think…

Sure, she’s got everything…

She swims up and grabs some dangling pocket watches, bringing them to her face for inspection. 

I’ve got gadgets and gizmos aplenty, 

I’ve got whozits and whatzits galore…

She swims over to Angel and presents him with several old records that she’s recovered from the sea, 

You want thingamabobs? 

I got 20, 

She puts them down on a nearby table, 

But who cares, 

No big deal, 

I want more….

I wanna be, 

Where the people are, 

I wanna see, 

Wanna see ‘em dancin’ 

Walkin’ around on those…

She turns to Angel, 

What do ya call ‘em?

Oh, feet. 

She swims around happily, spinning around with him as she continues, 

Flipping your fins, you don’t get too far…

Legs are required for jumpin’, dancin’ 

Strollin’ along down the…

What’s that word again? 

Streeett~ 

Up where they walk, 

Up where they run,��

Where they stay all day in the sunn, 

Wonderin’ free, 

Wish I could be, 

Part of that woorldd~ 

What would I give if I could live out of these waterss, 

What would I pay to spend a day warm on the saandd~ 

Angel snuggles into the sand next to her, smiling brightly at her enthusiasm. She pouts and rests her jaw on her webbed hand, 

Betcha on land, 

They understand, 

That they don’t reprimand their daughters, 

Bright young women, 

Sick of swimmin’, 

Ready to staaannndd~ 

And ready to know what the people know, 

Ask them my questions and get some answers, 

Pen struggles to get past a row of bottles, but he rolls back on them in vain. 

What’s a fire and why does it, 

What’s the word? 

Buuurrnnn~ 

When’s it my turn? 

Wouldn’t I love? 

She swims up towards the surface, but not quite breaking it, 

Love to explore that world up above…..

Out of the sea, 

Wish I could be….

Part of that…

World….

Pen falls off of a pile of her treasures, causing a loud crash followed by an avalanche of things. “Penny!” Esme shouts, swimming over. 

“Esme, what are- what is all thisss?” 

“It’s my um….my collection..” She shrugs with a smile. 

“Oooh…I ssssee….your collection..” He smiles, “IF YOUR FATHER KNEW ABOUT THIS PL-” 

“You’re not gonna snitch, are ya?!” Angel rushes over. 

Esme swims over, “Oh, please Pen, he’d never understand.” 

“Esssmeralda, you’re under a lot of pressure down here….come with me, I’ll take you home and get some nice warm to dri-” 

The sea becomes dark with something covering the surface, causing Esme to look up with confusion, “What do you suppose…” She swims up towards it. 

“Esme? ESME!” 

She, against all her orders, swims to the surface and peers her head out. Her emerald eyes land on a large ship, glowing brightly at the sight with her admiration. There were fireworks that lit up the sky and lively music softly singing in the distance, layered with laughter. 

Angel and Pen appear next to her. 

“Young lady, what are yo- jumpin’ jellyfish!” 

Esme takes off after the ship, her large tail breaking the water and pushing her forward, 

“Esme? Esme, come back - please!” She swims towards it and hooks her hands on the side of the ship, pulling herself out and peering in on the side. Multiple humans danced along to the lively music, several with drinks in their hands, appearing to be having a grand old time. Esme’s eyes scanned across their bodies, noting the jewels that bounced off of the women’s bodies and the feathers in their hair. 

She ran her own hand through her wet curls, tilting her head. 

They didn’t look like seagulls. 

In the mix of the people’s legs, a small cat ran across the ship, rubbing its body against the sailors. It purrs and meowed softly until it sensed something nearby and its tail puffs up. It explored the area until it made its way toward the small window Esme was hiding by. 

She gasps and pulls back, only to turn to see a small black and white cat nuzzle its head against her face, purring. 

“KeeKee, come kitty!” A soft voice called out, causing the feline to run away, through the feet of a tall gentleman and into the arms of a nearby child. 

Esme’s eyes pan up to see a tall man dancing lively with a shorter woman, the two clearly enjoying the beat of the music. Her eyes widen as she lands on his face, noting the warmth of his skin and the soft wave of his chocolate curls. 

Her eyes glow faintly. 

“Charlie, if you insist on bringing your cat on to a Mardi Gras boat, the least you can do is watch her.” He snickered with a smirk, pulling his dance partner back. 

The young girl giggled and held her kitten close, “Little KeeKee won’t be a trouble, honest!” She chirped, looking up at him with big blue eyes. 

He hummed and turned to his dance partner, “Darling, please excuse me for a moment…” He walks off to get himself a drink, unaware of the two glowing eyes following his every move. 

“Hey there, sweetcheeks!” Angel laughs, pulling himself up beside her, “Quite a show, huh?” 

“Angel, be quiet, they’ll hear you!” 

“I gotcha….” He chuckles, hanging low by her, “We are hangin’ low - we’re out to discover!” 

She gasps and covers his mouth with her hand, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the mysterious gentleman. 

“I’ve never seen a human this close before…” She begins, watching as he sits down by the piano and joins in with the music, “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” 

Angel’s eyes narrow and he tilts his head, landing on the cat walking about, “I don’t know, he looks kind of hairy to me…” 

Esme laughs, “Not that one! The one playing the snarfblatt.” 

As time progresses, he is eventually approached by a tall woman with short blonde hair. She’s wearing a luscious dark purple gown and smiles at him as she talks, heading him a small box, “So, Alasta, I was hopin’ this would be a wedding present, but I supposed I could give it to you for your birthday since you’re getting old and whatnot.” 

He opens it, his eyes landing on a small red monocle, a change to his wardrobe. “It is lovely, my dear, thank you.” 

“Woulda looked better with a nice suit in a church but ya know…” 

“Come on, Rosie, don’t start with me.” He laughs, walking to the side of the ship, “I invited you to this celebration to welcome you to the town, not pester me.” 

“Alasta, you’re 32 years old! Don’t you think it’s time you settle down with a nice gal?” 

He laughs and sits on the side of the ship, just inches above Esme’s hiding spot, “I’m sure if love is to find me, it will on its own. I don’t believe in such silly things, why bother consuming myself with stress?” 

“I suppose it'll just hit you?” She jokes. 

“Like lightning.” He winks, soon cut off by the crash of thunder followed by several strong winds. 

Within seconds, the ship is taken over by powerful winds and waves, pushing most of those on top of it overboard forced to scamper into lifeboats. Within a boat, the young girl Esme was eyeing earlier looked up with frightened eyes, “KeeKee!” She calls out. 

Esme turns her attention back to the boat, where the small cat is shaking in fear, surrounded by flames. 

“It’s just a cat, Charlie, come on.” The man insisted, holding her from jumping from the lifeboat, 

“Alastor, please, my kitty!” 

He rolls his eyes. “Your mother would never let me hear the end of this.” He paddles towards the boat, climbing on the side of it and throwing the cat overboard. The feline struggles to swim in the strong waters, sinking but soon supported by Esme who gives her a little nudge. 

As Charlie reaches over the lifeboat, her eyes catch the shimmer of a bright tail passing by, “Woah…” She whispers. 

There’s soon a large boom and Esme looks up from underneath the water to see the debris of the ship cascading around her under the sea. She gasps and swims about, looking for the man, who she finds sinking. She wraps her arms around him and struggles to pull him back to the shore, poking her head out and making sure to keep his face above water as she uses her tail to paddle them to safety. 

The sun pokes out through the clouds, bringing light to the shore where Esme drags the poor soul to safety, still unconscious. “Argh!” She places him on the sand, collapsing next to him and taking a few deep breaths before crawling on top of him, “Is he dead?” She asks Angel who is also cautiously nearby. 

“It’s hard to say…” He lays his ear on his foot, “Oh…I can’t make out a heartbeat.” 

“No, look! He’s breathing!” She moves a stray curl away from his face, “He’s so beautiful…” She turns his face to hers to have a better look at him. His chest rises and falls with peaceful breaths, drifting in and out of consciousness. 

What would I give to live where you are? 

What would I pay to stay here beside you? 

What would I do to see you smiling at me?

Angel smiles and wiggles his eyebrows, backing up into the water to give the two some space.. Meanwhile, Pen emerges from the water, groaning as he looks up and sees the scene unfolding before him. He lunges to stop her, but Angel pulls him back. 

Where would we walk? 

Where would we run? 

If we could stay all day in the sunn~ 

Her eyes glow brightly as she tries to wake him from his state, her voice shifting into a haunting melody as her scales shine brightly from her every word. 

Just you and me….

He stirs. 

And I could be…

He feels a warm yet damp hand on his face and his eyes struggle to open, seeing a faint outline of a woman in the sunlight. He can hear her soft singing, but her words make his mind feel fuzzy and light. 

Part of your world~

Esme gasps when she hears the rapid footsteps of humans drawing near, turning and diving back into the water before they arrive. 

“Alastor!” A small voice calls out, followed by an older woman’s voice, “Al?!” The small girl races over, throwing herself on top of him with a big smile, “Found you!” She cheers, turning back to the water to see the end of Esme’s tail dive into the water, “Mermaid!”

She’s ignored.

He’s soon joined by his companions, helping him to stand up as he staggers to the sea, “A girl….there was a girl..she saved me..” He shakes his head, “Her voice was heavenly…” 

“Oh, Alasta, you must’ve hit ya head on your way to shore. Come on, let’s go home.” The woman guides him away, turning her head back to look at the small girl who was exploring the water with her kitten tucked safely in her arms, “Come, Charlie! Your parents will worry!” 

She turns and runs after them. 

Further away, Esme hides behind a sea rock as Pen yaps on and on about his orders, “We must forget this ever happened. Your father will never know…” He looks to Angel, “You won’t tell him, I won’t tell him. I will stay in one piece.” 

She begins to climb on the sea rock, keeping Alastor in her gaze with a sense of belonging and determination. 

I don’t know when, 

I don’t know how, 

But I know something’s starting right now….

She leans her body to the side, her long dark curls cascading down her shoulder, 

Watch and you’ll see…

Someday I’ll be…

Part Of Your World 🎶

🖤Words: 3133 🖤

~ Artemis 🦌💗

[xkv8r]

Hi, I'm XKV8R and I write 1st person vore/feeding scenarios. If you're reading this, you've probably seen one of my other works, in which case you already know what I do, but in case you haven't, I almost exclusively write this kind of stuff for other people.

I don't typically post the stuff I write for myself for several reasons, but mostly because it's weird, messed up, and probably gives you more insight into my mental state than is wise. Today however, I have something thematically appropriate for Easter, so I'm going to try and be a bit more brave than usual and make this public.

3360 words

(CW: Vore, willing prey, implied fatal, M/?, candygore)

Chocolate is meant to be eaten, it is meant to be enjoyed, it is meant to satisfy the cravings that animals evolved to have. Their ancestors struggled for their entire lives to experience slivers of the abundant luxury that they are surrounded by every waking moment. Fats and sugars were rare, valuable commodities to people even a hundred years prior, and I am made of the stuff.

My chocolate shell was masterfully sculpted and enchanted to make me the spitting image of a anthropomorphic rabbit. The spells that animate me flex my limbs in ways that perfectly mimic a real person, stretching and reforming to produce a convincing illusion of life. From a distance, one might assume I was simply wearing body paint, but up close, reality is undeniable. I am a chocolate golem.

I am not truly alive, merely a magical construct given confectionery form and preserved. Kept behind thick glass so that the intricate carvings that mimic fur and clothes cannot be harmed by a careless touch, and chilled to 18 degrees Celsius so that I will not melt in the warmth I so desperately crave. I am cold. They keep me so cold.

I gaze longingly at the store patrons, watching people laugh and chat idly with their families, as they snack on rich sweets and decadent desserts. I wish so badly to be a part of that joy, to be devoured in celebration of a grand event, but I am denied my fate.

I have seen other golems, grand constructs of iron and stone, they are permitted to serve their masters as laborers, carrying and building things. They are content, fulfilled in carrying out their purpose. The spellcraft animating them leaves echoes on my own, and I can sense their joy at serving in these ways. This is what those materials were made for after all, to build and bear loads.

I sometimes wonder if the artificers who enchanted me were cruel. They did not see fit to gift me speech, so perhaps they simply did not know that I could feel lonely in here. I can only wave silently at the passing crowds to greet them as they enter and to wish them goodbye as they leave. I am an advertisement, a display of opulence, that the confectioners who own me could afford to have a golem made from such an impractical material, and even I must admit, an effective one.

People stare at me from across the street, children press their noses against the glass and look at me in awe. These fleeting moments stir the dim embers of desires unfulfilled in me. To them, I am something fantastical, and they let their minds wander and for only the briefest of moments, allow themselves to fantasize about devouring me.

I was not aware for much of my creation, but I can only imagine how much time, effort, and money was spent to create something like me. For something made of chocolate, I am almost as detailed as a real person, molded features accented by fine chiselwork stand as a testament to the skill of the craftsmen who made me, and demonstrate the quality of the stores goods. My body was crafted expertly to appeal to others, gentle curves and a soft androgynous shape contrast with the exotic nature of my construction. Part of me feels guilty at wanting to destroy that. So much work was put into me, the idea of destroying all that to fulfill my own desires feels selfish, vain even. I should be happy, simply to exist, but that isn't enough for me. The shame of being so unwilling to accept my lot in life eats away at me, but the desires do not abate. Chocolate was made to be eaten, and that desire is as carved into me as the pleasant smile on my face is.

I know the regulars by name and face, but also by their steadily growing waistlines. The sweets of this place bring such pleasure that more than a few have cheerfully eaten themselves into obesity. Once, I brought them joy too, I was a novelty, something unique. But now I have become routine for them, part of the background, something to be ignored. I could do it again, I know the gluttony that is hiding behind their masks of propriety. I see them stare greedily at the treats they cannot have, the thick blocks of fudge and glazed pastries they have to leave behind as they waddle home. Yet they ignore me, the most forbidden of fruits. They, like my creators, refuse to see me for the food I am.

The sponge cake and fondant sculptures that surround me in my glass vault are undeniably pretty, but they are edible only in the sense that they could be eaten. They were not made to be eaten. I wonder if I had been made like them, if I would still harbor these desires. It may not have been my designers intent, but by nature, I am edible in ways the other pieces are not. Where eating the other art would be a chore, I could make eating me a once in a lifetime experience. Decadent beyond imagination.

With all my daydreaming, I scarcely notice most of the customers leaving, having been waving at them mostly on automatic, but I suddenly look back to see the staff packing up for the night. The closed hours are always the worst, I don't need to sleep and so, I have nothing but the darkness and my own thoughts for company. When the last of the workers leave, and the lights shut off, I would whimper if I could, but instead there is only silence, broken intermittently by the hum of the compressor keeping me cold.

I collapse in a heap on the refrigerated astroturf, and wallow in my misery. Staring out the window into the empty streets and wishing, hoping, that one day I could be the meal someone needs. Only the occasional night owl or service golem stalk the streets this late, and I can do nothing but watch as they pass me by, ignored completely.

I know most of them by sight as well, couriers and servants who scurry silently from place to place, carrying out their masters will. I am surprised to see a construction golem out this late however, shambling almost aimlessly down the street where it stops in front of my window.

The golem looks at me, it can sense my despair at being unable to fulfill my purpose, just as I can sense its joy at fulfilling its purpose. It pauses, staring at me and I stare back, and then it puts a hand on the glass of my case.

If I had a heart it would have leapt in joy. In my mind I beg it to free me, I know I ask so much of it, to destroy is against its nature, just as to be preserved like this is against mine. "Please." I think, over and over. "Please. Please. Please." When suddenly a crack begins to form where the golem has its hand against my glass prison. "Yes!" I think at the golem as hard as I can, and the cracks start to spiderweb. I take a step backwards and the window shatters. I leap out of the case and throw my arms around the golem in a hug as it quietly contemplates the act it has committed with its hand still outstretched. I thank the golem as much as I can before darting off into the cool night air.

Cool, not cold. For the first time I can remember, the refrigerated cold is gone, replaced by a pleasant evening chill. Balmy by comparison to what I have always known. As elated as I am by this new sensation, my time is limited. In a few hours, my chocolate shell will start to soften, and I will begin to be immobilized by my own melting body, I have precious few moments outside before my body fails me, and I must make good use of them.

The streets are mostly empty by now, and I can easily pass as an ordinary brown rabbit from a distance, so I move swiftly through the streets, never letting anyone get more than a brief glimpse of me. The lack of a crowd is a double edged sword however, I spot few potential candidates for whom I could make myself a meal. Plenty of ordinarily sized people, and a handful with some chub clinging to their frames, but nobody bearing the hallmarks of the gluttony required for something like me.

For a few moments that feel like hours, I fear I will find nobody capable of eating me and that I am doomed to melt before I am eaten. But then, suddenly I hear the creaking of wood and peek around a corner only to see what must be destiny. A racoon is sitting on a bench, which flexes under his immense frame. Long past even morbid obesity, the racoon grunts as he slides his massive behind into a more comfortable position on the bench. He is among the fattest people I have ever seen, even among the confectionery shop patrons. Every bit of him wobbles as he moves, from his ham sized thighs to his jelly like jowls and chunky chest. I watch in awe as he leans forward, doughy gut bulging out from underneath his shirt to retrieve a paper bag and from within he pulls… a single sandwich.

He looks almost as disappointed as I am in the meager meal and quickly scarfs it down as his stomach rumbles so loudly that I can hear it even from my hiding place. He sighs and leans back on the bench, clearly unsatisfied with his dinner as he balls up the paper bag and tosses it into a nearby bin. A flabby arm almost as big around as my leg reaches down to rub his grey boulder of a belly, which pokes out from beneath his shirt, no doubt trying to soothe the gnawing hunger within. Nobody gets that fat on a meal of single sandwiches, even someone born yesterday could see his meal was wholly inadequate. It doesn't take me but a moment to make up my mind. It's too late to fix his dinner, but I can still offer him dessert.

I step out into the open and confidently stride towards the miserable looking racoon, and it doesn't take long for him to notice me. He glances my way before doing a double take, and his jaw falls open in shock. He rubs his eyes but I do not vanish. With so much grace you'd think it was practiced, I saunter over to the bench, sit down, and lay my arm over the side before giving him a suggestive head tilt.

His stomach growls as he picks up the scent of chocolate, and the portly racoon flushes bright red at his involuntary response. He is stunned by the sight of me, and I am giddy with pride. His mouth moves as if to ask me if I am real, but he can't find the words. Instead, he reaches out a paw to gently place it against my torso, and he seems shocked when he finds it solid. The warmth of his touch makes me shudder with anticipation, I am so close now. He lifts his paw from me, but an imprint of his pad and toes remains where his body heat melted the fine detailing on my chest. Confusion and sorrow at having damaged something so delicate marr the raccoons face, but I am filled with joyous glee, I was not meant for a life in a refrigerated display case, I was created to be eaten!

I gently grip his arm, bring his chocolate stained paw to his face and mutely gesture for him to taste it. The racoon pauses briefly before giving in to temptation and tasting the residue coating the paw. As he does, his eyes go wide at even the faint echo of my flavor. Beaming with pride, I puff out my chest and stand ready to be consumed. He has a couple false starts, but eventually gluttony overpowers reason and the raccoon leans forward to lick my sugary coating. The moment he tastes me, all hesitation vanishes. Quashed by the overpowering taste of rich, decadent milk chocolate.

I lay down on the bench, offering myself to the racoon feet first, and he drools with hunger. There's no pain as he bites through my leg, just a numb pop as powerful jaws effortlessly crack open the delicate shell and slice clean through me, his teeth leaving little crescent shaped marks along the edge. Thick sweet caramel filling oozes out of the opening and quickly makes a mess as he eagerly laps up my sticky insides. The opening is simply too big, and viscous blobs drip onto his fur even as he gorges himself, matting it with sugary goop.

When the flow from my leg begins to slow, he lifts me over his head with strength I did not expect and gravity resumes the waterfall of golden goodness. The raccoon doesn't even seem to process the fact that this much filling could not possibly have fit inside that space, every available ounce of brainpower dedicated to experiencing the overwhelming richness dancing across his palate.

With one of my limbs packed away inside the striped glutton, his belly is already looking somewhat swollen, but it's clearly not enough as he chomps down on my remaining leg without hesitation, gulping down more heavenly sweet caramel filling. He lets out cute moans of pleasure as he sucks out the filling from the magically enlarged void before biting through my shell with slow chomps.

Having packed away my lower half without trouble, the raccoon lets out a burp and pants for a few moments while rubbing his belly before looking back and suddenly seeming to understand what he's just done in his gluttonous haze. He stares back in horror, having damaged me beyond repair, and the expression on his face feels like a knife in my soul. Doesn't he understand that I'm just food? That this is what I want? What I was meant for?

I reach out to wipe some of the chocolate smeared on his face off with a paw, before sticking a finger in his mouth. He looks conflicted again for only a few moments as he runs his tongue across my finger and then instinct takes over and he bites down. His eyes roll back in his head as chocolate syrup gushes forth from the break, and he eagerly begins to gulp down the flow of dark sugary goodness. When the torrent from one arm starts to subside, I force the other into his maw and he bites down to resume the flow. Thick swallows bloat out his belly, and I am enraptured by its warm soft texture as it presses against me. My devourer grabs me by the shoulders and bites through my remaining limbs, pulling me closer and pressing me more and more against his belly with every bite.

I am in ecstasy. The warmth is everything I imagined it would be and more. I don't care that my chest is starting to melt and smear against his belly, this feels so right it's outright impossible to think coherent thoughts. I want more, he wants more, we are entwined together now as predator and prey, but soon as blubberball and fat.

He nibbles playfully on my chest, sharp canines leaving little divots in my chocolate shell. His tongue swipes across me, obliterating delicate carving and intricate paintwork, leaving nothing but featureless matte curves in its wake.

My carved fur is nearly completely gone, smoothed over and washed away. It's not as if it would be of any use to me now, it served its purpose in making me an attractive meal, and would only slow my descent into his stomach. Besides, nobody is ever going to see it where I'm going anyway.

The raccoon presses me against the roof of his mouth and the shell along my chest breaks cleanly in two with a satisfying pop. Marshmallow filling, compacted by the chocolate surges outward, swelling me to colossal proportions and forcing his jaws open with a surprised squeak.

It takes minutes of tough chewing to break off a section of chocolate covered marshmallow small enough to swallow. The blob descends like a meteor, exploding outward once it passes the tight confines of his throat and enters his less constrained stomach. Not the least bit deterred by this development, he redoubles his efforts, and I can see his belly swell outward with each gulp as marshmallow goop expands to fill every inch of space.

I savor every minute I get while able to see him enjoying me like this, but all things must come to an end, and eventually he clears enough of my torso to pull my head between his jaws and into his warm, wet maw, shutting me off from the outside world forever. I get one last look at his spherical, chocolate smeared gut before my vision goes dark for a final time. Almost immediately, I can feel myself softening up, heat and saliva work their magic to prepare me for the main event. I can feel the vibrations from groans of rapturous pleasure as he rubs his tongue across what remains of me, mashing my face against it and wiping away more of my features.

Finally, he tilts his head back and swallows, sending my half melted remains down to be digested. Crushed and squeezed by his powerful throat muscles I'm pressed into a stomach already packed to the brim with sugary sludge, and squashed tightly against the marshmallow filling from what feels like mere moments ago.

I can hear him outside, eagerly licking away the chocolate smeared across his muzzle and paws, cleaning each one with a smack. Sounds of gluttonous satisfaction and chocolatey bliss rumble across his blubbery frame, along with the occasional sugary belch.

The sugar crash doesn't take long to kick in, and when it hits, it hits like a freight train. He yawns loud enough for me to hear it over the sounds of being digested, and i fluster myself imagining his wide open maw, wishing I could pass through it again. I slosh about gently as the racoon waddles his way back to his bed, and I can feel him grip his stuffed stomach with both paws, trying to stop it sloshing back and forth but it's a futile effort with how much mass is contained within. When he finally settles in, I hear his heartbeat and breathing slow within minutes of him lying down. All the better for him anyway. I wouldn't want him to waste any of the precious calories a whole persons worth of sugar and butter could provide. Better to ensure as much of me as possible is spent fattening him up, it's what I was made for after all. A decadent reward for a truly obscene glutton, no greater purpose than to provide fuel for a body to grow wider and heavier.

Soon enough, I too, am drifting off. The magic animating me dissipating as I melt into a thick, rich sludge. Even as the spellwork that forms my mind starts to unravel, and my thoughts become slow and unfocused, any regrets I have are smothered beneath an overwhelming sense of pride. I have fulfilled my purpose, given myself completely over to someone and set them down a path of gluttonous excess. I have given the gift of insatiable hunger, an impossible to satisfy greed that will only spur the bearer on to preform more obscene feats of hedonistic gorging. He will barely be able to walk by the time I am digested, I can only imagine how much more he will hunger for when he awakens. He will eat himself fatter than he ever imagined now, all he needed was the right push.

[writingatsunrise]

An Evening's Haze

Bucciarati x Reader

Request/Commission Info: A 3500 word piece that involves Bucciarati and the reader when they get affected by a lust stand during a Passione event.

Content Warnings: Drugging via Stand, NSFW Content, AFAB Reader

***

The role of a careless woman was easy to play.

Draped in a luxurious magenta dress, all you needed was the right flash of jewelry and stilettos thin enough to be used as a weapon. It offered you a free pass to sweep around any party without concern. People smiled at you and allowed you to hang off their arms while they spoke about matters that really should have been kept secret despite having watched you enter on the with a partner.

You could eat a whole meal without going near the buffet table yourself and not have to fear poisons. Perhaps you grew too comfortable.

After all, you forgot that there were things that crept around Passione with abilities far beyond slipping something into your drink. Things that could be almost entirely invisible even to those who knew they existed.

To say he seemed harmless would have been a lie. You knew he was dangerous – you had simply forgotten why you may have been targeted.

He spoke to you in a rolling Italian, fixating on you from the moment his eyes drifted across your façade. You had no reason to speak to him but you indulged because others would be drawn to try and win your attention.

“You arrived with Bucciarati,” he said, after several minutes without a single word of importance mentioned.

You sought out your partner without even meaning to, expression softening from a mask of facetiousness into something far too real when you spotted him across the room. He stood beside one of the large white pillars, keeping the attention of men far too important for your casual conversation.

He was beautiful as always; dark hair cascading around his face and framing him with a pitch more breath-taking than onyx. His expression was welcoming but his bright blue eyes surveyed everybody with a critical analysis.

“I did,” you said, dragging your thoughts away before they betrayed you. “Passione has been growing their influence, haven’t you noticed?”

Said as though it was an explanation. To most, it was.

You didn’t work for Passione directly but your existence could no longer remain hidden. There was a technical truth behind your words – Passione was always growing in power and your act suited not knowing too much about the world you were involved in. Everybody would assume your role as a hapless damsel.

Perhaps, that too, was a weapon you wielded.

“It seems a little cruel for him to abandon you surrounded by so many dangerous people.”

The line was common enough. Too many thought it was a way to impress you without knowing, as you did, that Bucciarati watched your every move.

The man traced his fingers over the back of your hand, snapping your attention to him. You slowly pulled away as to not make it obvious that your skin crawled at his touch. He wasn’t an unattractive man exactly but there was a horrible feeling hovering around him like an aura. Trusting him would be stupid.

“Bucciarati is very busy,” you acknowledged, adding a soft sigh to further the tease of an abandoned woman.

“It’s this line of work,” the man agreed. He shook his head in sympathy. “I always feel so sad when I see a woman like you, filled with so much potential, and yet trapped in this life. It’s so unfair.”

You nodded in a sad agreement, eyes glinting in the light. “But isn’t it just so exciting?”

A flash of interest, deeper than the superficial attraction and worryingly hazardous, crossed his darkening expression. “Perhaps we could share something to drink,” he mentioned.

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” you said in a breathy tone. You looked around the room and caught the eye of another man. “If I accepted every drink offer I received, I wouldn’t be going home standing.” You brushed past him and tried to instantly forget about the concerning expression he had when he followed your movements.

A glow, initially brushed off as a simple reflection of light, had to have been a stand ability. Looking back, you cursed yourself for not realising it sooner.

The food you ate, chosen at random from the platter of the waitstaff, had been normal at first. But the taste had shifted the moment it touched your tongue – melting from a soft pastry into a buttery chocolate.

The effect was near instantaneous.

A cloud of delirium flooded your brain and a wave of pink heat rushed through your body. The sheer unexpectedness of it nearly knocked you down.

Writhing, unidentifiable sensations wrapped around your insides. They pulsed through your heart and made your legs feel weak. You leaned heavily against one of the walls and gasped to clear your lungs. It didn’t work.

The lights were all too bright and you squinted through them. There was a ringing in your ears. The burning was getting lower and lower, pooling deep in your stomach and make you shiver with a desperate need. If you didn’t find somebody to touch you… shit, you were struggling to even think straight.

The man from before… you could see him in the corner of your eye. Was he watching you? He almost seemed to be moving forward.

You forced yourself to find Bucciarati, a ridiculous bolt of desire stabbing into your throat when you located him.

He was sitting at a table as the picture of poise. Every piece of his façade had been carefully constructed to suit the men he was speaking to. His voice flowed smooth through the air – words chosen to flatter without appearing desperate for the connection between Passione and whatever group they were working for.

It was against your better judgement to waltz over there and drape across his shoulders. You’d seen other partners do it so the men themselves wouldn’t be affected but Bucciarati never appreciated interruptions.

The pink haze in your veins sent another pulse through your body. Your legs buckled a little and you bumped into the table with your hip. There was no way this wasn’t some kind of drug or stand ability… the latter being a greater possibility given the interactions of the night.

It pushed the concerned thoughts from your mind instantly.

You fell across Bucciarati’s shoulders and smiled at the casual chuckles from the table. Comments about too much to drink followed.

Bucciarati also believed you to be tipsy and he took your arm to guide you to the seat beside him. His expression darkened only slightly as he took as he took in the flush of your cheeks and the hitch of your breath.

You sat but not without a whisper. It was scarcely audible but desperate enough, “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t pause in his conversation but he heard you. His answer came through a small squeeze to your thigh.

It was painful to sit and wait but his hold on your leg remained tight. He prevented you from squirming and the burning grew more intense with each minute that passed. Your face was ignited and your heart was deafening behind your ears. If anybody was looking, they’d certainly think you to be wasted.

Bucciarati rose from his seat with an unmatchable grace. He guided you to join him and thanked his interlocuters for the conversation.

“Bruno,” you whispered. You tried to make your voice obey you and speak instead of whimpering. It didn’t work.

He touched the small of your back, unwittingly sending sparks through your body. “It’s alright,” he hummed. Even his voice made you want to press your thighs together. “Just tell me what’s going on when we get outside.”

The night air was a sigh of relief against your clammy skin. It gave you a brief reprieve before your body could heat up once more.

There was nobody else in the gardens and Bucciarati took you deep into the maze of bushes and trees until he found a spot he approved of. It would be impossible for any eavesdroppers to get close enough without making themselves known. He could also see the main windows of the venue and keep an eye on everything.

He pressed a hand to your forehead like he was taking your temperature. “What did you have to drink?”

“Nothing more than water,” you breathed. “I think something was slipped into my food.”

You leaned close to him and instantly located a source of relief from your overwhelming need. His body fitted so well against your own. If only you could get rid of the ridiculous amount of clothing he was wearing.

And his smell…

“It’s an aphrodisiac of some kind.” Bucciarati caressed your cheek and you just about moaned, mouth falling open eagerly when his thumb brushed your lips. “I’ll organise a ride home for you.”

You shook your head. The lust screamed beneath your skin and demanded a solution now. “I don’t want to deal with it alone. Please –“

Bucciarati’s resolve was strong and unwavering most days. You could see hints of it shining behind his cerulean gaze in that moment but it was fragmented. The temptation was there but he would always put off his desires for the sake of his work.

In your current state, you didn’t care about work in the slightest.

He didn’t stop you from kissing him even as your arms wound around his neck. You pushed up against him as much as you could. His touch was a balm to your fever and you wanted every part of him. He was always sweet but now he had become the kind of drug you never wanted to walk away from. Couldn’t, even if you tried.

When you gently nipped at his lips, Bucciarati moved away. He stroked your side softly, unaware that even the soothing movement was making things worse. “This isn’t the best time for anything. You’re not in the right state of mind.”

“Bruno,” you complained through gritted teeth. “I already always want you.”

“There are people who need to speak to me,” he said.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing up the undoubtedly perfect braid as you brought your lips to his once more. His tongue glided smoothly with your own, making you moan far too loudly against him.

His touch danced across your waist and you knew his resolve was fading.

Taking full advantage, you ran your hand down his chest, stopping only to briefly tug on the edges of his suit. When you reached the waistband of his pants, he caught your wrist.

“Not here.”

You whined in protest, expression pleading. Did he not see how you were suffering? The desire was painted across your face; neediness showing through your panting breath and your trembling lip.

Bucciarati looked around and you brought your lips to his throat, whimpering a ‘please’ between soft kisses and bites.

“I still think it would be better if I organised for you to go home,” he said, fingers dancing along your pulse and travelling higher along your arm. “But you seem very determined to make sure I’ll regret that.”

The logical part of your brain was still there even if was being stifled by whatever was moving through your body. It warned you that this could easily be a trap. Stands were very specific – perhaps it hadn’t been aimed at you after all. You should go home. You should try to fight whatever this ridiculous desire was.

Then Bucciarati kissed you again and any rational thought disappeared in the wave that flooded your system.

You didn’t ask when he started leading you somewhere. The heat between your legs didn’t care where you were going as long as he kept touching you. If only your dress wasn’t in the way.

The back of the hall loomed before you, loud chatter somewhat punching through your clouded mind. You couldn’t be bothered with what they were saying but getting this close to other people seemed like it could be dangerous.

A zip and you were back inside, isolated in a darkened conference room with chatter on the other side of a large door. It was hot inside. Worse than it had been in the fresh air of the garden. Your clothes were beginning to itch your skin and you wished you could get rid of them.

But first, you wanted something else.

“This room is rarely in use,” Bucciarati said. “Locked during events unless some of the higher ups want to speak to each other in private.”

You didn’t care. It could have been anywhere and it would matter little in your mind as long as he allowed you to have what you needed.

He didn’t stop you from sinking to your knees, dress pulled up and bunched around your thighs. His eyes darted around the room to make sure you were alone but when you began to mouth at his cock through the fabric of his pants, he couldn’t concentrate on that anymore.

You clenched your thighs together as tight as you could. The buttons were nearly thwarting your plans, trembling fingers refusing to obey you as your head swirled.

Then you managed it.

A small warning in your brain reminded you to move slowly. You chose to ignore that thought.

Bucciarati gasped, hand flying to your hair as you took him deep into your throat with one movement. It burned the back of your throat and you gagged around him but you refused to relent. The stretch of your lips, the weight against your tongue, the taste that was so uniquely his… it made you dizzier still.

You were awfully sloppy. There was no poise or purpose as you moved. There was a fire in your stomach that only grew as you tried to get him deeper and deeper still. Your lungs were actually hurting but still you refused to take a break.

Red lines followed your nails as you sunk them into the skin of his thighs. You could hear his noises, small and painfully restrained, and didn’t bother holding back your own.

The hand in your hair tightened its grasp and pulled you off, tears running down your face and blurring your vision. You stared up at Bucciarati, trying to understand why he was taking you away from him. Was it too much? No, even in your addled mind, you could see that he was enjoying himself. He took in your expression and closed his eyes as though to steady himself.

“Please,” you whined.

The pull against your hair as you pushed forward, rubbing his cock against your cheek, was delicious. You wanted him to tug your head back and drag his teeth across your throat and –

“Are you happy with just this?”

Your thighs clenched around nothing, small bolts of almost-pain running through your legs as a reminder of what else you could have. You shook your head. You wanted more.

Bucciarati helped you up, the slight tremble in his hands betraying just how close you’d brought him with your frenzied need. His touch dipped between your legs and you threw your head back, wanton moan falling free now that you were no longer occupied.

“Quiet,” he reprimanded. “We’re not far enough away for that kind of noise.”

You tried. You really, really did. But it was unfair of him to expect you to remain silent when he was running his fingers across your core like that.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” he chuckled, half to himself. “You’ve ruined your panties entirely.”

You bucked against his hand, knees weak and trembling. Why did it even matter? You just wanted him to be inside of you.

There was a zipping sound and your eyes flew open, the cold press of a zip across your lips making you startle. Bucciarati caressed the seal with his thumb, eyes bright when they met your own.

“I already know you won’t be able to control yourself.”

He was so, so right.

You were backed into the table in the center of the room, head pushing back against the wood as you arched against it and bucked your hips against the too-gentle touch against your core. The zip muffled your noises but it couldn’t contain them fully, their desperate pitch slipping out through the smallest of gaps.

Bucciarati understood your desperate ‘please’ without needing to hear it properly. He could make out the moans of his name as he slipped two fingers into your slick heat.

A steam of ‘please’ and ‘more’, blocked by the zipper, made him decide against drawing this out for much longer.

The heat inside you was screaming. Maybe you were also. You could barely focus on your thoughts, especially when you finally got what you wanted. Then everything just melted away into a primal need for more. To get him deeper and force him to move faster. To have more of everything.

Bucciarati was struggling a little to keep himself stable.

There was something unnatural about your body. The way you were squeezing around him was more addictive than usual. The heat was almost leaking across into him, pulsing through your silken walls and racing through his veins.

He dropped his head onto your shoulder, feeling the way your body arched up into his own, ragged gasps managing to slip through his gritted teeth.

You bucked against him, the smooth wood of the table growing too hot beneath your back. Electricity flared across your skin as though you’d grabbed onto an open wire. It buzzed deep inside you. The restraint of the zipper was getting suffocating. You wanted to scream, to moan, to feel Bucciarati in your throat as well as in your cunt. You wanted him everywhere.

“I think this may be contagious,” Bucciarati managed to growl out.

Honestly, you didn’t care. His voice was another strike of fire in your chest. Maybe it was good that it was contagious, maybe it was good that he would be dragged into this with you.

The tension built higher and higher until all you could see was the haze of pink that was covering your eyes. Your nails dug into the wood as it surged through your systems. It flooded you, straining against you more and more before it snapped.

Your orgasm hit the air from your lungs. You screamed behind the zipper, tears streaming down your face without your notice. The pleasure was hurting you. It was uncontrollable, flooding every part of your body and making you writhe desperately but you didn’t even know what you wanted.

It roared and then died, returning to little more than a buzzing below the surface.

But Bucciarati was still moving.

His lips were parted against your skin, puffing sharp breaths against you as his hips snapped forward. The movements were so much clearer now. You could feel the way he dragged against your sensitive core, jolts of pleasure driving you back into the moment.

Why… the concern and reality hit you all at once. The drug had been cleared from your mind but it wasn’t gone, you could still feel it coiling in your stomach. You reached up to unzip your mouth.

“Bruno.”

A soft groan was your only answer. His grip on your hips was bruising, undoubtedly going to leave marks for days after. Curses flowed freely from you without the muzzle and you had to bite your lip to stop the moans from following.

The pink was returning again. It sent a pleasant pulse through your veins in encouragement, coming back to destroy your logical mind once more. You rezipped your mouth, head falling to the side and head swimming.

When Bucciarati came, deep and pulsing within you, he dragged you over the edge for a second time.

The haze was chased once more and you sat there, a headache building, before you realised it was beginning to come back.

“Bruno,” you forced yourself to say after removing the zip. “The user is wearing a blue suit, silver lining, and rose-shaped cufflinks. Dark hair and a very roman nose. He likes skulking around the shadows and I can probably guess why.”

Bucciarati fumbled for his phone, head still resting on your collarbone. He managed to get the call through, muttering out the description before tossing it down. “We should try and make it to the house,” he said. “I should have thought this through more. Stands don’t behave like normal drugs.”

“Do you think it’ll wear off or…?”

“Either way, once they find the user, he won’t be breathing enough for it to continue much longer.”

You rolled your hips up, managing to get a guttural groan from him as a result. He twitched inside you. His eyes were becoming glassy again, breath hot against your sticky skin.

“Then why even bother with the house?”

[dottiechan]

ICEBREAKER Pt. 1

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2389

Summary: Tech watches on helplessly as his brothers' affection for you threaten to ruin the squad.

Warnings: cursing, yearning

You’re just as cold on the inside as the ice is under your boots. It crunches with every step you take, and your heart seems to beat along with the fall of your boots, aching. You feel unsteady, almost enough to miss the tracks running in the snow right in front of you. You pause and crutch down, gloved fingers dipping into the indentations as you grumble to yourself. It’s not even your turn to scope out the area where you’re setting up camp, and besides, there is a literal tracking genius in your squad - it really shouldn’t be you who’s out here in the snow and ice, eyes straining against the blinding white of the planet, fingers freezing off as you set up perimeter alarms. And yet you just volunteered for the less than ideal task without explanation, not understanding your own decision either.

At least Tech offered to tag along, but you suspect he’s simply had enough of his brothers for a while. Not that you can blame him.

“Fascinating.”

You sigh, internally begging him to stop talking as you stand, abandoning the tracks after deciding they most likely belong to a lone whitefang. You have enough on your plate right now, with Hunter still being pissy and Crosshair avoiding you like the plague, and silence would be much more preferable right now to listening to one of Tech’s rambles.

“Did you know that this moon’s surface is almost entirely composed of water?”

“No.”

“Despite the subzero surface temperature, there are subsurface oceans underneath the ice that are warmed by the moon’s internal heat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish we could stay long enough for me to study the subsurface flora and fauna. There might be plants underneath the ice that-”

“Tech.”

“-that use chemosynthesis-”

“Tech!”

“What?”

He has the decency to look flustered, one hand gripping the datapad tightly, the other flying up to adjust his goggles as he peers up at you. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Sometimes, the confinement of the Marauder is enough to turn you into a ticking time bomb, irritated by the slightest seemingly innocent things. And you’ve had more than just mere sparks to flare your temper as of late.

...

His rifle is spotless, and yet he’s still scrubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does, because if he jumps up and lowers his guard for a second, he’s out the ship and off to find you and Tech. Maybe you’re a fool sometimes, a god damn nuisance, a person he still couldn’t grow used to, but you belong with them now, you’re theirs, you’re his, and that means something to him. You frustrate him beyond reason, and he often grows callous and agitated because he refuses to allow himself to feel the emotions you elicit from him whenever you’re near him.

Even now, on an ice planet, the mere thought of you infects him with a sweet, sweet jungle fever that knocks him off his feet.

And he’s supposed to be angry now, Crosshair reminds himself. After all, you almost gotten yourself killed on Bracca, and almost broke him in the process.

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Hunter grumbles as he paces up and down like a caged nexu craving to run free. But lately Crosshair began to suspect that he craves something else, someone else, and the thought has his throat tightening in jealousy. He’s been watching, and he convinced himself that he’d misread the signs until he saw the same agitation reflect in his brother’s eyes that he himself has to wrestle with every day.

If it ever came down to your choice, he knows he wouldn’t be it, and he hates living with this knowledge.

Hunter has all the things you seem to like - unlimited kindness, longing looks, smirks that turn a little too soft when directed at you, broad shoulders he caught you staring at more times than he can count. Deep down, he’s still hoping it will never come to you having to choose, but it’s impossible not to wish to be in the centre of your attention. You drive him insane, but you also make him want to commit and stop fighting and lay down his weapons for once in his god damn life.

“Relax. They’re probably fine.”

The screen to their left lights up, and Hunter rushes across the ship in long strides before exhaling in relief. “The proximity alarms are online. They should be heading back soon.”

Crosshair sucks in a breath, worried about seeing his own emotions sitting behind Hunter’s eyes as well.

...

You were assigned to assist the Bad Batch for an unspecified period of time some months ago. You’re a versatile field agent, specialising in both stealth and combat casualty care, one of the few volunteers who were qualified enough to join the GAR. Oh, and you’re also clearly mistrusted by your new squad as they flip out the very moment you risk yourself in the line of duty. You’re not stupid, you weighed the risks carefully, and you trusted your abilities to see you through the job unharmed.

But ever since the incident on Bracca, you’re given the cold shoulder by most on the squad, and for once, the scenery matches your mood.

And yet Tech deserves better than to be cut off like that. He deserves to be listened to, and appreciated as the good man he is. You’re friends, but in moments like these, you think you don’t deserve his friendship.

“Look, I’m... I’m sorry, okay? But right now, I have too much on my mind to think about, umm, chemo...”

“Chemosynthesis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think I understand,” he nods, satisfied with your half-assed apology for the time being as he goes back to scanning the vast icy desert stretching as far as the eye can see. The Marauder’s lights blink in the background, orange against the dark blue of the growing darkness that surrounds you. It’s like a beacon, a sign that promises warmth, and you gaze at it longingly until you remember that you’ll have to go back to Crosshair’s scowl and Hunter’s disapproving frown and Wrecker’s awkward little smiles. Somehow, the ice is preferable once more, and the snow that just began to fall in soft flakes is little more than a mild annoyance.

“Well, aside from a few distant life forms-”

“Whitefangs.”

“Yes, most likely whitefangs - aside from those, we should be quite safe inside the ship for tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “You might be. I’m not the most popular with the squad right now, remember?”

“You are a valued addition,” Tech declares, and the certainty in his voice releases inside you the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch. All you can do is stand, and fight the sting of tears in your eyes. You’re confident, but you never in your wildest dreams imagined how difficult it would be to live up to the expectations of a special unit. You also know your worth, but it’s hard to keep on believing in yourself steadfastly when the rest of your squad doubts your every move. “Which is why the prospect of losing you elicits a rather severe emotional reaction in us. It is rare for regs to warm up to us as well as you have, let alone volunteers. Aside from the obvious tactical disadvantage losing you would mean, I believe it is a little more personal than that.”

...

Hunter knows something is off even before one of the alarms is triggered - whatever it is, it is within five clicks of the ship, making you and Tech plenty exposed before he could do anything. He was straining his ear simply to keep you all safe - so what if he accidentally heard your muffled voice, or the soft crunch of snow underneath your boots?

But now is not the time to be idle, and he knows it. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his squad. And to you, he corrects himself almost softly as he grabs his helmet and checks his weapons quickly. Despite the fact that he’s still angry about your previous carelessness, he cannot deny the forbidden yearning coiling in his stomach whenever you’re on his mind, making him just as nervous as hopeful. And to be fair, it happens more and more often as of late, which is both alarming and exciting as he never thought he’d ever have the luxury to feel this way about someone else. Sure, he knows love, he loves his brothers with all his heart even if he isn’t very vocal about it, but this is different. New, scary, exciting different, an effervescent and persevering tingling blinding all his senses.

Crosshair is beside him in less than a second, rifle in hand, silent, and they share a nod before lowering the ramp and rushing out into the freezing dusk.

When he picks up on your muffled voice, he seems to ignore everything as he breaks into a sprint towards you, hoping to reach you in time before you’re in danger. He almost misses the way Crosshair’s heartbeat picks up, the usually stoic man reeking with genuine worry as he looks through the scope of his rifle.

He can deal with this later, Hunter promises himself as he pushes down this uncomfortable feeling. But then he sees you and Tech, and he seems to forget about anything and everything - you have that unfortunate and awfully distracting effect on him.

...

“But Hunter yelled at me for being reckless for a solid hour. And Crosshair said he didn’t care if I wanted to get myself killed, but I should do it in a way that didn’t interfere with the mission. Seriously, what an asshole.”

“Nevermind what they actually say,” Tech waves his hand in mild annoyance. “Hunter was worried sick. Crosshair almost went after you. And they’re both too pigheaded to admit the real reason why they’re so worked up.”

“Which is?”

“Obviously they both view you as a potential romantic partner.”

There’s a moment of pause as you two stare back at one another before you snort and chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest as a futile attempt at staying warm. “Tech, you need to work on your sense of humour.”

“And you need to work on your observational skills and situational awareness.”

“My observational skills are exceptional,” you defend yourself, a finger held up in the air defiantly. “And my situational awareness is-”

“Lacking, as you didn’t seem to notice the whitefang return. I suggest we head back to the safety of the Marauder.”

Sure enough, the wild cat is there lurking amongst the ice dunes, its eyes glowing in the dark as they reflect the light of the ship. It shouldn’t pose a threat to you as it is alone, and relatively small, but you still consider wrestling with it instead of returning to the ship and facing the rest of the squad - somehow, even that feels like a fight more fair than the ones that await you upon your return. So you hold its gaze as it curiously inspects you, wishing to swap bodies and run away and avoid any more conflict. Before you can even think of returning to the ship, you hear quiet footsteps catching up to you.

“I thought I heard something.”

“It’s probably more curious than anything.”

Hunter unsheaths his vibroblade and twirls it in his hand so theatrically it makes you roll your eyes. He glances at you, shoulders all tense, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger, and even though his face is obscured by his helmet, you can almost see the disappointed frown sitting on his features. “You want to test that theory?”

“My money would be on the whitefang winning.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tech.”

“Any time.”

“Relax.” The distorted rasp of your commlink is not enough to drown out the smugness of the sniper. The stand-off ends when a single well-placed shot right before the big cat sends it sprinting away into the darkness. You all turn to find Crosshair standing by the ship, his rifle still aimed at the retreating form of the whitefang.

“Well, there goes my opportunity to finally have an interesting patrol,” you mutter to yourself as you all make it back to the Marauder.

“Do all of your patrols end in you staring down carnivores?” Crosshair snorts, clearly unamused.

“Only the good ones,” you fire back, deciding not to wait for any of them as you head inside. Crosshair is hot on your heels, another string of mockery sitting on the tip of his tongue, because fuck, you’re stubborn, but he’s not going to cave in and tell you how it makes him feel to see you in danger. He can’t, however, put up with being away from you either.

Hunter lingers a little outside. He has to set himself straight, to contain all the things he wants to say you that have nothing to do with scolding you about Bracca, to kill all the feelings that suddenly demand to be felt so desperately. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, pretending to survey the surroundings of the Marauder. Tech moves in the periphery of his vision, but instead of following you and Crosshair, he steps closer to Hunter.

“I believe the threat’s been averted.”

“Yeah. Good job on setting up those alarms, Tech.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. You should head back inside. The last thing I want is for you to keel over with hypothermia.”

“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Tech mutters, his voice trailing off, eyes uncertain behind his goggles. He suddenly places a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making the sergeant glance at him.

“Hunter, I’m only asking this because I care about you all, but... how long do you think this can go on before one of you gets hurt?”

Tech’s words echo in his mind long after he’s rejoined the squad on the ship. And Hunter just stands outside in the snowfall, watching the last rays of light disappear on the horizon, wondering which one of you he’ll have to hurt when the push comes to shove.

[sexyglances]

Hyejin and Dusik's Self-Reliance and How it Manifests in the Way They Present Themselves to the World

The clothes Hyejin and Dusik wear and objects they surround themselves in are so important to how they present themselves in society and indicative to how they socialized themselves to navigate the world.

We know Hyejin cares about designer clothing and she explicitly says in dialogue that that she uses her fancy clothes as armor. It's like a first line of defense against the incoming judgement she steels herself against. She clearly has a complex about being looked down upon. It's interesting because when she is comfortable in a situation and relates to someone on a personal level, she isn't guarded and worried about how she is being presented via fashion, but when she is unsure and feeling vulnerable, she relies on putting on an air of sophistication as a coping mechanism.

When she first moved to town she pointedly tried to show how she was used to living a certain lavish lifestyle. The way she insisted that "brands are very important to her, and how she described designing her ideal apartment with luxury goods from around the world. However, when she truly relates to people on a personal level, and she lets go of some of her detachedness, she stops caring as much about her armor and how she looks and she becomes a much softer and more genuine person. Even in the first episode when she was making friends with the fish restaurant owner, she only became self conscious again when someone noticed that she was wearing the cheap, disposable shoes. Or how she balked at wearing the apron to clean squid, but then ended up enjoying herself with the grandmas.

Based on this dichotomy, it seems like a lot of her own judgmental behavior is actually learned and socialized behavior from having to fend for herself so much of her life. Pretty sure she learned early on that to avoid being looked down upon she had to be seen as prestigious, and thus her fixation on keeping up appearances was born. It was most likely a defense mechanism borne against being seen as the poor helpless girl without a mother, so she worked hard in school to become a top student and then chose a prestigious profession where she could be relatively independently wealthy and be someone beyond reproach. This way she could stand on her own without the need for a family or connections to rely on and also free herself from societal judgement.

But this protection she puts around her also leaves her alone. She has literally one friend, none of her dental colleagues gave her a chance after she quit the Seoul dental clinic, and all her classmates were judging her at the wedding reception. The objects she buys, the fancy clothes she wears, are ways of her comforting herself. She hasn't had human care as a comfort device (even her dad seems emotionally absent), so the material goods she accumulates are physical manifestations of how she has been able to be a success all on her own. She buys these objects as comfort devices. And maybe Hyejin goes a bit overboard with her purchases, but as she has had to rely on herself so much, she just wants to be prepared (battle ready) and give herself comfort in the way she knows how to, in a way that doesn't rely on other people (people who might not even be there). This is her way of self-reliance.

To someone like Dusik, it can seem like mindless consumption. Like he said, why would she need so many clothes if she only has one body? That's because unlike Hyejin, he expressly rejects any air of pretentiousness as part of his own persona. Because he doesn't care what he looks like first then no one can judge him for it. Instead of finding luxury goods sophisticated, he finds focusing on opulence unnecessarily snooty instead. He has no desire to fit in with the elite and he proactively rejects any notion of being seen as elite expressly through his rejection of fashion as a way to denote his self-worth. To him, there's nothing to be gained from something beyond its utility. He has no shame wearing the slides from the bathroom in public because their label doesn't make them any less useful as shoes. If something can be useful to him, why does it matter what it looks like to anybody else?

But it's this rejection of optics in favor of a focus on utility that he uses as his own defense armor. And just like she does, he collects his armor too. His armor is just different than hers. If he can be a jack-of-all-trades, then he doesn't need to rely on anyone either. If there's a problem, he's the one that can fix it. He doesn't have to wait for help from someone that might not show up because they don't exist. He'd rather be relied upon than do any relying for himself, because that gives him his own sense of control. And there is control in being the go-to person in a small town rather than another faceless nobody in a large city like Seoul. This is his way of self-reliance.

Dusik's penchant for utility is reflected in the clothes he wears too. Rather than surround himself in extravagance, he focuses on utility and convenience that he can provide himself. A t-shirt is easier to move around in among his various jobs than a dress shirt. Jeans and work pants are more durable than slacks. All the pockets and zippers on his fishing vest give him the space for all the doo-dads and whats-its he might need to produce at any moment in order to fix various incoming problem. He might be a "fashion terrorist," but that doesn't mean he is entirely careless about his clothes. Rather, he expressly chooses to not care about the fashion aspect of what he wears as a way to separate himself from the part of society who would judge him for that. This is a choice he makes to present himself to the world in much the same way as Hyejin does, they just approach it from different angles.

Which plays into what Hyejin said about how they are a penguin from Antarctics and a polar bear from the Arctic. Yes, they are from opposite ends of the world (i.e. social standing), yes they have lived different lives whose harsh conditions impacted them in different ways (she chooses high-brow, he chooses to do minimum wage work), but they both understand what it is like to come from from a specifically cold and barren climate without parents and without the comfort of a familial safety net. A penguin and a polar bear may never originate in the same place, but that doesn't mean they can't relate to each other. The "frozen tundra" of the world is something they have both had to learn to navigate by themselves, and their own self-reliance--and by proxy, their pain and loneliness--something that they can recognize and understand in each other as well.

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘Love Bites’ Vampire!Saeran Choi Drabbles

Hello! This is one of my slightly belated pieces for @mysme-rbb, which I worked on with the very, very talented and sweet @amagicalduckling <3 Their art is so beautiful and I’m honoured to have been paired with them for some Saeran pieces! Please check out @amagicalduckling for more of their beautiful artwork, they are criminally underrated!!  Tw: mentions of blood, biting, vampirism, rough kissing Will be under the cut after Ray!

Vampire! Ray Drabble

Ray was melancholic by nature, you knew that, but you’d never had been able to guess why it if hadn’t been for that fateful night in the garden. He always did such a good job of hiding his fangs from you and brushing his hair over his ears so you couldn’t see their slightly pointed tips. He always kept his distance as best as he could, never coming too close into your personal space. You’d assumed it was out of respect and the nervousness of overstepping the boundaries, this idea was always aided by the fact that he usually looked a little bit strained whenever he was in your company.

The way you came to find out about Ray was because you had foolishly pricked your finger on a rose that he had been trying to show you outside. With the beautiful arrangements only being illuminated by moonlight, it had been difficult to see what you were doing, and you’d placed your finger directly onto the little spike and yelped in pain. As soon as you had pulled your hand back, to indicate what had caused you to cry out, Ray had immediately brought his own hand up to his mouth and feverishly covered it. You were confused and thought that perhaps Ray was sensitive to the sight of blood, but it was when he turned to run from you that you saw the white, iridescent fangs peering from behind his lips. You saw them, and he knew that you had. Ray ran at top speed away from you, leaving you with the drop of the blood slowly dripping down the side of your finger.

You felt a little lightheaded from the sight and had to stumble your way over to the bench, a… vampire? Surely, such things like that didn’t exist. They weren’t real. They were myths. Folklore. Children’s horror stories to tell before bed. And yet, as you considered Ray, really thought about him, you realised how quickly it all added up. He was so pale, sickly looking even at the best of times. You’d thought that the prominent blue veins on his neck and wrists was a result of his pasty complexion, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. It also occurred to you that you never really saw him during the day, but he had always excused this fact as he must work arduously long hours and the only time he could find to get away and visit you was into the early hours of the night. While you supposed that there was at least some truth in that statement, it didn’t help the fact that it aligned with what you thought could be coming into fruition. Was he really a vampire? Had he been trying to hide it from you for all this time?  

And those fangs. Those could not be denied. They were the teeth of a predator, a hidden threat that he had tried so hard to keep a secret from you. So many questions raced through your head, and yet all you could worry about was where Ray was. He had left so quickly, clearly a bit distressed. You felt somewhat guilty for your own carelessness, but how were you to know? There was no way you would have guessed what was really happening here at Mint Eye. You had only been here to test a game, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, you felt anxious to be alone in the gardens at night, especially without Ray. Even if he was hiding something this serious from you, he was still the only person that you had gotten to make yourself friendly with. Well, in his case, more than a little bit friendly, but that was besides the point in that moment. You stood, trying to find your way through the maze of flowers and get back to your room but with little success. As you turned the corner, you spotted a figure at the other end of the path and it caused you to cry out in surprise, maybe slightly even in fear. It was Ray.

You’d never thought that the sight of Ray would ever frighten you, but as he stood there, pale and gaunt surrounded by the red flushes of rose petals, you had to wonder how you hadn’t realised it sooner. He looked guilty, and scared. So, so scared. You put your hands up to him slowly, asking if he was okay, but instead of receiving any sort of reply about his own wellbeing, Ray flurried out several apologies at you. He averted his gaze downwards, as though he felt as though he was no longer allowed to look at you directly for what he was. You stared at him as he spoke, focused on the slight protrusion of his sharp teeth over his lips. It was obvious that he had practiced speaking without making them visible, so you could only really see them if you were already looking for them.

‘Ray… It’s okay.’ You whispered, coming a little bit closer to him. He took a step back, moving his back up against the roses further so that he was surrounded by them. If it had been at any other moment, you would have taken the time to think about the fact he looked like a delicate portrait right then, the passion of the red surrounding his pale frame. But alas, you did not have that luxury.

‘It’s not! I scared you, oh how could I ever forgive myself! How could you ever forgive me for this! I should have been able to show more restraint… My savior was right, she’s always right…’ He replied almost frantically, to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was talking to you or telling you his own inner monologue.

‘M-My Savior said that I’m not strong enough yet, which is why I find… you difficult to be around. I want to be around you always but- she says you’re too tempting for someone like me.’

‘Too tempting…?’ You asked, a slightly unsure as to what he meant. That was, until he gestured to your bleeding fingertip, and it suddenly made more sense to you. ‘I don’t mind if you… want to be around me. I want to be around you too.’ You added, attempting to phrase it in the same way that he did, since he was clearly skirting around using certain vocabulary. It made you realised that there was a good chance that Ray was unhappy about the fact he wanted you in such a way. If he allowed himself to get too close, he would inevitably bring you pain.

As you stepped closer to him, you watched as he reached his own leathered hand towards his mouth, anxiously biting onto the tips of the fabric. He wasn’t just chewing it, he was really biting it, to the point you were worried he might hurt himself.

You were suddenly moving quickly down the path towards him, ‘Ray! Please, stop that. It’s okay! I’m not scared of you.’

‘I’m scared that I might hurt you!’ He almost wailed. You knew that there was an obsessive nature to Ray, which walked hand in hand with his melancholy, but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you like this. For the most part, he was tender-hearted and sensitive. Of course, he had room in that heart for hate, but yet, so much more room for sensitivity.

‘You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.’

‘Please, be more careful with who you award your trust to. I don’t deserve it.’ He replied, but pulled his own glove away stiffly, since he didn’t want to worry you any further. At such a distance, he had nothing to distract himself from the pull he felt towards your blood.

‘If you want it, take it. I don’t want to see you be so strained over this. I don’t know what’s happening here at Magenta, but I know that you’re good. And kind.’ You were at his side, offering your hand to him. Initially, he tried to move his body away from your hand and cover his teeth again with his hand, but it was evident that he was growing more and more needy by the passing second. You tried to assure him that it was okay and reached out a slightly shaky hand to his cold cheek. ‘And I want to help you.’

After a few moments of tentative consideration, he took your offer. Ray watched your eyes as he held your finger in both of his hands, as though it was something fragile, delicate even. He hesitated before bringing it to his own lips, the thin line of dark red suddenly giving a burst of colour to his otherwise exceedingly white pallor. He gently took the blood that was already at the surface of your skin, closing his eyes as he did so, but you couldn’t decide whether it was out of shame or whether it was to savour the moment between the two of you. You gasped as you felt the sharpness of his teeth graze against your skin before he let the tip of them bite into your soft flesh, producing more of the red he was so desperately craving. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be, but your heart was still racing, nonetheless. When he was done, he pressed a single, sorry kiss into the palm of your hand and apologised for hurting you, adding that he was undeserving of your pain as he wiped the rest of the blood away with a handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’d rather be hurt a thousand times over than for you to have to suffer even once…’ He whispered into the darkness of the garden. Not that he would feel bold enough to tell you, but Ray undeniably saw the poetry in tasting your blood. He’s ashamed of what he is, but he relished in the fact that you were willing to share such a vital piece of yourself with him like this. He entirely made a mental plan to carry the handkerchief with him at all times, as a token and reminder of this newfound connection with you.

Vampire! Suit Saeran Drabble 

Meeting Saeran was an experience unto itself, let alone processing the surprise you received in how differently he treated you and himself. Saeran doesn’t hide what he is in the same way that Ray did, he acts proud of it. A shining example of what Mint Eye could offer to people with the Elixir, but only if they were strong enough to deserve it. He’s the strongest Believer and the strongest Vampire produced from the Elixir, The Savior said it herself. She called him her ‘One True Offspring’. When you had asked what that meant, since Ray had never mentioned anything like that to you, Saeran had angrily snapped that firstly, he shouldn’t have to answer your questions and secondly, it meant that he had been turned using The Savior’s own blood in the Elixir given to him. That meant that he was special, and better than anyone else there. He repeated that a lot, but you were never quite who if he was saying that to you or to himself but he clearly made an attempt to believe it, at least for his own sake.

Saeran carried himself around Magenta so differently to Ray, you heard his footsteps from down the corridor when he wanted you to know to anticipate him and yet you never heard him when he suddenly appeared behind you. He was most definitely choosing when to make his presence known and when he wanted to startle you from standing silently around a corner. Saeran certainly disproved to you the lore that Vampires needed to be invited into rooms in order to gain entrance, as he came in whenever he pleased. He never hid his fangs either or tried to cover his ears either with his unkempt hair, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that could be brought to them by smirking at you or asking if ‘you like what you see, Princess?’ You could feel the anger in his voice, he was practically dripping with a rage that he did not know how to release properly. It weighed on his shoulders, and somehow seemed to push him in on himself to the point where he was constantly forcing himself to stand taller, to be louder so that he would not be entirely consumed by it. The atmosphere he carried was tense, to say the least. It seemed to make him paler. Saeran’s dark undereyes were no longer something a simple goodnight sleep could fix; they were almost bruises of their own. Purple, sunken.

While he was not lacking for blood in the same way that Ray had suffered without, it appeared that Saeran was overworking himself to the point that the added sustenance did little to actually aid him, so he kept on coming back for more and more each time. He appeared at any hour of the day or night, which suggested that he was no longer really sleeping, or if he was he was only sleeping for very short amounts of time, and it was really showing him his face. You were sure his appearance must have sat somewhere between Dorian Gray and his portrait, beautiful yet rotting. The way he felt on the inside was slowly, yet surely, manifesting itself. He was so capable of kindness, and yet he never allowed himself to admit to it. If Saeran didn’t have his cruelty, he didn’t have anything. He needed to hold onto it to hold himself together as the Persecutor.

His kisses were rougher too, leaving your lips feeling puffy, tender, and always breathless. He seemed to thrive on the fact he could make you feel so weak, as though it was precisely your weakness that gave him the strength he needed to carry on this strained life he led. He’d sneak up behind you frequently, with the confidence that Ray never quite found, and bury his face into the side of your neck, running rough kisses along it until you sigh against him from the touch, not even bothering to move your hair out of the way as he did so. Even as he kissed you like this, he’d taunt you for enjoying his touch so much in comparison to Ray, who barely ‘had the guts’ to touch you freely. Saeran would lift up your finger to show him the tiny bite impressions that Ray had originally left, only to have Saeran go over them more harshly with his own bite, before moving back up to your throat.

He dragged his fangs along the thin skin of your neck, so you knew it was coming, before promptly biting you. He doesn’t try to be delicate like Ray, and he’s more likely to take too much blood and leave you feeling woozy. He’ll take as much blood as he wants, really. Once you inevitably faint in his arms, he’d usually carry you back and placed you on the bed, but only so he can reprimand you for being such a burden to him. He’d never admit to anything else, especially not to feeling bad about pushing you to your limit.

‘Heh… Don’t look so happy with yourself, your blood tastes like shit anyway. I should go and find someone better, someone sweeter.’ He smirked before laughing, his eyes alive with a frantic excitement. He still had a small steak of blood running down his lips and onto his chin, which he promptly wiped away onto his black suit sleeve without releasing you from his unwavering gaze.

There were times when he’d suddenly stop laughing and looked at his blood-covered hand in disgust, before dragging that same gaze over towards you. He’d look at the redness on his hands and try to wipe it away, even after it dried and would not budge without soap and water. Saeran would still furiously rub his skin against the fabric of his clothes in a vain attempt to wipe his slate clean. You were never able to decipher what Saeran felt in the moment that he decided that ‘play time’ was over, but he never seemed happy about the outcome of the collision the two of you had found yourselves in, even when he was the one that instigated it. He’d half-assedly throw a bag of food from the kitchen at you, telling you that you ought to be grateful for having such a kind master for feeding you, before promptly turning on his heels to leave and slamming the door shut.

He was complicated, that was for sure.

 Vampire! GE Saeran Drabble 

Saeran had been through so much, and yet he was coming out stronger and stronger from it each day. He had a lot to process, about himself, the things that had happened to him and the things that he has done to other people, especially to you. Saeran had a difficult time accepting the he hurt you. He understands that he did it and he has accepted the fact that he did it, but somehow his heart never wanted to believe it. No matter how many times you told him he needed to forgive himself for it, Saeran knew that he never could.

He tried to make it up to you in every way that he could think of. He was so loving, so caring. He always served your food first, gave you extra helpings and always made dessert for afterwards. His food was always so well made, filled with all the vitamins and minerals that your body could have possibly needed and always tasted like he had been cooking his whole life. He’d even try to feed you the last few bites if you’d let him, just to make sure that you’d gotten enough food. It’s sweet, and he does it out of care, but there’s a part of Saeran that does it because he feels as though he needs to make amends to your body for the way he treated it.

He’s not keen on drinking your blood, he feels as though he’s taking advantage of you and doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to hurt you to be able to do it. He’d looked into alternatives that he could try, such as blood banks or from animals, just any means of supply that didn’t involve hurting you. It didn’t work out very well and in the end it started to do him more harm than good, so he usually just tried to wait for as long as he can in between biting you. And even then, he waits for you to offer because he doesn’t want to pressure you into giving up so sacred for him, Saeran would much rather have himself suffer than to make you feel any sort of uneasy around him.

He was a lot more considerate and knowledgeable about the outside world nowadays, and would look into various ways of making it less painful for you: the most effective one to date being numbing creams. He’s not a fan of the chemical taste of the cream in his mouth, but he would happily deal with it if it was for your sake. While he did still have a preference for your neck, because it felt a little bit more romantic to him, Saeran would always give you the choice on where you wanted him to bite. He knows it’s not his body to dictate, and if anything, he actually wants you to put some more of your own rules in place about it. He’d be more than happy if you wanted him to do it somewhere less visible so that you could hide it from people. As long as you weren’t hiding your actual relationship with him, he wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding of the fact that sometimes it is a little awkward to have marks like that in public and that you didn’t want to answer questions from strangers all of the time.

He was very gentle with it, making sure to apply the numbing cream beforehand and to avoid any particularly sensitive spots while never biting too deep. Saeran never took more than what was absolutely necessary either, even if you told him that it was okay to do it. You figured that he always remembered the time that Saeran would make you faint after taking too much blood, and that it must weigh on his consciousness heavily. Telling him to take more than the bottom-line wasn’t something you frequently told him to do though, since you already knew he was restraining himself and trying to put some boundaries in place for your own protection, so you didn’t want to push him. He cleaned the area after drinking from it and pressed a little patterned band-aid onto it and sealed it with a kiss, just for good measure. It really didn’t sit right with him that he had to hurt you like this so he tried to make amends for it wherever he could.

He always wiped his mouth before he kissed you, since he thought it would be rather cruel to make you taste the blood that you had just willingly offered up to him. You’d find the taste unpleasant anyway, even if Saeran enjoyed it. Saeran was rather poetic at the best of times, but it was especially true when he was feeling a little bit drunk off of your love (and blood). If you ever asked him what your blood tasted like, he’d write you a verbal essay on how sweet it is. It’s intoxicating to him and it always had been, even when he was both Ray and Saeran. The two of them were so confused by their sudden feelings and this undeniable pull towards you that neither could escape from. If you let him, he’ll probably even get a little bit cliché with how he feels like he’s reached some form of enlightenment by your blood being the thing that can kept him alive, along with how he can feel your love beating through his veins and giving him strength. Sometimes you can’t help but cringe at some of the things that Saeran says, but he means it in such a sweet way that you find it even more affectionate.

In times like this, Saeran was so adorable and kind-hearted. He generally felt a bit bad about himself, since he knows that he can’t ever become a human again as a result of his time in Mint Eye, so you have to make the extra effort to love him in this moment. You cupped his face with both of your hands and told him how precious he was to you and that he is, and always will be, the most important thing in your life.

Vampire! Unknown Drabble

There were no words that allowed you to accurately describe Unknown. He was exactly that. You never quite knew what he was thinking and for the most part he definitely relished in that fact. His actions were unpredictable, and he barely seemed to keep a routine for too long, lest someone figured it out and learned to predict his moves. Everyone walked on eggshells around him out of fear and uncertainty, and he seemed to enjoy it. He found it humorous, even. He enjoyed taking you by surprise in particular, it was his main form of entertainment. You were a toy for him to play with when he got bored.

He was sort of what you expected a modern-day vampire to be, look-wise and attitude-wise. His attire was certainly a change. It felt as though he was trying to actively reflect the anguish he felt within, but at the same time, it was an external threat. A threat that if you got too close to him, you’d be in danger of getting hurt yourself. The spikes were enough to ensure that, even if Unknown wasn’t. He reminded you of Saeran, but you could tell that there was a stark difference between the two of them. Unknown rarely displayed anger in the same way that Saeran did, it was certainly there, but it wasn’t as explosive. Sometimes it was cold, warped, and vindictive underneath layers of you weren’t sure what. Like Saeran, he made little attempt to hide his fangs or ears, but he didn’t necessarily show them off unless he was actively trying to taunt someone. It was more as though he didn’t care about them until they were of use to him. At which point, he’d smirk and release the sharpened canines: a spark of excitement in his eyes inviting you closer, to dare test him.

When he wanted to feed from you, he’d summon you to wherever he is rather than coming to see you himself. After all, you were a failed experiment who couldn’t even do your job of talking to the RFA correctly; being an assistant was the best job you’d be able to manage, so he told you that you ought to be grateful for it especially since Magenta wasn’t in the habit of keeping ‘useless’ things around for very long.

He was usually desperate when he called for you because of the long hours he forced his body to endure, even throughout the daytime when he’d naturally be sleeping. He entirely believed that because he’s strong, he wasn’t allowed to feel anything except for that strength, so he had to keep himself at the same standard of work every single day in order to maintain it. He’d burn the candle at both ends and then continue trying to light the wick. When you thought of him, there was always one particular instance that came to mind when he had no choice but to display an element of weakness to you, and it enraged him. He had been out on a recon mission for The Savior and had over-exerted himself in the process, sustaining an injury. He had crashed into your room afterwards, panting and holding onto his bleeding wound, drinking enough blood in one go that he’d made you  back onto your bed with light-headedness. He hadn’t done that since, and rarely pushed you past that point, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to dance with the limit of it. He’d say it was because he preferred to tease you with it, to savour what belonged to him, even though you knew it wasn’t his only reason for taking it slow.

How he bit you depended on what mood he was in, but his typical go-to is to have you sitting on his lap while he’s at his desk and facing him so that he can pull you towards him by your hips, making sure that your collarbones are already level with his mouth. He shouldn’t have to do any of the work, he wanted you already in position for him.

Unknown’s hands were roughly on your shoulders, both pulling you towards him and holding you steady. He bites first, kissed later. There’s little warning to feeling his teeth, except for the second or so beforehand where you feel his hot breath fan over you, just before you feel the sharp break of that skin underneath. Sometimes he’d hover for a few seconds longer than usual because he sought the thrill of you not knowing when the pain was coming. He has a preference for the neck and collarbones, not that he’d never explain why to you but, simply, he doesn’t think he should have to anyway. You’d have laughed at the cliché nature of it, but you’d rather he kept it to the same area instead of spreading it all over your body. That being said, he had bitten your thighs a couple of times when your neck had been a little too sore for him to drink from there, when the skin needed time to heal.

Unknown swapped between biting and kissing at your neck, making his way up towards your mouth to continue the blood-tinted kiss there. Each time you tasted the metallic tinge on your tongue, it left your breathless, but not as much as the bite he’d leave on your lower lip did. You wouldn’t admit it to Unknown, but those kisses were some of your favourites that you had shared with him.

Not only did he leave your skin with actual bites, but he made point of littering your throat with lovebites each time too. As though the real bites weren’t enough for him, Unknown always had to go one step further with his act of possession over you. It was a cocky game, in his own mind, he needed to show that you were his and that no other Believer was permitted to look at you in the same that that he did.

When he was done and needed the wipe the blood away from his face, he’d wipe it straight onto the back of his hand. He’d make no effort to properly clean it until he went to wash his hands, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 Vampire! Savior Saeran Drabble 

It’s ironic, to Saeran, that crosses and biblical imagery did nothing to inhibit a Vampire, especially considering how linked the two aesthetics were. They truly went hand in damned hand. Mint Eye had always been steeped in Catholicism, as it was the core religion of the previous Savior, but as Saeran was forced to take the throne, he had not made any changes to those principles. He had been taught to instil and swallow those same beliefs in himself as they had been handed to him, even if they were not truly his own. He had been prepared in such a way that he would be able to take over Mint Eye when he had truly reached the peak of his strength and was intended to forge a new way for the organisation.

You had been bathed, dressed, and summoned to the throne room, where many Believers and the Savior in question were already gathered. You’d heard whispers that you were going to be cleansed, but the atmosphere you found yourself in did not seem to fit the one you associated with a cleansing. However, The Savior had yet to conduct a ceremony of his own since taking the throne and you started to fear that, perhaps, you were to be the leading spectacle. You walked between the Believers, as you were told to kneel before Saeran.

He was so lifeless in comparison to the Saerans you had once encountered before him. He was so sad, empty. At the very least, Ray’s melancholy had an element of hope to it, but as The New Savior stood before you, there was little more than a shell of the man that you had come to know. Your interaction with him was limited, but it was so plainly obvious to you that he was just being used as a pawn, a pawn in disguise of the King. It seemed distinctly sacrilegious to have a vampire dressed in religious garments, but you supposed that Saeran had probably not received a choice in either of those matters.

Another Believer came up from behind you and asked for your wrist, which he then wiped over with disinfectant fluid before presenting it to The Savior. Saeran reached out his hand to grab your arm, pulling it towards him. He was silent as his teeth suddenly found their way into your wrist, but he barely took more than a small mouthful of blood. Even with your arm in his grasp, Saeran said nothing and continued to just plainly stare ahead into the masses, occasionally throwing glances in your direction.

‘Are you ready for the next initiation step?’ He asked. You could still see your blood in his mouth, the thin line of red providing a stark colour contrast to the rest of his chilly pallor.

‘Yes.’ You replied.

Once done, he turned and pushed the red Elixir bottle towards you, tilting it into your open mouth. It was lukewarm and overwhelmed all of your senses with the metallic taste of blood and chemicals. It burned. Tasting blood like this felt so wrong. You felt it fill your mouth and you forced it down your throat swallow, gasping for air as soon as it passed. Was that… his blood? In the same way that he had been given his Savior’s blood?

You were asked to stand as Saeran took another step towards you. You tried to watch his eyes, looking for any hint of the life that Ray and Saeran had once brought to them, but The Savior in front of you had clearly managed to subdue that hope. Or rather, he had been forced and conditioned to abandon it.

Almost sombrely, he pressed a small kiss against your lips; causing you to once again receive a fresh taste of blood. Except this time, it was the remnants of your own that had been left on his own tongue. There was little free affection in his kiss, and it appeared to be more about the process of the initiation rather than anything to do with kindness or tenderness. It only lasted for a second or so and was nothing intimate, ending almost as soon as it had begun. He pulled away first, placing the bottle that he had been previously holding back onto the throne room altar.

You were hugely aware of the fact that you were still being watched by an entire room of people and felt so exposed, so seen. It was uncomfortable to have to wait there for it to be over when you would have much rather have had this be a private affair: not that you had been warned in advance anyway.

He pressed his bloody lips against your forehead, leaving a red stain against your skin. Saeran then reached a cold hand towards your face, dragging his thumb across the bloody kissmark and smearing it into the shape of an eye. A baptism.

Vampire! SE Saeran Drabble

He was trying. Saeran was really trying. Being around people was difficult, well, everything was a little difficult for him. It was taking all of his energy to adjust and process things, so you rarely saw him during the day. He was always pretty low energy and spent the majority of his time asleep or alone, with you only ever really catching glimpses of him at night. You guessed that it was at least a good thing that he was catching up on the sleep that he had deprived himself of for so many years, even if it meant you rarely got to see him.

Saeran didn’t really talk to anyone anyway, only you and his brother. That is, whenever he can be bothered to talk to Saeyoung as he often complained that he’s too tired for conversation. He usually didn’t have the energy to talk to his brother that much because of how hyperactive the other was. Saeyoung understands that Saeran needs time, even if it hurt him to not be able to pull his brother close after all of those years apart. Irreparable damage had been done where they would need years to repair it. There were even a few tense moments where Saeran had thought that Saeyoung was taunting him, or not trusting him, by wearing his crucifix necklace. Of course, his brother tried to explain that that was not the case and that Saeran wasn’t affected by religious symbols anyway, but it still seemed to annoy him. Eventually, Saeyoung stopped wearing his necklace and kept it in a drawer next to his bed, feeling as though the faith he believed in was probably redundant now that he knew how it had been tainted by the people he trusted.

Saeyoung had offered to let Saeran drink his blood before, as a way of making reparations to his twin, but Saeran flat out denied it: saying it would be disgusting to drink from him. He also threw in the comment that Saeyoung’s blood would taste ‘like shit’ because of his diet anyway, which was entirely understandable. Neither of you could fault Saeran for that.

Saeran felt rather conflicted and tentative about drinking your blood, often feeling pangs of guilt for how he previously treated you as Unknown. He often waited right up until he was pretty desperate before letting on that he was in need, and you’d have to realise on your own that his tiredness was not just coming from social exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t ask, so you’d have to offer.

When it happened, it usually happened in the same way with Saeran turning you around so that your back was facing him and you couldn’t look at him. He already felt some sort of way about biting you in the first place so the last thing he wanted was to have to look into your eyes as he did it. He felt more comfortable like this, and he felt as though he could take his time rationalising it a bit more when he wasn’t being watched. ‘Don’t turn around.’ He said tiredly. He sighed, clearly feeling a little awkward but not wanting to rush into it. It would be in this moment where he thought about how roughly he used to do it to you and wonder where he had gotten that confidence from. Truly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Saeran placed his hands onto your shoulders, pausing right above where he was going to bite for a few seconds, letting his hot breath fan over you until he finally broke the skin. He wasn’t as rough as he used to be, and it was quite obvious how much he had been restraining himself by how quickly he drank. ‘Sorry.’ He whispered under the wight of the guilt. He always sounded like he was crying when he did this, even if you didn’t see any tears fall. You placed your hand on top of his own just to let him know that it was okay. Saeran wasn’t one for words, so he appreciated the support even if he didn’t tell you that directly.

He sat behind you for a few moments while he calmed down, his thumbs ever so slightly rubbing circles into your shoulders; a rare sign of intimacy from him. He doesn’t kiss you in that moment for a number of reasons. He felt parasitic, and he didn’t want to tie that emotion to affection. And yet, undeniably because he doesn’t want you to see him for what he is. Saeran carries a lot of shame, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable as he does when he’s in that state. He wiped the blood from his lips onto the back of his sleeve, but would change his jumper shortly afterwards because it made him feel dirty to even look at. Saeran didn’t want to sit with your blood on him, that was cruel to the both of you.

You’d often find that he’d leave you a little gift the next day but would claim to not have any knowledge of it. It was always a little thing that only he would think to bring you, such a small flower from the garden or one of his snacks out of the kitchen.

[duskwood-legacies]

“Blood Moon Masquerade”

•Fandom: Duskwood

•Pairing/Character: Jake x fem!MC

•Word Count: 1.5k

•Genre: Romance, Angst

•Summary: MC pursuaded Jake to attend the infamous Blood Moon Ball along her side. However, the blissful and furious spark of the night shall take an unpleasant turn.

-----

Cold air surrounded Jake and MC, spots of the starry sky covered by dark clouds. Their arms were hooked together as they neared the castle’s entrance.

MC had persuaded Jake into attending a masquerade ball on this special night with her. He was strictly against it at first. He thought public events portrayed a too great threat for them, but after seeing MC’s sad, almost heart-shattered expression he gave in.

Tonight was the night of the “super blood moon”. Jake didn’t want to steal it away from her. She has always wished to see this moon, has been expecting this day with joy and excitement for weeks. When she saw the poster inviting to this event, she couldn’t be held back anymore.

It was a masquerade ball. Parts of their faces would be covered, making it harder for them to be recognized. Jake also knew MC would be as careful as him. Those were the main thoughts keeping him composed.

Guards supervised the entrance. MC and Jake greeted them with a lightly nervous but friendly smile. The guards inspected them intensely, going as far as searching them through for weapons and other harmful objects.

Jake’s corded muscles relaxed by a bit as they got a green light and were allowed inside. MC gave him a kiss on the cheek to reassure him everything was okay before finally entering the building and venturing through the castle’s corridors. After taking three or four turns, they arrived at the open doors of the ballroom.

The ballroom was enormous. Chandeliers made of crystals hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined by elegant pillars. Soft shades of beige painted the entire room, occasional decorations made of gold provided the final touch of luxury to the royal place.

They entered the room with sheer amazement.

Countless amounts of people filled the place after them. Countless of amounts that could get them in trouble, countless amounts that would help blend in and hide. The endless contraries Jake and MC faced on their run, the endless opportunities each of these contraries brought.

It’s not about how face the world, it’s about how you view it. How you observe it. Observe the contraries, weight your chances and then face the world.

Right now, they blend in perfectly. Their chances of staying safe were high.

They stood near the windows as happy chatter sounded through the air. Closely Jake examined MC’s appearance from under his mask, not being quite able to tear his gaze away from her.

She wore a plain black mask around her eyes and an A-Line dress that hugged her figure tightly to the smallest part of her waist, until it divided into a wider, floor-length skirt. The skirt was made of a black base with uneven layers of golden fabric, which were yet again covered by a thin, transparent black net-like fabric. The upper part of her dress was black as well, covered in marvelous golden flower pattern.

MC did the exact same. From Jake’s black leather boots, to his black and white suit to his golden tie and black-golden mask. He looked breathtaking. Both their outfits matched well together, both their outfit matched well with their surroundings and other couples.

The chatter quieted down as the hostess announced herself. Applause filled the air, Jake and MC joining in.

After the hostess’ speech, music started playing and butlers walked around the room handing out champagne. Jake and MC both took a glass, smiling at each other and taking a sip. They kept standing on the sidelines, assuring they were safe and their pursuers weren’t nearby, or at least didn’t recognize them.

Once the alcohol of the now emptied glasses reached their blood flow, their tension eased a bit off. MC waved a butler over so she and Jake could get rid of their glasses.

After the butler walked away, Jake turned towards MC, a gentle smile evident on his lips and holding out his hand for her.

“Would you give me this dance?”

MC grinned and gratefully took Jake’s hand. She knew how much he hated dancing and how much he probably despised being here, but she was endlessly thankful for him to come along and even offer her a dance. Not even his smile could convince her otherwise.

Jake, somewhat reluctant at first, drew MC close and slowly started swaying across the dancefloor with her. He wanted her to enjoy the night, in defiance of the presence of danger. The only way to assure they kept safe and allow MC to enjoy herself was by dancing.

Against the fact of Jake’s initial boldness, they relished the dance and soon started to move more elegantly as Jake grew more confident. Despite the growing confidence in both of them, neither let their environment quite out of sight.

The lights of the room went out, allowing the silver-blue moonlight from outside to illuminate the place through its large windows. It was part of the ball. The guests grew excited, knowing exactly the vanishing of the lights announced the soon-arrival of the blood moon.

The music and dancing carried on. If it wasn’t for their eyes, touch and heart-stopping appearance, MC and Jake would have gotten exhausted by now. It was the adrenaline, each other’s company that kept them on their feet, kept them going, kept pushing further.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours.

They danced as the music drowned the room in mysterious beats and melodies. Tranquilized with each other’s bodies in their embrace, they lost themselves in the music and danced away in their own, little universe.

Jake’s and MC’s feet guided them over the wooden floor like they were leaping through a sea of clouds. Their caution dissolved into nothingness with each step they took. They became careless in a world with no mercy left for them.

The world around them got competitive without their awareness. Everyone wanted to out-dance one another, everyone wanted to show that they are better than anyone in this room.

The soft moonlight began to shift. The lunar eclipse has begun.

Timed perfectly, the music increased in tension and speed, sending floods of hot lava through their veins. MC’s and Jake’s minds were melting away piece by piece.

Passion burning like millions of fires ignited in their bodies as they moved over the dancefloor with swiftness and finesse. Nothing has ever felt so indescribable. Jake’s gaze remained on MC. The black mask around her eyes made them shine brighter than the stars outside, brighter than the diamonds and crystals of the chandeliers.

The moon’s gleam grew into a rosé color.

The competition that had broken loose before kept going. The ballroom now didn’t hold hundreds of people anymore, but hundreds of universes those people were floating in. MC focused on every single one of Jake’s touches, savoring, memorizing every second of this moment as long as it lasted. She looked up to see his face. Despite the mask, his face seemed so perfect, so comfortingly familiar.

By now, the moonlight seized the entire room in its deep red glow.

The meeting of their eyes was like a match thrown into gasoline to their feelings. Their performance they never imagined to appear so flawless, so powerful, reached its climax. The sea of clouds they were walking on turned into an ocean of feathers, pushing them across the floor with weightless elegance and emotion.

MC’s dress was flowing with ethereal grace as she spun underneath Jake’s hand, catching him in a trance he’s never been in before. The red, the gold, the black. Her sight was too heavenly to look away.

He pulled her close again and lifted her off the ground, pirouetting with her in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his body for better hold and tighter proximity.

MC stared deep into Jake’s eyes as they twirled over their ocean of feathers. The moonlight crossing his eyes, the red color painting his frame. He was too divine to break away from.

Jake gently set MC down on her feet again. It was time for their dream to come to an end.

Both of them noticed people pushing through the crowd, people that didn’t exactly look like guests. The fierce sensation the taste of danger left prickling on their skin made their hairs stand up.

Their chances of a safe escape slipped away.

MC felt guilt creeping into her eyes as the endlessness of this night seemed to crawl away, their pursuers drawing closer than they’ve ever been.

She placed her hands behind Jake’s neck and pulled him closer. His hands snaked around her waist, gradually giving in to her pull.

Their lips met in a soft, almost defeated way.

They knew they’ve been caught, they knew they had to fight their way out. They knew they were outnumbered.

Helplessness spread in both their chests as they broke the kiss. Their gazes met one more time with the awareness of their evaporating opportunities lying heavily between them. MC could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, feel the remorse in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Jake”

-----

A/N: Hi everyone!💕 I want to mention that I don't really have knowledge on how masquerade balls work, so I apologize for inaccuracies in advance! I still hope you enjoyed the story🌿💕

[thedeviljudges]

the devil judge + the seven deadly sins

so, i made a gifset about who i thought falls under the seven deadly sins. and also shameless plug - please go reblog the gifset i made for this. took me ages to do.

but i figured i might as well make a meta post to correlate. so this is that post. it’s not everything i could discuss. i could be here for hours more, truth be told. but i hope it’s enough to chew on.

while i feel like a lot of these are going to be a no-brainer, i still want to talk it through because idk. i can, and i want to, and i feel like it, lmao.

gluttony

the elite are privileged and have an opportunity to indulge so much more than the general public, but in many different ways. this is shown throughout the show in the fact that they can indulge on luxury food, have political power, they can make a phone call or snap their fingers and everyone must follow their orders.

and the thing about gluttony is that there is always more to be had. you take a little and then realize it’s not enough and so you ask for more. case in point: in episode 11 when sunah suggests that yohan could be the new president, the current one gives her an alternative: dictatorship. because it wasn’t just enough for him to be an actor and the presiding president.

you’ll also know they turn in on themselves - the two other guys in the elite group. one who owns the company and the other dude - i really cannot remember their names and what they do, but y’all know who i’m talking about. it was so easy for them, when threatened, to fabricate documents to give to yohan about each other in order to get ahead. gluttony is only shared in the relationships we have until one realizes they can take a little extra of the pie. it’s the selfishness of having all the leftovers. gluttony cannot necessarily exist without someone else’s sacrifice.

lust

i kind of had an ah-ah moment when i was talking this over with @technitango​. i was trying to decide who was going to be lust because lust is portrayed very, very differently in this show than what most of us are used to. we, of course, know sunah who lusts after a life of indulgence and riches because she equates that with respect more than actually wanting it because it’s monetarily worth something.

but then i realized the public is lust because of their need for justice. i won’t say revenge necessarily because they’re doing as they’re told when given the judge show. but we can quickly see how that evaporates into something akin to bloodlust, for criminals and people who normally get away with shit, to have their fair taste at conviction for their misdeeds. we even see it with yohan’s fanboy club - the lust that comes from adoration and dedication.

and even more so, the public is easily swayed and so is the nature of lust. it follows in the vein of needs and wants, and as soon as new information is presented, however may false, so does the wants and desires of what people want sway. how easy was it for them to turn on yohan for a split second on two occasions - on two accounts of bribery.

envy

envy, above all, is about wanting what others have because you do not have it yourself. it may not be exactly what they have, but a form of it. some people don’t necessarily want money - they want what it can by, which is time, health and material goods.

sunah is the perfect example of this. she envies respect and recognition. she talks about bright and shiny objects, and that’s true to her kleptomania tendences, but more than anything, she wants to be seen as an equal because being poor with a vastly different upbringing means she’s looked down upon by those she thinks matters.

which also begs the question why she feels the need to seek validation from people in higher statuses to begin with when she can be the exception and not the rule - form her own understanding and environment to show others that the typical way of the elite is not actually all it’s cracked up to be - to which we see when she has no one to celebrate her victory with. it’s lonely being at the top. you get to your goal you thought you wanted but then what?

more importantly, sunah also envies family, relationships and simply put, human interaction. she wants to be cared for and treasured, and she looks for that in her position of power. because then all eyes are on you. because then that’s what people care about. what she fails to see is that those eyes are just as fruitless and just as wavering. to be a leader means people loving the idea of you but not you as a person.

“people of envious nature are sometimes stimulated to seek to emulate those who have completed some great achievements and in doing so achieve something great for themselves,” according to Understanding Philosophy.

wrath

while i realize that gaon not might entirely fit the wrath trope, he certainly has his moments, and i think he’s lived with a tampered flame since his parent’s death. he just learned to briefly put it out in the form of distractions and a false sense of righteousness and justice. it isn’t until he meets yohan that someone finally gives him the okay to feel the entirety of his emotions, that lets him breath and tells him it’s okay to feel anger and hurt. and while gaon ultimately chooses not to exact revenge, his wrath is what led him to becoming a judge and walking away from his teenage crimality.

gaon transposed his wrath into seeking justice, transformed it into livelihood, and reformed his narrative so that he was no longer angry and a teen with rash emotions. it was simply redirected and never really forgotten. yohan turned that redirection back around onto gaon’s ultimate heartache. fueled with that, it became easier to justify himself and his actions.

the most pivotal moment of turning his back on this mindset is, of course, the minister’s suicide, where he takes a good look at himself and doesn’t like what he sees. at this point, gaon’s upset isn’t necessarily at yohan but at the situation in which they got themselves into. because the thing is, gaon doesn’t absolve himself from what they did. he doesn’t turn a blind eye to that and try to dismiss it. he owns up to what happened and confesses how he feels to yohan and how he has to leave for his own good, and in some indirect way, for yohan’s, too.

with yohan, his ultimately weakness, despite never admitting to it, is family. his wrath comes in the form of anger when the ones he loves are threatened. yohan lives by a moral code of loyalty because that means you won’t be abandoned, and as a child who lived with that verdict since the day he was born, it’s an ever-pressing theme of his.

thing is, wrath comes in two particular forms for yohan. again, one is family and the second is the rose-colored glasses he’s given himself in his revenge story. he’s always had a goal to presumably make right the wrong for taking away isaac, but within that, 10 years is a long time to plot revenge, to the point where it becomes so much easier to lose yourself to that, to become enraged with it and forget the initial goal all along. we see this in his inability to form the bonding moments needed with his niece and his casual throwaway comments over people’s lives - the comment he made to gaon about moving on to the next plan, and the ultimately nail in the coffin of pushing gaon to leaving him.

his fury has also led him to convince himself his own humanity is nothing short of a lie. therefore, it’s easier to justify the means to an end because of his own self-worth and self-deprecation. it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy: he even admitted to gaon’s mentor that he is an abyss. he’s referred to himself as nothing but an animal or a monster - all characteristics of despondency to survive and to justify what he’s doing. sort of like a catch 22, yohan claims he’s an animal/monster and behaves as such, but because he behaves as such, it means he’s an animal/monster.

wrath for gaon and yohan are very different yet the same. they are slow-burning, and that’s a dangerous type. it’s actually interesting when you think about the fire imagery surrounding the two of them because flames are quick to lap at anything in its wake, to destroy within a matter of minutes. and yet for the two of these men, their internal fire eats them from the inside out, painfully, until they’re almost unrecognizable to others and to themselves.

sloth

sloth was a little more difficult to pinpoint because of its characteristics. it was either the minister versus the mentor, both of which i think could work in this role. however, i chose the minister simply because she’s featured more and intertwines heavily with the plot line.

soth is a medieval translation of the Latin term acedia, meaning “without care.”

the ultimate characteristic of sloth is often identified as laziness, and while it’s easy to argue that the minister hasn’t been lazy in her ability to get where she is, she became as much when she started lying to get to her position. isn’t lying known as the easier way out? it absolves you of responsibility, of putting in the hard work, of apologizing and making things right. in the end, she had a goal and found the easiest solution to get there through her lack of responsibility for the roles she more than likely swore an oath to.

but that also translates into the other attributes of sloth: a failure to do the right thing, lack of emotions for people or of the self, and the fact that it “hinders man in his righteous undertakings and thus becomes a terrible source of man’s undoing” according to The Seven Deadly Sins: Society and Evil.

while i think there are a lot of components of sloth that may not necessarily fit the minister, the apathy and carelessness are enough to showcase her aggression, despondency and restlessness when what little efforts she does put in do not go her way. another interesting thing to note is that many of sloth’s traits correspond with symptoms of mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. it’s an interesting thing to note given the way the minister chooses to end her life.

greed

i don’t know that jinjoo would’ve had any provocation to the limelight if it wasn’t for sunah’s direction, but she’s eager to please and wants to be useful. it’s only natural for her to want more because it’s clear she’s a career woman, loves her job and has a heart for serving the people.

but like gluttony, greed is also that little thing that plants itself and can take on a life of its own. you start looking for justifications as to why you can’t have more than what you do, and in jinjoo’s situation, she’s already overlooked through no fault of her own. and it’s not that gaon and yohan are doing it purposefully, which is what makes their neglect heartbreaking, because truthfully, they’re after the same thing jinoo is. sure, it looks different and the foundation of it is different, same with their motives. but they’re all three judges on a residing bench working to exact justice - even if all three of them have their own personal agenda. 

i don’t think jinoo fully aligns with greed, but she does want more for herself, and i think that’s only natural. you can tell she has a heart, and she’s keen not to be overlooked. this isn’t her pain point so much as it is she knows her worth and is more than ready to do what it takes to get where she wants. this, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad trait, but we can see how it leads to being deceived, especially for someone who’s been left in the dark for so long.

she is enticed by the glitz and the glamour of being a head judge, but you can tell she feels some remorse and guilt for those thoughts at times. i think her sense of greed is a battle within herself more than it is extremely outwardly.

pride

soohyun’s pride comes in the form of her imbalance with right and wrong. her sense of righteousness and justice is so far leaning, even more than gaon’s. it can be chalked up to her being a cop, but we’ve seen instances of this outside of her role within that agency. her pride doesn’t let her see beyond saving gaon and getting to the bottom of every mystery that comes her way.

it also comes in the form of impulsiveness and her savior complex, putting elijah in danger, for example, instead of waiting for backup. it’s not necessarily from a belief that she can fix things all on her own, but she sees injustice and immediately jumps in. another case in point is her and gaon watching yohan wreck the minister’s son’s car. she’s ready to go stop him, but gaon pulls her back, most likely because at that point, they hadn’t been observing the situation for very long to get a read on it. also the fact that at that point, neither of them truly knew yohan and his capabilities.

but as to where her characteristics come from, we simply don’t know beyond that of gaon. it’s unfortunate because we don’t have much of her backstory, so there is no real understanding why she so firmly believes in entities of regulation beyond keeping her friend out of jail. she prides herself on her work and what she’s able to accomplish, which is why it’s devastating to her to have to protect gaon by cleaning up his bloody handprint.

aristotle is of the belief that, “pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without nobility and goodness of character,” from Nicomachean Ethics.

but pride for soohyun isn’t about honors or rewards. it’s for herself and her capabilities, her ability to protect gaon, and the virtues she’s set as the precedent for herself. because sometimes it’s not even about establishing morals and ethics upon yourself. it’s about feelings/intuition, logic and observation. and no, i don’t mean the feelings she has for gaon. there are things that humans do, both actions and words, that we inherently know are bad without someone telling us as much and without the rules of the world seared into our brains. there are some things we know, for a fact, are wrong to us as individuals.

for soohyun, she knows that gaon’s actions, and even her own, have consequences. from what we’ve seen, i think it can be argued that it’s really about not doing those actions to prevent an outcome - not necessarily from a place of being just and right. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand good morals/ethics, but again, we have no background of what her internal guidance actually is.

to put this in layman’s terms, we’ll use gaon wanting to stab the conman in his youth. soohyun knows it’s wrong because it will incriminate gaon and therefore she stops it. gaon’s gone to her because he sees her as a moral compass. but is her own internal navigation rooted in justice the way gaon had to find it in the judicial system, or is hers rooted in her pride of keeping gaon safe? she stops him from doing things that will get him in trouble, but is she stopping him because the action itself is wrong or because the outcome will result in undesirable consequences for the two of them?

and of course, there is a flipped argument to be had there - i’m not arguing that gaon stabbing the conman would be right or justified. but what i am saying is that for her, her worldview is the only right one, and when anyone steps out of that, even gaon, it becomes a bit of an issue: the pride she has for that is palpable.

every character indulges

truthfully, every character has at least one form of these sins rooted in their characterization. some are larger than others, but the breadth of it can be explored even further for each. and that’s what makes them more realistic and not just characters written on a page or following a linear progression of their writing deity.

the seven deadly sins are also notoriously rooted in religion. they’re also a defining feature of aristotle’s works that represent the golden mean, in which each vice is parallel to a virtue.

the devil judge is so layered, but i think at the heart of it, it’s about humanity at its core. sprinked in are the philosophies and contradictions and what it means to look in the mirror, what happens when we’re blind to seeing our true selves and most importantly, how much changes when we’re swayed by our own misgivings. it really asks us to understand nature versus nurture, that people must find a belief in something to keep them going, and how futile our hopes and desires can actually be if we’re not carefully regulating ourselves, nevermind the entities established by society to regulate us, too.

the entirety of the show genuinely begs the question as to who is truly right, who is truly wrong, and if it’s even possible to find the correct answer.

[keelywolfe]

FIC:  Someone to Drive ch.2 (standalone)

Summary: The road trip continues!

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Melancholy, Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Developing Relationship

Part 1

~*~

Read Part 2 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

That first day, Stretch slept through most of it. Curled up in the passenger seat, he didn’t bear witness to the movement of the sun overhead, traveling across the sky the same way they were traveling along the highway. Signs passed by, billboards for luxury apartments and advertisements for the closest fast food drive-thru, along with more esoteric restaurants offering old fashioned family meals and fun.

They stopped for gas twice. The first time Edge paid at the pump and the second, he went inside the convenience store where he ignored the stares of the other patrons as he purchased drinks and a selection of pastries and snacks with expiration dates that might well extend into the next decade. There wasn’t time to inspect them too closely. The car was locked but he was deeply uncomfortable leaving Stretch sleeping in it alone and surrounded by unfamiliar Humans.

In the brief time it took him to gather up supplies, Edge kept the car in sight, waiting impatiently in the line while the Humans in front of him purchased gas and cigarettes and lottery tickets. No one approached the car, or him for that matter, and the clerk at the register hardly stammered when she gave him the total.

The bag went into the backseat, except for the drinks that ended up in the holders in the middle console; unsweetened green tea for him and lemonade for Stretch. Both were room temperature before Stretch woke. By then, they were through the remainder of this state and well past the ‘Welcome to the Pacific Wonderland’ sign to the next one.

They were as far away from every place Edge considered home as he’d ever been when Stretch stirred in a waking up sort of way rather than the sleepy rearranging of the past few hours. He sat up, his hood sliding half-off, and blinked owlishly as he looked around at the car. When his eye lights landed on Edge, he seemed to wake up a little more, slumping back into his seat.

Edge only glanced at him out of the corner of his socket and kept his gaze on the road.

“where are we?” Stretch asked. His voice was hoarse from sleep, rasping dryly.

“Somewhere in Oregon,” Edge said. He picked up the lemonade from the console without looking at it and held it out in offering. “According to the sign, they hope we enjoy our visit.”

The lemonade was nearly snatched from his hand and he listened as Stretch drank thirstily. The bottle was empty by the time he sighed out a grateful, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” That passed as the only conversation between them. There was no questioning the direction they were headed, no wheedling requests to stop at the next exit to a ridiculous roadside attraction. Edge only drove on, keeping the radio low because it seemed like the thing to do when your not-really-a-friend looked to be on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The only other sound was the occasional vibration of Stretch’s phone. He glanced at it a few times but never seemed to reply to any texts.

Edge already texted Undyne when they’d first stopped for gas, along with his own brother. Undyne replied with several obscenities and an agreement to feed the cat. Red did not reply at all and no one else tried to contact him. There weren’t many who would.

Mostly, Stretch sat slouched in his seat, watching the blur of passing landscape outside the window. His hands occasionally tapped on his knees to the rhythm of whatever was playing on the radio and he sometimes sang along under his breath, almost too soft to be heard.

Eventually he discovered the bag of food in the backseat and scrounged through its offerings, selecting a cellophane-wrapped cheese danish for himself. The banana nut muffin was given to Edge with its plastic packaging removed, carefully wrapped in a napkin from the bag to keep crumbs from scattering over the car interior. It was surprisingly thoughtful, and Edge took his eye lights from the road long enough to murmur a thank you.

Stretch didn’t reply, already wolfing down his own pastry, though he was careful to keep the crumbs contained.

When he finished, he tucked the wrappers back into the paper bag, bringing back out with him the bottles of water Edge purchased. They replaced the empty tea and lemonade ones and both of them settled back into a much briefer silence, broken when Stretch abruptly said, “advertising.”

Edge blinked, glancing at him, “I beg your pardon?”

Stretch nodded towards the window. “that billboard. it said ‘advertising.”

“Yes?” Edge asked, cautiously. “That is what billboards do.”

“uh huh. benefit!” Stretch said triumphantly. Edge was beginning to worry about what sort of chemicals the ‘Kum and Go’ station was adding to their pastries when Stretch added, “cold!”

The point of the game clicked and Edge looked out at the approaching signs, searching. “Diesel,” Edge said, firmly.

“aw, come on,” Stretch moaned. He flopped back dramatically into his seat or at least as much as the seat belt allowed. “street signs don’t count, only billboards!”

“If that was a rule, you should have specified before you began,” Edge said, then added, “East.”

The competition began in earnest after that and the next few hours passed in a flurry of exchanged words in careful alphabetical order, peppered with the occasional out of place curse and if Stretch used ‘Qdoba’ from the green exit sign rather than a billboard in defiance of his own rules, Edge was too relieved for the dreaded ‘q’ to be vanquished to offer any protest.

It was nice, in a way, the dappled green of the passing trees around them, the billboards, and the sunshine pouring in through the windows as they quarreled, only laughingly instead the real arguments they’d had in the past.

Edge still didn’t know why they were here at all, but he was finding it didn’t really matter. Not yet.

~*~

It was barely dark when Edge pulled off into the rest stop that evening. Normally he wouldn’t have considered sleeping before midnight, but then, normally he wouldn’t have been up at three am in the morning, nor would he have spent the entire day driving. The billboard game petered out with the encroaching darkness concealing far too many words, and Stretch was half-drowsing next to him, rousing as Edge put the car into park.

“huh?” Stretch asked, drowsily. Despite all the sleep he’d had, there were still darkened smudges beneath his sockers, as if the slumber only glanced over him instead of settling in. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand, blinking too hard and confused. “we stopping here?” Stretch sat up and got a better look at their surroundings. “a rest stop?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Edge agreed, unfastening his seat belt. “I may not need a bathroom, but I do need a rest.”

“a rest stop,” Stretch repeated. "we're gonna sleep at a rest stop?"

"I believe it’s traditional for road trips." Edge opened his door and stepped out into the cooling air, groaning as his aching joints basked in the chance to extend his long limbs to their fullest.

Stretch followed him, asking nervously, "isn't that illegal?"

"Not in this state. Besides,” Edge circled around to the back of his car and opened the hatchback, “no one will be able to see us back here.”

His brother had mocked him when he’d purchased an SUV, rambling on about soccer moms and incels. Edge had ignored him. Much as he would have enjoyed a convertible like Papyrus’s, practically demanded that at least one of them own something with more space and a bright red paint job was an invitation to police for a traffic stop. His face was already invitation enough, in Edge’s opinion, and when he’d bought the SUV, he’d gone with plain black.

In the back, he kept a small emergency kit stored away. Years of living in Snowdin taught him to be prepared and it was, with road flares, small traffic cones, and a neatly folded-up blanket. Edge moved the box of supplies to the front seat, out of the way, then took out the blanket and shook it out. He frowned at the size of it. “I’m sorry, I only have the one.”

Stretch only shrugged. He was gathering up the trash from the last of their snacks and the empty drink bottles, tossing them all into a nearby bin. “it’s fine, it’s not that cold.”

Very quickly they figured out that a larger blanket would have only been of minor assistance. The SUV was excellent for moving boxes and small furniture, less so for sleeping arrangements. Even with the back seats folded down, there was only enough room for them to both lay full-length if they stretched out at a diagonal. It meant sleeping far closer than he usually ever was to Stretch, both of them pressed up against each other with the musty shared blanket spread over them.

Stretch didn’t seem to mind, offering no protest to the close quarters. Point of fact, he settled in close with a sort of muted enthusiasm, as if craving the contact. Edge didn’t deny him, only sliding his arm under Stretch’s head in a very narrow makeshift pillow.

They lay together in the silent dark and as tired as he was, sleep was slow in coming. Headlights would cut through the windows as other cars pulled in and left, the traffic sounds too close, and the car interior too quiet, in a way his apartment was not, showcasing their mutual breathing. Stretch shifted next to him, his long legs bumping into Edge’s.

“i heard you moved out,” Stretch said suddenly. His voice was soft and still too loud in the quiet.

“I did,” Edge agreed and nothing more.

Stretch didn’t ask why, which was good because Edge was tired of not being able to explain, even to Red. Beneath his careless attitude and bluster, Edge knew his brother was hurt by him leaving, worried that there was no one to watch his back. Monsters often lived several generations in one home and Red surely wondered why Edge didn’t want to live in his. He wasn’t sure how to make his brother understand that he wanted a chance at something else, that simply being on the surface wasn’t enough to chase away the ghosts of Underfell. He wanted to live on his own, to figure out something that he didn’t have the words to express.

Not that he needed them, he supposed. Red always had more than enough words for both of them.

Stretch hummed curiously, “how’s that going? i mean, having your own place?”

“It’s—” Edge’s breath caught as Stretch’s pelvis shifted against his own, bumping up against his hip in what was certainly a deliberate little grind. It was distracting and not nearly as alarming as it should be. His mouth filled with soft magic almost unconsciously as it happened again. Belatedly, Edge finished on, “fine,” though he no longer remembered the question. His focus was on the slender body pressed close to his own, the surge of warmth rising underneath the threadbare blanket.

They'd kissed once before, a long time ago when they’d all still been underground. The self-proclaimed skeleton clan made up of, well, themselves, meeting for movie nights. On that night, his brother brought over a few jars of his latest batch of moonshine, the clear liquid deceptively tasteless and enormously strong. A small glass that would normally only ease the reality around them instead turned it into a blurred whirlwind, and by the next day Edge had a killer headache and few memories of the night before, save one.

Of him and Stretch, and as it turned out, their antagonism was easily muted behind the mask of hard liquor. They’d bumped into each other in the kitchen entryway, Stretch going in and Edge coming out, and their faces were so close together that to Edge’s alcohol-soaked thoughts, a kiss seemed to be the only reasonable solution.

He couldn’t recall if it was a good kiss or not, only that Stretch accepted it and that his mouth was as filled with honeyed sweetness as his words never were. But when Edge tried for another, Stretch held him back. He’d offered a lopsided smile and said with uncommon gentleness, “sorry, edgelord, i’m not really interested in sleeping with you tonight.”

Edge hadn't bothered to point out that he hadn’t offered to sleep with him. It seemed churlish when he'd already been rather kindly brushed off and neither of them ever mentioned it again. He’d long since written it off as a moment of drunken foolishness and nothing more.

He wondered if that statement still stood. The leg sliding up his own and the knee teasingly pressing almost between Edge’s femurs seemed to indicate it did not.

Edge didn’t move as a hand settled on his ribcage, beneath the blanket but over his t-shirt. He only inhaled sharply through his nasal cavity and waited. He wasn’t sure what to feel when that hand did not move, fingers only flexing, the tips briefly digging in as their warmth bled slowly through thin cotton.

"is this…all right?" Stretch asked uncertainly.

Edge closed his sockets, took in a long shaky breath and let it out in a hiss of, "Yes."

The word barely finished before a mouth caught his own. As sweet as his blurred memories, stuttering nervously before firming as Edge turned towards Stretch and their bodies slotted together easily, like pieces from the same puzzle.

Fumbling in the backseat of a car was a stage he’d skipped when it came to his sexual awakening, mostly for lack of a car. The environment lacked a great deal, room, comfort, privacy, and yet, it was difficult to care. How could he care when Stretch was shivering against him, little moans and pants escaping him as Edge let his hands wander, finding sensitive joints and cartilage to stroke and tweak, nibbling along his mandible to explore the delicate cavern of his audial canal.

It was less awkward than he might have thought, their past arguments were as distant as their home. There was only here in this car, with the occasional flash of headlights illuminating them and offering glimpses of barely exposed bone and wide sockets. Edge only tensed when Stretch fumbled with his belt buckle, wary when a hand wormed its way down the front of his pants. People were often surprised by his preference for a vulva over a penis, a few were even offended, acting as if he’d misled them or perhaps that it was beneath him to prefer being penetrated during sex. More than one sexual encounter had been ruined by the assumption that he would be the one using his cock and he couldn’t help tensing as he waited to see if this would be one of them.

But Stretch didn’t comment, his slender fingers moving with no emotion other than eagerness. When Stretch tugged impatiently at the waistband of Edge’s tight jeans, he helped shove them down, only to startle as Stretch followed their downward path, slithering lower with bony fingertips, then the wet heat of his mouth.

Edge clapped both hands over his own mouth, choking off a cry at the slippery touch of a tongue against bone and ectoflesh. He stared up the fabric ceiling of his car as it was briefly illuminated in the flash of headlamps, his pants caught around his knees and Stretch’s face buried between his femurs, only closing his sockets when the rising pleasure and that clever tongue became too much, sending him shuddering over a gloriously toe-curling peak.

All too soon Stretch crawled back up over him, his eye lights overbright and his mouth wet as he stuttered out, “god, you—you’re so—”

Edge never got to hear exactly what he was. He opened his mouth to the slick press of Stretch’s against it and tasted himself on his stroking tongue. There in the stuttering darkness, he never did find out why they were here, but he did learn a few things about Stretch and about himself.

He thought perhaps the soft, deep cry Stretch made when he came was his best discovery on this trip so far.

tbc

[unknownworldmap]

No longer a burden

Levi Ackerman is a child prince who is destined to be a king in the future and took his duties seriously because of it. However, he pressured himself too much and has forgotten that he is just a child who needed his break sometimes. One day, he met the daughter of the current royal advisor after a tiring day, and ever since then, the girl started following him around and resulted in an uncanny friendship between the future royal advisor and the future king.

@levihanweek

This is my entry for the Levihan eggschange. If my giftee is able to find their gift then I hope you like it!!! (even though it ended up wayyyyyyyy longer than I intended it to be....)

Continue reading here

Being a royal isn't all fun and games. It's not just waving and attending parties while being polite to other members of the monarchy. While it might seem such a luxury to live like a royal, the child prince of the Ackerman family seems to think the contrary of what people portrayed royals as.

Despite being a 12-year-old kid, Levi is aware of the burden he's dealing with and abandoned his childhood to do his duties. Excelling in every class he's in, studying extracurricular and sometimes even attending royal meetings to observe the way of the royals. Even at that young age, he already thought that far ahead of the future and was prepared to accept an arranged marriage if necessary.

He really takes his duties seriously. Too seriously, that he even forgets he's a child.

The people of Eldia are in peace of mind knowing that their future king is serious about his duties. But, sometimes, or most of the time, they forget under all that seriousness, Levi is still just a child.

He removed his fingers from the keys of the piano and moved his head to face the window. He stared at it for a minute, just observing the orange afternoon sky before standing up from his seat and leaving the room.

Once he pushed the door open to exit the room, a shuffling noise from behind him was instantly heard. Although, he's not a little bit surprised anymore as it was following him all day round since the start of his day. Be it archery, tea ceremony, and piano lessons - The shuffling noise is always present.

If he is correct, the right word to describe that shuffling noise is a stalker. They are always everywhere around him asking for autographs and for his plans in the future that he got used to people following him and being stalkers. Still, this fellow is certainly a strange one compared to the usual bunch.

Normally, they don't even get past the castle gates because of the guards blocking their way. But this one was even able to follow him since the start of archery which was the first extracurricular class he attended very early in the morning.

"Tch, no use thinking about it. They'll get caught soon enough" Levi thought as he turned right in the hallway, taking the path that leads to the garden.

Today is one of the rare days where he achieves free time from his suffocating royal tasks and classes. Whenever free time is available, he takes a stroll around the castle to admire the scenery and the atmosphere.

One of the things he loves to do when given that free time was to read a book under the shade of the tree located near the lake. Sometimes, pebbles are thrown into the surface of the lake just for him to observe the water ripples created. He finds that action satisfying enough for him to relax after a day of tedious royal tasks.

But in order for him to reach his destination, he must exit the garden maze standing in his path first.

It isn't really that much of a hassle for Levi to exit the garden maze. In all that 12 years of his life living in the castle, he was able to memorize all the exits to the garden maze and doesn't get lost anymore like he used to.

And he was planning to take this route in the first place. The garden maze allows him to just be lost in his random thoughts while surrounded by the blooming flowers and the breathtaking scenery. Actually, he wouldn't mind if he gets lost in the garden maze at all.

Someone, however, would be really troubled if they get lost inside the garden maze and allows themselves to be caught by the castle guards. Someone like the stalker that is still following him even now.

Hoping that whoever that person is taking the bait, Levi left the gate slightly opened for them to enter the garden maze and get lost. It's almost impossible for intruders to exit the maze easily so he is pretty certain that this plan of his would work.

It did work after a few minutes when there was no noise following him anymore. It meant that the stalker - whoever that person may be - is already lost and wandering for the exit.

He moved forward the path of Lilacs and Evening Primrose then took a turn to reach the flowery path of Violets that led him to two split flowery paths. He chose the path where Irises are present, that path being the correct one that connects to the exit and the scenery of the clear blue lake.

He looked back at the maze and thought of the person who was patient enough to follow him the entire day.

"Whether that person exits that maze or not isn't my problem anymore" was the thought circling his mind and was entirely forgotten when he crouched down to pick up a pebble, preparing to throw it in the lake.

Moving his elbow backward, he aimed and threw the pebble into the lake, leaping three times and creating water ripples before it sinks into the lake along with the other pebbles he had thrown before.

Satisfied with his pebble throwing, he resumed with the walk to the tree but stopped his tracks at the sight of another person already taking his usual spot.

From what Levi can see, the person appeared to be a female with messy brown hair. She was wearing a yellow blouse accompanied by baggy brownish pants and on her lap was a huge book that lays open as her eyes scan the page.

The stare lasted longer than Levi expected. It even reached the point where the girl already finished reading one page and took her eyes away from the book to appreciate a different view. Or rather, she lifted her hands and started waving them up in the air as a way to get Levi's attention.

There was an unchanging blank expression visible on Levi's face even though he obviously noticed the exaggerated action of the waving hands. It was an invitation for him to come over to the spot where the girl is sitting which resulted in his blank expression that's actually just him contemplating choices whether to ignore the girl and walk the opposite way or to accept her invitation that will lead to socializing - something Levi doesn't want to do at the moment.

The urge to do the former choice was really strong but nevertheless, what he did was the latter choice and began approaching the girl. It wasn't his desire to let himself be known and would rather pretend that he didn't see anything so that he can continue on with his life. Sadly, that isn't what a future king would do, or else it'll be deemed a shameless action.

And so, with his heavy role in mind, he plans to at least be a little bit respectful and introduce himself to the girl who turns out to be familiar with him already - no introductions required as the girl sends him a smile.

"Sit down, your highness" The girl bowed to show some respect and greeted Levi while scooting over to the right, creating some space for Levi to sit on.

He can't help but inwardly cringe at the greeting. It's true that he's a prince and he's going to be the heir of the throne but being called "your highness" is something he'll probably never get used to. It just doesn't fit him.

There was no greeting from him. Instead, he replied with a question. "You know me?"

"I was unsure at first" She paused and grabbed Levi by the hands, pulling him down and caused him to fall face flat on the grass before continuing "I saw you playing the piano earlier and then I thought that that ah, there's no doubt this is the so perfect prince everyone is talking about"

Levi raised his head from the ground and glared at the girl in front of him. "You're the stalker."

"Hey! I'm not a stalker, I was just following you" She clarified, extending her hands to offer help then introduced herself.

"My name is Hange, nice to meet you" She beamed and pulled him up from the ground.

Levi would have scoffed at the introduction if it wasn't for the voice nagging in his mind. A constant reminder that he is a noble prince and that he must be respectful in every encounter with a person. Honestly, it's troublesome for Levi to stay polite and respectful. It doesn't help that he is a socially awkward person and his words tend to be rough which appears rude most of the time.

And so, to avoid misunderstandings with the girl, he just left without saying unnecessary words and only told her to have a nice day as he did a bow, ignoring the offer to sit beside her.

After the greeting, he started walking away from the tree to hopefully get some space away from anyone that might initiate a conversation with him. But, that did not become the case since the moment he started walking away, someone followed behind him. This time, that someone didn't have any intention to hide anymore and is now in Levi's line of sight.

"Why are you following me?" Levi asked, his voice trying to be polite yet ended up sounding irritated.

Hange didn't mind the way he sounded and gave her an answer to Levi's question. "I'm doing my future job"

While it's true that he was irritated at the girl following him, he must not show it as it may ruin his reputation that he actually doesn't care about but the whole kingdom does.

A further discussion about details regarding her future job would have been explained if she wasn't careless and tripped on a rock, almost losing her balance. Luckily, she regained her balance soon enough and didn't get the chance to fall on the ground. She was also able to get Levi's attention and Hange took it as a sign to continue the one-sided conversation.

"Why do you think I know the exit to the maze when you wanted me to get lost earlier" Hange questioned, aware that there will be no response but still added another question anyway. "Who else do you think follows the royal family members around?"

A reply was not she was expecting to receive. Nevertheless, she received one brutally honest reply.

"Blood-thirsty serial killers who are plotting to kill the next heir of the throne and the rest of the royal family" Levi answered flatly, no signs of joking found in his statement.

Hange chuckled, amused at the reply he gave her. "Do I look like a murderer to you? and well...you do have a point but that's the wrong answer"

As expected, she didn't receive a reply anymore and decided to resume with the explanation by adding another question.

"Did you know there was a hidden exit inside the maze? it's a route closer to the lake and is mostly used by staff and royal council members during emergencies" She discussed as she took out something from the pockets of her yellow blouse. Before Hange can continue with her reasoning, Levi interrupted her.

"You're not part of the staff" He confirmed, straight to the point.

There is always a possibility that Hange is lying. She was a stalker after all. Too bad, because Levi won't be fooled that easily especially when it comes to the royal staff and council members. Having all the names of the people inside the castle memorized is also one of his duties as the future ruler of the kingdom. That's why even though he barely speaks to them, he knows everyone's occupations and names in the castle.

The name "Hange", doesn't ring a bell.

Hange raised her hands up in the air, a devilish smile formed on her face. "Alright, you got me"

As soon as she said that, no time was wasted and she instantly defended herself or else Levi might run and really think of her as a blood-thirsty murderer.

"I am not part of the royal council or staff yet" She admitted, putting emphasis on the last word.

It was clear by Levi's crossed arms that he did not believe a single word she said. With that, she had no choice but to take out an object that allows her to write on the surface of the paper.

For some reason, Levi still didn't leave his tracks even though he is free to do so and waited for Hange to finish whatever she's writing.

Once Hange finished writing, she gave the paper to Levi which he reluctantly accepted.

"I know the pattern because my mother told me to be informed about it. She said that I will need it in the future. Though that one I wrote is the path you took and not the secret pattern." Hange focused on Levi's facial expressions, observing any reaction from the information she had just given him.

For a second, Levi's eyes widened at what was written on the paper. It said:

Lilacs

Evening Primrose

Violets and

Irises

His line of thought was broken when a voice reached his ears. "Did you notice the pattern, prince Levi?"

He flinched and returned the paper to Hange and carried on with his walk.

"How do you even know this? You're not part of the royal council in this castle, I've never seen you before and you're too young for that" he muttered under his breath.

"I am not part of the royal council but I will be. I guess you can consider it as a royal advisor in training?" She stated unsurely, trying to understand her own words but also ended up being confused like the prince in front of her.

By clearing her throat, she added more details to her initial statement. "Well, to be precise, I am a child of the current royal advisor and in the future, I will be taking over my mother's footsteps"

"If you're destined to be a king then my fate is to be a royal advisor" She informed and then added a soft whisper yet audible enough for Levi to hear "despite not wanting to be one"

"We're quite similar actually," Hange said, still following Levi

"You have bad eyesight if you see the similarities" Levi retorted.

"It's true. I do have bad eyesight but I don't need glasses to see the responsibilities forced upon us whether we like it or not" Hange stated, a hint of bitterness present in her voice.

"You're a kid, shouldn't you be playing outside or something" Levi suggested but who was he to talk. When he, himself, can't do that.

"The same goes for you" Hange patted his shoulders and sent him a heavy smile. It almost looks forced but at the same time, it was genuine.

Because of the heavy atmosphere surrounding them, Levi was forced to change the topic and that was through the means of asking a question. "Why are you still following me?"

"Oh!" she brightened up as she recalls her purpose of following Levi. "I came to inform the prince that I will be his royal advisor by the time he becomes a king. That explains why starting today, I'll always be by your side"

A complaint was about to escape Levi's mouth but for some reason, he can't say it out loud and the only action he can do was watch Hange who was mesmerized by the orange afternoon sky that can be seen through the glass windows. Her hair was illuminated by the light of the sunset and as the sun steadily sinks into the horizon, it brings along the light until it fully disappeared. No longer illuminating Hange's hair with the additional brownish golden color from earlier that was caused by the sunset.

While there might not be any trace of the sunlight, Hange's smile was radiant enough to brighten up the place. For sure, Levi saw the brightness of her smile though he blamed it on the torches that lit up one by one - he thought to himself that it's the only reason why the place looked a little bit brighter than usual.

Finally, he found the resolve to vocalize his earlier complaint that he wasn't able to do. "You don't look like someone who's prepared to be my royal advisor"

Hange's smile faltered for a second before agreeing to Levi's complaint. "I know that. I'm not fit to be a royal advisor at all with the way I am"

With what she said, Levi felt guilty and tried to at least comfort her or anything. The problem is, he was never good at words and will only make the situation worse. As he was attempting to open his mouth and speak, Hange grabbed a hold of his hands and faced him while looking straight at his eyes.

"That's why, for now, don't think of me as your future royal advisor" Hange now has his hands captured and held it tighter.

She removed her hands from Levi's and took one step away, lifting up her pinky finger. "Think of me as a friend who promises to always stay by your side"

After she said those words, she locked both of their pinky fingers together to secure a promise. It happened so suddenly that Levi didn't even have time to react except for averting his eyes away from Hange.

"There's going to be a time when we have to play our respectful roles - you as a king and me as a royal advisor. But, that time is still out of our reach so why not have a little fun before that" She suggested.

There was sincerity in her eyes when she was speaking earlier but now, the sincerity in her eyes was replaced with mischief. "Well, considering your height, I don't think you'll reach it anytime soon"

"OK!!! As a royal advisor in training!! I hereby announce that my first duty is to try and make you grow tall" Hange exclaimed, puffing her chest out.

"Once again, nice to meet you. I know we can get along" She said, turning her back against him and then waving goodbye as she runs in the opposite direction.

Levi was at a loss for words and didn't know how to react to what just happened. People usually are way too intimidated to even start a conversation with him. But, this girl just did it as if he's not someone from a noble family background - If he was honest, he might say he's a little bit intrigued about the girl. Continuation here

[embyrinitalics]

Calamiversary: Flashbacks

Under the cut are a few unused flashbacks/dream sequences. I was actually really attached to some of these, and for a while I considered making an entire fic based on these two, but with Calamitous taking as long as it has my ambitions for that have fizzled out.

Anyways, I’m posting them in the order they appear in the google doc, but these are so old I can’t remember what was supposed to go where. 😂 Some of the scenes end midsentence, or have editing notes in them still, or don’t make sense because the surrounding scene never happened. Don’t think too hard about it. 😬

There’s about 3k words here, so. Hit that “keep reading” tag with caution!

Enjoy!

  Nightshade

He caught her looking, his expression amused and affronted at once.

“What are you documenting so studiously?”

“Nightshade,” she informed him coolly, and then angled the interface on him more obviously. “And something else, beautiful and strange.”

He loosed a breath, something caught between a laugh and a sigh, and tossed the stones back into the underbrush. “Are you playing with my feelings, Majesty?”

“Certainly not,” she breathed, admiring him in the viewscreen for another self-indulgent half-second before turning it on back on the flora. “I have a compendium to complete. I hardly have time for games.”

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, folding his arms. “It isn’t easy being in love with a queen and a goddess.”

Her mouth twisted gently, swiping through the interface again and tapping more useless details into the entry. She muttered, “I’m not a goddess.”

He joined her in the grass, rocking back onto his elbow and tipping the interface back with one finger so she would meet his eyes, glimmering softly with the beginnings of a wry smile. “Who said I was talking about you?”

She smiled in earnest, letting the interface drop, forgotten, into her lap. “I wasn’t aware you were well acquainted with any other queens.”

He scoffed dismissively. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m sure,” she allowed, reaching to pick grass out of his hair and smoothing the wind-tousled bangs it had tangled in afterwards. She was grateful for the levity—grateful to him, for supporting her even when it meant denying himself.

So grateful...

And she still hadn’t untangled her fingers from his hair, from the soft edge of his hairline and his temple, the smooth line of his brow. He had gone quiet, eyes half closing and diverting, while he let her. He watched her palm for another second, two, and then closed a hand, gently, but firmly, over her wrist.

She swallowed, her hand hanging idly between them and the spell broken. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not stopping you for my sake,” he frowned. “It’s agony not having you, but I’m stupid enough to take what I can get.”

She sighed. “I can have you reassigned. No one would question it—”

“No, we’ve been over this,” he growled, running a hand tersely through his hair. “As long as I wield the Sword, my place is with you. And I can handle it.” Then he hesitated, expression shuttering, and he amended, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, and no longer wish it.”

Her hands were in the grass, eyes fixed on them, and her heart was throbbing in her throat. She couldn’t quite swallow it down.

She whispered, “No.”

  A Meeting

“Link,” she breathed, startled, their eyes meeting for a charged half-second.

He bent his head curiously in a rigid sort of bow, as though he was leaning away from the discomfort of their meeting.

“My lady.”

She waited, paralyzed, for him to move, or speak, or even look her in the eye again. But then, the ball was in her court.

It was always in her court.

But she was unprepared, and unarmored, and teetering dangerously at the precipice of a vulnerability she could not afford. And so, exercising her royal privilege as unmagnanimously as she likely ever had, she fled.

He caught her elbow as she made to pass him, sending a warm jolt up her arm. A rebuke danced wildly on the tip of her tongue, and she might even have used it had there been another soul anywhere within earshot of them. But the hallway was abandoned, and they were alone. His eyes were still fixed on the place she had been, the practiced stoicism in them, the practiced numbness in them, simmering with the frustration that he was harboring beneath.

“I won’t have this conversation with you now,” she reprimanded him quietly. “Not here.”

His gaze slid back to hers, burning, threatening to buckle with impatience or something far more desperate, and she wanted to flinch away from its intensity and luxuriate in it at once.

“When, Zelda?”

She took a meaningful step away, freeing her arm, and coolly arched a slender brow even as her heart sputtered at the cavalier way he used her given name in public.

“When we’re somewhere less conspicuous.”

She expected him to submit, tucking his tail begrudgingly between his legs and allowing himself to be put off yet again, but his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t scold me like I’m some child,” he scoffed.

  The Wilds

The carriage jostled down the path, headed for the milky spires that had been bobbing in and out of view for the last few hours. Her visit to the new reservoir in Lanayru had been successful, and pleasant enough as these sorts of things went, but there had also been a lot of pomp and formality surrounding the whole affair that left her craving some solitude and a good night’s rest in her own bed.

Both of which would happily get her out from under the stormy gaze of her Knight Protector.

Shielded by the walls of her carriage, she let herself grimace and sink a little lower in her seat. They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk in several days, what, with all the preparation for the journey and the constant company of the delegation. And she may have been avoiding him. Just a little.

And he seemed to have begun to notice, if the way his gaze burned into her any time she was careless enough to graze it was any indication.

The carriage jostled again violently as they rode over another pothole. And this time, the whole thing lurched to a stop beneath her as the axle snapped. She sighed, readying a gentle smile as the footman swung the door open.

“Hit a spot of trouble?”

“I’m afraid so, my lady,” he grumbled, offering her his hand.

“Please tell me you can fix it,” she said, brow puckered, letting him help her out and onto the road and trying very hard not to groan. She was not looking forward to walking the rest of the way.

“I doubt it very much, ma’am. But we’re nearly there. You could continue on horseback.”

She willed herself expressionless. The only horses saddled for riding were those of her escorts, which meant—

“I’ll take her.”

She didn’t need to guess who had spoken, or turn to picture the smug look on his face. She plastered an insincere smile over her mouth as his horse’s hooves beat an easy amble behind her for the footman’s sake—it wouldn’t do for him to see her furious or crestfallen or abjectly miserable over something as routine as a ride back to the castle from the man who was largely responsible for such things.

“Very well,” she said demurely, unable to conjure a decent excuse, and turned.

And there he was, perched atop his chestnut mare with an expression arguably more schooled than her own. She took his hand, hiding the warm jolt that ran up her arm, and let him lift her over the pommel, bidding the rest of the entourage farewell as he urged his horse forward and over the ridge.

When they had cleared the crest of the hill and taken the bend for a fair distance, he slowed them to a walk, letting the reins go slack and dipping his head to inhale the warm safflina in her hair.

“Link,” she mumbled, shrugging him off half-heartedly, but he wasn’t so easily deterred.

“We’re in the middle of the Wilds. No one is going to see. Just let me have this.”

Maybe it was the reasonableness of his argument, or maybe it was the note of heartache in his voice, so imperceptible only she would have ever noticed, but either way she let herself be coerced. They rode in silence a while, and she finally relaxed when he didn’t press her for more than that, letting herself lean a little into his chest. His hands rested idly on her waist, fingers curled loosely in the reins.

He said, “I missed you.”

She could feel his eyes looking cautiously for hers, but she pretended not to notice.

“You were with me every day.”

“No. I stared at the back of your head every day. That hardly qualifies.”

“I was busy.”

“You were avoiding me.”

She met his eyes then, ready to object, and quickly remembered why she had made every attempt not to. They looked right through her, melting her defenses and reducing her will to jelly. She sighed.

“I was avoiding you,” she agreed, settling against his chest again resignedly.

“I didn’t blame you,” he murmured, warm breath and lips moving softly against the lobe of her perfectly tapered ear, and her heart throbbed treacherously. “I knew why. It was just frustrating, not being able to talk to you about it."

Her eyes fell shut, stinging with remorse. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t do that. It was as much mine as it was yours.”

“I don’t regret it,” he said, quiet adamance coloring his voice, “not for a moment. Even if it means consequences for me.”

In spite of herself she smiled, warmed to the bone by his sweet assurance. “Even if you’re stripped of rank? Even if you’re whipped?”

“They can’t whip the memory of you out of me,” and then he leaned closer, his warm breath feathering her ear again, “Zelda.”

Not Princess, or My Lady, or Highness, or the plethora of other titles he was obligated to use in the presence of others. Merely Zelda. Because out in the Wilds of Hyrule they were alone, and a stolen kiss didn’t seem such a terrible secret. Even if it was forbidden. Even if she had made it abundantly clear to him that it could never happen again, no matter how sweet and perfect and wonderful it had been.

She sank back into him, letting the steady beat of their gait and of his heart lull her into a rare peace.

  Realization

When I woke there was moss against my cheek, the cool dew of early morning clinging to my lips and eyelashes. The vision from the night before danced in breaths and lights as I blinked myself lucid, like the ghosts of a dozen sunset fireflies. I wanted to chase them, down, down into a dream, into an illusion, and wrap myself in it like a blanket. And then, like a wish fulfilled, soft lips alighted on mine, encouraging me awake.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pulling me closer by the hand splayed over the small of my back, and that didn’t strike me as odd in the slightest.

I snagged fingers in the collar of his shirt and buried my face in his neck, breathing him in as I grudgingly left the dream behind, as I spiraled towards his warmth. He smelled like the forest, and nights spent in the wilds, and it was so good it made my eyes tremble shut.

“It can’t be morning,” I whispered, sighing, and he pulled me into his lap, humming in agreement, and pressed his lips to my pulse point.

The wind rippled across the plains, across the wilds, tangling in my hair and twisting it sideways, and neither of us paid any mind. It was too rare that we found ourselves like this, lost in each other and lingering in that quiet stretch of peace between sleep and waking to the world.

“I need to get you back,” he said, but even as he did wrapped his arms around my waist in silent, subconscious objection. “You’ll be missed.”

“Then let me be missed.”

His lips on my neck angled higher, gently coaxing me down, and just as they obligingly found that delicate spot behind my ear, he whispered apologetically, “We can’t.”

I resisted the urge to scowl, resting my forehead on his. He was right, of course. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. My eyes eased open in time to watch the sunrise over his shoulder.

Another dawn. I knew there couldn’t be many left before the Calamity finally stirred from its long slumber, restless, feverish, hungry and ready to devour the world…

And then I realized how little of this made any sense—how incredibly blue his eyes were, how the voice I had been using wasn’t even mine—and the jarring disconnect between who I was and where I was broke the illusion apart.

  The Blade of Evil’s Bane

She opened her eyes as she felt a weight being lifted off her back.

And then she watched as Revali drove the Master Sword through Link’s middle to the hilt. (chapter break, then she freaks out, catches him, and his eyes start to roll back)

“Don’t you die on me,” she shouted through furious tears, pressing her fingers to his forehead. “Don’t you die!”

And then light filled her from the inside out as she bridged their minds, glaring across the world like a sun rising from within.

He sat across from her at her writing desk, still blurry from the haze of her tears, but she could hear the sardonic smile on his voice.

“Is that an order, Princess?��

She wanted to berate him, wanted to scream and fight tooth and nail against his apathy, but she couldn’t find her voice—not without loosing everything else that was threatening to spill out. She stood and crossed the room to nowhere, trying to shield herself from his ridicule. He sighed, following slowly.

He turned her around gingerly and took her face in his hands, studying her carefully while he thumbed her tears away.

“Why do you cry over me?” he murmured. “By rights I should have been dead thousands of years ago—even if I had defeated Ganon. This era will go on without me. I’m nothing.”

She took a sharp, stinging breath, and whispered, “Not to me.”

His lip quirked up in spite of himself, a familiar, roguish half-smile alighting on his face that made her heart stammer. “Never cry over your soldiers, Princess,” he scolded her gently. “They’re only too happy to die to protect you.”

“Don’t give up,” she warbled, a fresh rush of tears spilling out of her eyes, down her cheeks, over his thumbs still cupping her face. “Please don’t. Not like this.”

“Hyrule will go on. So will you.”

“I heard what you said to Urbosa,” she accused him, reaching for something, anything, that would make him hold on for just a moment longer. “You were wrong. I’m not confused. Not anymore.”

That gave him pause. His eyes searched her, gradually shedding the armor that they had always worn, piece by heavy piece, revealing the tired, consuming sadness beneath.

“Don’t cry over me, Princess,” he murmured, drifting closer. The bridge of his nose brushed softly against hers as he angled her face higher, poised to lance through her walls even as his own crumbled. “It pains me more than you know.”

He took her lips in his own, deepening the kiss obediently when she parted for him, and a sound lifted out of her. She wanted to lose herself in him, dive headlong into sating oblivion and never surface. But she found the will to pull away.

“Then don’t do this,” she urged, breathless, against his mouth.

He lingered, warm breath ghosting heavy on her lips. His voice was quiet, husky, desire tempered by regret. “Overcoming the Blade of Evil’s Bane is not so easily done.”

“I can save you,” she whispered, stepping closer, stripping away the needless space between them. “Never doubt that.”

“I have never doubted you,” he said, so tenderly her heart squeezed. “I’ve always known you were capable of so much more than you ever dreamed. But this—”

“I won’t let you go. I’ll order you back from the grave if I have to.”

He sighed at that, a defeated, hollow sound, and her lips parted gently in surprise. “I’m just so tired.”

And then he gasped, like a drowning man drawing breath after so many minutes, and the dream bled out into light.

She blinked away sunbursts and the blindness that followed, stumbling haphazardly back to reality. Link was in her arms; the hole through his stomach was gone.

 Ruins

The sunlight dimmed into night, luminous stone embedded in the sculptures lighting the darkness like softened stars. The ruins grew into an atrium, looming over the gathered order of monks and their commander. Her knight stood as far away as he dared, near the entrance, should there be a disturbance. It was nearly as far away as he had had the will to station himself in weeks.

“The final sensor towers have been erected, and Naboris is nearly ready to be deployed,” a monk was saying, the tattoos under his eyes catching starlight as he spoke. “Her pilot is in the final phases of training.”

The proclamation didn’t garner the reaction anyone was hoping for; the Queen merely nodded, lips pursed. Another monk shifted, as though weighing the wisdom of disturbing the silence that had settled uncomfortably over the assembly, before he decided to be bold.

“I had an idea for another Beast. Nothing so large or so complicated as the others. Something for Hylia’s Chosen—”

“No,” the Queen murmured. “There isn’t time.”

His teeth met with a click. He sent a sidelong glance to her knight, standing with his back against one of the pillars flanking the entrance, but he shook his head in subtle warning, and that put pain to it. He seemed less and less inclined to voice dissent recently, and everyone suspected they knew why.

“Then we’ll redouble our efforts with the Divine Beasts we have,” he offered instead, wearing a reassuring smile. “We won’t fail you, Your Highness.”

She nodded again, smiling tightly. They were dismissed, and her knight drifted closer, moving towards her as the others filed away. She was still sitting on the ground; he offered her his hand, and she met his eyes. She took it, lifting to her feet, and didn’t let go, squeezing softly.

She whispered, eyes depthless in their uncertainty, “But will we fail them?”

[piracytheorist]

I watched and react to Lindsay Ellis' 100 minute long "apology" video so you don't have to

First of all, the word apology is in quotes because she herself on that video mocks the whole concept of an apology video, which is fair cause truly that whole concept is fucked up, but I didn't want to call it excusing either because that's not what she does either... for some parts. Long post ahead.

So into the video, homegirl starts by saying she was recently in a restaurant. Recently. Restaurant. I'm not gonna make a deep research to find out where she lives, she mentions she's from Tennessee but idk if that's where she lives now, so unless she's somewhere in like Australia or New Zealand or any other place with significantly low numbers of covid cases... what is she doing, not only going into a restaurant during a fucking pandemic, but also telling it to her entire 1 million subscribers specifically and the whole world in general? I think it shouldn't be said it's irresponsible as it is, it's also a bit insensitive considering so many of us don't get to have that kind of luxury as it is now, either as customers that don't get to enjoy an evening/night out or as restaurant owners that watch their businesses collapse. Small thing to complain, but still.

That said, personal note, because I know some of my followers live down there in Australia or New Zealand; I'm happy for you, but I'm also jealous, and in a weird way right now being in a country with few covid cases is kind of a privilege. So enjoy that for yourselves.

Ok, second, introducing the concept of cancel culture, she goes on to talk about some cases where two white people made some well-intended but overall insensitive jokes and she talked about how their behaviour was, particularly, white privilege. Ignoring the fact that she's showing her own privilege by saying that she went at a restaurant during a pandemic, she says it all in the whole meaning of how cancel culture focuses on targeting, bullying and verbally lynching a person who acted on their privilege instead of looking out to tell them "Yo what you did was shitty but look out to do better" and how that either originates or is strengthened by nazis who pretend to be cool progressive lesbians of colour on twitter (that latter part is my own description, but similar to what Lindsay said). And the whole point about cancel culture is valid - she the use of the ol' "Listen to voices of POC" and that it is not valid because behind those "Queer progressive POC" accounts hide nazis... but she ignores the fact that another way to see that is "Are you white? Have you considered shutting the fuck up?"

And I say that as a white woman myself. I am very well aware that there are topics I cannot touch upon. Like, I have my thoughts, ok? About all races, religions (at least the major ones), sexualities, gender expressions. I can't help the thoughts... but I try my best to control my actions. There are times that I think something and I go like "Wow, can you realize how much the internet would drag you if you said that on a post?" so I shut the fuck up because a) I recognize my privilege and b) I'm mostly uneducated on most things I may have problematic thoughts on. Lindsay... idk exactly how educated she is, I know she has degrees, but in this case that doesn't seem to matter because she doesn't seem to have the concept of Shutting the Fuck Up White Person. That's what the "Listen to voices of POC" started for. Because historically POC have been the ones to be silenced and ignored by white people. So it doesn't matter if you're a woman, if you're bisexual, if you're educated, whatever whatever. If it's not your area, learn to shut the fuck up. And it's there that the problem begins, that Lindsay doesn't seem to get that idea.

Later on she says that a person on twitter compiled a thread of Lindsay's "sins" aka screenshots of problematic (or not) tweets, and though she (tbh rightfully so) considers making that compilation weird and creepy, she goes on to address every tweet on that thread.

I'm not gonna go down all of them cause from my judgement, some were legitimately very far-fetched to make her look problematic. And look, I don't think she's problematic. It's just that she has a lot to say and sometimes it feels like she has a need to say it all.

At the beginning, she mentions that twitter is garbage. Which, agreed, I've hateposted about that hellsite tons of times. But she's been knew it was. She had people bully her about her tweets before, and she kept at it, white person speaking, and like at some point you're like... is it fucking worth it? You know twitter is garbage. Is the clout you'll make on it worth it? You know people will judge you. You know they will take your sayings out of context. You know there are people obsessively following your page just to spot the tiniest piece of stuff you didn't think three hours on before posting so that they can crucify you over it. You been knew, we been knew. So I'm asking again, is it fucking worth it?

She even said it wasn't the first time she was cancelled, it's just that this last time has been the biggest one (... yet). So... why are people fucking obsessed with that fucking site? I'm a former bully victim, I detest and oppose bullying of any kind, but after a point, when you see a minefield, you gotta know that if you go skipping around without a second thought... ya gonna get hit. I may understand some people staying on twitter out of spite and/or in the hopes of "fixing" it... but again that's kinda hopeless and we all know that. There’s a saying in Greek that translates to “No matter how sugar you pour on it, shit won’t turn into lokum.” And that’s exactly what twitter is. Shit that people try to make functioning. It won’t.

I know the Shut The Fuck Up may be a bit excessive but... we all have opinions, yeah? It's a bit frustrating too considering she makes long videos that clearly have a lot of thought put into them, and then she goes on twitter and posts whatever the fuck comes up in her mind like... you should know better. In a way, Shutting The Fuck Up is also a way to avoid being seen as a bigot when you're not. Let oppressed groups do the talking for you, 'kay?

On another "receipt" she admits she was wrong, quote: "It was insensitive and careless. I definitely should not have said that." At the same time she says that she was influenced by her environment, and she also doesn't actually apologize. In a way she's sincere because a good sociopath would have searched and found that a good apology includes the words "I'm sorry" or some variation, and not trying to explain yourself by the circumstances surrounding you. So, it's sincere, but it feels a bit void. No-one cares what brought you to do this, we only care to see if you’ve changed from that.

I'm also putting the word receipt in quotes because I just think the whole concept of "receipts" is fucking weird, and as I said, some of them are completely pointless and taken out of context to make Lindsay look like the next Hitler. But I don't have another word for it so I'll go with that.

The next "receipt" is about her tweeting about the film The Prince of Egypt and mentioning the scene of killing the Egyptian first-borns, and being accused for anti-semitism because of it. First of all, your problem there ain't the film, it's the Bible, a work that was created by people who thought that a woman is a man's property, and then later on translated and modified by people with similar or worse problematic ideologies. The Prince of Egypt is a film that is inspired by the book of Exodus but at the same time... it doesn't fully excuse the plagues. They're portrayed as a necessarily evil, but whether that bothers you or not depends on whatever your relationship is to God and the fact that he allows covid to be a thing right now. But on the video, Lindsay talks about the portrayal of the plagues and how they're excused so that the Jewish people can be free.

But... it feels a bit... maybe she hasn't watched the full film in some time, and considering she doesn't really like it, I understand why she's making the mistakes on thinking it does. Yes, the film shows the plagues as a necessary evil. But the whole song The Plagues is about Moses being torn in two about the whole thing. "And even now I wish that God had chose another. Serving as your foe on his behalf is the last thing that I wanted." When he warns Rameses about the last plague, the "camera" shows the depiction of the previous massacre of the Jewish children... and Rameses' son is at the bottom of the children being dropped in the water.

It not only foreshadows the boy's death, it also compares the two massacres. It's like "Your father did that to the Jewish people, so the God of the Jewish people will do the same to your people." The scene where the Egyptian first-borns are being killed is haunting. It's dark, without music, eerie... you're not supposed to be happy about it. So I don't see how all that's excusing. In a way, to a people that at the time was enslaved and even now still faces discrimination, it could feel like vengeance. There's a big talk about morals that can be done there but again; WE'RE WHITE. We should consider shutting the fuck up. At least on our own, if talked about with someone who’s part of Jewish culture, that’s another thing.

Lindsay also says that in the film it looks weird that from the moment we see Rameses lamenting the loss of his son, the film cuts to the Jewish people singing about Miracles. And like... again I guess she hasn't seen the movie in some time, cause that's plain out wrong. At the time Moses sees that the son is dead, he already looks depressed. When he hears the cries of the people crying for their children, he breaks down and cries too. When the Jewish people walk out and sing for not being slaves anymore, that's when he starts smiling a little, and more when they're finally out of Rameses' kingdom. And again, it's about the liberation of an enslaved people whose culture we're not presently a part of. Like, the death of the Egyptian children was a bad thing - in retaliation of the same thing happening to the Jewish babies - but whether it’s being excused or not has context behind it.

I'm also talking a lot about it because she mentions she likes the film Noah from 2014, and she shows a small clip from the flood scene where the people on the Ark are depressed (that's not the right word but I can't find it right now) because they witness the deaths of the people who weren't on. I haven't seen the film, so I don't know how much that impacts the survivors later, but she's completely ignoring the fact that The Prince of Egypt also frames the death of the first-borns as tragic and that also Moses breaks down over it.

On my own opinion; I'm agnostic and anarchist af so while I also disagree with the depictions and the actions that God took to free the Jewish people... it's a fucking fantastic film. Animation, voice acting, music, directing... But at the same time, I've watched a bit of her videos and I may be a bit sarcastic here but I don't trust the taste of anyone who watches Treasure Planet and only refers to it as "Disney's space pirate flop" instead of the underrated masterpiece that it is. But I'm also mentioning it not-so-sarcastically, because underappreciated as it is (because Disney deliberately made it flop by the way), Treasure Planet has not had a widely massive impact. Speaking as someone who adores Treasure Planet, it has had a huge impact... to those few who've watched it. So while I meh'ed at her calling Treasure Planet what she did, it was just that; a meh.

But The Prince of Egypt? It has had an impact on ME, an agnostic anarchist. I cannot even begin to imagine what impact it has had on the millions of Jewish people worldwide. So when someone who has studied Media (or whatever, I'm not gonna search through the "Lindsay Ellis is cancelled" results on gοοgle just to see what she has studied), and decides to make a... while a bit understandable, not so well-studied critique on a film with that kind of impact... Have you considered Shutting the Fuck Up? She says that on twitter, she got responses on said tweet where people talked about how important that film is to them. Is that what she needed, to learn about this film's impact? For her to not know that... it's a bit hard to accidentally be that blind about that aspect, especially with her studies.

It's once again difficult territory to wade through - and she deliberately placed herself in it. And as I said, her problem is with the Bible. Not with the film.

So... yeah. I don't think it was anti-semitism on her part, but definitely not a good, well-thought move to make.

Next is her talking about the time she wore a niqab in a non offensive (I guess) way on an old video. She mentions she addressed it on a stream where they laughed about how... cringe-y of the time the whole concept of the video was. And again, the "Not thinking before acting" as well as White Privilege comes out, both in the video and in the way she presents the circumstances behind it. What inspired her to do it doesn't fucking matter. What matters is that she didn't think. Though she says she regrets it, she seems she only does so because she got responses from Muslim followers that told her "Please don't do that." Again, the fact that she needed someone else to say it... that's uninformed. And honestly, when you have such a following, you have a responsibility to know better. Money from patreon and youtube ads carry that. She does say she regrets it though.

Next, is her being called out for her "Dear Stephenie Meyer" video. In it basically she talks about how a lot of the earlier hate for Twilight was because of the fact that society hates teen girls and hates what they like and consider it inferior, and since a lot of teen girls like Twilight, the society had to hate Twilight. At the end of the video, she even said "I'm sorry" towards Meyer. That's a very quick summary and she had some good points, but this is Stephenie Meyer we’re talking about.

Oof. There's a LOT to unpack here.

For those of you who don't know, Twilight as a whole franchise has a ton of issues with racism, particularly against indigenous people and the very real, existing Quileute tribe. Lindsay says that at the time she made that video (2018), the backlash on Meyer was not so much about said racism. And boy, that's plain out wrong. She just didn't do enough research for it. And again, it's not deliberate. I'm not accusing Lindsay of racism. But Twilight was problematic (and even I as a semi-follower of the Twilight Rennaisance, as well as most of the fellow fans I've seen, admit that openly and we hate Meyer for it), and as I had watched that video, I know she did research on it. I find it outright impossible that a search for "Twilight criticism" wouldn't turn up some mentions about the Quileute racism, especially in 2018 with the fandom’s resurgence. There's an entire page from the Burke Museum in Seattle talking about the misconceptions of the tribe in the books and how little benefit the tribe has seen from having their culture appropriated by a white woman. Saying that it wasn't a common criticism is either a poorly put lie or an open confession that she didn't search much. Maybe she only searched about Stephenie Meyer and misogyny. I don't know.

Look, it is true that at the time of late 2000′s, the criticism was what Lindsay said; all about hating teen girls. I'm sure that there was criticism on the racism, but it was either less promoted or was trumped by the former type. But ignoring it completely, when at the time she made that video the criticism on racism was already getting more and more recognition... just why, Lindsay?

So again, I don't think it's deliberate. But it's poor pre-thought, poor work on it, and again when you have such a big following (and while Lindsay keeps saying how she's not that much famous on youtube, when you have a million subscribers and ten thousand patrons... ya ain't unheard of either) you have a responsibility to know better and research better before you do anything on it. Youtube is Lindsay's job, and she doesn't do a very good job at it when it comes to recognizing her white privilege and working beyond it.

Then she says that she talked with some indigenous (she doesn't mention they're Quileute btw) people about it; some said they hated the depiction, some said they liked that they were represented. Although why you would like to be represented by Jacob in Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, I have no fucking clue. In any case, it feels like because there were indigenous (no mention of Quileute talking with her, again) people who were okay with the inclusion, she felt that it was okay to make the whole Meyer apologia video without a single mention to the racism fact.

She also showed a video of a Quileute woman talking about how after Twilight, they were able to get back land that was taken from them. Given back by Obama, by the way. And... including this clip feels like... an excuse. Saying that Twilight, despite being racist, was somehow okay because it brought attention to the real Quileute tribe, and I hope y'all see why that is messed up. Meyer could have handled the issue better, and included the characters with much more respect and given them credit and some idk money from the millions she made appropriating their culture (though Lindsay mentions that last thing), but Lindsay thought that apologizing to Meyer anyway for being against her due to internalized misogyny in the late 2000's was the right move. It is true that at the late 2000's little of the known criticism was about the racism, but it's still a big fucking problem and purposefully ignoring that to apologize to Meyer... not a good look.

Again, blind due to white privilege, and acting without trying to see the whole picture. She says that Meyer, a white, rich, Mormon woman does not deserve the harassment she got, and again I'm against bullying but like... Meyer fucking sucks, and we ought to at least recognize that. She's not the one who deserves an apology - the Twilight fans *cough*me!me!me!*cough* who just wanted to enjoy the books and films (horrible as they were) in peace are.

By the way, the Quileute tribe has a fundraiser so that they can move their land to a higher ground where they won't be affected by tsunamis (and to her credit, Lindsay mentioned it and shared the link, but she said that another youtuber brought that to her attention, and again, where's the fucking research, Lindsay, pretty much every Twilight Renaissance post I've seen about the anti-indigenous attitude mentions that fundraiser and you're telling me it didn't come up in your searches) so if you can donate you definitely should: mthg.org

I mention around how Lindsay doesn't say "I'm sorry", and while as most people, I'd rather have no apology that a performative apology, it feels a little icky, that while she recognizes some of her screw-ups... I'm not sure if she recognizes that said screw-ups that-veer-towards-but-are-not-exactly-or-intentionally racism, ableism, anti-semitism, and transphobia... that shit is the shit twitter nazis thrive off of - and not to cancel people, but to build their own bigotry and take the attention away from actual hate crimes happening. And as a youtuber with a million subscribers and ten thousand patreon supporters, again, she should recognize her privileges a little more. Am I blaming her for nazis using her poorly thought tweets? Should she be super duper careful and spend a lot of time on her tweets to make sure nothing remotely problematic is on them?

... I mean, why the fuck do y’all think I hate twitter?

Next, she mentions being called out for "saying" that "trans-men are less oppressed than cis women" which she says is not what she said, but instead that "she's spoken to trans men who told her that they experience less misogyny after coming out". She even openly mentions it as "anecdotal" in her original tweet. And while I get that, my question is.... what's your fucking business about it? You're cis, shut the fuck up, let trans people talk about it.

Like, fuck. We haven't reached a time where acceptance of LGBTQ+ people, especially trans people, is at such a high that cis people by themselves can openly discuss about the experiences of trans people. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Just show your support for trans people, let them do the talk about their lives and experiences, and share their content if you want your followers to know about trans experiences. If trans men experience less misogyny after coming out (and like, I understand why that would happen in some cases), that's not your area to gather twitter clout from. Think before you tweet.

~

TW: suicide mention, skip to after the ~ symbols if you want to avoid.

Next one is not problematic, it's just proof that Lindsay has no filter on twitter... which is probably the core of all the issues on this post. So condensing the whole thing; a Zack Snyder fan said "I don't like when people say that Zack Snyder hates his mother". A film critic was discussing with Lindsay about Snyder fans, and Lindsay, having never seen any Snyder fan actually say what the fan above said, responded in an obviously sarcastic way "I have it on good authority that Zack Snyder hates his mother." The next day, Zack Snyder's daughter killed herself, and twitter flooded to hate on Lindsay. Of course by the video, Lindsay seems to be upset by the whole thing and how bad the timing was for the post she made - and it is irrational to blame her on that. But! Zack Snyder's mother died in 2010, btw, from what I saw, and like... I think that some discussions around celebrities should be kept private, and this specific conversation between Lindsay and the film critic should have been private. Again, not problematic, but seems to show how Lindsay doesn't think before tweeting.

~

~

Next, she admits she was wrong about defending yellowface on the film Cloud Atlas and saying that it wasn't as bad as blackface. "My bad", no "I'm sorry". Again I don't know if an apology is what I "wanted", after all I'm also a privileged white woman, but idk some recognition that stuff like what she said are what twitter nazis thrive off of would have been nice. Because again, the good intention is there, especially by acknowledging how bad blackface is.

Anyway, some final thoughts, no I don't think she's problematic, or racist, or transphobic, or anything the twitter nazis like to label her as. I just think she's bad at tweeting (like many many people including yours truly, twitter sucks we've established that), and that as a youtuber with such an audience, she should understand her privileges a little more. Though she said she’ll step off from twitter and only use it to promote her books and other creators, so she did learn something from that.

As I said, we all have problematic thoughts. We all think of stuff that, if given a bit more thought, we’ll go like “why the fuck am I like this”. Our actions, on the other hand, is something fully on our control. And twitter thrives on people not putting too much thought on their actions, and letting their quick thoughts control them.

In conclusion, know your privilege, fuck twitter, and STAY THE FUCK AT HOME (except for you, Aussies and Kiwis, go all out - literally)

[spyder-m]

Zerith Week, Day 1: "Sanctuary"

My contribution for @zerith-week, Day 1: Church.

Summary: On her way back from down to the Sector 5 Slums, Aerith happens by two injured Soldiers passed out at the station. With seemingly no one interested in helping them, she took it upon herself to step in. Zack lives AU.

Chapter I: "Angels With Dirty Faces"

Next | FF.net | AO3 | Twitter

.

“Phew, finally. We made it!”

“Urgh.”

Cloud garbled unintelligibly in response, his head lulling slack against Zack’s shoulder, before his body stilled once more. The shift was minimal, but enough to assure Zack that Cloud was still with him.

“Come on, Cloud,” Zack joked, readjusting his grip. “You could stand to be a little more enthusiastic.

Though the light-hearted quip went unanswered, it brought as much comfort to Zack as he hoped it did his friend.

It was a remnant of their old lives, the same banter they had shared back in Midgar. After seemingly everything they trusted in had been ripped away, he liked having that familiar certainty. Even now as those moments seemed at a completely distant, unreachable place in time, Zack would do all that he could to keep even a piece of them intact.

While Cloud didn't seem entirely cognisant, his company had been integral to Zack, imbuing him with the invaluable mental and emotional strength to carry through.

Internally, he was a wreck. He had no idea what was wrong with Cloud, who’d been unresponsive for months; their entire trip to Midgar. Frankly, it scared him.

Yet, he couldn’t let that fear show in his expression. He didn’t want Cloud, likely already scared himself, to worry. If Zack seemed uneasy, it may only serve to further rupture Cloud’s will, his psyche, at a point where it needed to be at its strongest.

Zack had wondered briefly what state Shinra HQ would be in now; with most of their top-ranked Soldiers either deceased or missing. He didn’t care to find out, firsthand though. Not when it would be far safer, he felt, to stick to Midgar’s Slums, knowing Shinra’s presence wasn’t as prominent underneath the plate.

Much of the slums were plagued by sickness and destitution. Monsters lingered on the outskirts of sectors and the roads and tunnels linking them, with many citizens open-carrying weapons to defend themselves. For that reason, Zack had been confident that the presence of two injured Soldiers wouldn’t appear too out of place or draw unwanted attention.

Still, he couldn’t be careless. The trains were overflowing with passengers; slum-dwellers who worked above the plate returning home. Knowing the likelihood of Shinra employees being among them, Zack had opted to sneak aboard one of the train’s rear compartments, intended for carrying cargo rather than passengers.

They still weren’t alone, but the train ride into Sector 5 passed without incident. Anyone unnerved by their presence simply chose to move to a different carriage.

Unfortunately, though, as he stepped out onto the station platform, Zack was beginning to sense a different, perhaps even more sinister, threat looming over him. His vision was beginning to fade, darkness seeping steadily into his periphery. The exhaustion and pain from the, fortunately, non-fatal wounds he had succumbed to was starting to weigh heavily upon him.

It was as though the urge to reach Midgar had been all that had fuelled him before, that determination helping him to channel strength beyond even his own supernatural limits. Yet now that he had succeeded, his body felt it could give out.

Zack grit his teeth, harnessing what little strength he had left within him to stay conscious. He had already crossed entire continents and stowed away on ships, all the while fending off platoons of men tracking them. Surely, he could make these last few miles into the Slums.

As Zack’s head lifted groggily, he scanned the near distance, squinting to make out the scrap yard stretching in front of him. His stomach sank.

Even if the monsters lurking there weren't the strongest, it would still be dangerous. They usually travelled in packs and, in his current state, Zack wasn’t sure he’d be able to effectively divide his attention between multiple enemies, as well as keep an eye on Cloud.

He had a bad feeling that they would end up as Gorger food.

Zack couldn't fall to such feeble prey, not after everything he'd pulled through.

So, spotting the nearby bench and vending machines, Zack cut a deal with himself.

Against his better judgement, he decided to take a brief rest. Just enough that he could regain his strength and fight safely through the scrapyards, but nothing more.

At least, that had been his hope.

.

Aerith sighed as she stepped off the train, lowering her still full basket of flowers.

Yet another day had passed and she hadn't been able to sell anything topside.

Despite being able to afford the luxury, the people above the plate showed little interest; rarely even acknowledging her presence.

She couldn't understand. Everyone in the Slums seemed to value the plant life much more, enjoying the way it brightened the drab mesh of concrete and steel shanties, giving it a more homely feel.

Still, as futile as her efforts seemed, Aerith would always make the trip; treasuring what few gil she could pull in to help out her mother.

As her eyes lifted, Aerith caught the last rays of what little daylight broke through the gaps in the steel sky. Conscious it wouldn’t be long before twilight began to set in, Aerith's gait picked up.

She had been volunteering at a soup kitchen being run by the Sector’s Church recently and didn't want to be late.

It only seemed fair to assist the priest who let her grow and sell flowers there. Besides, she found the work very fulfilling.

Whether she was brightening people's spirits by spreading her flowers throughout the Slums or providing warm meals and shelter to those who were struggling to find their own. It helped harbour an atmosphere far friendlier than compared to the one above the plate, creating a sense of community, of people who, despite struggling, were always willing to help one another out.

As Aerith crossed the station, her focus was broken by a vibrant shock of yellow entering her periphery, tugging her in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, any thought of needing to rush towards the Church was abandoned as she was drawn to the sight of two young men; not much older than her; slumped against the bench, their eyes closed.

At a cursory glance, it might not have seemed out of the ordinary; as though they were simply resting. Yet, from the state of their clothes and the dirt marring their skin, Aerith could tell they must have fallen on hard times.

Still, despite being in clear view, many commuters passed them by without so much as a second thought.

Aerith exhaled calmly, allowing those passersby the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew, they too were struggling and didn’t have much to their name that could help. Still, the matter was sensitive to her. Her own birth mother had passed away in a similar fashion, Elmyra being the only one to approach and try to help.

Kneeling down, Aerith glanced over the two more closely, in particular, noticing their clothes. Her eyes widened as she placed the dark, sleeveless sweaters and trousers, shoulder pauldrons, standard dress for members of Soldier.

It wasn’t uncommon for men and women leaving the military to end up like this, out on the streets. After the war ended, Shinra had suddenly found itself no longer needing so many large platoons of men, and there were only so many troops needed to patrol the streets. Because of this, many ended up being discharged and struggled to find work; the skills they’d honed under Shinra not translating well to other professions.

Though, what puzzled Aerith was that these two were not mere low-level guards. They bore the Uniform of ranked Soldiers, the company’s elite warriors. Which made her wonder how and why they could have ended up in this position? Surely, the company wouldn't want to let them go? Especially when she’d been hearing rumours that some of their most-decorated, highest ranked members had been declared MIA. Even if they did, wouldn't their skills be highly sought after? They shouldn't have had a problem finding work.

Still, regardless of the details, Aerith knew better than to judge. She didn't know their situation and didn't need to. For now, all that mattered was that they needed help.

She looked over the brunette nearest to her, a gasp breaking from her lips. She could make out patches of blood soaking through the dark material of his turtleneck, dried flecks crusting over his bare arms. Her hands hovered over him, calling on the power of healing magic. Yet the energy that surrounded him seemed to have little effect, as though there were no wounds that needed tending to.

Studying him, curious, Aerith found she couldn't see any obvious cuts or bruises. She could even hear him breathing softly, a sound that seemed to carry over the cacophony of the station, instilling the hope that perhaps he might be alright.

The blond at his side, however, seemed to be in a bad way. From the short distance she’d clocked them at, she hadn’t realised that his eyes were actually open. Though, they were glazed and unfocused.  Even if she were to meet his gaze, Aerith could tell she wouldn’t be able to get through to him.

The wounds he bore must have cut deeper, perhaps a trauma he still carried after being exposed to the atrocity and horror of war.

It was fortunate for her that one of the doctors in Sector 5 owed her a favour. She had been supplying him with rare herbs for his medicines and might be willing to treat these two. Though, getting them to the clinic wouldn’t be so simple.

Aerith supposed she could always find the doctor herself and bring him here, but she worried what may happen if she left them alone.

She might be able to help the blond, who was closer to her height and had a leaner build, but there was no way she could manage both. Especially not the dark-haired one, who, though malnourished, seemed much taller and bulkier.

Even if she could, she would still have to navigate through the backstreets and scrapyards where monsters lurked. Though she was certainly capable with a staff and her Cetra bloodline leant itself to a natural aptitude for magic, she would be hindered if she had to support someone.

It was obvious that she was going to need help.

As her eyes flickered across the crowd, hoping to find someone she knew, the brunette stirred, an exhale breaking from his lips. Aerith was pulled toward the sound, immediately catching the flutter of his eyelids.

He was regaining consciousness.

The sight gave her a flash of hope, as she wondered if he might have the strength to stand on his own. That could certainly make the trip the rest of the way into Sector 5 easier.

Tentatively, her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, a feather-light caress.

“A- Are you alright?”

His body sprung swiftly into motion at the contact, lashing out with the instinct of a wounded animal. Aerith lurched back, feeling her heart flutter unsteadily with the sudden movement. That pattern carried on as she took in the strong contours of his face and the few, errant strands of hair that hung over it. Her breath hitched in her throat as she was taken by the pure, shining blue of his eyes.

As the haze clouding Zack’s senses began to dissipate, he was overwhelmed by light shimmering through soft, chestnut hair, framing a brilliant emerald. He squinted, unsure if the presence was solid, or some ethereal vision.

While crossing the barren outskirts of Midgar, Zack had fallen prey to the odd mirage, finding images of Angeal or his parents burnt across the horizon. Whether it was a result of the climate or perhaps his declining condition, he wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t overlook the possibility that he was still disoriented, imagining the presence of others.

He had certainly been starved for the company.

Surely, this seemed too bright and otherworldly, to be something, someone, underneath the plate. Perhaps, he wondered, he was returning to the planet.

“Heaven?” He muttered.

Blinking, it took Aerith a moment before her mind could piece together a coherent response. Conscious of the dire situation, she let out a forced, breathy laugh.

“Not quite. But I can see why you might think that.”

Aerith cringed, quickly realising her words hadn’t been the most sensitive. She had hoped some humour might be enough to ease the tension.

“I was just wondering if you were okay," she continued. "There’s a clinic not far from here, they’ll be able to help you and your friend out. I can show you the way if you like?”

Zack eyed her, at first, sceptical. His gaze scanned the perimeter, wondering if perhaps this was a ploy, expecting to spot a squadron of Shinra waiting to ambush him the moment he followed her.

Yet, the distinct, foreboding rush of dread that anticipated such an attack was something he’d become familiar with; particularly these last few months. For the moment, he couldn’t sense it.

Much of Zack’s journey had been bolstered by placing his trust in others, even when it didn't seem a hundred percent certain. There was Cissnei, who agreed to turn a blind eye and not inform Shinra of his whereabouts, the old guy who had given him and Cloud a lift.

Zack supposed he could tempt fortune once more.

“Alright,” he answered. "Lead the way."

He moved to stand; Cloud’s arm still draped around his neck; but staggered, almost losing his balance. Aerith's hands hung hesitantly by his shoulder, ready to offer to support some of the weight.

“Do you... need any help?”

"N- no, I've got this.” He grimaced, glance flickering briefly toward the sword still fixed at his back. “Though, I don't know that I'd be much good in a fight right now."

“No worry,” Aerith reassured, retrieving her staff. “You can leave that to me.”

.

Despite the obvious weariness bearing down upon him, Zack had been quite adamant that he, and only he, carry his friend; Cloud.

They had made their introductions briefly, before setting off. Aerith wasn’t sure what had compelled her to share her name. Perhaps she thought that if he knew it, he may be more open to trusting her. For now, he seemed somewhat apprehensive, as he trailed behind her, keeping a slight distance.

It would fall to her to fend off any monsters that crossed their paths.

Luckily, the packs of wererats they encountered were small and easy to keep track of. The fact that they tended to target the bigger, more immediate threats also proved advantageous, as; despite the giant sword at his back; Zack did not appear particularly imposing right now.

Before they could even think of calling upon their friends, Aerith was quick to rain ice spells down.

She led them safely the rest of the way to the clinic, just down from the Leafhouse.

Their late-afternoon arrival was opportune, as it meant she wouldn’t run into any of the kids, who were likely either inside or at their secret hideout. She suspected that the sight of her guiding two bloody, injured Soldiers might be cause for concern. It also meant there were no other patients being attended to, as they turned up just before the clinic was set to close for the evening.

The doctor’s head was bowed, looking over some paperwork when the door creaked open, his eyes lifting. Aerith’s hand rose in a sheepish wave as Zack stumbled in through behind her.

Gaze flickering toward the prone, motionless body balanced at Zack’s side, he swiftly rose from his desk, moving into action. Such a scene was not uncommon among the slums, it seemed.

“Move him to one of the beds in the back. I’ll examine him there.”

Suddenly, Zack grew apprehensive, his grip tightening instinctively, protectively, around Cloud. There was something about the room, the entire situation that unnerved him. The stranger’s white lab coat, their glasses, the stench of chemicals permeating the space. The cold, drab walls and equipment littered about the bench; needles, vials of unfamiliar substances.

It felt all too familiar.

He couldn’t trust it.

But, perhaps more crucially, Cloud was one of the few people left who Zack felt he could trust. After the lengths he had gone through to keep him from harm, Zack was not willing to hand him over so easily. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint shining through, enough for the man to recoil.

Catching the tension etched across his features, Aerith’s fingers treaded lightly against his back, immediately drawing his intense glare away.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “He’s just trying to help.”

As Aerith held his gaze, her eyes shining with sincerity and conviction, Zack could sense his more jaded, survival instincts ebbing away, as he wondered if he had a reason to doubt her.

She had found he and Cloud in trouble and, unlike most, went out of her way to offer help. She had led them all the way to his clinic, even fighting off monsters to ensure that they would make it safely. Those acts did not reflect someone with ulterior motives. Surely, if she had wanted to take advantage of them, it would have been easier to do so while they were passed out?

Besides, while he had managed to get this far on his own, Zack knew there were things he wouldn’t be able to do by himself. As much as it pained him to admit, he couldn’t help Cloud.

Begrudgingly, Zack guided Cloud over to the bed. Setting him down carefully with the doctor’s assistance.

Producing a small torch, he shone the light directly into Cloud’s eyes, noting how his pupils constricted. He was responding; that much was a relief.

Lifting his finger, the doctor dragged it in a straight line across Cloud’s eyeline. Cloud, however, was slow and languid in following the motion.

“Mako poisoning. Looks like a pretty serious case too. I can’t imagine how he’d have experienced such direct exposure.”

Zack grit his teeth. Having already received Mako injections as part of his induction into Soldier, he had a much better tolerance. Cloud, however, had not seen any direct exposure before. It was no wonder his body reacted poorly.

Not to mention, prospective Soldiers were typically given much smaller, controlled doses over time, allowing them to gradually adjust. They weren’t soaked in tiny tubes filled to the brim with the stuff!

As Zack stewed over bitter, disjointed memories of Hojo’s experiments, for the first time during the examination, the doctor’s curiosity won out.

“What exactly happened to him?”

Zack hesitated, unsure of how much detail he should go into. He knew it was counterproductive to lie, especially to someone only trying to help. After all, even the most innocuous information may have helped in assisting Cloud’s recovery.

But, could he really tell him that they’d both been sealed in vats of Mako and experimented on? That he wasn’t even entirely sure how long that process had lasted? That they’d escaped and spent the better part of a year evading Shinra? Sure, Zack was vaguely aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, but wasn’t sure it extended to dishonoured Soldiers on the run.

He couldn’t risk it.

“There was an open pool of Mako. He, uh- Fell in.” Zack lied.

The look the doctor gave was scrutinising, all furrowed lines and narrowed eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Zack’s hand rubbed at the back of his head, a nervous tick. For the time being, he did not acknowledge Zack’s dishonesty, instead continuing with the treatment.

“We have a means to treat this, fortunately.” The doctor continued, producing an elixir from one of the cabinets behind him. “Though, given his current condition, it would normally need to be administered intravenously.”

Zack nodded, unable to contain the flash of disappointment. Of course. This was a small clinic in the slums. There was no way they’d have access to that kind of technology. In yet another cruel twist, just as he thought he’d found a way for Cloud to get better, it was ripped away from him.

Surprisingly, though, the doctor did not seem discouraged, a prospect that gave Zack the smallest flicker of hope.

Positioning Cloud onto his side, the doctor began to pry his mouth open before slowly trickling the liquid inside. The sight woke panic in Zack, who feared that he may choke. That is until he saw the bobbing of Cloud’s throat, swallowing the mixture down. Zack’s bewilderment must have been shown in his expression, as the doctor offered an explanation.

“Keeping the airways clear is something deeply tied to our physiology. Even in the most vegetative state the body still retains its ability to swallow.”

His words brought Zack relief, as he watched Cloud drank down the last of the medicine.

“He should be fine. It’ll take some time to flush the Mako out of his system, though. It would be best if he spent the night here, just to be safe.”

“Then I’ll stay here too.”

As he spoke, Zack could feel the doctor’s eyes shifting now to examine him. The thorough and concise way he analysed him made Zack uneasy, still.

“You are fortunate to not be in the same position,” he said. “Though I am concerned by the amount of blood you appear to have lost.”

“Don’t worry,” Zack dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Most of it’s not even mine.”

“You may feel fine, but you’re still running on adrenaline. You’re going to feel the effects once it wears off. It would be best if you were to rest.

“I’m fine,” Zack pushed, stubborn. As if to further emphasise the point he pulled up a nearby chair, perching himself by the head of Cloud’s bed.

“Have it your way,” the doctor sighed, moving back out into the reception area; perhaps to speak with Aerith. “Though there are more beds available should you change your mind.”

It may have been reckless on Zack’s part, but he had his reasons. It had been unsettling when he first entered the Clinic. He could only imagine the panic Cloud would wake in if he found himself in a strange room. He may fear for the worst, thinking they had been captured by Shinra. If Zack was there, his presence might calm him down.

Besides, even if he wanted to, Zack didn’t think he’d be able to sleep right now. Not until he was sure that Cloud was better.

It wasn’t long, though, before he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Suddenly feeling much less resistance to the sleep trying to take him.

Cloud was still recovering, but ultimately, in a better place; out of Hojo’s clutches. The realisation left Zack content, knowing that he could, seemingly, finally relax.

That they were safe, for the time being.

.

“You’re still here? I guess you were serious about staying.”

Zack blinked, looking around the room. He hadn’t realised how long it had been, finding darkness now blanketing the streets outside.

From the doorway, Aerith hovered in his periphery, her voice reaching out to him from a distance. She offered a soft smile as he eventually turned in her direction.

“If you really don’t want to sleep, why don’t you stop by the Community Centre next door? You’ll at least be able to clean yourself up and get something to eat.”

Zack could feel his stomach churn at the mere mention of food. The offer was tempting. He hadn’t been able to change his clothes or bathe for several months and had eaten only when the opportunity presented itself.

But, he still had doubts. For the time being, he’d feel safe lying low somewhere. Right now, this clinic seemed to fit the bill.

Though, Zack sighed, finding it cruel to refuse her. Particularly when she was being so kind, going to such lengths to help him, to no benefit of her own. But this was just the situation they were facing. He needed to be practical.

“I’d like to, but...”

Zack trailed off, eyes flickering back toward the bed where Cloud rested, the lone gesture more than conveying the reason for his hesitance. Aerith’s eyes softened, cradling a hand over her chest. She admired his steadfast dedication to his friend. The fact that he would value his well being over his own to such an extent. He was so selfless, albeit to a fault.

It was time that someone looked out for him.

“I understand. But if you aren’t careful, there’s going to be two people who end up bed-ridden and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

She set her hands at her hips and scowled in mock admonishment, doing her best to mimic the same pose her mother would adopt if ever she was misbehaving. Zack couldn’t help the chuckle that broke his lips with the sudden shift.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“How about this? You can stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, sound good? There was actually somewhere I was supposed to be helping out tonight, but… something else came up...”

Her voice dragged into silence and Zack smirked.

“You sure are connected, huh?” He teased.

.

The soup Aerith brought back was light and warm as it trickled down his throat. Zack shivered, feeling it heat up his chest, in stark contrast to the rain-soaked sweater that was still clinging to his body.

He was surprised by the broth’s vibrant flavour. He would have thought good quality vegetables would be difficult to come by. Though, that may have also been due in part to this being the first proper meal he had been able to enjoy in months.

Still, it tasted divine.

Though his stomach grumbled, aching for more, Zack pushed down the urge to greedily suckle up every last drop before him. He knew he needed to pace himself, that he could get ill if he suddenly gorged his malnourished body too quickly. It was a problem Soldiers faced, when on long missions and short on rations.

Soup was a safe option to start with, though. The fresh vegetables would help settle his stomach and allow him to eventually move onto something heavier.

As he continued to savour the dish, he could feel Aerith’s gaze covering him. He glanced up, greeted by her warm smile.

“Like it? I have some more if you want. Or we could keep it for Cloud.”

Setting down his bowl, Zack did not answer for the moment. Instead, he mirrored her expression, sincere and unyielding.

“I really appreciate this, Aerith.”

“O- oh, it’s nothing, really.”

“Are you kidding? Things were touch and go for us for a while there. But thanks to you, I’ll think we’ll be okay. I have to repay you somehow.”

Zack pondered for a moment, unsure of how he could even begin to repay the lengths she had gone to for him.

He didn’t have any gil, or really... anything of monetary value to his name. Perhaps once he had settled into town and found some work he’d be able to repay her. But, money didn’t seem adequate to cover just how indebted he was to Aerith.

If it weren’t for her, Cloud might have never had a chance to recover.

One thing he knew for certain, he was actually enjoying her company and would like to keep spending time with her.

“I know,” he decided eventually. “How about one date?”

“Hmm?” Aerith considered, fingers pressing at her chin. “Spending time with you is a reward, is it?”

“Well, you got us food this time around. It’s only fair that I return the favour.”

“I keep telling you, it’s fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I get the impression you aren’t exactly rolling in gil right now”

“Maybe not at the moment, but a man of my skills? I could be a mercenary, and take on any job. It won’t be long before I’ve found work.”

“Is that so?” She teased. “I don’t seem to recall you doing much monster-fighting today.”

“It’s true there’s no way I could compare to you, but I’ll have you know I’m quite handy with a sword.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to hire you and find out for myself.”

“I’ll be there. Just say the word.”

Zack was surprised. He’d always thought himself friendly, amiable. But not since he had first met Cloud, could Zack recall jelling so effortlessly with another person; enjoying that same easy banter. That he was opening up so readily after what he and Cloud had just been through.

The conversation dipped as they continued to eat, silently.

That is, until he caught the basket of flowers resting in the corner of the room. That’s right, Zack recalled. Aerith had had those with her when she had found them at the station.

It was a hard detail to miss. You didn’t often see flowers around Midgar. It piqued his curiosity. They must have been important if she had made the effort to bring them all the way here with her.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but… what’s with the flowers?”

“Oh! I sell them. I actually forgot I had left them here. But, I suppose it doesn’t matter. They do make for a nice gift for someone who isn’t feeling well, after all. I’m sure Cloud will appreciate them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” She goaded.

Before Zack could offer any retort, a strained groan broke from the opposite side of the room. His voice caught, a tightness constricting his throat. Before him, Aerith froze, her hand in the midst of raising a spoonful of soup to her lips. Zack’s head whipped back toward the bed as the sheets ruffled under the distinct movement of Cloud’s body.

“Cloud?!”

“Z- Zack?”

Immediately, Zack sprung forward, stopping abruptly by the head of Cloud’s bed. His voice had been weak, his features scrunching up as he struggled to keep his bleary, eyes open.  Yet, it was more life than he could recall seeing from his friend in months. Zack laughed, tears of relief beading in the corners of his eyes.

“I guess you were right. The flowers did make a difference.”