#Fragile document scanning

[fictionfuel]

Zayne gazes at your hands often. At first, it's subtle, out of his periphery. He'll be flipping through some work documents—important documents—mindlessly. Scanning the content flippantly, which isn't something he does. His focused gaze slides over the too-bright screen, straight to your slouched figure. Sprawled out, one leg off the couch, the other bent at the knee. You're scrolling through Moments. The airy giggles and melodious belly laughs. Zayne fixates on your smooth flesh over the bony joints connecting your extremities. The rippling effect the skin has over the rolling joint of your thumb. The delicate yet soft way your fingers cradle the phone is similar to how you cradle his cheek. The same thumb caressed his cold cheekbone, spreading warmth across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. How can someone like you come across fragile like a freshly fallen snowflake but use those same loving hands to brutalize and destroy Wanderers?

"Dr. Zayne? Space cadet," you call from your spot on the couch. Zayne clears his throat. pinching the bridge of his nose. "Beg your pardon." He sighs low.

You snicker in response; your pastime is distracting him with teasing nicknames. Having the satisfaction of causing him to fall for it every time. And yet, his eyes search for your hands yet again. This time, his own hand roams until it is clasped around yours. His slender, chilly fingers slide in between your smaller ones. Enclosing around his own, leaving no gaps. Velvety, flawless, and dainty. Your hands breathe life into him. Holding his heart forevermore. Traces his body like he's a sculpture. One you've crafted with your own two hands. His reasoning for always placing chaste kisses on his creator's hands.

@/fictionfuel 2025. Don’t repost, steal, claim as your own, or use to train AI. Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[ms-demeanor]

Not going to jump on that thread because it would be extremely annoying of me to do so for a number of reasons, but also:

You might take a class like Development of Modern English early in your career as an English lit major. It's much more of a history class than a linguistics class (you'll be taking Linguistics 101 as it's own course), though there is overlap.

You wanna know what a big part of my Development of Modern English class was?

The professor gave us all PDFs of three Old English dictionaries and a 17 page paper on grammar and we had to translate 150 lines of Beowulf.

So actually reading untranslated Beowulf in Old English is a big part of your History of the English Language class.

But the reason you can't read from the Nowell Codex as a college freshman isn't because it's incomprehensible or holds forbidden knowledge, it's because generally we don't let random teenagers handle 1000-year old fire-damaged parchment documents.

(And even if you were someone with a PhD in English and an expert in Beowulf studies, you wouldn't likely end up handling the document unless you had a degree in history or library science and were an extremely experienced archivist who was professionally qualified to do so; genuinely, there's nothing special that an *English lit* student would miss from studying a scan rather than "the original")

The Mona Lisa isn't kept behind glass to prevent the uninitiated from learning the esoteric secrets of painting, it's because she's fragile and easy to damage.

[cowboybeepboop]

Wild ride

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 5206

Summary: Tyler comforts you through a panic attack after a storm. He then rescues you from your fight with Javi. You take a drive to a hotel and then things get very heated.

a/n: this is entirely a reader insert to the movie bc I thought it would fit so perfectly. Also this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever wrote lmao 😭 Hopefully you enjoy!

When you moved to New York it wasn’t just to get away from the place where your friends all died. It was because you couldn’t live there without feeling guilt about being the reason everyone was out there to begin with. The shame and guilt was burning you, inside and out. All for what? What did it get you? Nothing. If you couldn’t tame a tornado you were going to do everything in your power to help people prepare and get out before it was too late. So when Javi came to you asking for help with storm par, you wanted to tell him no. You wanted to say that there was no way you could ever possibly go back not after what you did.

But when he was explaining how they would be making a perfect 3D scan of the tornado and how it can be used to help save lives, you knew you had to help. He was right. You could get him close enough to the tornado in order to set up the portable units.

As time passes you find yourself more intrigued by the self proclaimed “Tornado Wrangler”, whatever that’s supposed to mean. At the same time though, he’s frustrating. Like all he cares about is chasing the storm and making money instead of realizing how much damage these things cause.

“Javi, we have to help.” You say sternly as he keeps talking about the stupid sensor. “Javi! It’s a small town, they’re going to need all the help they can get, we need to help.” He sighs.

“Alright, alright. I’ll look for it later, okay?” You press a hand to his arm gently. “You made a good call. They really do need our help.” Javi pulls off to the side of the road, taking the keys out. You quickly leave the truck and go off to help.

We worked through the afternoon, finding lost heirlooms, important documents, and small mementos that people had thought were lost forever. Each time, their faces would light up with relief, and I’d feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing I could make a difference.

The sun had broken through the clouds, casting long shadows over the town. The cleanup was far from over, but the worst was behind us. People were starting to talk again, making plans to rebuild. There was a sense of hope in the air, fragile but growing stronger with each passing minute.

You’re watching Javi and Scott interacting with an old guy and someone who lost their bar. Your eyebrows furrow as they offer him a card. “Didn’t know storm par was in the business of helping people,” you hear the familiar cowboy’s voice ringing through the air.

”Well, from what I see they’re trying to make a difference.” You turn to look at Tyler, wrapping your arms around your upper body.

”That’s one way of putting it,” he narrows his eyes while looking behind you at Javi.

“What?” you clench your jaw.

“Do you even know who you’re chasing for?”, his voice raises slightly. ”How much more do these people got to lose before y’all are done making a difference?” His face tightens as he grinds his teeth slightly.

”Sorry, says the guy setting up shop selling t-shirts and mugs after a storm’s hit.” You turn around before he can answer. Pulling the keys Javi gave you out of your pocket. Right as you’re reaching for the door, Lily yells your name.

”Hey, take some food,” she hands you a brown takeout box and a water bottle.

”Oh, I don’t have any cash on me,” you give a half smile.

”It’s okay, that’s why we're always selling shirts and mugs, so we can help give people food.” You shake your head as your eyes widen slightly.

”Then you should keep it, in case you run out.” She hands you the water bottle.

“At least take the water, stay hydrated.” You nod and tell her to stay safe.

Once you get back to the motel you quickly take a shower. Sitting down on the bed with your laptop you look up “Marshall Riggs” you bite down on your cheek, your eyes closing after you read up on him. Pinching your nose bridge you let out a sigh, closing the device.

There’s a knock at the door, you get up slowly and open it. “Some of Javi’s crew said you were staying down by the rodeo.” You don’t say anything in return so he offers you a small pizza box. “Thought you might be hungry,” you take it and shut the door in his face.

You reopen the door, “Thank you, Tyler.” He smiles sweetly.

“How are you doin’, after all that?” Your head nods softly. “How about I show you something nice, city girl.” He offers you his arm.

”And what’s that?” Stepping out of your room you close and lock the door before taking his arm. He doesn’t reply but instead leads you to the stadium at the rodeo. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the dusty rodeo grounds. The air buzzed with excitement and the scent of grilled food, mingling with the earthy smell of the arena. Families filled the bleachers, kids waving flags and clutching cotton candy, while seasoned rodeo-goers leaned against the rails, hats tipped low, eyes sharp with anticipation.

As the night wore on, the rodeo continued—steer wrestling, bronc riding, and more, each event bringing its own excitement and challenges. The crowd cheered, laughed, and gasped, caught up in the spectacle. In the arena, cowboys were competing in the team roping event. Dust kicked up as the horses thundered forward, riders expertly casting their lassos around the horns of the steers. The crowd roared with approval when a duo managed to secure a flawless catch, the announcer’s voice booming in congratulations.

“So tell me about yourself city girl,” Tyler’s voice is low and gentle.

“You know you keep calling me that,” you turn to him, “ but this isn’t my first rodeo, I grew up here in Oklahoma.” Turning back to the events in front of you.

“Would you look at that, I finally learned something about you.” His lips curve up as he admires your side profile.

Back behind the scenes, in the holding pens, a few of the seasoned ranch hands started to glance nervously at the sky. They could see it now—a line of dark, swirling clouds on the horizon, moving faster than seemed natural. A wind had picked up, too, sharper and colder than it had been just minutes ago. But the rodeo continued, the excitement and noise drowning out any sense of unease.

A leaf falls onto your head, you reach your hand up into the air as you watch the leaves fall around you. “Tyler, the air feels heavy, this isn’t right.”

In the ring, the next event was starting: the barrel racing. A young girl was about to make her run when a sharp crack of thunder boomed overhead, so loud it momentarily drowned out the announcer. The crowd murmured, looking up at the sky as the first raindrops began to fall. But as she rounded the first barrel, the wind hit, strong and fierce, whipping dust and debris across the arena. The rain intensified, turning into a heavy downpour that sent people in the stands scrambling for cover. The announcer tried to keep up the energy, but his voice was lost in the wind. In the distance, a low, ominous rumble filled the air—not thunder this time, but something far more menacing.

There's barely time to react before the rodeo’s emergency siren began to wail, a long, shrill warning that sent a chill down everyone’s spine. People were running, some heading for their cars, others diving for the nearest ditch or sturdy structure. The craze of people began pushing and trampling one another, Tyler quickly grabs a woman who fell. He helps her up to her feet and guides you toward the hotel you’re staying at.

“There! Let’s check for a basement,” you nod as you both run inside. There’s a couple arguing with the clerk, you’re checking around for a doorway that might lead to a basement. Tyler tries to ask the man working the front desk but to no avail. “Outside, there’s an empty pool.” You yell to Tyler, “we can try there” he nods and you begin leading the young mother and daughter out the door, Owen’s and the man follow close behind. Once you get the mother and girl down you jump in. Directing them toward the open piping. “Hold on there, cover her head.”

You grasp onto the pipes holding on tight as you feel Tyler’s chest pressing against your back. He keeps his hands tight around the bars, he keeps himself tight against you making sure you don’t move.

“You’re gonna be okay, keep holding on. I’ve got you. I’ve got you” he’s whispering into your ear. You tightly squeeze your eyes shut feeling as though you’re being transported back to the day when you lost everything.

It started with a flutter in your chest, like the faint rustling of wings. You tried to ignore it, chalking it up to nerves, but the flutter didn’t go away. Instead, it grew stronger, spreading through your body like wildfire. Your breathing quickened, shallow and rapid, each breath feeling like it wasn’t enough, like there wasn’t enough air.

It started with trembling hands, and then your whole body followed, shaking uncontrollably. Feeling lightheaded, as if the ground beneath you had suddenly disappeared, leaving you suspended in a void. My chest tightened, squeezing tighter and tighter, making it even harder to breathe.

As quickly as the storm had begun, it passed over. Tyler wraps his arms around you. “Y/N? Is everything okay?” Your body continues to shake as you can’t seem to breathe. “It’s okay, just follow my breathing,” he turns you around so your face is in his chest.

”Deep breaths, in and out,” Tyler gives gentle directions as he rubs his palms over your arms.

”I think I’m okay now..” your voice is soft and hoarse as you choke the words out. His cold, rough hand gently brushes the hair from your face.

“You look like you’ve been through hell tonight.” He says, while helping you out of the pool. You stifle a small laugh in response. Boone and the rest of his crew come up to the pair of you, asking if you’re both alright.

“Y/N, baby. Are you okay?” Javi appears behind you, his hands gently pressing into your hips as he pulls you into a tight hug.

Tyler feels a pang of jealousy as he watches Javi slide his hands lovingly around your hips and pull you into the hug. He tries to shake the feeling, reminding himself that it’s not his place to care. Still, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him.

“I came as soon as I heard,” his eyes filled with worry as you looked up at him. “Where did you hide out? The pool?” You just nod in response, finding comfort in his arms. Javi keeps repeatedly asking if you’re okay, running his fingers through your hair and resting one hand on your waist.

“Yes, I’m okay. It’s okay,” you pull away from him, giving a soft smile. “I was with Tyler the whole time, he made sure I was okay.” He nods but his eyes flicker behind you.

“Javi, your little girlfriend is fine, now let's get to work.” Scott says loudly, catching the attention of Tyler and Lily. “Apparently this place was family owned so I’m gonna start working on numbers. Riggs is gonna want those first thing.” His voice and face are both emotionless and cold, sending a slight shiver down your spine.

“Wait wait,” you hold onto his arm. “What exactly is Riggs getting out of all your data collection?”

“What’s the matter?” He scratches his neck and awkward expression flashing over his features.

“Is profiting off of people’s tragedy part of your business plan? Why are you doing this?” You pull away from his body.

“Riggs is offering these people a way to move on with their lives.” He takes a step back from you, his voice raising slightly.

“Swooping in and taking advantage of people, who have just lost everything” you take a deep breath to steady your shaky voice “You have no idea what that’s like”

“I don’t know what that’s like?” His fist clenches “How about losing three of my best friends while you were trying to land a big fat grant for your science project?”

Your eyes fill with fresh tears as you look up at him, lip quivering. “Take your keys, I’m done.” You toss them at his feet walking off as fast as you can. Finding yourself drawn to Tyler and his wrangler team.

Tyler witnessed the whole exchange, and his protective instinct flares up again. He watches you stomp away from Javi, a mixture of anger and concern etched on his face. He notices the tears in your eyes and the wobble in your lip. He steps forward and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

“Can you just take me somewhere please?” Your voice trembles while Javi yells after you. Asking you not to leave like this.

Tyler shoots a warning glare over his shoulder at Javi before turning back to you. “Of course, darling. Anywhere you want to go.” Owen’s voice is soft and soothing, a stark contrast to his rough exterior.

He gently takes your elbow, steering you away from Javi, and his crew. Tyler leads you over to his Truck in the parking lot where the motel once was, his hand still on your elbow. Tyler opens the passenger door and guides you onto the seat, shutting the door before making his way around to the driver's side.

A sigh escapes your lips as you relax into the seat. You softly massage your nose bridge keeping your eyes squeezed shut as a tear escapes one of your eyes.

Tyler watches you silently as you try to regain your composure. He can sense the pain and hurt radiating off of you, and he wishes he could take it all away. After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Hey, look at me for a second.” He puts his hand on your knee rubbing small circles into your skin.

You open up your eyes, turning to look at him. Your lip still quivering slightly. Tyler’s heart aches as he looks into your tearful eyes. He reaches out and gently wipes the tear away with his thumb, his rough hands surprisingly tender against your face.

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about anything right now. You’re gonna stay with me tonight, okay?” His hand travels down your cheek as he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Before he starts the car he reaches into the backseat pulling out one of his hats, putting it on with his signature smile.

“You know, you deserve way better than that,” he turns the keys in the ignition. “You can do way better than him anyway.” You giggle while brushing your teary eyes.

“Do you think Javi and I are a couple?” Your once sorrow filled eyes light up with your laugh. A small smile tugs at the corner of Tyler's mouth as he watches you laugh. The sight of your smile warms his heart, and the pang of jealousy eases a bit.

“I mean, he seemed pretty possessive of you back there. And the way he was touchin’ up on you…” he lets his voice trail off, his jaw clenching slightly at the memory.

“Don’t tell me that makes you jealous,” a small smirk decorates your lips. You lean closer to his side, turning your body to further face him.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you lean closer to him, a wave of electricity coursing through his veins. He tries to keep his cool, but the hint of possessiveness flickers in his eyes once again.

“Jealous? Me?” he scoffs, trying to convince himself more than you.

Your eyes light up “Oh you’re totally jealous,” you brush your fingers over the skin on his arms, moving your hand to meet his.

A shiver runs down Tyler’s spine as your fingers travel along his skin, his heartbeat quickening at your touch. He tries to maintain a cool demeanor, but the flutter in his chest gives him away.

“Jealous? Of that jackass?”, his voice a little rougher this time. He looks down at your hand in his, noticing how small and delicate it looks against his own, rough and calloused hands. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to interlace his fingers with yours.

“Is that so?” You interlock your fingers with his as you lean over to kiss his temple. “It’s okay to be jealous, just tell me you don’t like seeing other men touching me,” you whisper into his ear, your voice filled with amusement.

Tyler takes a sharp breath as you interlace your fingers with his, his hand clamping tight around yours. “It does make me jealous,” he admits, his voice a gravelly whisper. His free hand squeezes the steering wheel, the muscles in his arm flexing tightly. “Alright, I don’t like seeing other men touchin’ you.” He brushes his thumb over the top of your hand.

A blush quickly rises up your face as you squeeze his hand firmly. Resting your head against his shoulder you bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Are we almost to a hotel?” Your heart races as you feel the muscles in his arm flexing.

Tyler glances out the window at the passing scenery, trying to distract himself from the feeling of you resting against his shoulder. He clears his throat before speaking, his voice still low and rough.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.” He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, the gentle movement betraying the tension in his body. He can’t help but steal a glance down at you, taking in your blushing face and the way you bite down on your lip. He fights the urge to pull you into his lap and press his lips against yours.

Using your free hand you run your fingers over his thigh, letting your mind wander as you think about your plans for the night. Trailing your hand closer and closer to his hips teasingly.

Tyler’s breath hitches as you run your fingers along his thigh, his body tense as you trail your hand closer to his hips. His mind starts racing with impure thoughts, visions of you pinned beneath him, your skin against his. He swallows hard, his muscles tensing further as he tries to control himself.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game, you know that?” his voice low and rough, almost coming out as a growl.

“Yeah?” You run your fingers over his golden belt buckle, “I like dangerous games,” your tongue poking out as you lick your bottom lip.

Tyler swallows hard when you touch his golden belt buckle, his body shuddering under your touch. He shifts in his seat, trying to hide the effect you’re having on him while also struggling to keep his eyes on the road.

“Oh yeah? How dangerous are you willing to go?” he asks, his voice thick with desire. He glances down at your tongue on your lip, his eyes darkening as he imagines what it would feel like against his skin.

“That depends, love,” you press soft kisses into his neck, moving your hand from his, resting it on his chest. “How far are you gonna wanna go?” Your eyes flicker to the hotel sign as the truck pulls into the parking lot.

Tyler lets out a shaky breath as you pepper kisses along his neck, his heart stuttering at the feeling of your lips on his skin. He places a hand over yours on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart thundering beneath your touch.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re really testing my limits right now.” he manages to say, his voice a growl. “But if it were up to me I’d go as far as you’d let me.”

He looks out the window as the truck pulls into the hotel parking lot, his mind racing with all the possibilities that the night holds. He leaps out of the truck running to your side to open the door for you.

“Well, you better hurry up and find us a room then,” you shut the door behind you. You pull the hat from his head, placing it on yours.

Tyler watches you stride ahead of him, his eyes drinking in the sight of his hat sitting on your head. He adjusts his jeans, trying to hide the stiffness growing in his groin as he follows you up to the hotel check-in desk.

“You’re a damn tease, you know that?” he mutters to you as he gets the room keys from the attendant. You flash him an innocent smile as you step into the elevator.

“But you’re too cute when you’re flustered.” Looking up at him you press both hands against his well-built abs. You slip your thigh between his legs as he reaches for the buttons on the elevator, pressing into his groin.

Tyler’s breath hitches at the feel of your hands on his stomach, his muscles flexing under your touch. His heart nearly pounds out of his chest as your thigh brushes against his stiffness, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the contact.

“Jesus, darlin'...you’re gonna be the death of me.” he pants, the words thick with lust. He struggles with the elevator buttons, his hands fumbling as his mind becomes increasingly clouded with need.

You stand up on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear “That’s the plan,”. You move one hand up to his jaw, pulling his face to yours. “Are you gonna kiss me yet?” You mumble.

Tyler swallows hard as you tease his ear with your hot breath, his body growing taut with desire. He looks down at your face, his gaze fixated on your lips as you speak. The words send a shiver down his spine, his restraint slipping by the second.

“You want me to kiss you, darlin’?” his lips hover just above your own. He runs a thumb across your lower lip, his eyes darkened by lust.

“Tyler, I want you to do much more than just kiss me.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you press your chest against his. “Please,” you breathe out. The elevator dings as you get to the floor of your room.

Tyler’s control snaps at your words, a low growl escaping his lips as you press against him. He grabs your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you close, the pleading tone of your voice nearly undoing him.

“Don’t gotta ask me twice, darlin’” He mutters, his voice low and gravelly. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the elevator and towards your room. You giggle into his ear while he unlocks the door.

Tyler grins at the sound of your giggles, his chest rumbling with a satisfied chuckle. He kicks the hotel door open, his eyes locking on the queen-sized bed in the center of the room. He sets you down on the edge of the bed, towering over you as he places his hands on your thighs. You both kick your shoes off really quickly before getting back to it.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck as you pull his face to yours. You kiss him with hunger. Your free hand sliding up his shirt as you feel his smooth abs.

Tyler groans deep in his throat as you pull him towards you, his body responding instantly to your touch. He devours your lips with a primal need, his tongue exploring your mouth as he presses his body up against yours. His muscles twitch under your hand, fire spreading through his veins as you glide your fingers across his abs.

“Goddamn it, Y/N… you're makin' me crazy.” he gasps, his voice thick with desire. He kisses you again, his hands roaming up your thighs, tracing the curves of your body with rough yet tender caresses.

Your hands trail down his abdomen, landing on his belt buckle once again. Your fingers fumble with his belt before successfully pulling it out. Breaking the kiss you quickly remove your shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room.

“Mm Ty…” sucking on your bottom lip as you lean back on your hands while looking up at him seductively.

Tyler sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing under your touch. Once you remove your shirt, revealing the soft skin beneath, his gaze trails over your body, his eyes darkened by lust. He watches you lean back on the bed, your eyes locking with his in a sultry gaze.

“Mmm darlin’...” you sit up and pull him closer by the loops on his jeans, his strong legs coming between your own, spreading them apart. Lifting up his shirt you press kisses all over his tanned skin.

He reaches his hand out to touch your exposed skin, his fingers gently tracing your collarbone. “Then why don’t you do something about it baby?” You ask in a low tone.

His hands rest on your waist, pulling you closer as you spread your legs even wider for him. “Oh baby, you don't know what you're gettin' yourself into” he whispers, his voice rumbling with need.

He suddenly grips your hips tightly and flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours as he pins you against the bed. Reaching up you pull his shirt over his head almost moaning at the sight of his toned body.

He smirks as he watches your eyes rake over him, his ego growing at your reaction. “You like what you see, Y/N?” He asks, his voice rough with desire as he looks down at you, his body pressing against yours.

“Most definitely,” you capture his lips in a deep kiss, maneuvering to put him on his back, straddling his hips. Moving back you unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down. Pulling the pants off his hips you smile to yourself as you see how worked up you got him. Your hand slips into his boxers wrapping around his length.

He lets out a guttural moan, body arching into yours at the contact. “Oh God, baby…” he gasps, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a string of curses. Tyler's sharp intake of breath was your reward, and you relish in the feeling of power it gives you. He grips the bed sheets tightly as you pull his dick out, wrapping your lips around the tip.

“Fuck,” he moans as you pull off and sit back on the bed, making sure your teasing antics continue. All you really want is for Tyler to take complete control and you know exactly how to make him. With slow, purposeful movements, you remove your bra, freeing your breasts and running gentle hands over your own body, nipples hardening under your touch. Then you sit back, pulling your panties off, giving him a show.

Tyler's breathing quickens, his desire palpable. "Damn it, Y/N, you know what I want," he said, his voice thick with need. "Stop teasing and give it to me."

A slow, seductive smile spreads across your face. "I'm not teasing, Tyler," you say, reaching for his hand and placing it on your thigh. "I'm just getting started." Guiding his hand, you slowly part your legs, exposing your wet, eager pussy to his touch. Tyler's fingers delve between the folds, his touch both gentle and demanding. You moan, eyebrows furrowing as you squeeze your eyes shut, your head falling back while you relish in the sensation.

"That's it," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as your eyebrows furrow with pleasure. "Touch me, Tyler. Make me cum." Your voice comes out in a gentle beg.

Tyler's other hand joins the first, exploring your most intimate places, his thumbs circling your clit as he plunged his fingers into the tight hole. Your hips buck as you begin riding his hands with waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"Yes, just like that," you pant, your body trembling. "Oh, God, Tyler, don't stop. I'm so close."

Tyler quickens his pace, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let me feel you fall apart."

With a sharp cry, you climax, your body shaking uncontrollably as pleasure rips through your entire body. Tyler continues working his magic, drawing out your orgasm and prolonging the exquisite sensation.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse into the bed, your chest heaving as you try to catch a breath. Tyler hovers over your frame, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of triumph and desire.

"That," he said, his voice raw, "was just the beginning. Especially after all of that teasing you did,” his voice low and sultry. Tyler's lips curve into a devilish smile as he positions himself between your trembling legs. In one smooth thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. Moaning at the stretch, your body welcomes the invasion.

Tyler begin to move, his hips driving into you with a rhythmic pace. Meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his back as you urge him on. The bed creaks in time with their passionate dance, the sound of your guys’s passionate gasps and moans filling the room.

"Harder, Tyler," you moan, your body craving much more. "Fuck me harder."

Tyler obliges, his movements becoming more urgent as he plunges into you again and again. The room echos with the sounds of your carnal coupling, the air heavy with the scent of sex.

Your body coils tight once more, climbing towards another orgasm. "I'm gonna cum again," you cry out, voice hoarse. "Don't stop, Tyler, please don't stop."

Tyler grunts his response, his own orgasm building. He reaches between their bodies, his fingers finding your slightly swollen clit and rubbing it in circles. It was all the stimulation you needed, and with a shout of release, you shatter into pieces, juices flooding around Tyler's hard cock.

Feeling you contracting around him, Tyler finally let go, thrusting deeply into you. Moaning into your ear as he spilled his seed, filling you with his warmth. You both cling to each other, breathing coming in ragged gasps as the two of you ride out the waves of your shared ecstasy. Collapsing onto the bed, bodies still joined, Tyler rolls onto his back, bringing your exhausted body with him so laying sprawled on top of him.

"Damn, Y/N," he murmured, running his hand through your mildly tangled hair. "You're something else."

You smile, feeling utterly sated and content. "And don't you forget it, cowboy," you reply, planting a lazy kiss onto his bare chest.

a/n (again): sorry just wanted to say that I’m working on making some more twisters smut, but i also have top gun maverick smut if y’all wanna check that out 😝🙏

[1343401]

captive desires - chapter three

pairing: hybrid bts x reader

status: ongoing

word count: 12.9 k

warnings: depictions of violence, death, family trauma, mentions of blood, yandere-ish, hybrids, animal abuse, implied murder, raw meat, animal attacks

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"is someone there?"

the voice comes again, soft, careful.

"who’s there?"

myah freezes.

her grip tightens around her phone, her breath locked in her throat.

it’s a man’s voice. low, smooth, too human.

too normal.

she expected something else. something that fit the unease coiling in her gut. a growl. a snarl. something scratching at the door, desperate to claw its way free.

but this?

this is something worse.

because there’s no panic. no aggression. just quiet, measured patience.

like whoever is on the other side already knows she’s standing there.

"please..."

a second voice now, softer, hesitant.

"please don’t hurt us."

chae-eun tenses beside her, fingers twitching like she wants to grab myah and drag her away.

"we don’t want trouble."

the way they speak, it’s too careful. too controlled.

too intentional.

the words aren't rushed or desperate, not the kind of thing said in a frantic bid for freedom. they're spoken like a warning. or maybe a test.

“myah,” chae-eun hisses, voice tight with warning.

but myah isn’t listening.

because something is wrong.

if they were dangerous, if they were monsters, why would they be pleading?

why would they sound like this, like they expected her hesitation?

she swallows hard, her mind racing.

"we need to go," chae-eun presses, barely above a whisper. her eyes flick toward the door like she expects it to burst open at any second. “now.”

myah shakes her head, her heart pounding. "no, chae-eun, think about it. they’re locked in.”

“for a reason.” chae-eun glares at her. "you don’t know what’s in there."

“exactly.” myah’s voice is sharp, more sure now. “i don’t know. and neither do you.”

“i know enough,” chae-eun snaps. “we found logs, myah. they were keeping something down here, documenting it like science experiments. you saw what they wrote.”

"which is why we can’t just walk away!" myah argues, her pulse hammering against her ribs. "they need help."

“exactly,” chae-eun bites out, frustration tightening her features. "which is why we need to call the Hybrid Protection Unit, not send in two twenty-year-old girls with no plan and no backup!”

"please..."

the voice is softer this time, more fragile, curling into the silence between them like a plea.

it doesn’t sound like something dangerous.

it doesn’t sound like a monster.

because what if they aren’t monsters?

what if they’re victims?

her grandparents had done terrible things. things she didn’t even know about until now.

what if this is just another part of their twisted legacy?

what if they locked them up, experimented on them, kept them in the dark for years.

myah swallows, realization crashing down on her.

it’s been days since her grandparents’ bodies were found. how long have they been trapped down here? without food, without answers, without knowing if anyone would ever come for them? they must be starving, confused, what if,

what if they’re hurt?

what if…

"we don’t want trouble."

her breath shudders.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, battling every instinct screaming at her to run.

but she can’t.

not until she knows the truth.

"we have to get in," she says.

chae-eun stares at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "are you insane?"

myah doesn’t answer. she steps closer instead, fingers grazing the edges of the door, feeling the cold metal beneath her touch.

she knows she shouldn’t.

but she has to.

"there has to be a way to open it," she mutters, eyes scanning the rusted locks, the worn edges of the frame.

"myah." chae-eun grabs her arm, forcing her to turn. her grip is tight, urgent. "this is stupid. even if they’re trapped, even if they sound harmless, we don’t know what they are."

"and if we leave, we never will," myah fires back. her pulse is a frantic rhythm against her ribs, her mind racing. "chae-eun, we don’t know how long they’ve been in there. it’s been days since my grandparents were found. what if no one’s fed them? what if they have no food, no water? they could die down here."

something flickers across chae-eun’s face. hesitation, doubt, the same war waging inside myah’s own head. she swallows hard, jaw clenching.

"this is a bad idea," chae-eun mutters.

"maybe," myah says, voice steady. "but leaving them could be worse."

chaos flickers through chae-eun’s expression. fear, frustration, something desperate, before she curses under her breath.

but she doesn’t stop her.

instead, she exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the rusted tools scattered across the room.

“if we’re doing this, we’re doing it carefully.”

myah nods.

chae-eun exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. “this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

myah doesn’t argue. because yeah, maybe it is. maybe this is the point where she finally loses it, where she stops making rational choices and starts making reckless ones.

but something deep in her gut tells her this isn’t just about curiosity anymore.

it’s about guilt.

about the blood on her grandparents’ hands.

about the weight of whatever was done in this house, in this basement.

about the quiet, too careful voices behind the door.

"thank you."

the whisper is barely audible. just a breath of sound curling into the air between them.

chae-eun flinches.

"we haven’t done anything yet," myah mutters, but her fingers are already tracing the edges of the door, searching.

there’s no obvious handle, no visible keyhole. just thick, bolted steel and the weight of something waiting on the other side.

"there has to be a mechanism," chae-eun murmurs, glancing around the room. "some kind of release. if your grandparents were keeping them down here, they had to have a way to access it."

she moves toward the far wall, scanning the rusted filing cabinets, the shelves stacked with dust coated objects.

myah keeps her focus on the door.

"how long have you been here?" she asks, her voice low.

"awhile."

the answer is careful. measured.

not desperate.

not frantic.

just… patient.

like they knew someone would come eventually.

like they’ve been waiting.

myah swallows. “how many of you are there?”

a pause.

"seven."

her pulse stutters.

seven.

seven.

the weight of it sinks deep into her bones.

"myah," chae-eun calls, voice tight. "i think i found something."

she turns.

chae-eun is standing beside an old, rusted panel on the wall, half-hidden behind a shelf. the metal is corroded, the edges barely visible beneath years of dust and grime.

but it’s there.

a switch.

a release.

"i don’t know if it still works," chae-eun mutters, fingers hovering over it, uncertain.

myah takes a slow breath.

her heartbeat thunders against her ribs.

"only one way to find out," she says.

chae-eun looks at her.

"are you sure?"

no.

she’s not sure.

but she nods anyway.

because there’s no turning back now.

chae-eun exhales sharply as she reaches out, pressing her fingers against the rusted switch.

and pulls.

the basement shudders.

the air shifts.

and behind them they hear heavy locks beginning to turn.

the sound of metal groaning echoes through the basement, vibrating through the stone walls, rattling through myah’s chest.

she should run.

she should turn, grab chae-eun, and leave.

but she doesn’t.

because the door,

it’s opening.

the heavy locks shift, one after another, the deep clunk of metal sliding free making her pulse roar in her ears. dust rains down from the ceiling as the old mechanism grinds into motion, the steel groaning as it begins to inch open.

the air changes immediately.

the cold that seeps through the widening gap is different, thicker, weighted, carrying something alive. something watching.

chae-eun steps back, tense, her breath quick and sharp. "myah," she hisses, panic edging her voice. "i don’t know—"

but it’s too late.

the moment the door fully swings open, myah’s breath locks in her throat.

the room is massive, stretching far beyond what she expected. the dim light from her phone flickers against thick iron bars, cages lining both sides of the basement, the scent of rusted metal and something wild thick in the air.

cha-eun grabs her wrist, grip like iron. "you sure about this?" her voice is low, urgent, barely above a whisper.

myah doesn’t answer. can’t.

because now that the door is open, she can feel it. the weight of unseen eyes pressing into her skin, the silence heavy enough to suffocate.

a shape shifts in the darkness. slow. deliberate.

myah swallows hard. "we need to know."

chae-eun exhales sharply, her hesitation a tangible thing between them. but after a beat, she steps forward, shoulders tense, muscles coiled like she’s ready to bolt at any second.

together, they cross the threshold.

golden eyes gleam in the darkness, reflecting the light like fire catching on glass. shadows shift, slow and watchful, movement rippling through the space like something caged but not yet tamed.

she barely has time to process before a voice calls out again,

"please..."

her flashlight sweeps across the first cage, and her breath catches.

a massive lion hybrid sits against the bars, his golden mane wild, tangled, his amber eyes locked directly onto her. his ears flick at the sound of her footsteps, but he doesn’t move, just watches. waiting. his thick tail curls around his paws, the tuft at the end flicking once, betraying the tension in his frame.

in the next cage, sprawled in the darkness, what looks to be a black panther lifts his head just enough for her to catch the sharp glint of his slit pupiled eyes. his inky fur blends into the surrounding shadows, only the faintest twitch of his whiskers giving him away. he doesn't make a sound. doesn’t blink. just tracks her with a slow, deliberate intensity.

"who are you?"

the voice is softer, coming from further down.

her flashlight flickers over a second pair of golden eyes, no, two.

one belongs to a cheetah hybrid, its lean frame curled against the bars, shoulders hunched like its trying to make itself smaller. They’re fully shifted, spotted fur sleek beneath the dim light, its tail flicking anxiously against the floor. honey-gold eyes dart between her and chae-eun, wide and uncertain, like the cheetah is unsure whether to be relieved or terrified.

the other, is human, well mostly.

a tiger hybrid, perched in the corner of his cage, bare feet planted firmly against the cold concrete floor. his thick tail curls lazily around him, but his shoulders are too tense, his expression too carefully blank. golden brown eyes hold hers, unwavering, unreadable.

she grips the flashlight tighter.

they look scared. but not fully.

but something in her gut twists.

because it doesn’t make sense.

her grandparents had locked them in here. that much was obvious.

but why?

and if they were truly just scared, just victims, then why did the air feel so thick with something she couldn't name?

why did their golden eyes gleam too much in the dark?

"please," the soft voice comes again, breaking through her thoughts. "we don’t want trouble."

it comes from the farthest cage, the hybrid curled against the bars, his hazel eyes wide, flickering with something fragile, something aching. his wispy silver-brown hair falls in soft waves around his face, his delicate ears twitching, tail swaying in slow, rhythmic motions behind him.

"are you here to help us?"

myah hesitates.

her pulse thunders in her ears.

"i—" she starts, then stops. because is she?

"we’ve been here for so long," the clouded leopard hybrid murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "we don’t even know how long it’s been."

her chest tightens.

the plea in his voice feels real.

but chae-eun isn't buying it.

"myah," she murmurs, voice low, sharp. "this isn't right."

myah swallows. "they’re locked up, chae-eun."

"and why do you think that is?" chae-eun hisses, taking a step closer, keeping her voice low. "you know your grandparents myah, do you really they just threw them in here for no reason?"

the words sting.

because no, myah doesn’t trust her grandparents. not anymore.

but something doesn’t add up.

her flashlight shifts again,

and that’s when she notices the scars.

not deep, not fresh, but there.

along the lion hybrid’s arms, faint and barely visible against his warm, tawny skin. a slash across the leopard’s hybrid’s collarbone. claw marks raked along the black panther’s ribs.

her stomach turns.

"who did this to you?" myah asks, voice tight, her grip on the flashlight unsteady.

a pause.

the silver haired hybrid’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing through his hazel eyes before he finally speaks.

"the man who put us here."

the words settle like ice in her spine.

"the man who—" she swallows hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, dots being connected.

no one says responds immediately, but the lion hybrid, broad, golden, imposing even in confinement, lifts his head just enough to meet her gaze.

his amber eyes flicker.

he doesn’t nod. doesn’t confirm.

but he doesn’t deny it either.

myah’s stomach twists.

the silence is enough.

"myah," chae-eun mutters, sharp and urgent. "we need to go." but myah can’t move. because this, this is real. this isn’t just a locked door. this isn’t just another one of her family’s secrets. her grandfather did this.

"how long have you been down here?" she whispers.

"too long."

her chest tightens.

she turns to chae-eun, her breath shallow. "we have to get them out."

"myah," chae-eun hisses, "we don’t even know what they are."

"they’re hybrids," myah snaps back. "they’re prisoners."

"and they were kept here for a reason," chae-eun argues, eyes sharp, voice low. "your grandfather wouldn’t have kept them down here without one."

myah wants to fight her on that.

but she can’t.

because she doesn’t know if chae-eun is wrong.

but she does know one thing.

"we’re not leaving yet," she says firmly. "not until I understand what happened here."

chae-eun exhales sharply, muttering a curse under her breath, but she doesn’t argue further.

instead, she moves toward the shelves, scanning the walls for something, anything that could explain why this place exists. behind the bars however the hybrids stay still.

watching.

waiting.

and myah swears,

just for a moment,

she sees the panther smirk.

as she turns back toward the cages, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. her fingers twitch at her sides, the weight of their gazes pressing into her like something tangible.

she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.

but she can’t walk away.

"why did he keep you here?" she asks, voice steadier than she feels. "why not just… get rid of you?"

the lion hybrid’s ears twitch, his thick tail flicking once behind him. he’s watching her closely, those deep amber eyes calculating, slow and deliberate.

but it’s the tiger hybrid who finally speaks.

"maybe he liked having pets," he murmurs, voice smooth as silk, golden-amber eyes gleaming in the dark. "or maybe he just liked knowing we couldn’t leave."

the way he says it sends a shiver down her spine.

"how long has it been?" another hybrid hums, tilting his head. "do you know what year it is?”

"of course i do," myah mutters. "it’s—"

she stops. because the way he’s looking at her,

the way the tiger hybrid shifts slightly beside him, the cheetah’s ears flicking, and the jaguars rolling his shoulders like they’re all waiting for something,

her stomach twists.

"you don’t know," she breathes.

none of them confirm it.

but none of them deny it, either.

chaos crashes through her thoughts, her grip on her phone tightening.

"we need to get them food," she says suddenly, turning to chae-eun. "they’re hybrids, not machines. if they’ve been trapped down here—"

"absolutely not," chae-eun snaps. "no way in hell am I leaving you down here alone with them."

"i’ll be fine," myah insists. "just check the fridge—"

"no." chae-eun’s voice is sharp, her jaw tight. "myah, listen to me. we don’t know what they’re capable of. we don’t know anything about them. i’m not leaving you down here like some kind of—"

"bait?"

the voice is too smooth, slipping through the air like a knife.

both of them freeze.

the raven haired hybrid is watching them with lazy amusement, his sleek tail curling around his wrist, golden-amber eyes half-lidded.

"if it makes you feel better," he purrs, "we can promise not to eat her while you’re gone."

chaos erupts.

"nope," chae-eun snaps, grabbing myah’s wrist. "we’re leaving. now."

but myah digs her heels in. "they’re starving, chae-eun."

"and we are not their goddamn saviors," chae-eun hisses. "whatever your grandfather did, it’s not our problem to fix—"

"so you’d just leave them here?" myah cuts in, her voice rising. "leave them to rot?"

"they’re still alive," chae-eun points out. "which means they’ve survived this long without our help. we can’t do this on our own."

silence stretches between them, thick and tense.

behind the bars, the hybrids watch.

assessing. waiting.

"fine," myah mutters. "then we’ll both go."

chae-eun’s eyes flick toward the cages one last time before she exhales sharply. "fine."

she doesn’t look at them as they turn toward the stairs.

but myah can feel their eyes on her.

heavy.

lingering.

like they already know,

she’s coming back.

chae-eun’s car is as neat as she is. clean, organized, everything tucked away exactly where it should be.

except for the backseat.

myah stares at the mess of medical supplies crammed into the space behind them. bandages, antiseptic wipes, surgical scissors still in their sterile packaging. a neatly packed emergency trauma kit sits half-zipped on the floor, a few vials of painkillers barely peeking out. the interior smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and lemon-scented wipes. it should feel sterile. safe.

but now it just feels clinical. like a place built to respond to the aftermath of violence.

it’s not the first time she’s noticed it. she’s ridden in chae-eun’s car more times than she can count. on grocery runs, late-night drives to clear their heads, weekend trips to nowhere in particular. she’s seen the supplies. but she’s never really seen them.

this time, after everything that just happened in the basement, it feels different.

“you never told me how bad it got,” myah says, voice quieter than before, eyes still fixed on the mess of gauze and blood-stained tape peeking from beneath a box of gloves.

chae-eun doesn’t look at her as she starts the car. “i didn’t think i needed to.”

the engine hums low as they pull out of the driveway, the headlights casting long, pale streaks across the empty street. her hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles white. the kind of white that comes from trying not to let your hands shake.

myah shifts slightly in her seat, unsettled by the silence, by the weight of what they’d just seen. the hybrids. the cages. the way one of them, unshifted, bleeding had flinched when chae-eun so much as moved.

“you work with hybrids,” she says finally, almost accusingly. “why are you so—”

“those hybrids aren’t the same.”

the words land like a slap. sharp. cold. not cruel, but close.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, gaze flicking to the rearview mirror before settling back on the road. the city lights are beginning to blur past them, red and blue and green glowing against the windshield like reflections from a dream.

“i work in sector four,” she continues, voice clipped, tightly measured. “mostly human and female hybrids. the ones who get hurt the most. the ones who end up on my table covered in bruises, missing teeth, stitched up from some feral hybrid attack or worse.”

myah swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. she’s heard stories. seen the news reports that play like clockwork every time a hybrid-related crime occurs. not all hybrids are victims. not all of them want help. some of them hunt.

some of them kill.

and chae-eun has seen the worst of it.

“you think they’re different because they looked at you like that,” chae-eun says quietly, her voice flattening into something tired, something brittle. “but scared doesn’t mean safe. it just means desperate. and desperation makes things dangerous.”

myah doesn’t respond. her stomach is twisted too tightly, thoughts tangled too thickly.

the silence stretches between them, thick with everything they’re not saying.

and then chae-eun adds, more quietly this time, almost like she’s afraid to say it out loud: “your grandparents died in a hybrid attack.”

myah turns sharply, staring at her. “what?”

“the reports, they said they were mauled. claws, bite marks. there were signs of struggle all over the kitchen. your grandfather had a shotgun. it didn’t help.”

the blood drains from myah’s face. she feels it leave her fingertips, cold creeping up her spine.

“and in that basement?” chae-eun’s voice is quieter now. measured. grim. “there are seven hybrids in eight cages.”

myah’s breath catches.

“you do the math.”

a cold sweat breaks across her back. she grips the edge of her seat, the world tilting slightly, the basement reassembling itself in her mind, seven sets of eyes, seven shadows behind bars. but she hadn’t counted the cages. hadn’t even thought to.

what if one had gotten out? what if that’s how they died?

what if it’s still out there?

“and you want to help them,” chae-eun continues, voice low, almost pained. “you want to free them. play savior. what if the one that escaped is the one that killed your family? what if the others knew and didn’t stop it?”

myah’s hands tremble. her chest aches.

but her mind,

her mind flashes again with soft eyes and silver hair, the gentle tilt of his head, the way he’d spoken to her like he saw her.

she should be running from this. from all of it.

but she can’t.

because something about him, about them, won’t let her go.

“so forgive me,” chae-eun says tightly, “if i’m not exactly in the mood to play savior to seven unregistered hybrids your grandfather locked in his basement.”

the car goes quiet.

outside, the neon of the city pulses like a heartbeat, flickering in the windows—restaurants, strip malls, pawn shops, each glowing with artificial warmth. it doesn’t reach her. nothing does.

myah turns back toward the windshield, her reflection faint in the glass. she stares through it, but she doesn’t really see.

because all she can think about is  the soft voice that asked her to come back. the way he’d looked at her like she was something safe. Something he knew.

and that’s the part that scares her most.

chae-eun exhales sharply, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the sound too fast, too tight. “and what exactly are we supposed to tell jisun when we get back?”

myah drags a hand down her face, the weight of the night starting to catch up to her. her head aches, tight and persistent like her thoughts. “i don’t know. that we went out for a drive?”

chae-eun lets out a humorless snort. “right. because that’s gonna fly. we both probably still reek of that place.”

myah goes still.

the basement.

she can feel it clinging to her now that chae-eun’s said it, the stale scent of dust and rust, old blood and sweat and something sharper beneath it all. something animal.

and not just that.

them.

the scent of fear. of power barely restrained. of too many eyes watching her through bars like they already knew her bones.

“i’ll shower before she gets too close,” she mutters.

chae-eun’s jaw ticks. “you could shower in bleach and she’d still know. myah, she’s obsessed with you.”

“she’s not—”

“don’t even try.” chae-eun cuts in, voice flat. “you know exactly what she’s like. the moment you walk through that door with a weird look on your face and half a story, she’s gonna dig.”

myah doesn’t deny it.

she can’t.

because jisun is smart. terrifyingly so. and worse, she’s protective. of myah, specifically. her moods turn fast. sweet like sugar one second, sharp like a snapped snare the next. and if she so much as suspects that myah’s hiding something,

"then we don’t give her anything to suspect,” myah says finally, her voice low. “we keep it surface. vague. just enough to make sense.”

“so we lie.” chae-eun doesn’t say it like a question. more like a dare.

myah glances out the window. the city’s creeping closer now, closer than she wants it to be. neon signs blinking against the dark like slow, mechanical winks. streetlights bending through the windshield, casting soft gold over the dash.

“we don’t tell her about the basement,” she says after a long pause. “not yet.”

“not ever,” chae-eun mutters, hands tightening around the wheel again. “jesus, myah, do you know what she’d do if she found out? she’d drag you out of bed, chain you to the damn radiator, and torch the house herself.”

the image is uncomfortably believable.

they both fall quiet for a beat, the air in the car growing thicker by the second.

“so,” myah says finally, voice barely above a whisper, “we agree, then. we figure it out.”

it’s not a real plan. it’s a compromise born out of exhaustion and panic and a shared instinct not to poke the sleeping bear that is jisun. it’s flimsy. reckless.

but it’s all they have.

“yeah,” chae-eun says after a long moment, the word more like an exhale than a commitment. “we figure it out.”

neither of them says anything else for a while. the car hums forward down the quiet road, the lights growing closer, brighter, sharper. they’re almost back now.

and myah can feel it in her chest—that tight pull, that creeping dread curling around her ribs. the apartment is safe. normal. filled with warmth and noise and the scent of jasmine tea. the kind of place that’s supposed to ground her.

but tonight, it feels too far away.

because the only thing she can hear, beneath the rumble of the tires, beneath the rush of blood in her ears, is that soft voice echoing in her head.

“thank you for not giving up on us”

and she knows, she’s not going to.

no matter what it costs.

they don’t speak again until chae-eun’s pulling into the lot.

the hum of the car engine fills the silence, low and steady, but it’s not enough to drown out the noise in myah’s head.

she watches the familiar curve of the building come into view—the warm orange glow of the hallway lights in their apartment complex, the too-small parking spots, the dented railing someone’s been complaining about fixing for months. it’s home. safe. normal.

and it feels so far away.

cha-eun shifts into park but doesn’t kill the engine.

her hands stay tight on the wheel.

“you’re already planning to go back, aren’t you.”

myah doesn’t answer.

not out of guilt, or because she’s trying to be clever, but because yes. she is. she’s been planning it since the moment she walked away. since she saw silver eyes in the dark and heard a voice that made something inside her sit up and listen.

cha-eun exhales through her nose, her knuckles pale. “of course you are.”

“i’m not going tonight,” myah says after a beat. she tries to keep her voice light. it doesn’t work. “besides, you’re working a double tomorrow. you need sleep.”

cha-eun’s head jerks toward her, sharp. “that’s your reason for waiting?”

myah doesn’t answer.

cha-eun exhales hard. “are you planning to go alone?”

“no,” myah says. and then, after a beat too long: “i’ll bring someone.”

“who?” she says, though she already knows.

“…kai.”

cha-eun stares at her for a second like she’s trying to figure out if she misheard before letting out a sharp, breathy sound that isn’t quite a laugh, too horrified for humor.

 “kai. okay. great.”

“he’s a hybrid,” myah says, starting to defend it, already hearing how weak it sounds.

“exactly,” chae-eun snaps. “and do you honestly think that makes him qualified?”

“he understands how things like this work—”

“no, he understands what it means to survive,” chae-eun cuts in, voice sharp. “and the second you drag him into that basement and he sees what’s waiting down there? he’s not going to help you, myah. he’s going to shut it down.”

myah’s mouth opens. then closes.

“you think he’s just going to stand there and smile while you get cozy with a bunch of unregistered, starved, male hybrids?” chae-eun’s voice keeps climbing. “you think he’s going to just let that panther keep looking at you like that?”

myah’s stomach twists.

“kai’s not like that,” she says, too quickly.

cha-eun slams her hand against the steering wheel, voice cracking. “kai would rip him apart. rip all of them apartthe second he felt you were being threatened. and it won’t matter if you don’t feel threatened, because he will.”

the car is thick with silence again. this time heavier. uglier.

“he’s not going to let you go back,” chae-eun says finally, quieter now. “not once he knows what’s actually going on. not once he sees what they want.”

myah looks away, but that hits. hard.

because she knows what it looked like.

and she knows what it would look like to kai.

and he wouldn’t understand, not the way she needs him to. not without exploding. not without violence.

“then what,” myah says, voice tight. “just call it in? let some half-interested social worker show up and ‘assess the risk’? let the hybrids get drugged and shoved in a van and carted off to some overrun shelter in the middle of nowhere?”

“yes,” chae-eun says, like it’s obvious. “that’s exactly what needs to happen.”

“you can’t be serious—”

“i am. dead serious.” she leans forward, eyes flashing. “you’re not trained for this. you don’t know what you’re doing. this isn’t your responsibility, myah. it never was. this is government-level, containment-level shit, and you dragging in another hybrid, especially one who’s already attached to you, isn’t going to make it better.”

that lands harder than anything else.

and it hurts, because part of her knows she’s right. she is. but still, something in myah recoils.

“i need to know what they were doing,” she says finally, voice low. “my grandparents. the house, the cages, all of it.” she shakes her head. “it doesn’t make sense. none of it fits. and nobody else is going to care enough to look.”

“you think you’ll find some neat little explanation down there?” chae-eun snaps. “a confession letter taped to the underside of the freezer? myah, you could dig for months and still end up with more questions than answers.”

“maybe,” myah admits, “but at least i’d know i tried. i can’t pretend it didn’t happen. that basement is real. they’re real. and if it’s connected to my family, then i need to understand how.”

cha-eun exhales, eyes dropping to the dash.

“i’m not saying forget it,” she says, softer now. “i’m saying let it go before it swallows you.”

myah swallows hard.

and for a second, she almost says okay.

almost.

but when she closes her eyes, she still sees the silver-haired one, how he’d looked at her like he knew something. like the answers she was chasing weren’t in the paperwork, or the lawyer’s files, or the old photographs in her grandparents’ bedroom.

they were down there.

in the silence.

in them.

and it’s reckless. she knows it’s reckless.

but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

“…i just need time,” she says quietly.

“you don’t have time,” chae-eun whispers back.

but neither of them says anything more after that.

neither of them move. not yet.

the hum of the engine is steady beneath them, but everything else is cracking. shifting. realigning into something neither of them asked for.

chae-eun finally leans forward and turns the key in the ignition.

the car goes silent.

myah had barely registered the motion of getting out of the car. her feet felt like they were dragging, her mind too clouded to focus on anything other than the feeling of dread that had settled deep in her chest. as they made their way inside, the building’s lobby seemed colder than usual, and the air hung heavy with the kind of stillness that always felt like something was about to break.

she had barely gotten her keys out when the door to the apartment swung open. there, standing in the doorway, was jisun, eyes wide with concern.

“where were you two?” she asked, her voice soft but demanding, like she knew something was wrong, like she could already feel the shift in myah’s energy.

myah hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug, trying to brush it off. “oh, we just went to grab a bite to eat,” she said, glancing at chae-eun for confirmation.

chae-eun nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “yeah, we went to that cute little restaurant my coworkers have been talking about. the one with the soft, fluffy pancakes.”

jisun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “you went to a restaurant in sector two?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. she sniffed the air once, then again, her nose twitching slightly as she processed the scent. her eyes narrowed. “you smell like... ferals,” she said, her voice quieter now, the concern creeping in.

chae-eun tilted her head. “ferals?” she echoed, glancing at myah with a raised brow.

“yeah,” jisun said, her gaze sharpening as she studied myah. “ferals... or someone’s trying to mark you.” she sniffed again, her posture becoming tense. “why the hell were you in that sector anyway? I get you were hungry but there’s a mcdonalds is down the street. you know how dangerous it gets this late.”

“someone marked us?!” chae-eun exclaimed, worry laced in her tone, her eyes darting between myah and jisun. “we didn’t—”

“no, not you,” jisun cut in, taking another deep sniff, her nose circling back to myah with an almost predatory precision. her eyes sharpened as she focused entirely on myah. “just her.”

myah’s stomach dropped at the implication. her chest tightened as jisun’s words settled in the air like a weight. she swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “marked me? what does that even mean?”

jisun’s expression darkened, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “it means someone or something has claimed you, myah. not necessarily in the way you might think, but,” her voice trailed off as she looked myah up and down, her sharp eyes never leaving her. “this scent, this… feeling, it’s not a coincidence. and it’s not good.”

chae-eun shifted nervously beside her, crossing her arms tighter. “but how? how could anyone just claim her? what does it mean?”

“i don’t know,” jisun admitted quietly, her voice softer now, a flicker of concern breaking through the cool edge. “but it’s not something you want to mess with. you’re in danger now. and it’s worse the later it gets. someone’s definitely watching you.”

myah’s heart raced, her breath catching in her chest. “so what should we do? what now?”

“now,” jisun began, her gaze lingering on myah as she stepped closer, lowering her voice, “you stay close to home. you stay away from sector two. don’t go out alone. and if you feel anything off, anything at all, anything, you call one of us, or even that stupid fox, no questions. got it?”

myah nodded quickly, the weight of jisun’s warning settling heavily in her bones. the air around her felt thick with something more dangerous than she had realized, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it. everything felt too uncertain now.

“we’ll stick together,” chae-eun added, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern. “no more risky moves. we’ll figure this out.”

jisun’s expression softened, but her eyes still held a trace of that intensity, as if she wasn’t fully convinced it was safe. “yeah, well. don’t get complacent. that’s how people end up disappearing.”

myah felt her skin prickle at the word. disappearing. it echoed in her mind like a whisper.

"we'll be careful," she said, though her voice felt small against the heaviness in the room.

the warning was clear, stay away from that house, that basement. yet myah knew tomorrow she would be back.

the morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting a pale glow across the room. myah blinked awake, the gentle warmth of her bed pulling her into a moment of peace before the reality of the day ahead sank in. for a split second, she let herself sink deeper into the mattress, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound in the quiet apartment. it felt like a different world, a world where she could just stay here and forget. but that wasn’t her life anymore.

she shifted in bed, rubbing her eyes and groaning quietly. the bed beside her was empty, the sheets crumpled from when jisun had left for her early class. myah had barely noticed when she’d gotten up, the soft sound of her roommate’s footsteps and the creak of the door the only clues. jisun had always been considerate about her early classes, never wanting to wake myah up. it was one of those little things she did that made myah appreciate her so much more.

she pushed the blankets off her body, sitting up slowly, her limbs heavy from the lack of sleep, though it wasn’t from exhaustion, it was the tension of the night before still weighing on her. her heart beat slower now, but the unease from the warning, from the knowledge of what she had to do, lingered like a shadow.

as she stood and moved toward the window, myah caught sight of chae-eun in the kitchen, her back to her as she prepared breakfast. the soft clink of the kettle being set down, the smell of something rich and warm in the air. it felt oddly comforting. something familiar amidst everything else that had gone wrong.

“morning,” myah mumbled, rubbing at her eyes again, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

chae-eun turned with a soft smile, a cup of tea in her hand. “good morning. how’d you sleep?”

myah sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she walked over to the counter. “like crap,” she admitted, settling into the chair, her gaze flickering to chae-eun. “just can’t shake the feeling of... everything.”

“yeah,” chae-eun murmured, setting the cup down before her, her eyes softening as she studied myah. “it’s been a rough night. did you talk to jisun?”

myah shook her head, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. “she had an early class, didn’t want to wake me up.” she sighed again, this time louder. “i didn’t even want to wake up myself. it’s just one of those mornings.”

cha-eun nodded in understanding, but the way she looked at myah, that lingering thought on her mind. it was clear she wasn’t letting this go.

“you sure you’re okay?” cha-eun asked, her voice lighter but her eyes serious. “you don’t look like it.”

myah gave her a tired smile, but it was thin, strained. “i’ll be fine. just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

the moment hung between them for a beat, and cha-eun didn’t press. instead, she moved toward the stove, fiddling with the pots. “well, if you want to talk, i’m here. just don’t bottle it up, okay?”

myah gave a slight nod, watching her in silence as the air shifted, becoming thicker with the weight of their unspoken thoughts. cha-eun, always the one who saw the smallest details, could tell something was off, something deeper. and myah knew the next question was coming. she braced herself, trying to steel herself for the inevitable.

but when it came, it wasn’t gentle.

“you can’t seriously think about going back, right?” cha-eun’s voice was low, but sharp enough to cut through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she turned to face myah, the concern evident on her face. “especially after what jisun said? they claimed you, myah. claimed you. marked you.”

myah’s breath hitched, the word “claimed” hanging in the air, ringing in her ears like a warning bell. her heart skipped a beat, but she pushed it away. “i don’t have a choice, chae-eun,” she said quietly, her voice a little too steady. “i have to go back. i need answers. i need to understand what’s going on.”

“but—” cha-eun stepped closer, her face softening, her hands placed flat against the counter as if grounding herself. “you’re not thinking straight. you don’t know what’s out there, what’s waiting for you. What if jisun’s right, what if they’re not just marking you. they’re hunting you.”

myah opened her mouth to argue, but the words felt too heavy in her throat. cha-eun was right. she wasn’t thinking straight. but she couldn’t back down now. she had to know what happened, what her grandparents were involved in, what she had inherited by stepping into that house. something had happened there, and she wasn’t going to back away from it, no matter how many warnings or how much fear clawed at her chest.

“i don’t care,” myah finally said, her voice firm despite the cold dread spreading through her veins. “i have to go. i’ll figure it out. i just... i can’t leave it hanging over me.”

chae-eun watched her for a long moment, her lips pressing together in a tight line. she exhaled sharply, almost as if giving up, but then the words came, filled with that quiet edge of concern.

“okay, fine,” she said, her voice low. “but you’re going to need more backup than kai. you’re going to need... more.”

“more?” myah echoed, raising an eyebrow. “more backup? what do you mean?”

cha-eun leaned against the counter, her gaze shifting from myah’s face to the window, where the early morning light cast long shadows across the street. “call the police, myah. get professionals involved. you don’t know what’s out there. you’re not just going to walk in there and walk back out. and kai’s not enough. if something happens, you need to be prepared.”

myah swallowed, the weight of cha-eun’s words sinking deep into her chest. she hadn’t thought about it that way. she’d been so focused on going back, on finding out what was really going on, that she hadn’t considered how unprepared she really was. what if something happened? what if they were waiting for her?

“you’re right,” myah murmured, her voice quieter now, weighed down by the growing realization that she couldn’t do this alone. “i’ll call a hybrid service office. one that’s ethical and figure out what to do from there.”

“good,” cha-eun said, her voice softening as she reached over and squeezed myah’s shoulder. “this isn’t your responsibility. your grandparents might have fucked up, but you shouldn’t carry this burden alone.”

myah nodded, her chest tight with the unspoken promise. they would face it together. she didn’t know what was coming, but she wasn’t walking into it blind anymore.

the tension in the room began to lift slightly, the quiet comfort of their usual dynamic slowly returning as cha-eun began to gather her things to head out for work. myah remained seated for a moment, lost in thought. she could still feel the weight of the decision ahead of her, the uncertainty hanging like a cloud over her head. but for the first time that morning, she felt like she wasn’t carrying it alone.

“you’ll be okay,” cha-eun said, her voice light, though there was still concern in her eyes. “just remember to reach out if you need anything. me, the police... call whoever you have to.”

“i will,” myah promised, a small but genuine smile pulling at her lips. “thanks.”

with a nod, cha-eun picked up her bag and headed toward the door. “you’re stronger than you think,” she said over her shoulder, her words lingering in the air. “don’t forget that.”

and with that, she was gone, leaving myah alone in the quiet apartment once more. but the stillness felt different now. not so heavy. not so uncertain.

myah stood up, straightening her clothes, taking a deep breath.

she wasn’t going to back down, no matter how much she wished she could. chae-eun had been right, she needed more help, more backup. but who could she rely on?

her only family just died and everyone else was too far away or busy. school, work, their own lives. they wouldn’t be able to help, let alone understand the gravity of the situation.

and the police?

hybrid services?

the thought made her chest tighten.

her heart ached with something she couldn’t quite name. not guilt exactly, not fear either, something sharper. something heavier. like grief, but still forming. a knot of determination that hadn’t quite settled yet, tangled with something raw and restless and aching to make sense of all of it.

the truth was, if she called it in, if she let hybrid services come in and "handle" it, it would be the end.

they’d be torn from that basement, sedated, evaluated, assigned numbers, and locked away again. not for weeks.

forever.

because most of those hybrids, especially the predatory ones, would never make it out of a shelter once they were placed in one.

not the adults.

not the ones like them.

they were labeled too dangerous. unadoptable. unpredictable. too violent for re-entry into the workforce, too scarred for family placement. society had long since decided they were problems to be managed, not people to be saved.

and once they were in the system, that was it.

they'd disappear.

just like so many others.

but myah had seen them. not just down there in that cold, rotting basement, but years ago, back in high school, volunteering at a hybrid recovery center during summer break. she remembered the ones with hollow eyes and clipped ears, the ones who flinched at sudden movements and kept their heads down.

but she also remembered the way they moved when they thought no one was watching, silent, graceful, brilliant. she remembered the quiet strength in their bodies, the soft, unguarded moments when their masks slipped.

the kind of resilience no government file could capture.

no one ever looked long enough to see that part.

but myah had.

and now, she was seeing it again.

only this time, it wasn’t behind plexiglass and safety protocols, it was behind rusted iron, in the glow of a single swinging lightbulb, with eyes that watched her like she mattered.

and him.

the silver-haired one.

he haunted her thoughts more than the rest. not because he was the most beautiful, though he was, but because there was something in his voice when he spoke to her. something she couldn’t forget.

something human.

no judgment. no bitterness. just…

quiet gratitude.

warmth.

trust.

as if he already knew she wouldn’t leave him there.

as if he’d been waiting for her.

it made her chest hurt. made her wonder what he knew.

what he’d seen.

and that was the other thing, the part she hadn’t said out loud yet, not even to chae-eun.

they were the key to understanding everything.

the whispers sealed in her grandfather’s safe. the secret side of her family she never knew existed. who they really were. what they’d done.

there was a rot at the center of it all, and the only place she’d ever felt close to it was in that basement.

standing in front of those cages.

staring into those eyes.

no one deserves to be locked away.

not forever.

and that was why she couldn’t let it go.

even if it meant risking everything.

even if it meant lying to her friends.

even if it meant stepping straight into something she might not walk out of.

she wasn’t going to let them vanish into the system like they were nothing. she wasn’t going to let her life be defined by silence, by ignorance, by the same kind of cage her family had apparently helped build.

if she was going to get answers,

if she was going to help them,

if she was ever going to understand what the hell her grandparents had really been involved in,

then she had to start by going back.

even if every part of her said she shouldn’t.

even if it already felt too late.

she had to face it.

she shook off the lingering doubt and made her way to the door, grabbing her keys from the hook by the entrance. she stepped out into the hallway, the familiar scent of the building’s damp concrete filling her lungs, but it did nothing to ease the unease crawling up her spine.

the city was alive around her, bustling with the usual chaos, but she felt completely disconnected from it all. she moved quickly, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, the questions of whether she was making a mistake.

as she made her way to the train station, the streets felt emptier than usual, the buildings casting long, looming shadows over the sidewalks. the rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick and reflective, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the whole city was holding its breath.

her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked, the familiar route to the house feeling foreign under her feet. she glanced around, half-expecting someone to be following her, but there was no one.

just the hum of the city, the occasional car speeding by, the echo of her own footsteps.

when she arrived finally at the house, it seemed even more intimidating in the daylight. it loomed before her, quiet and brooding, as if it had been waiting for her return. myah paused at the gate, her heart thudding in her chest.

the house hadn’t changed, its faded, weather beaten exterior, the overgrown ivy clinging to the walls, the windows dark and lifeless. everything about it screamed abandonment. and yet, it was calling to her. pulling her back. demanding that she come inside.

with a deep breath, she pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges creaking in protest. the sound echoed through the stillness, making her flinch. she moved up the cracked stone steps, each one heavy under her feet, until she reached the door. she paused there for a moment, hand resting on the handle.

do i really want to do this?

 the thought hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t flinch this time. she couldn’t afford to. she had already made the choice.

she turned the handle and stepped inside.

the air was the same as yesterday, thick with dust. the old house holding its breath, as though waiting for her to make her move.

the floor creaked beneath her feet, the familiar scent of must and aged wood filling her lungs. the hallway stretched ahead, dark and silent, the faded wallpaper peeling in some places, revealing the skeleton of the house beneath. everything looked the same as it had when she left. and yet, it felt different. darker.

she made her way through the house, the silence pressing in around her as she moved towards the hatch to the basement. the steps leading down felt narrower than before, the air getting colder as she descended. her heart pounded louder now, the anticipation building in her chest with every step. she wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

when she reached the bottom, the basement stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering light bulb that cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. the cages were still there, stacked in rows against the walls. and there they were.

the hybrids.

the ones she had met just yesterday.

the ones whose eyes she could never forget.

the silence was suffocating. they didn’t make a sound. they just watched her. their eyes, so full of life and longing, fixed on her, waiting. expecting.

one of the hybrids, the lion, shifted slowly inside his cage, the bars groaning faintly as he leaned into them.

his movements were deliberate, graceful in a way that spoke of restrained strength. golden eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto hers, holding her captive in their intensity. the rounded ears atop his head flicked just slightly, attentive to every tiny sound she made, and his thick tail curled languidly behind him, swishing in silent contemplation.

“you came back,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration that seemed to ripple through the darkness, touching places within her she didn't fully understand. it carried a heaviness, something hidden beneath layers of calm control.

myah froze in place, her heart hammering against her ribs. his words echoed through the basement, hanging in the air between them, charged with meaning she couldn't decipher. she didn't know if she felt relief or fear, or some intoxicating mixture of both, but there was no turning back now.

“i had to,” she whispered back, voice barely audible, trembling slightly beneath the intensity of his stare. “i’m not leaving you here.”

he remained motionless for a heartbeat longer, gaze unyielding, a flicker of something unreadable.

something darkly possessive passing through those golden eyes.

his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, subtle enough to almost seem imagined, but unmistakably there. her breath caught as the realization settled heavily into her bones.

the silence stretched between them, deeper and more charged now, until it felt as though the room itself were waiting, holding its breath.

and in that quiet, myah sensed something else begin to take shape, something dangerous, enticing, and far beyond her control.

the silence lingered, dense and heavy, pressing in around her until myah felt like she could barely breathe. she let her eyes drift away from the golden-haired hybrid in front of her, shifting instead toward the others trapped in their cages.

they watched her carefully.

silently.

their eyes, so piercing and full of guarded curiosity, seemed to catch the faint, dim lighting in the basement, each gaze following her movements with a predatory focus she tried desperately to ignore.

she swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painfully tight, before realization suddenly flooded her chest. her heart twisted sharply as she took in the hollowed look to their faces, the subtle way their ribs pressed sharply against skin.

god, when was the last time they had eaten?

"oh my god," she whispered, voice breaking slightly, guilt stabbing sharply in her chest. "you all must be starving."

the golden eyed hybrid’s gaze softened, something almost amused flickering behind the predatory calm in his eyes. he tilted his head slightly, studying her carefully, his long tail flicking lazily behind him.

From across the room another hybrid, with midnight dark hair spoke up,

"you care," he drawled slowly, voice deep and smooth like honey, though an edge lingered beneath the surface, subtle and dangerous. "how interesting."

myah’s cheeks heated at the weight behind his words, but she forced herself to stay steady, stepping a little closer despite the warning bells going off in her mind. she ignored them, shaking off her hesitation. she had to help. she couldn't turn her back, not now.

"of course i care," she replied, voice stronger now, her chin lifting slightly with defiance. "no one deserves this. i won’t leave you hungry."

from one of the cages behind her came a quiet chuckle, a low, husky sound that sent shivers down her spine. turning sharply, she caught sight of another hybrid in the shadows, his silvery-white hair glowing softly even in the dimness, eyes glittering like shards of ice as he regarded her from behind the rusted bars.

"brave little human," he murmured softly, tone playful but dangerously sharp around the edges, "you have no idea what hunger really means."

myah tried not to let his words unsettle her further, tried not to let his icy stare cut beneath her skin. instead, she focused again on the lion hybrid, meeting his steady golden gaze head-on. "i’ll get food. just, wait here."

another amused sound drifted from the raven haired hybrid, his amber eyes peering at her from the darkness. his lips curved faintly into something sharp and unsettlingly knowing.

"we're not going anywhere," he drawled, voice silky but cold, dripping with quiet menace. "take your time."

myah took one last glance at their eyes, sharp, glowing, hungry, and turned quickly, racing back up the creaking basement stairs. her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she emerged into the stale air of the house, her mind spinning wildly.

food.

she had to find food. but what did they even eat?

hybrids, predators, they probably needed meat.

fresh meat.

her stomach turned uneasily at the thought, memories flickering through her mind of childhood visits spent here. her grandfather had hunted regularly, she remembered vividly.

yet, somehow, she’d never once seen a deer carcass or anything remotely like it inside the house.

no, there had never been any raw meat in the fridge. not even once. her grandparents had always kept their kitchen pristine and tidy, a place of warmth and home-cooked meals. there had never been anything bloody or raw tucked away.

so where had it all gone?

myah spun around slowly in the kitchen, pulse quickening as realization dawned on her.

the shed.

her grandfather’s old hunting shed. the little wooden shack that had always felt eerie and had been forbidden during her childhood.

it sat tucked back in the shadowed corner of the backyard, concealed by overgrown bushes and towering trees. she’d never been allowed near it as a child; her grandfather had always warned her away, claiming it was dangerous.

She always assumed it was because her grandparents didn’t want her to get ahold of her grandpa’s rifles and knifes, but now, she understood the true reason.

it must’ve been where he’d stored the meat, fresh from his hunts, hidden away from innocent eyes.

myah rushed out the back door, stepping quickly through the tall grass, the yard eerily quiet around her. the old shed loomed at the edge of the property, dark and weathered with age. ivy crept up its sides, tendrils gripping tightly onto rotting wood. it felt like something from a nightmare, shadowy and foreboding. but she pushed down the dread, forcing herself forward.

with a trembling hand, she grasped the rusty door handle, wrenching the creaking door open. the interior was dark, dusty, smelling strongly of leather, oil, and something sharp and metallic. the air inside felt colder than outside, raising goosebumps along her arms.

she fumbled for the old light switch beside the door, praying it still worked. after a tense moment, the dim bulb flickered to life, casting pale, sickly yellow light across the cluttered space.

her grandfather’s hunting gear lay scattered everywhere, rifles mounted on racks along the walls, knives and traps piled haphazardly on a workbench, old hunting boots lined up beside crates stacked high against one wall. but at the far end of the shed stood something else,

a large industrial freezer, humming quietly.

myah swallowed hard, stepping hesitantly toward it, her throat dry. her heart beat wildly in her chest as she placed her hand on the cold metal handle.

she’d come too far now to turn back.

with a firm tug, she opened the heavy door, a blast of freezing air rushing out to meet her, carrying with it the metallic scent of frozen blood. inside, neatly stacked on shelves, were wrapped cuts of raw meat, large and small. each package labeled meticulously in her grandfather’s neat, cursive handwriting.

deer.

elk.

rabbit.

even something labeled boar.

her stomach churned again at the sight, but relief flooded through her just as quickly. at least there was enough here to feed them. to ease some of their suffering.

carefully, myah pulled out several packages of meat, ignoring the sharp chill that bit at her fingers. she had no idea how much they’d need, but she grabbed enough that her arms strained under the weight. the freezer door slammed shut heavily behind her, echoing sharply in the quiet of the shed.

as she made her way back across the yard, she felt a prickling at the back of her neck, the creeping sensation of being watched. she glanced around quickly, but saw nothing.

just the still, empty yard, the trees looming silently. she shook her head, dismissing the feeling.

she had other things to worry about right now.

by the time she reached the hatch in the kitchen again, her heart was hammering so loudly she feared the hybrids would hear it. she steadied herself carefully, balancing the frozen packages awkwardly in her arms as she descended the steps, back into their cage lined darkness.

their eyes were waiting for her, glowing softly in the shadows, sharp and calculating. watching. hungry.

"i found something, i hope this helps," myah said quietly, steadying her voice as she lifted the heavy packages of frozen meat onto the worn wooden table. her pulse quickened under the weight of their gazes, each hybrid watching her with an intensity she stubbornly refused to show intimidated her.

The same hybrid stepped forward, his amber eyes narrowing slightly, glinting with predatory curiosity. his movements were smooth, deliberate, exuding a controlled menace barely contained behind rusted bars.

"oh, it helps," he purred softly, voice smooth and dangerously alluring, eyes never leaving her face. "you have no idea just how hungry we've been."

myah forced herself not to flinch under his stare, silently holding his gaze with quiet defiance. she wasn't going to let him see how easily he could rattle her. her composure was her armor, and right now, she needed every bit of it.

"interesting," the lion hybrid remarked softly, gaze steady and quietly evaluating. "you returned without your friend this time. was she too frightened to come back?"

myah paused slightly, she vividly remembered how tense chae-eun had been yesterday when they first discovered the hybrids; the way her friend's eyes widened at the creatures who'd seemed so fearful, so vulnerable in their cages. at that moment, they’d looked more frightened of them than the other way around.

myah couldn't help but wonder what had changed. were they simply hungry, exhausted, or was it something else?

"she thought it was better to stay behind," myah replied carefully, keeping her voice even. "after yesterday, i can't say i blame her."

from the cage closest to the stairs, another hybrid chuckled quietly, lounging with casual elegance against the bars. his deep brown curls drawing attention even in the shadowy basement, his tiger-like eyes playful and subtly teasing as he watched her reaction.

"shame," he drawled lightly, a lazy smirk curving his lips. "we barely got a chance to say hello."

myah raised an eyebrow slightly, managing a faint, wry smile despite the unease fluttering in her stomach.

"i think your idea of a greeting might be a bit different than ours," she replied dryly, masking her nerves beneath humor.

a quiet grunt slipped from the cage across from his, containing what looked to be a jaguar.

the hybrid was still shifted, however his gaze held a quiet amusement, silently studying her reaction with careful, thoughtful intensity.

the subtle tension shifted again when a gentler voice drew her attention, familiar, soft, and inexplicably comforting. her heart quickened slightly in recognition. this was the hybrid she’d spoken to through the door yesterday, the gentle voice that had quietly pleaded with her, easing her doubts.

the hybrid who had asked her to return, who she had been unable to forget about.

stepping slightly closer to his cage, she saw his delicate features more clearly, soft hazel eyes wide with sincerity beneath wispy silver hair.

"you shouldn't blame yourself," he murmured quietly, his gaze gentle, reassuring, yet tinged with subtle sadness. "we knew you'd come back. thank you for keeping your promise."

myah’s breath steadied subtly at his quiet sincerity, inexplicably comforted by his voice, his gentle expression. she couldn’t help but trust him, despite the uncertainty that still prickled at the edges of her mind.

"i just want to help," she said softly, earnestness slipping into her tone as she held his gaze briefly.

from the back again, the black-haired hybrid shifted slightly, regaining her attention effortlessly. his eyes narrowed subtly, golden gaze glittering with quiet amusement. "help," he echoed smoothly, voice dripping with subtle skepticism, yet somehow alluring in its challenge. "an interesting way to describe bringing raw meat to caged predators."

myah glanced at him, forcing herself not to react outwardly, though his words did send a small spike of anxiety through her chest. she knew there was truth in his statement, but she refused to let him control the moment. she held her composure steady, lifting her chin slightly.

"would you prefer vegetables instead?" she asked lightly, refusing to be baited further. "because i'm not sure rabbits were on the menu."

another soft laugh drifted from near the stairs again. the curly headed hybrid grinning wider now, openly amused by her retort. "see?" he murmured teasingly, eyes glinting with clear interest. "i knew she had claws."

the silver-haired hybrid, sensing the subtle tension rising again, spoke gently, quietly soothing the room once more. his voice was careful, gentle, subtly pleading for calm. "we're grateful for anything you can do," he assured her softly, hazel eyes earnest. "we just want freedom from this."

the quiet sincerity in his voice tugged deeply at her chest, melting some of the tension still clinging to her shoulders. despite everything, she felt drawn to trust him above all the others, instinctively believing the gentle sincerity he offered.

"i’m trying," she promised softly, sincerity clear in her tone. "i won't leave you stuck here."

silence briefly settled between them, and myah felt the weight of their collective stares again, heavier than before, each hybrid watching her carefully, some with amusement, some curiosity, others quiet calculation.

finally, she stepped back slightly, glancing around the basement thoughtfully, determination steadying her again despite the lingering uncertainty inside her chest. "alright," she said firmly, gaze flickering back to the silver-haired hybrid, quietly finding reassurance in his gentle, hopeful expression. "let's see if i can figure out how to get you out."

a charged silence followed her words, the air in the basement feeling suddenly heavy with cautious hope. myah drew in a slow breath, steadying herself as she glanced around again at the cages, searching for anything she might've missed before.

"do any of you remember how you got out last time?" she asked carefully, keeping her voice calm and gentle as she moved closer to the nearest cage, the one containing the lion. she kept her movements deliberate, careful not to startle or upset them.

he regarded her with quiet authority, eyes steady and watchful. after a brief moment, he shook his head slightly, the thick waves of his golden hair shifting softly against his shoulders.

"we've never been out of these cages," he replied evenly, his deep voice resonating softly in the quiet basement, laced with subtle yet firm certainty. "at least, not since we were put in them."

myah’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion, her heart giving a sharp, anxious twist. that didn't make sense. something wasn't adding up. "but, someone got out," she murmured, mostly to herself, recalling the reports of a hybrid attack, the police statements. her grandparents' fate. she swallowed hard, pushing down the sharp sting of grief. there was no time for that now.

the dark-haired hybrid with the intense amber eyes watched her closely, clearly noting her distress. his voice was soft, velvet-smooth, edged with quiet menace.

"perhaps someone’s not telling you the whole truth," he suggested quietly, his amber gaze narrowed and thoughtful, subtly unsettling in its quiet intensity.

she glanced sharply at him, feeling another small flicker of unease.

was he implying something about her grandparents?

about someone else entirely? she forced herself to shake the thought away, not ready to entertain those suspicions yet. not until she had more answers.

determined, she carefully checked the locks and hinges, examining each door for weakness. her fingers brushed against cold, rusted metal; the surfaces worn but still frustratingly secure. each latch held firm beneath her attempts. frustration began to gnaw at the edges of her composure, her pulse quickening anxiously with every fruitless test.

the curly headed hybrid leaning lazily against his bars tracked her with slow, interested eyes. his posture was relaxed, lounging like a cat sunbathing, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath it.

something watchful.

"you seem pretty determined," he drawled, his voice light with amusement, but the glint in his eyes wasn’t playful. "but i doubt you’ll get these open by hand. believe me, we’ve tried."

myah let out a quiet breath, running a hand through her hair, trying to mask the growing tension pressing in behind her ribs.

"there has to be another way," she muttered, stepping back to scan the room again. "they can’t have just locked you down here without some kind of system."

"oh, there’s a system," came a voice from the farthest cage, low and smooth like velvet over blades. "you’re just not the one they built it for."

she turned sharply. the one in the shadows hadn’t moved much, but his golden eyes glinted in the dim light, watching her with quiet calculation.

like he was waiting for this moment.

"what does that mean?" she asked slowly. "how did the eighth hybrid get out?"

a beat of silence.

the silver-haired one shifted where he sat, his eyes suddenly distant. he didn’t speak.

the one lounging by the stairs stilled too, his expression folding in just slightly, the casual edge softening into something unreadable.

"there was no eighth predator," the black-haired hybrid said finally. deliberate. calm. like it was a truth he’d held in his teeth too long. "that cage wasn’t for one of us."

myah stared at him. "then who was it for?"

"prey," another voice answered, quieter, softer from the left side of the room. "they kept them there overnight. until they were…taken."

"they never returned," said the deep voice in front of her, steady but heavy. "not ever."

her breath caught.

"you mean prey hybrids? like rabbits? deer?"

"among others," the dark headed hybrid said smoothly. he shifted just slightly in his cage, his golden eyes never leaving hers. "kept in that cage. fattened. frightened. sometimes sedated if they cried too much. usually just…quiet. they knew what was coming."

myah shook her head. no, that didn’t make sense. it didn’t fit. "but no. my grandfather didn’t do that. he,” she paused, sucking in a breath, “he hunted, yeah, but he wasn’t like that. he believed in clean kills, in ethical tags and permits and—"

"you think he was dragging whitetail out of the forest?" the hybrid tilted his head slightly, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. it wasn’t a smile. it was a warning. "those went extinct in this region before you could even walk."

her stomach dropped.

"there’s no wildlife left out there," the one with the golden hair said, his voice calm but edged. "you’d be lucky to find a squirrel. the ecosystems are gone. wiped out. pollution, over-harvesting, fires—take your pick. all the original prey species are either dead, relocated, or too protected to touch."

"but he had meat," she whispered as she slid to the ground. "the freezer, there was venison, rabbit, he said he hunted in the northern woodlands—"

"hybrids are the only remaining source," the hybrid’s voice quiet now. almost gentle. "the gene carriers. you want deer meat, you need a deer hybrid. they harvest from us. still do. just not out in the open."

her blood went cold.

"you’re lying," she said. but it came out wrong. weak. like she was asking.

the one sitting near the stairs scoffed, his eyes gleaming. "do we look like the liars in this story?"

she turned toward the table, staring at the empty meat packages, the ones she’d pulled out of the freezer herself. her stomach twisted violently. she’d brought that meat down here like a gift. like an offering.

"no," she whispered, voice cracking. "he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t feed people—"

"who said it was for people?" the black haired hybrid murmured, almost too low to hear. "some of it, sure. the best cuts went to buyers. the rest? maybe to the staff. maybe into his own freezer. maybe right back down here to us, to see what we'd do."

her hands curled into fists. the nausea burned in her throat.

she looked at the cage again. that cage, noticed its smaller size, the lack of locks to hold it shut. it had never been meant to hold someone like them.

it had been a pen. a prep table.

livestock containment.

"i didn’t know," she said. her voice shook. "i didn’t know any of this."

"you do now.”

the words weren’t cruel. they weren’t sharp or cutting.

they were just…

final.

and somehow that made it worse.

myah stood there, frozen, the truth settling around her like dust after a collapse. heavy. choking. inescapable. she could still feel the cold metal of the cage beneath her fingertips, the weight of the meat she had carried down, the flicker of pride she’d felt for thinking ahead. thinking she was helping.

but that meat had come from someone.

someone who had slept in that cage. breathed in this basement. cried out in the dark and gotten no answer.

someone who had never left.

and her grandfather had known.

not just known, he had organized it. built it. maintained it. made it look normal. made it look ethical.

and she’d never questioned it. not once.

"i grew up in that house," she murmured, not to any of them, not even to herself, but to the ghost of something that had once felt solid inside her. "i used to sit on the porch with him while he cleaned his arrows. i used to help him label the cuts. i thought…"

her voice broke. she blinked hard.

"you didn’t put us here," a voice said quietly.

she looked up.

he was sitting near the front of his cage now, close enough to reach the bars, close enough that she could see the way his pale lashes caught the light.

the silver haired one.

his fingers were loose around the rusted metal, not clutching, just resting. like he’d been waiting. like he wasn’t in a cage at all. just keeping her company.

"but you came back." his voice was soft, careful, like he knew her heart was still in pieces. like he didn’t want to step on the shards. "that has to mean something. doesn’t it?"

myah blinked at him.

there was no accusation in his face. no push. just that unbearable calm, that gentle gravity he carried, like he was built to be safe, even in a place like this.

and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

he made her want to believe in something again.

she stood slowly, brushing her palms off on her jeans. her legs ached, but she kept her gaze on him, watching him watch her.

he tilted his head, just slightly.

and smiled.

not wide. not teasing. just this soft little thing that tugged at her ribs.

“you have a name?” he asked, voice low and warm, like it didn’t matter if she answered or not, he’d remember the way she looked when she did.

“myah,” she said, after a moment. “it’s myah.”

his smile deepened, just a breath.

like he was tasting it.

like he already knew it would ruin him.

“myah,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, like it was a word worth savoring. “that’s a beautiful name.”

her stomach did something embarrassing.

something fluttery.

and then he leaned forward, just a little, just enough for the light to catch on the golden flecks in his eyes, and said, softer, almost conspiratorial, “you can call me jimin.”

like it was a secret. like it was just for her.

she stared at him for a beat too long, her lips parting slightly, caught between suspicion and the stupid, impossible urge to smile back.

“thank you jimin,” she said finally, voice quieter than she meant it to be.

“anytime,” he murmured, leaning dangerously close, like the rusted bars weren’t even there.

"excuse me, sweetheart," a voice drawled from somewhere off to her right. "but some of us would like to eat."

her head snapped toward the sound, heat crawling up her neck like she’d just been caught doing something she hadn’t meant to.

the one who’d spoken leaned lazily against the bars, grinning like he’d been watching the whole thing and was thoroughly entertained.

her stomach twisted. because the grin didn’t reach his eyes. and his gaze, sharp and golden, wasn’t just amused.

it was hungry.

she looked back at the table.

the meat was still sitting there, thawed now. bleeding slowly through its plastic.

but when she turned her gaze back to the hybrid watching her, there was something in his expression that made her feel like that wasn’t the dinner he meant.

she swallowed.

hard.

and the room suddenly felt just a little too warm.

a little too quiet. like the real hunger in here had nothing to do with the meat behind her.

authors note: hey... um i am so sorry about how long this took me to get out. idk why this story is so difficult for me to like what i write, but i hope you guys enjoyed it !! finals are coming up soon so it might be a sec for the next part but then it should be good. also i think every member has been mentioned now (two have been quiet in scenes with myah but i wont say who for rn) , but take your guesses as two whos what hybrid (i'm planning on making like a post just about whos what i'll link it here when i do!) thank you guys all for the support, ik this chapter was kinda boring, but i wanted to set up some relationship dynamics, idk if its just me but i personally hate when a story introduces characters but then leaves them super one dimensional so i used this chapter to kinda flesh out chae-eun as well as start exploring some of the grandparents backgrounds. thank you guys once again i hope you enjoyed it !!

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[lonerslug]

Zombieboy

chapter three: subject 09

ch 1 ch2 ch3 ch4

18+ only, men dni · Extreme gore · slow, aggressive smut · aftercare · blood · bodily fluids · trauma · experimental torture mentions · cyberpunk horror · semi-verbal zombie sex · possessive Sevika · cum inside · soldiers with high-tech gear · emotional intensity · PTSD themes · ambush · OC death · nonverbal communication · broken trust · imprinting. ZOMBIE!SEVIKA X READER

"Oh, I can't see straight And my hands are tied I could be your type From your zombie bite No, I can't see straight But the feeling's right I could be your type From your zombie bite" -Lady gaga, "Zombieboy"

You don’t sleep.

The words repeat in your skull like a drumbeat.

Come home, baby. We miss you.

You stare at the radio long after the signal dies, eyes burning, chest hollow. The warm body curled around you isn’t warm anymore...or maybe your blood’s just run cold.

Sevika doesn’t move. Just breathes.

You whisper her name. Once. Twice. Three times.

She won’t look at you.

You press a kiss to her hairline, then slowly peel yourself out of bed.

Your body aches. You’re still sore from her, hips bruised, thighs trembling, neck marked and bitten. The echo of her inside you hasn’t left, and you already miss it.

But you can’t think about that now.

You need answers.

So you find Rye's pack by the kitchen corner, right where he left it.

Blood soaked. Torn. Still zipped.

You brace yourself, then open it.

Inside:

A bottle of soju

Two half used rolls of gauze

A loaded pistol

One cracked data drive

And a folder. Sealed in plastic. Labeled: Z.09 PRIMARY ASSET

You freeze.

The folder’s damp with blood. You peel it open with shaking hands.

Inside are documents. Lab scans. Barcodes. Notes scribbled in red ink.

And then...

A photo.

Your knees give out. You sit right on the floor.

It’s Sevika. Strapped to a medical table. Wrists bound. A thick collar locked around her throat. Glowing tubes in her arms.

And her eyes?

They're the same as now.

Purple. Haunted.

SUBJECT 09: SEVIKA, Cognitive Degradation Trial “Stable mutations. Predictive violence. Host-body retention above 90%. Subject exhibits possessive traits and increased resilience in presence of stimulus: F2. Possibly bondable.”

Your name is underlined beside that last sentence.

You can’t breathe.

You hear her footsteps behind you.

When you turn, she’s staring at the photo in your hand.

She kneels. Takes it. Looks at it for a long time.

And she tears it in half.

You cry. You can’t help it.

She pulls you close.

And she holds you.

You sob into her chest, fists balled in her shirt. She doesn't speak, can’t, but she rocks you. Like she’s trying to fix it. Like she wishes she could.

“You were taken from me,” you whisper. “You didn’t just get sick. They made you like this.”

Her hand finds your cheek.

She kisses you. Deep, slow. Desperate.

Soft. Careful. Kisses so slow they make your skin ache.

Her scarred hands tremble slightly as they reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead.

Her eyes, purple but soft in this moment, search yours. She’s silent, the words won’t come. But she mouths something, slow and deliberate.

“Don't cry”

You smile, a fragile warmth breaking through the cold dread. You fucking love her.

You reach up and touch her cheek. Her skin is cold, but beneath it, you feel the barely restrained fire.

Her lips meet yours, gentle at first, featherlight kisses that make your skin crawl with anticipation. Her hands trace your jaw, then slide down your neck, fingers mapping every curve like she’s memorising you again.

You arch into her touch, breath hitching.

Her mouth moves to your collarbone, leaving soft, wet kisses, each one a promise.

Her hand drifts down to your breast, thumb brushing your nipple softly, drawing a small moan from your lips. You’re soaking already, needy, raw.

Sevika pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, searching. Her breathing quickens. She presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, then slowly crawls lower, dragging her rough hands over your ribs, your hips.

Her fingers tease the waistband of your pants. You tug at them, desperate for more skin contact.

She pauses, watching you with those wild eyes. then, suddenly, her hands grab your hips and she pulls you closer, pressing her wet mouth to your clit.

The world narrows to her tongue, slow and sure, licking the tender flesh, flicking just right. Your fingers tangle in her hair, tugging gently, wanting to hear her make sound, anything.

She moans, low and guttural, damn. a sound you didn’t think she was capable of. It vibrates through her throat and into your core.

Your breath stutters. Her tongue swirls and teases, every stroke a wave crashing over you.

You cry out her name, it’s the first real sound she’s heard from you in hours.

She looks up, eyes shining. The hunger is growing.

Her hands are suddenly firmer, gripping your hips damn tight. She pulls you down against her mouth harder.

You shudder, hips jerking instinctively.

Her mouth leaves you, only to press hard against your thighs, trailing sloppy kisses and nibbles.

Her hand grabs your wrists and pin them above your head. You’re at her mercy, and you love it.

Sevika mouths your name again, but this time, she’s desperate for you to talk back. She presses her two fingers into your mouth. a rough, commanding gesture. You gag softly, but the feel of her hands on your throat is intoxicating.

You suck and lick between her fingers. She doesn’t say words, but the fire in her eyes says everything: Talk. Make noise for me.

You obey, moaning, panting, letting your voice fill the bunker.

Her hands aren’t gentle anymore.

She removes her fingers from your mouth, and you let out a whine, she slaps your thighs, light at first, then harder. You whimper, biting your lip.

Her lips trail to your jawline, and she presses a hand over your mouth, muffling your breathy moans.

You try to speak, but only manage a broken gasp.

Her other hand finds your throat, not choking, but possessive, marking you.

She growls low, almost animalistic. her mouth crashes onto yours. rough, demanding, teeth scraping your bottom lip.

she pulls back, eyes blazing.

“Mine,” she mouths again, harder this time, almost a growl.

Your body is on fire, your legs are trembling. The ache between your thighs is nearly unbearable.

Sevika lines herself up against you, a long, thick swell pressed to your entrance. A different strap this time. thick, long and black.

Her hands grip your hips, holding you steady.

She pushes in slowly, every inch deliberate.

You gasp, arching your back off the mattress.

Her body molds to yours, her cock deep inside, stretching, filling you.

She moves with a slow, powerful rhythm. deep, slow thrusts that make you see stars.

her hands roam your body, one slipping between your breasts to cup and knead your aching nipples roughly.

You cry out, nails digging into her back.

Her pace picks up.

Thrusts grow harder, hips slamming into yours.

Her mouth finds your neck, biting, sucking bruises into your skin.

Her hand tightens on your throat again, not choking, but marking, possession.

She slaps your ass, hard.

You mewl, words coming broken and breathless.

She shoves two fingers into your mouth, muffling your cries.

Her other hand holds your jaw, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to meet her fierce gaze, bright purple.

She mouths your name again, a desperate plea for your voice.

You scream her name,

"S-sevikaaaaa!!"

Your body convulses around her cock.

You cum hard, clenching

Sevika groans deep in her throat and follows, pulsing inside you.

Her grip loosens on your throat and wrists.

She collapses beside you, breath ragged.

she pulls you close, arms around you. licking the tears off your cheek.

her hands soothe your burning skin, brushing hair from your face while you lie against her, trembling.

She hums softly, a sound you swear is her way of saying I love you.

_

Later, while you’re resting in her arms, you hear something outside.

Not zombies.

Not shuffling.

But the high-pitched hum of something mechanical.

You sit up.

Blue light spills in through the cracks in the bunker ceiling.

Then, a crash.

Sevika is on her feet immediately. Her eyes flash. She grabs your arm, yanks you back behind her.

The door is blown off its hinges.

They enter.

Soldiers.

But not like any you’ve seen before.

Sleek armour, black and chrome, hexagonal plating

Helmets with no eyes, just a strip of glowing orange glass

Their voices distorted, mechanical

Weapons: not guns, but dart launchers, shock rods, energy nets

“Visual on Target Z09.” “Hostile detected. Stimulus present.”

What the fuck is going on?!

They raise their weapons.

“Target is bonded. Use tranquilizers. Kill the human if necessary.”

You flinch. They fire.

Sevika loses it.

She leaps into the nearest one, snaps his neck, rips his mask off.

Blood sprays the wall.

You try to crawl away, grab your gun, but shit, your legs won’t work. Too sore. Too slow.

One grabs you, net thrown over your back. You fire twice. miss the first, second hits their shoulder. They fall.

Sevika sees it happen and goes feral.

“She’s UNSTABLE, we didn’t program this!” “She’s protecting her BOND. Terminate!”

One soldier gets her with a blue dart, she growls, yanks it out of her neck, and throws it back at him.

You try to crawl towards her, another grabs your ankle.

Sevika rips his head off.

Literally.

You’re screaming. There’s blood everywhere. The blue lights flicker with static.

Then a voice comes from one of the helmets.

“Z09… don’t do this.” “You know where you belong.”

Sevika turns. Eyes glowing.

“Come home, baby.”

She crushes the helmet under her boot.

_

The bunker is in ruins.

Blood all over the walls. Two of the bodies are still twitching, cords of thick wires tied around their waists.

You’re shaking.

Sevika walks to you. Picks you up.

You bury your face in her neck.

“They’re not gonna stop,” you whisper. “They’re gonna keep coming.”

She nods once.

Outside, the sky is turning red.

She holds you tighter.

Then, a new noise.

Another radio crackles. Not yours. One of theirs.

“Extraction failed. Z09 is rogue.” “Activate protocol: Reclaimer.” “Send Unit Twelve.”

Fuck. You are in for another ride.

_

something clicks in your head.

You get up. Limp to your bag. Pull out your cracked laptop and a half broken solar charger. It takes minutes to boot. You're praying the old Russian train systems are still semi automated. You click a website while Sevika pulls you to her lap, where she watches behind. her breath grazes your neck.

“Korea’s safer. I heard they locked down early… less infected. Better walls. Better chances.” You whisper it like a prayer, barely loud enough for her to hear.

You click 'buy tickets'.

Destination: Korea, Busan

You buy two tickets. Just enough money left from what you scavenged off Rye’s last trade.

Your hands are shaking as you pack:

A white tank top that sticks to your sweaty back

Grey sweatpants, bloodstained at the ankles

Two pistols and your old sniper, cleaned, loaded, glinting in the flickering light

Food: dried fruit, jerky, gum...

A small medkit, spare batteries, Rye’s corrupted data drive

You glance at Sevika. She’s already pulling on a jacket, black, torn, scorched at the collar. She slings her cleaver on her back.

You nod once.

"We're leaving," you whisper.

She follows.

_

The walk to the station is fast. Silent. You stay to the shadows.

Your boots crunch through cracked pavement and broken glass. Old bones litter the path. A melted stuffed bear lies in a pool of black sludge. A kid’s shoe, tiny. Untouched.

You get there just as the sun disappears behind a cloud of ash.

The station is half collapsed. The roof’s caved in, metal beams hanging like spider legs. The old platform flickers with emergency red lights, still pulsing in intervals. One bench remains upright. Blood smeared on the walls like someone tried to claw their way out. Lights flickering.

Luckily, the screen above the track still works,

TRAIN: 221 - ARRIVAL: 15 MINUTES

You exhale.

“Fifteen fucking minutes.”

Sevika crouches beside you in the dark, her body tense, head on a swivel.

Something stinks. More than usual. A thick copper scent that sticks to your throat.

Then you hear it.

A thump.

Not footsteps.

Pounding. Heavy.

Your stomach drops.

You don’t even have time to curse before the thing lurches out of the dark.

It’s massive. At least eight feet tall, stitched together from multiple corpses. Its muscles bulge unnaturally, seams popping. Its jaw swings loose, lower half missing, tongue hanging like a dead snake. Its back is covered in metal shards, someone tried to kill it... and failed.

And now it’s pissed.

“Holy shi-?”

It charges.

You barely roll to the side.

It backhands a metal beam in half, sending sparks flying. You duck behind a shattered ticket booth. Sevika steps forward like she’s bored.

It lunges for her.

She ducks, dodges, slips behind its back and shoves her blade through its spine. But it keeps going, roars in her face, bleeding black sludge.

You fire your pistol. once, twice. Hit its shoulder. It doesn’t care.

Sevika gets picked up, literally lifted, by the monster. It SLAMS her into the platform wall.

“Fuck!” you scream. “SEVIKA!”

She grunts, flips her body upward, wraps her legs around its neck, and twists.

The beast stumbles.

You reload. Your hands are slick with sweat.

“Come on, come on, come on...”

The thing hurls Sevika across the platform, she lands in a crouch, blood in her teeth, grinning..?

It charges again.

You steady your breath. Raise the sniper. One shot.

CRACK.

You hit it in the face, blows off half its skull.

That slows it.

Just enough.

Sevika dives, grabs a steel rod from the rubble, and drives it up through its mouth and out its skull.

It twitches once.

Then drops.

Blood floods the concrete. Thick, clotted, stinking.

You’re panting. Smeared in gore. Hands shaking.

Sevika walks over, chest heaving, one eye swollen. She holds out her hand.

You take it.

The train screeches into the station.

Still running. Still intact.

“oh my god,” you whisper.

The doors hiss open.

You limp inside. Sevika follows.

You collapse onto a seat. She crouches in front of you, hands on your knees, her eyes locked to yours.

The train door shuts.

A voice crackles from the speakers in korean.

“Destination set. Travel time: 18 hours. Remain seated.”

The train jerks forward.

It’s loud. Rattling. Echoing through the half empty cars like a ghost.

You sit down hard on the nearest seat, breath catching in your throat, hands still shaking from the fight.

Blood is drying on your knuckles. Your sweatpants are spattered with viscera.

And Sevika?

She doesn’t even hesitate.

She crouches down between your legs, quiet, like a shadow, and rests her head on your lap.

Her eyes close.

She breathes you in.

Not in that unhinged, ravenous way she sometimes does when she’s turned on or triggered. This is softer. Slower. Like your scent keeps her grounded. Like you’re the last piece of her old life she can still recognize.

You feel her exhale.

It’s shaky.

Her lashes are wet.

You run your fingers through her dark hair, tucking back the strands matted with gore. You lean down and kiss her forehead.

“We’re safe. Just a little longer, baby. I’ve got you.”

She doesn’t move.

But her arms slowly circle your waist. Tight. Protective.

The train keeps moving. A dim light flickers above you. Outside the window, it’s just forests and black sky, the world gone quiet.

↪️ reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @aelxnox @butchpuppyy @helaenabugmom @barelykiramman @sevikas-whore @georgiahs-stuff @nothingspecialjustaloserlesbian lmk if u would like to be tagged in the next chapter!

dividers: @/cafekitsune

[simpingforbots]

Sorry if I'm bothering but this morning I got a small idea for the primes x human thing

I don't wanna put too much pressure/overwork you, this can be only Zeta prime and Amalgamous prime

One day while the primes where spending time with their "pet" they noticed they have been fidgeting with a weird and small metal device the human had ever since they got captured by the Quintessons but the primes didn't mind much thinking it was probably a human toy or something similar to that until one day...

The same day both Primes are spending time with the human the little one just simply started speaking in a language they can understand, like out of nowhere and after a slight spook and some questions turns out the "toy" was a type of translator the han was trying to fix so the primes could understand them and explain what humans are actually

Little Break

Part 2

"Where are you” letting a heavy grunt, Zeta got on all his four limbs, bending down to check under cabinet, his blue optick shinning brightly as he scanned the crevasse, looking for something small and fragile. It was common for small thing to hide somewhere when ever he is to buizy to pay attention to them. He is already feeling bad for constantly being buizy with all the data-pads and meetings to make sure that his people were able to live comfortably and without worry of Quintessons attacking Iacon, leaving you alone with your own devises for far to long. Not that you will die of boredom as your cage had a lot of thing to entertain you, one of the few thing yoou loved was a small wheel where you would run in or you will be fiddling with strange collar that you were found with, refusing to give it to them.

He let you out of the cage to relax and have a little bit of rest from being cooped inside the cage all day, letting you wonder around the large table for a bit before you settled down again, focused on your little toy, tinkering with it while he continued his work. But now you seemed to just disappear and after checking every crevasse he could think of, he just can’t seem to locate you anywhere. You did run away before, even one time where he “chased” you by simply slowly walking behind while you clearly were running as fast as you can, constantly looking behind and trying to find space to hide. Letting a sigh, Zeta stood up, scratching his chin. Just where ca you hide this time.... maybe some one took you while he was to buizy with work, but who? He only had Solus, Alchemist and Sentinel walk in to his office today, and all wore about work and their meeting that he will need to attend soon, so he is sure non of them took you without informing him. Unless. A quick thought cross his mind and every thing seemed to click in to place. Sentinel was not here today, send on another duty, so he could not bring him any documents today. Letting a heavy sigh, Zeta rolled his opticks and left his office, able to feel his spark calm down. Amalgamous Prime was a well known prankster among Primes and would often shift in to another bot to pull his pranks, so it will not be to far fetched for him to use Sentinel’s appearance to sneakily steal you away for one of his pranks. Zeta did deferred him before from using small fragile life from for his pranks, even if he can see why he would do this, such small form can get in t anything and do anything that their big hands were to big for.

You grumbled a bit as collar sparked again and for just a second you swore you could here words that you can understand, slowly putting your collar down and looking up. One Eyes were tinkering with strange round shape, his thing fingers moving small parts inside and tinkering just like you were  playing around with your translator, “generously gifted” to ou by those strange aliens that kidnapped you from your Planet. You could understand them before but after your escape, it somehow broke and you spend most of your time attempting to fix it, moving wires, tightening screws and making sure every thing was in right place. You were just so tiered of being treated like a pet, even if it was not to bad time to time, yet you still had some honour, feeling a bit ashamed when they would treat you like a smart parrot, making you learn tricks and being reworded with “cookies” – a few of good treats you like here. Now though you just happy to be around and not cooped up in cage, even if Crowns did not mean any harm and constantly buissy. One eye looked up at you, saying something in his language and reaching for you, his fingers gliding gently across your head, ruffling up your head and then made a motion. You listened, rolling on your back and then getting up, getting another pet as a reward. The doors opened up as aforementioned Crowns walks in, his blue eyes quickly narrowing on you and his shoulders dropping with what you can guess is a relief. One eye took you from his office, parading like Icarus, blue bot with golden wings, masterfully swopping you out of there, muffling any concerned noises you made by simply cooping you inbetween his two hands and quickly leaving, Crowns not even looking up or even reacting, just locking in on those papers while you were being stolen, to be honest it gave you a small heart attack as he shifted around you, metal bending, cracking and shifting in to another person with iconic “hchk chk” sound. Now of course he simply looked up at Crowns with a wave, you never able to tell his expression besides body language, returning back to your collar.

“Amalgamous, Please never do this again. I feared the worst” letting a heavy sigh, Zeta walked over to the table, scratching small one with one digit behind the audio censer, looking at his brother.

“Well what was I supposed to do, they looked very bored constantly being copped inside the cage and your office. I would die of boredom if I were them” chuckling, Amalgamous swopped small one up, not bothering to much as they continued playing around with their little toy “So I just wanted to show them aorund and take them out of the cage. You constantly sit there and do nothing but work.”

“hmm” letting a hum, Zetta silently nodded, agreeing in his mind as his brother was right. He really done nothing but work and the small times he does take you out do not last long and usually are just as simple as taking out of the cage to roll around the table. So, maybe Amalgamous is right about constantly being on one place. “I can see where you are coming from. I maybe not so caring to them as I wished. I should’ve taken a better care of them”

“Hey, that’s not true! You’re doing a great job!”

For a moment every thing went silent and still, so quite that if you were to drop a pin you would hear it echoe in the room. Two bot’s were focused on the small being, with wide opticks, completely shocked at what just happened. Could it be something that they just heard, hallucinated from overworking them self so much? Blinking, Zeta bend down, shocking small life form to back away for a moment, gripping the small electric toy you were constantly playing with, now with green light coming from it. Zeta could not just believe his audio sensors, coking his head side to side, not able to find words to say anything, while Amalgamous shifted behind him, getting closer and staring at the small thign, shocked as Zeta was, but also curiouse. Slowly he reached and poked the small thign in to chest, make it stumble back a bit, their small face contorting in to angry grumble.

“Hey! Stop!” it was clear now that small one was the source of the noise and no clearly spoke. “Why you all staring at me like this, huh?”

“You.... you speak” slowly getting out of the shock, Zeta carefully swopped small creature from behind, settling them carefully in palm of his palm, lifting them up to his face, their little face contorting in to shock as well. It must be that the small toy he thought it was in realise was a some kind of translator, it was just broken “Birdie.. you speak?”

“Yeah?” you coked your small eyebrow, confused, before looking in front of your self, both frowning, processing something befre their face light up with shock, just like they did “I can understand you?! I Can understand you!” they jumped up in his palm, smiling widely “I can understand you! Can you understand me!? Please please understand me!”

“We can, we can” letting a small chuckle, Zeta gently patted you on the head with digit, Amalgamous now circling arund his hand, poking at the small being, to focused on how it was working and how suddenly small being strated speaking their language “We can understand you, little one... I presume you have a name then?”

“Y/N” you replied putting a hand on your chest “My name is Y/n... and what is your name? W-where am I? Who are you?”

“My name is Zeta Prime. This is Amalgamous Prime, my brother. We are Cybertronian and right now you are on Cybertron... may I ask how you ended up with Quintessons?”

“I.. I was kidnapped from my planet - Erath”

“E-a-rth?” Amalgamous slowly pronounce, lulling it on his glossa “what a strange name E-arth. Why did your species called it like a dirt.”

“I don’t know.” You answere his question “I am from Earth , I was kidnapped by those huge bug aliens. I am a human being”

“Human, huh?” pulling seat up to him Zeta set down, letting you hop on table and let you speak freely. It be best if he can learn a lot more bout your species, it will be best for him in long run as now, even if he knows you are your own person, he still did not wanted to let you go.

[gohyemi]

is it Love or a Scent? 4

pairing: joshua hong x reader

warnings: kissing

Part 4

-❁✿❀-

The courtroom was silent, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife.

The judge adjusted his glasses, eyes scanning the documents before him one last time. Then, with a firm and final tone, he declared:

“Based on the evidence presented, the testimonies of witnesses, and the charges proven beyond a reasonable doubt, this court hereby finds Kim Hana and Kim Hae-in guilty of corporate fraud, conspiracy to commit fraud, and obstruction of justice. Accordingly, both defendants are sentenced to twenty years in federal prison and fined five hundred thousand dollars each.”

Bang!

The gavel came down sharply, echoing through the courtroom like a thunderclap.

A stunned silence followed—until Hana erupted.

“No! No, you can’t do this to me!” she screamed, her heels scraping against the floor as the officers moved in. “Joshua! Please! Help me, love—don’t let them take me!”

Her voice cracked, hysteria taking over as she reached out toward the man who was now nothing but a distant figure in her life.

Joshua stood still, unfazed. He let out a long sigh of relief, his expression unreadable. His gaze didn’t waver as Hana was dragged from the courtroom, her father following without resistance—his eyes blank, resigned to his fate.

It’s over.

At least, the legal battle was. But Joshua knew another war awaited him—one far more personal. The one back home. With a woman still nursing a wounded heart.

“Jeonghan-ah!” a voice called out.

Joshua turned at the familiar tone and saw Seungcheol waving him over from across the room. But his attention was quickly pulled away—Jeonghan, who had been standing near the exit, suddenly bolted out the courtroom doors, his face pale and focused on something... or someone.

“What’s going on?” Joshua asked as he approached Seungcheol, eyes still flickering toward the exit where Jeonghan disappeared.

“I don’t know, man,” Seungcheol replied, frowning. “He’s been acting weird ever since he gave that closing statement. Kept clutching his wrist like he’s in pain or something.”

Joshua’s brows furrowed. “He didn’t say anything?”

“No. Just kept looking at the back of the courtroom like he saw a ghost.”

Joshua looked back at the doors where Jeonghan had gone.

“Let him be, you know how he is, he will tell when he wants to”, with that Joshua patted his friend back. Signalling to him that he is going now. Seungcheol nodded and continued his way to his colleague.

-❁✿❀-

Joshua was driving home, the weight of everything pulling at his chest. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as his mind spiraled with questions and doubts.

How to start the converstion? do I hug her as soon I enter the house? Why is it so hard…?

The night they came back, soaked from the rain and heavy with emotion, Joshua had laid everything bare. Every secret, every pain, every reason behind the mess. He didn’t hold back—not this time. And Y/N listened. Through the silence, something unspoken sparked between them.

For the first time in a long while, they felt it—the connection. Fragile, but real.

Later that night, he gently reached for her hand and, surprisingly, she didn’t pull away. Her silence wasn’t cold anymore, just thoughtful. When he asked if she’d stay with him—really stay with him—she nodded. And that night, for the first time, they fell asleep in the same bed, side by side… as a real couple.

No more spaces between pillows. No more pretending. He held her close, arms wrapped around her waist, as if afraid she’d disappear again. And she let him.

But by morning, reality had crept back in. Joshua woke up to an empty, cold side of the bed. No warmth. No soft breathing beside him.

Just the lingering scent of her perfume on the pillow.

She was already up before he was, and though she made breakfast, she said nothing. Her eyes avoided his. Her words, if any, were clipped and distant.

The cold shoulder had returned.

Before he left for court, he paused at the door, watching her move quietly in the kitchen.

“Y/N…” he tried gently.

She didn’t look up. “You’ll be late.”

He clenched his jaw slightly, nodded, and stepped out. No goodbye. No smile, not even a glance.

She’s still hurt. And maybe I deserve it, he thought as he closed the door behind him.

He tapped the steering wheel impatiently at the red light, frustration creeping in. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a flower stall set up by the side of the road—simple, humble, yet inviting.

A light bulb went off in his head.

Without thinking twice, he swerved the car gently to the side and parked. He stepped out, grabbing his wallet, and approached the elderly man seated behind the display of blooms.

“How much for the flowers, sir?” Joshua asked.

The old man slowly looked up, his eyes kind and observant as they scanned Joshua’s face. A brief moment of silence passed, as if he were reading him.

Then the man chuckled.

“For a sulking wife or a happy one?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief and wisdom.

Joshua blinked, caught off guard. “Umm… should I answer that?”

“Of course,” the man replied warmly, arranging a few petals back into place. “There’s a flower for every kind of emotion. Apology, joy, regret, love… even fear.”

Joshua scratched the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “Then... I guess I need the kind that says sorry. And maybe... ‘please give me another chance.’”

The old man nodded, as if he'd been expecting that. “Ah... the hardest kind. The one that comes from a heart that finally knows how to listen.”

He reached for a soft arrangement—white tulips, blue hydrangeas, and a single pink peony in the center.

“This,” he said, tying a ribbon gently around the stems, “is for healing, understanding, and new beginnings. It’s not loud, but it speaks louder than pride ever could.”

Joshua looked at the bouquet, then back at the man, deeply moved.

“Thank you,” he said, voice quiet.

“Go on,” the old man smiled. “You’ve still got time. But flowers can only do half the job. The rest, that’s up to your heart's wish.”

Joshua paid, took the bouquet, and with a steady breath, got back in the car.

“Just how you keep on trying I will do the same”

-❁✿❀-

“Y/N?”

Joshua’s voice echoed softly as he stepped into the quiet house. He glanced around and spotted her sitting on the balcony, legs crossed, a book in her hands—held completely upside down.

She didn’t even glance his way.

Acting like he wasn’t even there.

Still, he walked toward her slowly, hiding the bouquet of flowers behind his back like a schoolboy with a secret.

He stood just a few feet away, trying not to smile too obviously.

“Love,” he said, his tone light, teasing, “I didn’t know you had the superpower to read books upside down.”

Y/N’s face immediately turned a shade of red, and not from the sunset glowing behind her. She quickly looked down, realising the mistake—when she heard his car earlier, she’d panicked, grabbed the nearest book, pretending that she totally did not wait for him and hadn’t noticed.

She narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a death glare.

Joshua instantly knew he messed up.

‘Watch your mouth, Josh…’ he mentally cursed himself.

Her lips pressed into a firm line, her eyes narrowing even more as she looked away.

The air around them grew colder.

He cleared his throat and gently brought the bouquet into view.

“I… brought these,” he said more softly this time, the humour now replaced with sincerity.

Y/N’s eyes accidentally lit up a bit when she saw the flowers. Pink peonies… my favorite. Ugh. Why does he have to know me so well? But no. No. This was not the time for weakness.

'Okay, okay, calm down, Y/N. Breathe. You are a strong, independent, emotionally wounded wife. You will not—repeat—WILL NOT fall for pretty petals and puppy eyes.'

She slowly turned her head back toward the horizon, giving him only the side profile of her most uninterested face.

operation 101: Make. Him. Squirm.

Let him suffer. Let him mentally panic. Let him question his entire life choices. She could feel him next to her, crouching like a golden retriever who broke the vase and now wants forgiveness.

Nope. Not yet. Be the queen. Be the storm. Be the emotionally distant 

She adjusted her posture ever so slightly—because, you know, dignity—and accidentally inhaled the sweet floral scent. Ugh, it even smells like apology. Is that jasmine? Damn it, Joshua. Her fingers brushed the bouquet. Not grabbed. Brushed. Purely accidental.

'He better start a five-minute grovelling monologue or bust out a ukulele for an emotional solo, because this princess ain’t melting that easily.'

She lifted the upside-down book again.

Upside down. Still.

But that was part of the aesthetic now.

No response.

She stared ahead, pretending the railing was the most interesting thing in the world.

Joshua crouched beside her chair, the bouquet resting lightly on her lap.

Y/N was still holding strong. Barely.

She kept her chin high, her book still upside down (now officially part of her brand), and eyes locked on a cloud like it held the secrets of emotional detachment.

Don’t look at him. Don’t soften. You are a fortress. You are the last ice cube in a hot drink. You are—

From the corner of her eye, she saw Joshua shift slightly. His shoulders slumped.

He brought a hand to his face… Then she heard it.

A sniffle. Wait.

A SNIFFLE?!

She wanted to stay mad—desperately wanted to stay mad—but now her heart was doing that annoying little squeeze thing.

'Abort. Abort mission. Queen down. I repeat, queen down!'

She coughed, straightened her back, and finally muttered under her breath, “You’re not seriously crying… are you?”

Joshua looked up slowly, his eyes a little glossy, but his lips tugged into a small, guilty smile. “Maybe just a little. It’s hard watching my wife pretend to read a book upside down and hate me at the same time.”

Y/N’s glare faltered. Her cheeks betrayed her first, turning a soft pink. She slammed the book closed

He chuckled and slowly offered the bouquet forward.

“I’m… I’m just a little sensitive to flowers? I wasn’t crying or anything—” Then he caught that glare again.

He cleared his throat and immediately changed direction. “I’m sorry, sugar. Your husband is a certified jerk. From the day we got married until now, he’s probably set world records for being dense.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms folded, still playing tough—but her lips were twitching like they were trying not to smile.

Joshua kneel properly infront of y/n, his voice softer now, more sincere.

“But… would you consider forgiving this idiot and give him a chance to make it up to you? To make you the happiest woman alive? For real this time.”

“…That depends,” she finally said, trying not to grin. “Are there snacks included in this forgiveness package?”

Joshua chuckled, a breath of relief escaping him. “Immediately, ma’am. I’ll grab my car keys right now and get you anything you want—cake, chips, ten different brands of ice cream—just name it.”

“…Fine. But only because the flowers are cute. And maybe because you sniffled.”

Y/N stood up, the bouquet of flowers gently cradled in her hands. Joshua quietly followed her, watching as she moved to the counter and took out a vase, filling it with water.

He hesitated for a moment, nerves swirling in his chest—but then, slowly, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She tensed at first, startled by the contact, but then slowly relaxed into his embrace.

Joshua buried his face into the crook of her neck, his voice a quiet murmur against her skin.

“Am I forgiven?”

Y/N turned around in his arms, though his hands stayed firmly at her waist. She looked up at him, eyes searching his face. Then, with a small but brave smile, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Does that answer your question?” she asked softly.

Joshua blinked, a little stunned by the gesture—but his expression soon melted into something tender.

“No,” he whispered.

Before Y/N could react, he cupped her face and leaned in, capturing her lips in a proper kiss—slow, sincere, and filled with unspoken apologies. His hands moved to her waist, gently lifting her to sit on the table behind them. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke the kiss, both were breathless, cheeks flushed, and hearts racing in sync.

And for a moment, the world outside their little kitchen faded away—leaving only the two of them, tangled in a quiet kind of love.

 Y/N gently nudged her nose against his, her voice barely above a whisper. “Promise to take care of me well… as your wife?”

Joshua smiled, eyes soft as he leaned in and placed a small, tender kiss on her lips.

“I promise,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’ll do my best. This is… my first time being a husband, you know.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the back of his hair.

“Well, it’s my first time being a wife too. So I guess we’re both figuring this out together.”

He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “Then let’s make mistakes together. Learn together. But no more running away, yeah?”

Y/N smiled and nodded, her eyes glistening—not with tears of sadness, but something softer now.

“As long as you promise not to let go first.”

Joshua’s grip around her tightened just a little, his voice low and certain. “Never.”

And just like that, in the quiet comfort of their home—with flower petals between them, and a promise wrapped in shared warmth—their healing truly began.

If you asked whether it was love or just a scent all along…

The answer was simple.

It was love—always had been. The perfume only mirrored what already lived in their hearts.

It wasn't magic that changed anything. It was the quiet courage to forgive. The choice to stay. The warmth in a touch. The tremble in a kiss. The weight of a promise whispered in the silence between two people who finally chose each other.

So if anyone ever wondered whether the magic came from the perfume— No. The magic had always been in the love that sparked between them. It bloomed quietly, like wildflowers in spring.

And that, after all, was the real spell. One only love could cast.

❁✿❀The end ❁✿❀

taglist: @ateez-atiny380 @dreamingofpcy @lilydaisylily a/n: I think that is all for the series of vintage shops. I don't have any idea what magical items I could do🥲. Thank you for scrolling until the end!

any members you guys suggest next? #loove from the bottom of my heart ❁✿❀

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Brook and His Fragile Personality

Ya know, somethin' Franky once said has always troubled me.

"Your entire existence is fragile, yet you act like a gentleman. You always cover up your problems when speaking to us too."

And, Brook literally does just that, not answering the blaring question, but speaking about Laboon only because he was pressed, and bouncing around the issue that troubles me the most quite frankly.

'His entire personality is fragile, yet you act like a gentleman'-- this can be read as he's a gentle person but, I believe it comes off as an issue that Brook's shown before to do; mirroring and acting. Creating something more palatable as a human person, someone you can approach and not be too frightened of, someone you'd want to be around you. Brook's crafted with the new life around him and the old memories, what he believes to be a gentleman, and someone you'd want to be around. But, this is a fragile thing, a falsehood you've made so others can view you as what you're not entirely anymore; a person. Brook wants so desperately, understandably honestly, to be seen as a human, to be seen as the man he was before he died but, he isn't. But most of all in this informational document, I can cover his personal needs later, he want's to be WANTED as a person who you WANT to be around. He wants to be useful, and he wants to be fun. He does this behavior in Thriller Bark and even later, however this comment always stood out to me. And we know actually where this need stems from.

Now, this is the TCB scan translation but technically, Yorki does tell him to "give them hope" as a final message to Brook. And Brook gives his word, promising. I've covered this message before, link right here, however I feel it important to mention how much Brook adheres to promises, such as his promise to Laboon or to Luffy.

Perhaps this promise, this final word of a dying man to his beloved vice, stuck with him even to the strawhats. I wonder what would happen if there weren't people around, if he'd be so chipper or, rather what amount of his joy is exaggerated to do as Yorki requested of his gentleman. What part of him wishes to be human, what part of him isn't. There's so much open with Brook that opens a fun discussion of what makes a man, a personality and what makes us.. us.

[strawberrystepmom]

to forgive is divine & to err is human

pairing: Natsuo Todoroki x F!Reader (romantic), Touya Todoroki x F!Reader (familial)

word count: 7.5k

about: when Touya is released to Natsuo’s care following his 8 year prison stay, the fragility of the dynamic between the three of you threatens to derail everyone involved.

contents: cw: contains descriptions of depression, trauma, smoking, bad coping mechanisms, alcoholism, Touya dyes his hair black in a white sink (ugh). angst with a happy ending, set in canon universe but not canon compliant, established relationship between Natsuo and reader (married), Touya and reader are both assholes at certain points.

notes: tbh I've been meaning to repost this and since I'm currently in my "yes girl give us nothing" era, the time has come. Thank you to everyone (then and now) that has read this baby bc I did indeed put my ol' Kendussy into it so I didn't really change anything about it other than fixing grammar and I'm sure there are still mistakes. This is is how I wrote a year ago and that's okay and I'm proud of how far I've come.

Posting this as a double feature bc it feels too idk self promo-y to split them up again so enjoy my creature feature with my beloved Natsuo and his stinky brother. chain divider thanks to @/cafekitsune ♡

The large, red letters across the paperwork make your eyes hurt by simply gazing at them. 

“RELEASED” stamped with what you can tell was a mostly dried out ink pad, the red darker at the beginning of the word than at the end. You wish you could close the growing pit in your stomach knowing Natsuo will soon arrive back to your home, rehabilitated brother in tow, but the uncertainty makes it hard to settle as you re-stack the documents given to you by the Hero Public Safety Commission when they formally announced they would permit Touya’s release so long as someone would be responsible for him.

When the conversation came up, Natsuo volunteered without a second thought. It hurt at first that he did not ask you before making the decision but after having spent nearly a decade at his side, you trusted his judgment. Six months after the initial inquiry, you still do. Touya is a practical stranger, someone you have only met through grainy video chats, but you have been briefed by many HPSC coordinators. They have conducted home visits, interviewed both of you as if you were the criminals, combed through every bank account and piece of mail to ensure that they are putting their inmate into good hands. A good word from Endeavor, something your husband reluctantly accepted, sealed the decision. Your eyes scan over the handwritten letter from Enji, tucked in the stack of documents. 

“No one is more qualified to care for his brother Touya than my son Natsuo. He is a licensed medical professional, specializing in psychology and mental health services and has experience in dealing with traumatized children. I ask that the Commission consider no other placement for Touya.”

A tired sigh escapes as you flip through a few more pages, squinting through descriptions of you and Natsuo. Your personalities, your hobbies, where you work, who you associate with - all vital information, the panel assured you. The final page of the documents has the official ruling, the top left corner of the page curled in from how many times the pair of you have read over it.

“Todoroki Touya, thirty two years of age, is to be released to the custody of his brother Todoroki Natsuo, twenty eight years of age. Todoroki will be required to wear a location monitoring device at all times per the agreed upon terms of release. He is not permitted to be in contact with any of his prior associates. If contact is initiated, he will be required to return to the custody of the HPSC immediately and will no longer be eligible for release.”

Your eyes scan the document again and again, searching for some kind of strange loophole that could prevent all of this from happening. Guilt crawls up your spine and makes you shudder at the thought. How could you not want this for your husband? He has spent years dreaming of having a second chance to love his brother differently, to help him heal. It makes you feel vile to even entertain negative thoughts about Touya. 

Touya. You know little about the man aside from his name, or names, rather. His time as Dabi concluded, he was sentenced to 8 years of rehabilitation instead of prison. A victim of child abuse needed recovery, the commission reasoned, and they were willing to give him the space to do so within reason. The entire Todoroki family agreed with and supported the commission and their decision, his siblings and parents being granted permission to visit him if they chose to do so. 

Natsuo went as frequently as possible, excitedly telling you how much his brother has improved after every visit, eagerness infectious. You listened to his every word, rapt, as he talked about how different Touya looked now that he was eating well, how far he had come, how he seemed emotionally stable for the first time in his life. Genuine excitement danced in his eyes at the thought of having his brother back, not a shell of a boy or a man. Not Dabi but Touya, someone who was cruelly taken from him when he was too young to fully understand why. 

The true agony was seeing the metaphorical stitches ripped open, cruelly and callously. The entire country was witness to the explosive truth - Touya Todoroki was alive. Even Fuyumi with her limitless poise gnawed her lower lip hoping it would ground her enough that she could stay strong for everyone else. “I can handle this,” she assured you as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders the day after the video aired. She knew the person who would need you the most was her brother. Looks were deceiving - Natsuo was big and strong, a grown man, but his feelings were delicate. She trusted no one but you to look after him.

Natsuo had only asked you to be his girlfriend weeks before his brother revealed his true identity publicly. You will never forget the way grief was etched into all of his features, his strong brow downturned for weeks; retraumatized. It took every ounce of strength in his body to muster a smile, much less anything else, but he did it. For Fuyumi and Shouto, for his mother. 

You can remember every moment of the years following Touya revealing himself. The nights when Natsuo woke up sobbing, burying his face into your chest and balling the fabric of your shirt up between his fists as if it would keep him from losing touch with reality completely. He stopped eating for days at a time, depression sinking him into depths he didn’t know existed. You were always there with a soothing touch and okayu, a rice porridge Fuyumi taught you to make for him. 

“When Touya died, it’s all he would eat,” she explained. Your heart crumbled at the thought of a 13 year old version of your beloved future sister in law having to keep her 9 year old brother moving through the pain of loss. How did they keep themselves together?, you wondered more than once as she breezed through the difficult times with a tight smile. 

The more you watched the man you love sink, the more conflicted you felt about Touya. Those feelings lingered even into today. Natsuo is healing, therapy and love and compassion all coming together to create a whole man instead of pieces of a hurt child in a big body, but you can’t help the simmering anger you feel when you think about watching him experience the hurt in real time. Some memories stay etched forever. 

Natsuo continued to live despite the difficult times. You helped him study and make his way through medical school - a feat that he often credited you wholly for. It wasn’t true but the praise always feels good. Three years after Touya was sentenced, Natsuo opened his clinic that offers a variety of therapeutic services for children with difficult quirks or those who have suffered because of them. A year after that the two of you were married. 

“I knew you were the one when you gave me a reason to keep trying,” he tearfully admitted as you exchanged vows during your small wedding ceremony. The details weren’t for everyone else to know, but the pair of you knew exactly what he was talking about and the admission still makes you feel weepy if you start to think about it for too long.

Love feels like too shallow of a word to explain how you feel about him which is why you agreed to this in the first place - your love for Natsuo is stronger than your distaste toward Touya. You remind yourself of the mantra as you hear voices outside of your front doorstep, one immediately recognizable as belonging to Natsuo. You stand and take a deep breath, composing yourself and closing the file folder on the table as the door opens and the two white haired men crowd into the small genkan, talking amongst each other. 

“We’re here!”

A practiced, measured smile is what you can manage as you watch the situation carefully. Touya scratches the back of his head and offers a small and impersonal wave and you’re surprised by how different he looks. Thin but healthy, his skin grafts have been properly secured, his lashes are the same white as the ones that frame your husband's kind, gray eyes. The similarities between the two are striking but so are the differences - Natsuo greets you with a smile and a peck on your forehead and Touya glowers from the doorway. 

“Welcome home, Touya,”

He looks around, eyes narrowed as he takes in the sights of your well lived in home. It reminded you eerily of the way the representatives from the commission sullied your safe place away slowly, searching every corner to make sure you would not enable any more bad behavior from the man standing in the doorway. Your home had only just begun to feel like yours again.

“Nice place. Guess that’s what being married to a doctor gets you.”

His crass comment made you feel stricken, flinching slightly as your practiced smile wavers. You aren’t Fuyumi, full of endless grace and forgiveness - you can’t fake it. You aren’t Natsuo who believes in the potential of people more than anyone you’ve ever met. You are you and right now you are angry. Clenching your fists in a way you hope is imperceptible, you fake a laugh and your husband looks at you with wide eyes, noticing your change in demeanor.

“Well, it’s your place too now. Guess that’s what being a doctor's brother gets you.”

Touya purses his lips and nods, arms folded across his chest. You look over his scars, his healed skin, his cold eyes. “Do you want to show him to his room, babe?” Natsuo asks, voice shaky, as if he’s anxious for your response. “I can find it myself,” Touya answers for you, heavy boots in his hands as he pads through your home toward where his room lies. You spent weeks helping Natsuo prepare it for him, filling it with photos and books to help him gain back the time he lost while he was away. The taste in your mouth is nothing short of bitter and sour as you think about it.

“I don’t know what that was about, I asked him no-,” you raise your hand, cutting your husband off mid sentence as your fake smile finally falls and gives way to a slight frown, corners of your mouth downturned. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Touya has always felt suspicious of you. Your intentions, your affections for his brother, your involvement with his family - it’s hard not to be uncertain about someone who fits so flawlessly in the dysfunctional outline created by being a Todoroki. What are you hiding? What do you want? 

He tosses his boots down on the floor of the room at the end of the hallway. Instinctually, he knows this is his space. Covered with childhood photos of the Todoroki family, a quilt he received as a child covering the bed, he wants to be impressed with the effort put in but instead he feels hollow. This life never fit him in the first place, happy smiles for photos and dinners and whatever the fuck was expected of him, and now he had no choice but to live it. 

It is a hell of a lot nicer than the four white walls that housed him for eight long years. The bed looks a lot more comfortable, he thinks as he settles down on the edge of it, lying back with his arms behind his head. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling, he takes a moment to think in the silence of the space. The entire car ride his brother talked about you and your life together. Touya eventually began to tune him out, watching the trees pass by the window with the occasional red light flashing on his monitoring anklet catching his attention.

Rehabilitated. The connotations of the word weighed heavily on Touya - one fuck up and it would be so easy for you to convice Natsuo to send him back. You could never understand him the way that his family does. You couldn’t forgive him the way they had either, something both of you would never communicate to each other. 

“Hey,” Natsuo’s voice rasps from the doorway and Touya sits up slightly, grunting his response. “You like it alright?”

“It’s fine.” 

Natsuo sighs, carefully entering the room and shutting the door behind him as he slumps down on the bed next to his brother, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the huge change that has come over his otherwise peaceful life. “You don’t have to lie, Touya.”

Touya sits up, using his elbows to support his weight, and offers a half smile toward his brother. “I’m not lyin’, it’s fine. Just feels like too much.”

Natsuo nods, trying to tamp down his urge to play therapist instead of brother. It was something he did all too often growing up and probably why he has made fixing people his mission in life. Touya was no exception.

“It’s the least we can do. You’ve been through a lot.”

We, Touya thinks to himself. Always we. He wonders how much Natsuo has surrendered of himself for your sake. Does he have any hobbies besides being a doting husband? Is his world filled with anything besides this little bubble the two of you live in?

“Don’t act like she had anything to do with all of this, Natsu. I was released to you.”

Touya slips a hand in his jacket pocket and fishes around for his pack of cigarettes, popping one out of the packaging with expert precision and sticking it between his lips as his brother sits next to him silently. “Lemme guess, need to do this outside?” 

Natsuo nods and Touya sighs, sliding off of the bed and leaving a rumpled quilt behind him. Heavy footsteps trail down the hallway as he peers into the kitchen and notices the backdoor, quietly slipping through it only to be met with a glowing red cherry on the other side, smoke streaming from your mouth as you stand with a cigarette between your fingers.

“Didn’t take you for the type,” he starts, pulling his lighter from his pocket and clicking it until a bright flame catches the cigarette dangling from between his lips. Once upon a time he would’ve just used his quirk but the prescription blockers he was given by court order prevented that. “All he ever talks about is how perfect you are.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” you shoot back, flicking your cigarette ashes onto the ground below before taking another drag. 

The mutual distrust permeated the air between the two of you. Touya reminded you so much of your father in law it was like looking at another version of him. You reminded Touya of everything he hated about this world - false pretense and unattainable perfection. He doubts you have ever walked around without a hair out of place, a Todoroki would never.

“Any other deep dark secrets I should know before being trapped inside of this house with you 24 hours a day?”

You chuckle, dropping your cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, bending to pick up the butt once you’re done. 

“Your brother won't let me drink anymore,” you start, hoping the vulnerability warms your brother in law. His steely gaze convinces you otherwise and you begin to walk away, arms folded over your chest with a cigarette butt in your fist. “Just another fun part of the aftermath of your little warpath.”

Touya knows he fired the first shots but he’s taken aback at your accusatory tone. 

“Anything else you want to question me about? Figured the commission briefed you on all of my dirty laundry.”

He shakes his head and exhales smoke through the corner of his mouth, the plumes drifting in your direction. “Good chat, Touya.”

The back door slams as you enter your home through it, windows rattling slightly. Your first instinct is to pour a drink but the reminder of your rock bottom lingers on your mind as you instead toss your cigarette in the trash and turn down the hall and head to your bedroom, Natsuo sitting on the bed.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

You hate how hysterical your voice sounds, anxiety rising like bile. Rising to his feet, your husband gathers you against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Give him time, he’ll warm up.”

You don’t share your husband’s boundless optimism as you hear the back door slam and hear footsteps heading to the bedroom opposite yours. Natsuo plants another soft kiss atop your hair and squeezes your hand gently as he walks back over to Touya’s room. 

“You alright?” Natsuo asks and Touya rolls his eyes, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across a hook on the back of the door. “Fine. Thanks for the concern.”

Natsuo slips through the door completely and closes it softly behind him, leaning against the solid wood.

“What happened out there?” 

Touya chuckles and shrugs, sitting on the bed in the same place he had left. “Nothing worth mentioning. I’ll make sure I keep my bottles hidden from her though.”

His eyes widened, Touya’s antagonistic tone nothing new, his shock coming from the fact you told him about your struggles with substance abuse in the first place. It wasn’t a secret but it certainly wasn’t a fun fact you gave out at trivia night. 

“Uh, yeah, thank you.” Natsuo fumbles through his words, unsure of the right thing to say. “That would be great. She has come a long way but there are still times that are difficult, especially when big changes occur.”

Your substance abuse issues began about a year after your marriage. Blissful happiness wasn’t enough to numb the intense pain of the years prior but copious amounts of whiskey while Natsuo was busy with work were good enough. Blind confidence convinced you he didn’t notice a thing, not your sunken eyes or decreased appetite, but he did and he confronted you as gently as he could.

The next day you started therapy of your own and have continued to go to meetings for others struggling with addiction since then. Nothing drastic has happened in your life since you quit drinking, calm falling over the Todoroki household, making it easier for you to maintain your wits.

He would never say it but Natsuo truly worried about your sobriety. Every time he left for a trip or wine was passed around at family dinner, he wondered if it would be the day you changed your mind. Sticking with you was easy, though. You did the same for him at his low point and he would never stop doing it for you.

“She smokes, you know that?”

Natsuo nods, Touya’s raspy voice breaking the silence caused by his brother’s overthinking. “Have to let her have one vice, you know?” 

“I think you forget that you weren’t the only person who had to live through that fucking horrifying life! It didn’t just go away when you did.”

Your voice cracks as you raise it at your brother in law, his turquoise eyes wide as he watches you yell with an intensity that leaves your hands shaking. He has never looked more like your husband than he does now, the same white hair sticking up on top of his head, his fingers carding through it and yanking the strands as he paces your living room floor. 

“There are times I don’t think you realize that your actions have always had consequences because you’ve truly faced so few of them,” you feel your face flame as Touya’s expression turns from surprised to angry. “You didn’t have to clean up the messes. I did.”

Seeing the similarities makes something inside of you crack, a piece of your heart perhaps, your chest heaving. Regret consumes your mind; you’ve gone too far. You struggle to catch your breath, rubbing your fingers over your cheeks to hide evidence of your tears. Silence blankets the room like a dense fog.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Your voice sounds meek and thin even to your own ears, the screaming match you have been engaged in rendering your throat raw. Painfully, you swallow what little spit you can and shut your eyes tightly as you listen to Touya’s rhythmic footfalls. Taking a deep breath, you sink into an armchair and dab at your eyes with the back of your hands, opening them long enough to see Touya staring intently at you. You drop your hands and sigh. 

“I can’t imagine what you have been through,” you hiccup, warm tears sliding down your cheek and dripping onto your wrists where they sit in your lap. “But you weren’t the only one going through it and I hope your brother can forgive me for saying all of this to you.”

The white haired man remains silent as you rise from your chair, hands balled into fists at your sides. Your gaze turns directly to him and you sniffle, tears subsiding. 

“He has always loved you despite everything you’ve done, exactly as you are. Please remember that.”

The words feel cathartic to say aloud, astute eyes narrowing to watch you as you turn on your heel and begin to walk away. Your tense posture tells him exactly how you feel about the entire situation and you reason that giving Touya space seems like the best option to end the strange battle of wills the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The gravelly sound of Touya’s voice from over your shoulder stops you in your tracks. 

“Then I owe it to him to try.”

There is no apology to be found in the words but you swear you can feel it as he says them, looking over your shoulder. For the first time you don’t see Dabi or Touya, you see someone completely new - your brother in law. A blank canvas, someone you could perhaps get to know under better circumstances. 

“We both owe it to him,” you respond as you turn around and make your way back to the chair you were sitting in moments ago, sitting stiffly against the back of the chair, shoulders still held tensely by your ears. “But how do we begin?”

Touya sighs and sits opposite you, rubbing his hands over his face as he rests his elbows on his knees.

“Hi, I’m Touya.” You laugh for the first time in a week and he can’t hide the half smile that comes across his face. “I did some fucked up things and spent eight years paying for them but I fucking love my family.” He stomps his foot, emphasizing his point. “That includes you now so we better get our shit together, yeah?”

Another tear falls as you nod, a watery smile settling over your features.

“Yeah, we should.”

A year later, when you think of your brother in law Touya, a memory from your childhood comes to your mind.

You are six, maybe seven and at the zoo. Your parents hold both of your hands dutifully to make sure you don’t run off, squeezing your tiny palms between theirs as you excitedly gasp and croon at birds, snakes, and butterflies. A flamingo makes you shout, a duck makes you quack.

Steps slow down as the three of you approach a large glass enclosure. “Black panther - panthera pardus” says the sign extending from the ground in front of the glass. You don’t know that, of course, until your dad reads it aloud to you, asking you to repeat the name.

“Panthera,” you repeat, a tiny voice bouncing back at you off of the glass.

As if you summoned the cat itself, it appears and you flinch. Black, lithe, wild eyed with muscles wound so tightly you can see the shape and size of each of them. You wonder if the panther knows how to relax, the same way your mom tells you to when you cry too hard. Maybe he needs to take a deep breath. 

“Why does he look so nervous?” 

In your young mind, the question surfaced before you had time to think about it. Of course he’s nervous, you reason, all of these people are staring at him like the attraction that he is. A dazzling thing to see locked between four glass walls. 

“He isn’t nervous honey, he’s probably just thinking about what he would do if he were outside with us.”

Pondering your mom's polite whisper, you nod and accept the answer. Grown ups always know best anyway. 

As a keeper enters the enclosure and carefully stalks toward the cat, your eyes widen in surprise. How can he let someone so close? You wonder if you could ever get that close to him. To see the sunlight in his fur just enough to reveal the spots under the dark of his coat or to watch his ears twitch as he listens for sounds of danger. Would he ever trust you? Could you trust him?

The crowd around the glass increases in size, delighted whoops as the keeper dangles the cleaned carcass of a large bird above the panther. You drink in the way he crouches and springs, tight muscles unwinding for a moment as large paws capture the food between them. 

A sight you’ll never forget.

A sight you see as Touya stalks through the living room of your home, tightly running his fingers through his hair. Muscles taut, standing and walking but trying to simultaneously fold in on himself.

“What the fuck would they even want to talk about?”

You sigh, shrugging at his words. The “they'' in question is the Commission and one year after his monitored release, he has been asked to return before the panel and answer some questions. Natsuo sits next to you on the floor in front of the chabudai, sorting through the papers sent to him to review ahead of Touya’s scheduled meeting. The three of you only found out about the date today.

“I dunno, Touya,” your husband shoots a bit impatiently toward his brother. “Let me read this and then I’ll tell you.”

Silently, you watch as he scans the documents, flipping them between his fingers. You hear the heavy pounding of Touya’s footsteps across the floor, reverberating through the otherwise silent room. Your house is too quiet. There is no crowd to filter out the silence.

“Potential restoration of privileges,” you hear Natsuo mutter from beside you. He continues to read to himself and you wonder what that truly entails. Would Touya be released from his supervised period completely? Would he be allowed to wander more than 50 feet away from his guardians? 

“God Natsu, read faster.”

Natsuo’s eyes shoot a frosty glance toward Touya from over the top of the papers in his hands. Placing them on the table, your husband sighs.

“They want to see your progress and maybe give you a little more freedom.”

Touya freezes in place for a mere second before turning on his heel and rushing to the edge of the table to snatch the documents and look over them, brows furrowed in concern that this is some evil trick the two of you have decided to pull on him. Revenge for the last twelve months of him and his fits, his angry words, his snarling. 

You’ve realized during the months he’s more meow than he is hiss.

“But,” Natsuo starts, clearing his throat, Touya tossing the papers back on the table and interrupting his brother with a clear as day “fuck!”, beginning to pace once again. “We have to give testimony.”

The royal we is something Touya has hated since the day he moved into your home. It always makes him feel as if it’s two against one, no separation between yourself and Natsuo and how you feel about the situation. He assumes if you’re mad at him, his brother is too. If you’re frustrated with Touya drinking the last of your nice matcha, Natsuo must be too. If you’re angry at Touya for dying his hair black in your bathtub and staining the shiny white tiles, Natsuo must be too.

He’s wrong about that, of course, his brother never holding any of his minor blunders against him. You don’t either but it would be tougher to convince Touya to believe that than it would be to build a house by hand, despite the tentative peace that exists between the two of you. You’ve allowed him into your home, your world, your once peaceful little family and have found that you are better for it. Natsuo is better for it. But there will always be a level of distrust. 

Like that panther you think of so often, Touya must wonder what it would be like to be free and trusted. 

“Touya, I don’t know how to say this,” Natsuo says, trying to keep his tone even and calm despite how anxious you know he must be feeling. You feel your stomach drop as well, balling the fabric of your linen pants between your palms to keep your hands from shaking. You looked at the date on the documents and noticed that it was a day you knew he’d be unavailable, working on a particularly tough case with multiple children from one family. “I can’t do it.”

Touya chuckles, a bitter and hollow sound that makes you flinch. “Of course not.”

“She can, though.”

Unexpectedly, Touya’s bitter chuckle turns into a belly laugh. You wonder if he’ll double over from the strength of it, scarred hands clutching his middle. Natsuo stands, approaching his brother carefully.

“Her?” He points at you and you feel like the one being questioned. Despite the grasp on the thighs of your pants, your hands do shake and your fingers slip. “She probably wishes I would have died every single day despite the little “play nice” bullshit she does for your sake.”

Gasping at the accusation, you hope he can’t see the way your eyes glance downward. You had assumed the two of you were past this, arguments coming to a halt around six months ago when you told him you simply didn’t have the energy for them anymore. 

You then began taking him to pick up cigarettes every other day, riding in your car together silently but comfortably. His fingers always drum against his thighs impatiently and you clear your throat, mouth dry until you arrive. You have to be close to him the entire time but you linger on the edges of the small shop in your neighborhood, giving the elderly shopkeeper time to fuss over Touya the way he needs. 

The two of you then silently ride back to your home.

“How could you say that, Touya?”

Much like the smaller version of you felt compelled to speak outside of the gleaming panther exhibit, you do the same now. Your voice sounds weak, thin, defeated. Natsuo rushes to your side, kneeling back down and placing one of his large arms around your shoulder.

“Oh here we go, gotta rush to defen -” 

Touya’s words are cut off by a sharp glance from his brother, a look he has never seen before. Smothering all of the fire inside of him, hurting the one person who has endlessly forgiven him, he is doused by humility.

“I don’t hate you,” you look up and see Touya’s turquoise eyes that are narrowed and hard staring directly at you. “I don’t wish you were dead,” you continue as you shrug your husband’s arm off of you and begin to stand. “In fact, I was stupid and thought we were finally fucking past all of this!”

Punctuating your shout with a frustrated grunt, you stomp off down the hallway and leave the brothers to figure it out amongst themselves. Natsuo would simply have to find a way to make the date work for him because you couldn’t bring yourself to beg the Commission to be merciful toward someone who detests you so much. You aren’t a big enough person for that, lacking the careful compassion of your husband.

“Are you fucking serious, Touya?”

Natsuo cursing at his brother makes his steely gaze falter, eyes glancing downward toward the floor. Touya remembers a time you went too far, not long after he first moved into your home, and he feels guilty knowing he has done the same.

“Whatever,” Touya responds dismissively as he stomps off. 

Natsuo hears the back door slam and rubs his hand over his face, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He’s transported back to 12 long months ago when he didn’t even want to be in the same room as the two of you, the tension making him incapable of dealing with his own uncertainty about the ability to rehabilitate his brother. 

As Touya steps outside into the cool air, far less suffocating than the inside of the house, he fishes around in his pockets for his lighter and mutters obscenities as he realizes it is inside. Of course, he still can’t use his quirk thanks to the very strong suppressants he has to take daily as part of his release, so he flings the door back open and stomps inside. 

Hearing hushed muttering from the living room, he closes the door quietly and creeps to the doorway of the kitchen. He shoves himself against the wall, trying to hide from view as he hears your voice.

“I don’t understand why he won’t give me a chance, Natsu.”

His brother sighs and Touya sinks further against the wall. He knows the sound - fed up, frustrated, struggling. Natsuo is the last person he ever wanted to create those feelings in and shame, a bit of an unfamiliar feeling for him, creeps up his spine and makes his stomach turn. 

“You didn’t exactly make the best first impression, of course he doesn’t completely trust you.”

Natsuo’s words make you blow out air in frustration. Touya can’t see you, but he imagines you look as downtrodden as you always have after these little battles. His brother’s defense of his behavior is surprising, though, and he idly rubs his thumb across one of the graft scars on his hands.

“I know,” you relent with a sniff. “I know.”

Your words shift Touya’s perspective, precious humility trickling over him and making his left eye twitch - a stress reflex he tried to hide for years. 

You were the first person who noticed it and on your usual trip to the small store to pick up his cigarettes after, you passed him a box of anti-inflammatory medication and a bottle of eyedrops wordlessly as you buckled into your seat. He hasn’t twitched since.

Acknowledging the hurt you’ve caused is the first step of atonement, he remembers reading in a book Natsuo brought him while he was still locked up.

He peeks from around the wall, stretching his arms over his head and locking his fingers on the back of his skull, buried in poorly dyed black hair. Natsuo looks up through his light eyelashes at his brother who approaches carefully, settling on the opposite side of the table from where the pair of you sit.

“You can do it.”

The words are simple and cause both you and Natsuo to look up. Touya refuses to meet your puffy eyes and rises back to standing as quickly as he sat, slapping the tabletop once before skulking down the hallway to grab his lighter.

You and Natsuo resolve not to ask questions, with only two weeks until the panel meets time is of the essence and your testimony will be key to helping Touya if you choose to help him. 

Sitting in front of the panel is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A group of five familiar faces all staring at you with discerning eyes as you shuffle the hand-written pages of your testimony between your fingers.

These people have rummaged through your home on more than one occasion, interviewed all of your close friends and family, sifted through every piece of your dirty laundry and you’re at their mercy once again but this time you’re more willing.

“You may begin as you wish, Todoroki-san.”

Nodding respectfully toward the head of the panel, you clear your throat and exhale as you look down at the papers in your hands. You can feel Touya looking at you from across the room, Fuyumi and Shouto seated beside him and Rei on the other side of his sister, but refuse to look up at them for fear it’ll make the little courage you’ve summoned disappear.

“When Touya first moved into our home, I was uncertain of his ability to be rehabilitated.”

You spent the last two weeks reading this exact same speech to Natsuo, rehearsing it in your bedroom while pacing across the floor. The ink on the page is smeared in places from wet tears that dripped down onto the paper, black bleeding into blue and drying into rippled and raised spots. Those spots remind you of Touya, the way he has woven his way into part of your everyday existence. 

“The process of allowing him into our lives felt very invasive. Respectfully, our lives were torn apart in preparation for him. Our home was combed through, our mail was intercepted, my husband was followed by a member of this committee on his way home from the clinic he tirelessly uses as a means to help others on more than one occasion.”

You keep your tone even to avoid sounding accusatory. These are all facts the Commission themselves have confirmed via their own documentation but standing in the face of the very force that can decide your future as well as Touya’s is more intimidating than you expected.

“The day Touya moved in, our lives shifted in a way that no amount of preparation could have made us anticipate. Difficult interpersonal dynamics forced us to take a good hard look at the future of our family and the future of what we desired for Touya. How did we want his rehabilitation to look?”

Taking a breath, you look up from the sheet of paper for a moment to meet Touya’s gaze and it strikes you as odd to see something almost tender. You sniff, nose twitching, vowing to hold yourself together until you’re alone or with Fuyumi or anywhere but sitting in front of people who have made their living off of judging, doling out punishment, changing lives for better or worse.

“While we’ve had many difficult times, I am not here to talk about the difficulty I caused Touya with my inability to coexist for the first several months. Rehabilitation takes a team and I was not a team player,” you pause and hear shuffling from the seats across the room. “Despite this, Touya has dedicated himself to improvement and has continually adhered to every request the commission put forth in the original terms of his release.”

While you don’t want to continue to air out your dirty laundry, there is a therapeutic feeling in knowing you’re publicly admitting to handling things wrong. In front of Natsuo’s family, nonetheless. Touya’s family. Your family. 

At the end of this lies the fact that you are all a family and forgiveness is inherently woven through the relationships and bonds you share.

“It is the recommendation of both my husband and I that Touya’s privileges of release be expanded upon, including reduction of supervision and permission to travel to the homes of his mother and siblings independently if he chooses.”

Rising to your feet, you bow before the panel once more before walking toward the back of the room and quietly exiting as they take time to deliberate and make their decision. 

Touya rises and comes to the front of the room, standing before them. He hates the way he feels, like a caged animal with his muscles tensed, in a suit that doesn’t even belong to him because why the fuck would he ever own a suit? The sleeves are too long, it is Shouto’s after all, and he pulls the cuffs over his hands with his thumbs.

The panel head speaks and the room is so quiet you’re even unnerved from the other side of the door. Pressing your ear to the wood, you listen.

“Our decision will not be immediate. You can expect further communication from the panel in the coming weeks. As of right now, your terms of release remain the same until you are otherwise notified. Thank you for your time today, Todoroki-san.”

Touya bows and joins his family, missing the member he wishes to see the most.

You back away from the door as you hear the knob turn and rest against the wall, arms over your chest as you greet your in-law’s with a subdued smile. 

“Natsu will be so proud of you!” Fuyumi beams, rubbing your bicep in a comforting gesture. You just shrug, unable to speak. You exchange a few additional pleasantries with Shouto and Rei, wishing them goodbye as they leave you and Touya standing on opposite sides of the hallway.

“It’s okay, you know.”

Touya’s voice is a rasp, as always, and you look up through your eyelashes at him. Fiddling uncomfortably with the cuff of your shirt in the same way he’s been fiddling with his own cuffs all day, it just further emphasizes the similarities you share. It isn’t just love for Natsuo you have in common anymore.

“None of this shit has been easy and you’ve done your best. I’m not exactly a fuckin’ easy person to get along with.”

You chuckle, tension diffusing.

“I think you’re going soft, Touya.”

He chuckles back and your eyes meet, the two of you walking toward the center of the hallway to leave the building together and walk back to your car. Your footsteps are quiet and so are his, both of you slumping as you saunter out of the door and into the bright midday sun.

“Nah, just tired of being an asshole all the time.”

The news comes as you stand at your kitchen sink, Touya bent over as you help him rinse black hair dye down the drain. Your hands are wet, his shirt is soaked, but you agreed to help him after noticing a huge white patch still at the back of his head from his attempts to do it himself. 

“I dunno why you want it to be black so bad, don’t you want to look like Natsu?”

Touya snorts and the sound echoes through the steel basin. “I have to keep a little edge. Let me live.” You shut off the clean running water, allowing the dark droplets to work their way out of your sink. There was more rinsing to do but you wanted to be sure of how much more.

“It’s here!” Natsuo shouts from the doorway and you hear his hurried, large footsteps trek into the room, ripping of paper ringing in your ears.

You want to leave Touya’s side and go to Natsuo, to read over his arm, to see for yourself but you resolve to be patient and continue to lightly massage Touya’s scalp. He needs comfort right now, you can tell.

“Expansion of privileges,” Natsuo mutters to himself, scanning the page as quickly as he can. “Unsupervised access to other family homes! Holy shit!” 

Tossing the papers onto the counter, your husband bolts toward you and wraps his arms around your waist. “No, no, no,” you chant as he picks you up and you accidentally pull Touya’s wet strands of hair. He yelps and you let go, hissing apologetically.

“God Natsuo, down boy.”

Your snarky brother-in-law draws a giggle from you as your husband presses a kiss against your cheek and reaches down to slap him on the back. “Do you wanna tell mom or should I?” Touya looks up, head still dripping, and rolls his eyes at his brother. “I could just show up at her house, that’d have more impact.”

Wiggling away from Natsuo, you reach for the towel on the counter and wrap it around Touya’s neck so he can sit up and not drip black water all over your floor. He gives silent thanks in the form of a tight half smile and you smile back, stepping away to let the brothers converse about how they’re going to break the news to their siblings.

As you watch the two of them, the panther and his handler once again come back to your mind. 

The reason that the handler was able to come so close to the cat is because he trusted him. The cat could learn to trust others, to let people in, to let them be on his side. You won’t have to wonder if you could have gained the panther’s trust any longer and he won’t have to wonder what it’s like to be on the outside with the rest of us. 

[nicnak20]

Lost but found; Charlie Mayhew:

*Elijah is Charlie's son, but when he finds out he's adopted, tension arises from the secrets.*

*Elijah's POV*

The worn armchair cradled me, familiar and comforting. Just like Dad. Dr. Charlie Mayhew. Brown hair, though greying now at the temples. Brown eyes, always crinkled at the corners with a smile, even when he was pretending to be stern.

God, I loved that man. Loved the way he made pancakes on Saturday mornings, humming off-key to some old Beatles tune. Loved the way he listened, really listened, when I talked about my anxieties, my dreams, my stupid, angsty teenage woes. He always had this way of making me feel seen, understood. Safe.

But safe… safe was a lie, wasn't it? Or maybe not a lie, exactly. More like a carefully constructed truth, a beautiful, fragile bubble. Which burst. Exploded, really, the day I found the papers tucked away in the attic. Adoption papers. Sealed. Final.

The air in the attic had been thick with dust and the ghosts of forgotten memories. Old photo albums, moth-eaten blankets, a box of Dad's army memorabilia. I was looking for my old baseball cards, lost to time and youthful carelessness. Instead, I found that damn box. The one labeled "Important Documents." Important, alright. Life-altering important.

The words swam before my eyes. Elijah – Ward of the State. Biological Parents: Deceased. My breath hitched. Deceased? My parents? Dead? But… Dad. Charlie. He was my dad. He is my dad. Isn't he?

The world tilted. My carefully constructed reality shattered into a million jagged pieces. All those years, all that love, all those shared moments… were they… what? Less real? A performance?

I remember stumbling down the stairs, the papers clutched in my shaking hands. Dad was in the kitchen, humming, naturally, as he prepped dinner. The aroma of garlic and basil, usually so comforting, now felt like a suffocating blanket.

"Elijah? You alright, son? You look like you've seen a ghost."

A ghost of my past, maybe. A past I didn't even know existed. "Dad," I choked out, my voice thick with betrayal and confusion. "What is this?"

I thrust the adoption papers at him. He paled. The humming stopped. The smile vanished, replaced by a haunted look I’d never seen before.

He took the papers, his hands trembling almost as much as mine. He read them, his eyes scanning the stark legal language. He looked up at me, his face etched with pain. "Elijah… son…"

"Don't call me that!" The words exploded from me, raw and uncontrolled. "Don't call me son! You lied to me. All these years, you lied!"

"I… I didn't lie, Elijah. I protected you. I loved you. I am your father."

"But… they're dead? My real parents? Why didn't you tell me? I deserved to know!"

“It was a decision I made long ago, with the social worker. You were so little, and they were gone, a tragic accident. We both felt it was best to let you have a normal, happy life, without the burden of that… that trauma hanging over you.”

"Trauma? Dad, this is trauma! Finding out my whole life is based on a lie? That's not protecting me, that’s… that’s stealing my identity!"

My voice rose, fueled by years of unspoken questions, of a vague sense of… otherness that I could never quite articulate. It all made sense now. The adoption.

We argued. Screamed. Accusations flew like poisoned darts. I accused him of deceit, of selfishness. He pleaded, begged me to understand. He told me about finding me at the orphanage, a scared, silent infant with wide, lost eyes. He told me about the instant connection he felt, the overwhelming need to protect me, to give me a home.

I heard the words, but I couldn't process them. The anger, the betrayal, the sheer bewilderment were too overwhelming. All I could see was the lie. The gaping hole in my past.

"I need to find them," I said, my voice cold, detached. "I need to know who they were. I need to know where I come from."

"Elijah, please," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't do this. They're gone. I'm here. I'm your family. Don't throw away everything we have."

But I wasn't listening. I packed a bag, a few clothes, some cash I had saved. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I had to leave. I had to escape the suffocating weight of the lie, the suffocating love that had become a cage.

"I'm going," I said, my voice flat.

He stood in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored my own. "Elijah… please… come back."

I didn't answer. I walked out the door, leaving behind the only home I'd ever known, leaving behind the man I had always called Dad.

The next few weeks were a blur. I tracked down the social worker who had handled my adoption. She was retired now, living in a small town a few hours away. She remembered my case. Said my parents, Maria and David, had been good people. Young, working hard, full of dreams. Killed in a car accident.

She gave me what information she had: their address, their families’ names. But both families had scattered after the accident. It was as if the tragedy had ripped apart the fabric of their lives, leaving nothing but frayed edges.

I found their graves. Two simple stones in a small, neglected cemetery. Maria and David. My parents. I stood there for hours, staring at the names, trying to conjure their faces, their voices, their love. But there was nothing. Just the cold, hard stone and the aching emptiness inside me.

The social worker had been right. They seemed like good people. She also told me that, given the circumstances, they were working a lot and trying to make ends meet. It was hard, she added, to raise a child in such conditions.

I spent weeks wandering, lost and alone. I stayed in cheap motels, ate greasy diner food, haunted libraries and internet cafes, searching for any trace of Maria and David. Anything to connect me to them to fill this void.

I found nothing. Just dead ends and unanswered questions.

And slowly, painfully, the anger began to subside. The betrayal still stung, but it was tempered by a growing understanding. I started to remember the little things, the countless acts of kindness, the unwavering support Dad had given me over the years. The way he had always put my needs before his own.

I remembered the time I broke my arm, falling out of a tree. He had stayed by my side in the hospital for three days straight, reading me stories, holding my hand, never once complaining about the lack of sleep. I remembered the countless hours he had spent helping me with my homework, patiently explaining complex concepts until I finally understood. I remembered the proud look on his face when I graduated high school, when I got accepted into college.

He hadn't just given me a home; he had given me a life. A good life. A life filled with love, security, and opportunity.

And then it hit me. My real parents were dead, anyway. I would never know them, never see them, never feel their love. But I had known Charlie, known his love. He'd taught me everything, shown me everything.

The truth was, Maria and David gave me life, but Charlie Mayhew made me.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. What was I doing? Chasing ghosts, clinging to a fantasy of a perfect past that never existed? I was throwing away the one real, tangible love I had in my life. I was hurting the man who had always been there for me, the man who had sacrificed everything to raise me as his own.

I remembered his face as I walked out the door, the pain in his eyes. The word rang in my ears, "come back." How could I have done that to him? How could I have been so selfish?

I knew what I had to do.

The drive home was the longest of my life. Every mile felt like a burden, every turn a reminder of my foolishness. I rehearsed what I would say, how I would apologize, how I would beg for his forgiveness.

The house looked exactly as I had left it, the lawn slightly overgrown, the porch light still on. I hesitated for a moment, my hand trembling as I reached for the doorknob.

I pushed it open and stepped inside. The air was heavy with silence. "Dad?" I called out, my voice barely a whisper.

He was in the living room, sitting in his armchair, the one that always smelled of his cologne and old books. The TV was on, but he wasn't watching it. He was staring into space, his face gaunt, his eyes filled with a deep, unbearable sadness.

He looked up when he heard my voice. His eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of hope. But then his face hardened, and he turned away.

"Elijah," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"Dad, I… I'm so sorry," I said, my voice cracking. "I was wrong. I was being selfish and stupid. I understand now. You were just trying to protect me. You did what you thought was best."

He didn't say anything. He just kept staring at the blank TV screen.

"I know I hurt you," I continued, my voice choked with tears. "I know I said things I shouldn't have said. But I didn't mean them. Dad, please… please forgive me."

I walked over to him and knelt at his feet. I took his hand in mine. It was cold, calloused, familiar. "You're my dad," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "You've always been my dad. And I love you."

He finally turned to me. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was wet with tears. He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze searching, questioning.

And then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. A real smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes and warmed my heart.

"Oh, Elijah," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "My son."

He pulled me into a hug, holding me tight, his body trembling. I hugged him back, burying my face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.

We stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, the silence filled with unspoken words of love and forgiveness. The bubble was patched, stronger this time for having been broken.

Finally, he pulled away, wiping his eyes. "Welcome home, son," he said, his voice raspy.

Home. It was good to be home.

The Beatles started playing softly on the TV. He smiled. It felt like an omen, a good one.

"Pancakes?" he asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye.

I smiled back. "Pancakes."

The garlic and basil smell came wafting in from the kitchen. Everything would be okay. I was home. And Charlie, my dad, was here. That was all that mattered. The biological stuff, the legalities, the past – it faded into the background, irrelevant in the face of the love that bound us together. A love that had been tested, challenged, but ultimately proven unbreakable. The love of a father for his son. And a son for his father.

[skzhocomments]

The Rising Empress (Bang Chan) - Chapter 14 - The Punishment

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

Taglist: @vxllxnsworld

---

Chapter 14 - The Punishment

Chapter word count: 2.7k words

Aristia takes a long bath, watching intensely as her garments hide the precious peace treaty on a chair in the bathroom.

With a heavy heart in her chest, she slips under the covers next to Chris, who doesn’t hesitate to embrace her.

“Haven’t you fallen asleep?” She asks, watching as night slowly turns to day.

The dawn is beautiful, but she knows that once the sun is up and she will wake up – that is, if she will even manage to sleep at all – she will have to tell Chris everything.

“No. Even if you came back safely, I still feel on edge for some reason. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” He answers, his voice soft, as he pulls her closer.

“Mhm. Me neither.” She replies, turning around and facing him.

With every minute that passes when she doesn’t confess what she’s done, she feels even worse. Maybe it would be better to cut to the chase and simply tell him now, because no matter how much time she waits, the outcome will be the same.

She’s dug her own grave, and now she will have to lie in it.

“You seem troubled about something…” Chris hesitates, noticing how Aristia spaces out. He’s not used to seeing her this way, and she looks incredibly fragile in the soft morning light.

“Chris, I have to… uhm… I have to tell you something.”

She takes in a deep breath and watches how the Emperor is looking at her with tired eyes. She decides to hug him one last time, to give him a last kiss before confessing everything, and so, she does, and Chris welcomes her warmly.

His embrace feels safe, and she feels on the verge of crying again, but this time, she doesn’t let any tears spill. She keeps her composure and stands up, grabbing the two documents – the treaty and the document proving the ownership of the emerald mine – then returns to bed.

Chris follows her and sits up, watching intensely as she brings the two papers.

“Before you read these… Please let me speak and listen to me without asking any questions.” She says in a quiet voice, barely audible, and Chris nods, confused.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want our Empire to go to war with the Kingdom of the South. This would’ve been an unnecessary, avoidable war, and I didn’t want any of our people to die any longer. As Mr. Silverstone stated, the Empire hasn’t known any peace in way too long…”

“Aristia…” Chris starts, immediately shaking his head. “What exactly did you do…?”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her hands trembling. “I… I didn’t trust that you would hear me out, so I ended up acting on my own. Chris, I… I betrayed you.”

“What are you saying…?” His eyes suddenly widen, all the tiredness he felt so far simply melting away in an instant.

“I employed a plan with my half-sister to bring our nations to peace. This plan entails a… a formal, signed agreement… a treaty between the Empire and the Kingdom to make sure that for the next one hundred years, no blood will be shed on either side.”

Saying this, she hands Chris the papers, which he is quick to snatch away from her in a swift motion. His eyes first scan the paper regarding the emerald mine, and then, the treaty, which he reads carefully.

With every sentence he reads, he seethes with anger, but when his eyes reach his signature and his stamp, he puts the paper down, and without any words, he gets off the bed and begins walking towards the door.

“Chris, wait-”

“Don’t.” He immediately cuts her off, not even turning around to look at her. “Don’t say anything anymore.”

“But I-”

“As of today, you are to stay confined to this room until I decide what to do with this… with you.”

Aristia’s shoulders slouch as she watches helplessly how Chris exits her room, and her heart begins to hurt even worse.

If only she would’ve trusted him… maybe none of this would’ve happened.

She decides to get under her covers and tries her hardest to fall asleep, with no success whatsoever.

~

“Good morning, Your Highness.” A maid she doesn’t recognise enters her room with a tray of food, but Aristia’s appetite is non-existent to say the least.

“Who are you?” She inquires. “What happened to my maids?”

“My name is Nora. As for your other maids, I don’t have any information.”

“I see…”

“The Emperor is expecting you in his office after breakfast.”

“Alright.”

The maid bows politely then gets out of the room, but Aristia doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed, let alone sit at the table and eat anything. She plops right back and hugs her bed covers tight. They still smell like Chris.

After a little while, she decides she can’t stay in bed forever, so she gets up and heads towards the food, but just the sight of it makes her sick.

She’s unbelievably nauseous, most likely from the lack of sleep, and she has no energy whatsoever.

Instead of eating, she begins getting ready to face Chris and opens the door to get out of her room, which Changbin is guarding.

“Good morning.” He bows. His expression seems grave.

“Hello, Changbin.” She smiles shortly, before starting to walk the familiar path towards Chan’s office.

When her presence is announced and she is permitted to enter, she is shocked to see her three faithful maids and a couple of officials she barely recognises, as well as Jisung and Seungmin, who both avert their gazes when her eyes gloss over them.

Tensions are high, and Aristia can sense the air growing dense around her as she steps inside the room.

Alice looks rough. She must’ve found the last night difficult to cope with, and she must still be in shock.

Chris’ back is turned at first, and for a few moments, she doesn’t know whether she should say something or not. She decides to keep silent.

“Empress,” Chris begins, finally turning around to meet her eyes. “You have committed one of the greatest sins, forging official documents and complotting against the Crown with the help of your maids.”

“If I may speak-” Aristia starts but gets cut off immediately.

“You may not.” Chris immediately counters.

“- my maids had nothing to do with this. I did it all on my own.” She says either way, ignoring his interruption. “Please let them go.”

“They had nothing to do with this?!” Chris chuckles lowly, the officials throwing questioning looks at each other.

“Yes. None of them were aware of my plans. They were just forced to act the way they did after I threatened them.” Aristia speaks softly, looking at her maids and their pained expressions.

Of course, she’s never threatened them. They did everything out of loyalty to her, and they even kept silent because they are willing to go down with Aristia. Still, she promised she would protect them, so this is what she will do.

“Please understand that they are mere subordinates who followed my orders blindly. They didn’t know what they were doing.” Aristia insists, still keeping a mellow voice, looking directly at Chris. She completely disregards the presence of the other officials, as she couldn’t care less about what they think of her.

Chris lets out a large sigh, closing his eyes tight. He was trying to help her out – to get her to put some blame on others so he could lessen her punishment – but Aristia’s already made up her mind to take all the blame. After all, she truly was the one who made up the plan, all on her own.

“I understand. Still, they must be held accountable for refusing to report to me when asked. They will be relocated far away from the Capital. Actually, why not to the Kingdom of the South, since you so dearly promised them that we’d allocate any resources we have should they need them?” Chris lets out a mocking, short laugh, but Aristia just smiles, grateful that her maids won’t have to pay too dearly.

They could always start anew somewhere else, she figures. All of them are young and beautiful, and extremely quick-witted, so she is certain that they will find a place in this world, away from the Palace, away from the Empire of the Sun, and most importantly, away from herself.

Everyone in the room is on edge, the officials shift uncomfortably in their seats, clenching their fists and waiting for the Emperor to speak again.

“Then, you are free to go to your rooms until further instructions.” Chris commands, and the maids get out quickly, as if afraid he would change his mind.

Left alone in the presence of her husband, her teacher, Jisung and the other officials, Aristia straightens her back and prepares herself to face whichever punishment they have decided to give her. She holds her head high and faces them fearlessly - even though her insides are burning.

“Have I been wrong on anything else?” Chris asks, which takes her by surprise. He’s essentially giving her a chance to explain herself, to somehow rationalise why she’s done this.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She begins. “You’ve mentioned I complotted against the Crown, however, this was never my intention, nor my plan. Everything I did was for the peace of our home, our Empire.”

“Yet you signed a peace treaty none of us knew about, let alone agree with. Did you think you could do whatever you pleased?” He challenges.

“I was afraid you would not understand my judgement. However, I believe I made the right choice.”

As she says this, all the officials shake their heads, one of them beginning to speak.

“Your Majesty, this is not right! She can’t do however she pleases!”

“I agree! Even if the treaty in itself wasn’t a bad idea, the way she went behind everyone’s backs is simply inadmissible!” Another one chimes in.

“She must be punished accordingly, Your Highness!” Another one of the officials exclaims with a scoff, and Chris lets out a long sigh, trying to control himself.

This whole situation is terrible, as he doesn’t know how he’d end up turning it around to make Aristia escape the apparently inevitable fate she’s faced with, and she’s not helping the situation at all either, for she asks:

“What is my punishment?”

“Since your crime was so grave, there is no precedent.” Chris sighs again after a few short moments, averting his gaze. “However, the Empire has established a protocol long ago in case of forgery of documents on a lower scale, which will be applied to your case as well. Seungmin, would you tell the Empress what that protocol is?”

Seungmin looks at Aristia for the first time, and as their eyes meet, she can sense how crestfallen he is to deliver the news. He looks completely different to the usually composed Seungmin she’s worked with for the past months.

“The… uhm, the punishment in this case would be execution.” Seungmin finds it hard to speak, and he closes his eyes before continuing. “Normally, a trial would be held to have a judge overview the case, however, since her Highness confessed to the Emperor himself and in front of all the officials of committing this crime… no such trial is needed.”

“Thank you, Seungmin.” Chris speaks, clearing his throat. His insides are burning and watching the woman he’s grown to love receive this verdict, his heart clenches. He really doesn’t know what to do to get her out of this tough spot.

Her position in front of the court officials is unfavourable, and even though, after thinking long and hard about it, he was willing to brush over her betrayal and look at the grand scheme of things – as the peace treaty is indeed useful to the Empire, the emerald mine dispute has been settled, and they’d even conduct some other useful trades for their agriculture - the officials won’t hear any of it, and unfortunately, even though he is the Emperor, by the way their court is established, he must take into account the vote of the majority.

The officials become restless, urging Chris to deliver the final blow, and there is simply nothing he can do than inform his wife of her punishment.

“Aristia Bahng, as of this moment, you are stripped of your last name and of your title as the Empress of the Sun. Your execution will take place in a week’s time. Until then, Changbin, please escort her to the dungeon.”

A punishment fit for the crime, she believes. Aristia nods shortly and turns around, waiting for Changbin to lead the way. Watching her husband deliver this news felt like an arrow had been shot straight to her heart. Perhaps it’s better that she won’t have to see him again until her execution. She already feels sick, the nausea getting worse, and she’s on the verge of passing out.

“Wait.” Chris says, stopping them dead in their tracks and making them turn around. “Is there anything else you’d like to add? Anything at all?”

“Nothing, Your Highness. Please excuse me.” She smiles softly, looking in the eyes of the man she loves, and she once again regrets not being able to trust him. Everything she’s done was for the prosperity of the Empire, to ensure no other lives will be lost meaninglessly anymore, however, she went about it the wrong way, and the pain in her chest only proves this further.

She looks once more at Chris and feels a wave of sorrow wash over her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to apologise.

~

“Your Highness, it might be best to go to your room first and grab something warm, since the cells are underground, and very cold…” Changbin frowns.

“Please don’t call me that, Changbin.” She smiles. “I am no longer your Empress.”

“You will forever be my Empress, Your Highness.” He counters.

“The Emperor commanded you to escort me directly to the dungeon, so we are unable to drop by my rooms. Please, respect his command.” Aristia continues, and with a dejected nod, he leads her towards her cell.

He unlocks the door to the metal cage using a large key, but before she steps inside, he grabs her wrist and pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He whispers, and when he pulls back, his eyes are filled with tears. “We all know that you fought for the Empire until the very end. Even the Emperor.”

Aristia tries to stay strong and simply pats his shoulder one time before stepping into her cell and sitting on the old mattress on the bed, facing the wall. She doesn’t think she could stand watching Changbin and his downcast expression any longer, not without spilling any tears herself.

~

The cell is indeed cold, and Aristia wishes she wouldn’t have respected Chan’s orders to come straight here.

She wishes she had a coat, or at least a blanket to cover herself with, and she wishes she would’ve had something to eat in the morning, because for the rest of the day, she wasn’t given anything.

The next morning, she wakes up feeling as nauseous as the previous day. Her nose is slightly congested, her head hurts badly, and so does her back, due to sleeping on the thin, uncomfortable mattress.

There is nothing to do in this cell, nothing at all but stare at the brick walls.

For breakfast, she is given a fresh loaf of bread, steaming hot, and to her surprise, a warm blanket. She eats the bread with reluctance, but she feels so sick, not even 30 minutes later, she throws it up in the small bucket in the corner of the room.

Even though she’s lying in bed in the other corner, the smell is horrible, and her nose, despite being congested, is quite sensitive to it. She doesn’t remember having such a strong sense of smell.

She tries holding her breath, counting seconds in her head, but is unable to do so for long, as she feels another wave of nausea wash over her, and she finds herself throwing up in the bucket again.

The same happens during lunch, when she receives a warm soup and another loaf of bread. She assumes she’s treated better than the other criminals that have occupied the dungeon before, but still, she can’t eat, and she’s so cold, even with the blanket.

By dinnertime, she doesn’t even look at the food anymore. She asks Nora, the maid who’s brought it, to simply take it back, because the smell of food is making bile rise up her throat, and she throws up again.

~

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

[inspofromancientworld]

The Science of Discovering the Past: Online Collections I

With the improvement of storage medium and scanning technology, it is becoming more common for museum and other archives to post their archives online, with more and more of them offering open access to their collections, that number increasing with the spread of COVID-19. This allows both researchers and general public to view these collections freely, or for a small fee if not aligned with a research institution.

Online collections can include untranslated documents, translated documents, fragile items too delicate to be displayed to the general public, or items that are too numerous to be on display in a particular institution. These collections also allow researchers access to items that they'd have to travel to many locations to fully access artifacts related to their field of study.

Viewing items through online collections allows them to be viewed at a larger size than the original could be viewed easily, without time constraints, and often in better lighting than available to general viewers as light can cause fading of pigments. With the use of high definition cameras, details that might be missed by the human eye alone can be picked up and displayed without harming the artifact by handling or light. Online collections also allow the easy access to imaging results from techniques like CT or MRI scans on objects and the potential to link previous research through a systemic cataloging system.

Online collections also allow people to explore collections without crowds and at any time they desire to view them, making museums more accessible. Improved accessibility also include the addition of alt-text and the descriptions being screen-reader friendly and for the viewer to increase image size and contrast to improve their ability to view records.

The rest of this month will highlight various online museum collections that have a significant collection related to the ancient or prehistoric world.

[theunderdarkarchives]

Part 35: A Name Worth Dreading

Dinner was quiet, the kind of silence that felt too heavy with thought, stretching out between the flickering candlelight and the weight of old parchment. The grand dining hall had been too empty for a meal meant for two, the vastness of it feeling wrong, so instead, you had carried your plate—thick, spiced soup, fresh bread, roasted meats—back to the study.

It felt fitting to eat among Cazador’s old records, the remnants of his obsessive paranoia still scattered across his study. The scent of parchment and ink mixed with the warmth of your food, though you hardly paid attention to it, your focus locked on the fragile pages that could hold the key to what you were looking for.

Astarion had returned not long after, arms laden with tomes and journals, his usual grace undercut by a sense of purpose. He barely spared you a glance as he dropped them onto the desk with an elegant but deliberate thud, sending a fine mist of dust curling into the candlelight.

"Well," he drawled, brushing off his hands with mild distaste, "I must say, rifling through Cazador’s private records was every bit as insufferable as I expected. Pages upon pages of self-congratulatory musings and tedious scheming. Riveting."

You barely looked up, flipping another page of your own book. "No warnings scrawled in blood? No dark revelations of his true genius?"

Astarion snorted. "Oh, worse. Turns out he was a journaling type. The dear diary sort." He plucked a tome from the pile, flicking through its yellowed pages with a lazy hand. "It’s almost disappointing. I always imagined his secret thoughts to be much more horrifying."

You huffed, setting your spoon aside. "And yet, here you are. Reading them anyway."

He smirked, but his eyes remained focused, scanning the pages with something more than casual curiosity.

"If he documented everything the way I suspect, then yes," he murmured, "he would have left some mention of whoever we’re looking for."

That was the hope, at least.

The two of you fell into silence, poring over the pages, sifting through years of meticulously recorded plots and alliances. Cazador had been obsessive in his cataloging of rivalries and perceived threats, his paranoia woven into every entry, every name scrawled with either venomous disdain or strategic caution.

It wasn’t until Astarion’s hand stilled against the parchment that the weight of the moment shifted.

His fingers hovered over a particular passage, his expression sharpening, his crimson eyes narrowing as he traced something just at the edge of the margin.

You caught the movement immediately.

"What?"

A beat of silence. Then, slowly, Astarion exhaled, pressing his fingertip lightly against the brittle page, his voice quieter now.

"That."

You leaned in, following his line of sight—

And there it was.

The sigil.

Etched carefully into the corner of the page, its ink aged but still bold, its design intricate—something far older than the usual noble houses Cazador had dealings with. It was deliberate. Recognizable.

And beside it—a name.

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s—"

"Murloch," Astarion finished, his voice eerily flat.

You snapped your gaze to him, searching his expression. "You know him."

He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers curled slightly against the edge of the book, his gaze flickering over the text as if confirming something he had already known but had long since forgotten.

Then, finally— "Yes," he murmured. "I remember him."

You studied him carefully. "How well?"

Astarion exhaled, leaning back in his chair. His smirk returned, but it was wrong—colder, measured. "Too well."

You clenched your jaw.

Your gaze flickered back to the sigil, to the name carefully preserved in ink, untouched by Cazador’s usual dismissive annotations. "What was he to Cazador?"

A sharp laugh left Astarion’s lips, humorless. "An equal. Or as close as Cazador was capable of acknowledging one." He tapped a finger against the crest, his eyes darkening. "Murloch wasn’t some desperate fledgling clawing for scraps, nor some lesser noble bartering for power. He already had power. He was established. And he wanted more."

A chill ran down your spine.

"And Cazador?"

Astarion’s jaw tightened slightly. "Cazador respected him," he admitted. His voice was carefully neutral, but there was something tense beneath it. "As much as he could respect anything. They were… allies, in a way. No formal titles, no official declarations, but Murloch was always there. Always watching, always just at the edges of whatever game Cazador was playing."

Your stomach twisted.

The thought of Cazador acknowledging anyone as an equal was unsettling enough on its own.

"What did he want?" you asked, voice quiet.

Astarion drummed his fingers lightly against the book. "Expansion," he murmured. "Control. Unlike Cazador, he had no interest in keeping to Baldur’s Gate. His ambitions stretched farther. He wasn’t satisfied with ruling from the shadows—he wanted territory. Land. Influence." His gaze flickered to you. "And he was patient."

That was worse.

You swallowed hard. "Then why haven’t we heard of him until now?"

Astarion smirked, but there was no warmth in it. "Because he never wanted to be heard." He tilted his head. "He wasn’t one for theatrics, no grand displays, no petty power struggles. He was… quieter. Controlled. He played the long game, watching, waiting—letting others burn themselves out before making his move." His eyes darkened slightly, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. "And Cazador let him."

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.

"So why is he surfacing now?"

Astarion let out a slow breath, his gaze flickering back to the sigil, his fingers tightening slightly.

"Because," he murmured, "if he’s making himself known again, it’s not by accident."

A thick silence stretched between you, the weight of realization settling deep in your bones.

Murloch.

A name buried in time. A presence that had never truly left.

And now, he was resurfacing.

Astarion tapped the sigil once more, his voice lined with something colder, more certain.

"Well, darling," he murmured, "it seems we have our answer."

You exhaled slowly. "And our next problem."

Astarion’s smirk curled sharper.

"Exactly."

[mariacallous]

For almost a decade, Nick Roy has been scanning North Korea’s tiny internet presence, spotting new websites coming online and providing a glimpse of the Hermit Kingdoms’ digital life. However, at the end of last year, the cybersecurity researcher and DPRK blogger stumbled across something new: signs North Koreans are working on major international TV shows.

In December, Roy discovered a misconfigured cloud server on a North Korean IP address containing thousands of animation files. Included in the cache were animation cells, videos, and notes discussing the work, plus changes that needed to be made to ongoing projects. Some images appeared to be from an Amazon Prime Video superhero show and an upcoming Max (aka HBO Max) children’s anime.

The findings and security lapse—detailed in a report by the Stimson Center think tank's North Korea–focused 38 North Project, which helped analyze the findings along with Google-owned security firm Mandiant—provide a glimpse at how North Korea can use skilled IT and tech workers to raise funds for its heavily sanctioned regime. It also comes as US officials increasingly warn about North Korean IT workers infiltrating companies and their outsourcing.

North Korea’s internet is a small—and fragile—space. The repressive nation only has 1,024 IP addresses and around 30 websites that connect to the global internet. While there is a limited internal intranet, only a few thousand of the country’s 26 million people can get on the internet. When they do, it’s highly controlled: These select few North Koreans can use the internet for an hour at a time and have a person sitting next to them approving their use every five minutes.

When Roy discovered the exposed cloud server, it was being updated on a daily basis. Martyn Williams, a senior fellow on the 38 North Project who helped analyze the contents of the server, says the server likely allowed work to be sent to and from North Korean animators. The server itself is still live, but it mysteriously stopped being used at the end of February. While there is a login page, its contents can be accessed without a username and password. “I found the login page after I found all the exposed files,” Roy says.

Inside, the files contained editing comments and instructions in Chinese which were translated to Korean, the researchers write in their report. “For a lot of the animation files, we would find things like spreadsheets with details of the workflow,” Williams says. A sample of the files shared with WIRED show detailed anime images and video clips, with notes for the authors and date stamps on various files. In one instance, the report says, an animator was “asked to improve the shape of the character’s head.”

Based on the documents and drawings, the researchers were able to identify some of the shows and projects the North Koreans were working on. Some of the projects included work from season 3 of the Amazon show Invincible, which is produced by California-based Skybound Entertainment. There were also documents linked to Max and Cartoon Network show Iyanu: Child of Wonder, produced by YouNeek Studios, as well as files from a Japanese anime series and an animation studio in Japan.

Some file names gave away clues about the series and episode numbers. There were also files and projects the researchers could not identify—including a “bunch of files” with videos of horses and a Russian book on horses, Williams says.

Sanctions placed upon the North Korean regime, for its ongoing human rights abuses and nuclear warfare programs, prohibit US companies from working with DPRK companies or individuals. However, the researchers say it is highly unlikely that any companies involved would have a clue about North Korean animators working on the shows, and there is nothing suggesting the companies violated any sanctions or other laws. “It is likely that the contracting arrangement was several steps downstream from the major producers,” the report says.

Spokespeople for Amazon and Max spokesperson declined to comment for this story. YouNeek Studios did not respond to a request for comment.

“We do not work with North Korean companies, or Chinese companies on Invincible, or any affiliated entities, and have no knowledge of any North Korean or Chinese companies working on Invincible,” a spokesperson for Skybound Entertainment says. “We take any claims very seriously and have commenced an investigation into this.” In a post on X, the company characterized the findings as “unconfirmed” and said it is working with authorities to investigate.

Williams says it is possible that a front company in China is used to help disguise the activity and involvement of North Koreans. The researchers were able to analyze connections to the exposed server and, despite most having their location masked by a VPN, spotted access from Spain and three Chinese cities. “All three cities are known to have many North Korean–operated businesses and are main centers for North Korea’s IT workers who live overseas,” the report says.

While Williams says the researchers did not find any identifiable names of North Korean organizations buried in the files, the country has a well-established animation company called April 26 Animation Studio, which is also known as SEK Studio. Originally set up in the 1950s, the studio has worked on hundreds of international TV shows and movies.

However, in recent years, the US Treasury Department has sanctioned SEK Studios, individuals linked to it, and various “front companies” that it says are used to “work for foreign customers.” Many of these have links to China, according to the sanctions. “SEK Studio has utilized an assortment of front companies to evade sanctions targeting the government of the DPRK and to deceive international financial institutions,” a statement issued as part of the sanctions in 2021 says.

The main aim of these efforts, says Michael Barnhart, a North Korea researcher at Mandiant, is to raise money for the North Korean regime. The country’s hackers and scammers have stolen and extorted billions of dollars to help fund its military ambitions in recent years, including from huge cryptocurrency heists. In early 2022, the FBI issued a 16-page alert warning companies that remote North Korean freelance IT workers were infiltrating businesses to earn money they could funnel back home.

“The volume is much higher than we were expecting,” Barnhart says of North Korea’s IT workers. They are constantly changing their tactics to avoid being caught, he says. “We had one not too long ago, where during the interview, the person’s mouth was just off-frame. You could tell that someone in the background was speaking on their behalf.” Technically, Barnhart says, companies should verify their remote workers’ devices and make sure that there is no remote software connecting to a company laptop or network. Businesses should also put extra efforts at the hiring stage by training HR staff to detect possible IT workers.

However, he says, increasingly there is a greater crossover between North Korean IT workers and individuals who are members of known hacking groups or classified as advanced persistent threats (APTs). “The more we focus on IT workers, the more we’re starting to see APT operators and efforts blending in with those,” he says. “This might be the most quick learning-on-your-feet, nimble nation-state that I've ever seen.”

[nandanevesc]

Notice

Hi hi everyone! I know I've been absent, but there were some things that were making it very difficult for me to share what I've been doing. I guess waking up and figuring out that 15 years+ of art I've worked on since I was a teenager had been stolen in a single night to "train" AI without my consent created a new trauma, and with every social media gradually putting its own rules for using AI in our images it is making me very insecure about sharing anything.

I'm really sorry for not explaining my absence. It was not at all once and on the same day it happened that I felt scared to post. I realized that I had been gradually giving up on posting anything, and in the end, I just stopped.

This subject was, and still is very inflamed, and I know that there are a lot of people defending AI, just as there are a lot of people fighting for the conscientization of it at the same time, and honestly, I wasn't ready to deal with that conversation. I'm still not ready at all.

I was too fragilized to even talk about all of this, and every time I see something about this topic I get extremely anxious. I am anxious right now to bring this up, but I feel I should at least share what happened to me with those who care about my whereabouts.

What I felt that day was worse than when I lost almost everything I had in a flood once, because back then my family and I just started working on cleaning everything and making new furniture with what we had left. We had people helping us recover, bringing us what they could to help, and eventually, we could get back on our feet.

I'm sorry for the comparison. I know that what we lost back then cost much more and that other people had similar experiences and know how much it hurts to see everything you have, every family picture, clothes, and document floating with sewage water. But that site was the very first one I posted anything online, and the one I posted almost everything I did until the day the site opted for every art uploaded on it to agree with the use of our images to train AI without even a notification.

I felt that I lost everything again, and this time were all things I did myself, my very first drawing, my very first digital painting that looked awful, and every single one I did while I was trying to get better at this until being an artist became my profession. This was not something that I could recover from, because I had everything with me, but someone else had these copies, together with the copies of everyone else's work that were on that platform. I felt robbed, and used. Just as I'm sure many artists who had their entire life's work posted on Deviantart that night and found out about this felt the same way.

Please don't get me wrong. I'm not against AI in general. It can be used for many useful and even essential things that didn't harm anyone to be created and won't harm anyone to be used. Much of it is a necessary advance, and that is not the part I'm against at all. This is something too extensive to put a right or wrong label on and its aspects still need to be understood to define which parts are ethical and which are not. I'm against, however, the unethical part of it. That they used real people to scan their work, their voices, and even their faces without consent to create something that is not out of nothing, are bits and pieces of information of other people's essence, characteristics, and hard work.

I understand the need to grow, and I understand that since AI was something new, there were no laws whatsoever about it to protect us from it.

I understand that there are much worse evils than this to be considered in the world, and that my problems and how I feel about them shouldn't be that hard to endure especially since I know that there could be worse. But I wish things had been different.

I can only hope that this will change with time, that it can be used more consciously, and that unethical methods will no longer be applied. I hope that everything will work out in the end.

Sorry for my long explanation, but thank you for reading. And believe me, I missed you all so much. And I hope to feel safe sharing my art here with you more often again. It's a part of me that I had lost the courage to have until now, and I hope I have the strength to deal with it, because creating art is what I love most in the world, and I really miss being able to share it with you.

[archivlibrarianist]

"The document, which looks like a lump of charcoal, was charred by the volcanic eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD and is too fragile to ever be physically opened.

"But now scientists have used a combination of X-ray imaging and artificial intelligence to virtually unfurl it, revealing rows and columns of text.

"More work is needed to make the scroll fully legible to decipher its contents, but the team behind the project say the results are very promising."

Oh, look: a way to use AI that is actually useful and doesn't involve stealing from artists:

"...After [a 3D reconstruction is created from a scan of the scroll] , artificial intelligence is used to detect the ink. It's easier said than done - both the papyrus and ink are made from carbon and they're almost indistinguishable from each other.

"So the AI hunts for the tiniest signals that ink might be there, then this ink is painted on digitally, bringing the letters to light."