#as it is me. my place. my identity. a home that is mine. a space and a chair and a floor and a closet and they are mine

[reality-detective]

Humanity has had to suffer all sorts of ‘isms’ throughout history; Marxism, communism, fascism, globalism, feminism, chauvinism, wokeism and institutionalism, to name a few. I feel the world is finally ready to leave all of that behind and welcome the only ‘ism’ worth keeping; individualism.

It’s time to abandon herd mentality and the absurd notion that the collective is more important than the individual.

The collective is simply the sum of the individuals, so it’s the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual condition of the individual that is of paramount importance. What is not good for the individual, is therefore not good for the collective. It can NEVER be the other way around.

In the last five years we have witnessed the demise of trust in governmental institutions, law enforcement, legal frameworks, medical establishments, organised religion and international organisations. There is now a need and a desire to go back ‘home’; to restore our national boundaries, to preserve our traditions and our culture, and to decide the type of future that works for each of us, not globally, but locally.

For me personally, it’s not so much about patriotism or nationalism, it’s about individualism. It’s about living accordingly to our individual foundations, requirements and needs, based on who you are and the characteristics of the region that shaped your character growing up.

It’s about honouring our elders, our history and our stories. It’s about us individually feeling safe and at peace, knowing that we are where we belong, where we are understood, where our roots will hold us through any storm, where we have the support, understanding and love that we need. It’s about being the best individual you can be, because the collective that sorrounds you gets you and embraces you.

We have a saying in Spain that goes like this: “Cada uno en su casa y Diós en la de todos”, which comes to mean: “Each one in their own home and God in everyone’s”. I believe this to be the main ingredient to lasting peace; each to their own in their own home and God as everyone’s companion. No forced ‘inclusion’, no shoved down our throats ‘diversity’, no false ‘equity’. Be you in your own space and let me be me in mine, but if you come to my home, have the respect to follow my rules and my traditions.

For decades they have been purposefully ‘shaking the jar’ because they wanted to break our roots, so we would forget our sense of belonging. They wanted to shatter our foundations, so we would lose our sense of identity and they wanted to keep us in constant conflict because divided we are conquered.

Globalism is not the celebration of a multicultural, multiracial world, it’s the complete opposite; it’s the destruction of our differences and idiosyncrasies in order to give way to a malleable, controllable and compliant homogeneous mass.

But we are not sheep, we are not a ‘mass’, we are individuals, with different needs, different understandings and different ways to express life. I don’t want us to be the same, I want us to be different! That’s what makes the world interesting.

I welcome the new age of individualism which I feel is beginning to take shape. A time where we understand that our differences make us stronger as long as we don’t impose them on one another, a time where we will live where we belong, each in their own place, where God is always in us... 🤔

[crochetrica]

It might not be much, but it's mine

living room floor by sammy rae & the friends; sun in an empty room, 1963 by edward hopper; tea by leila chatti; sun in an empty room blue by philip koch; the house on mango street by sandra cisneros; white room by harry steen

[witherby]

WOAAH!!

Flight of Fancy reached 330+ notes!

ive never seen a request of mine blow up!!!!

—🦈

You have good ideas! And because the first part reached the reblog threshold, here's:

Flight of Fancy, pt. 2

Damian x Winged!Reader

Masterlist is Here!

"This is deep, and was made with a plain-edge blade. Whoever did this to you was trying to hurt you much worse than this."

Damian looks your wound over meticulously as you sit on a chair in the cave's medical bay. "What happened?"

You shrug your good shoulder, examining the space around you with clear intrigue. The Bat Cave was incredibly interesting, with all its different sections and complicated layout. You itched to explore it in its entirety. Maybe Damian would let you when he finished patching you up.

"I wanted to be free. The men who captured me did not approve."

Damian hums. He uses a pair of surgical scissors to cut off the sleeve of your robe to further expose the injury in your shoulder, and you let him do it without fuss. He grabs a wet cloth to clean the blood away and see it all better.

"Why did they capture you in the first place?"

You frown. Your wings, which are currently tucked against your back, flex and flutter briefly. You resist the urge to pluck at your feathers.

"They hunted me down," you explain, "and took me from my home. Said they needed me for what I can do."

Damian picks up a needle and thread to begin sewing the cut closed. You don't object when he warns you of what he's about to do or flinch when he starts.

"And what can you do?" He asks.

You don't respond. Damian sees your jaw clench, eyes darting towards where you know one of the exits to be.

"Alright," he says, "that's fair. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"You are not angry with me?" You ask.

"No. We're practically strangers," he says, tying off the stitchwork and snipping off the excess thread. He grabs a roll of bandages to cover it, and you hold your arm out to give him better access. "Telling me what abilities you possess might lead to exploitation on your part. The safest move is to keep sensitive information close to your chest. I don't even know your name. I'm not angry, I'm impressed."

"Impressed indeed."

Both you and Damian look in the direction of the medical bay's entrance and find Bruce at the door, geared up in his Batman suit. To his credit, he doesn't look as mad as the boy expected.

"I'll need a word with you when you're finished, Robin."

"Of course," Damian replies. He secures your bandage and pulls away. You drop your arm. "Will you be alright alone for a few minutes?"

"I will."

Damian excuses himself, closing the door to the bay and facing his father.

"You're going to tell me off for compromising the cave, and potentially our identities," he says immediately, "and that's fair. However, I informed Red Robin ahead of time so he could hide any documentation, and the Batmobile took a scrambled route here, so they have no way of being able to track the location of the cave once they leave it. They know nothing, and they've seen nothing that can implicate any of us."

"That's not what I'm concerned about," Bruce says. "I'm wondering why you've brought them to begin with. The victims we help in the field don't come back to the cave, ever. That's the part of the protocol I need to know why you broke."

"They're a metahuman, father," Damian says, "and all of Gotham knows your rule. Where else was I supposed to bring a wounded trafficking victim if a human hospital would've turned them away the second they spotted huge wings and golden blood?"

"To the metahuman outpost on the edge of the city limits—"

"— which was being scouted and surrounded by Luthor's henchmen at the time of retrieval."

Bruce purses his lips. "You could have radioed a Leaguer to take them somewhere else."

"It's three-thirty in the morning. Half of them are asleep and won't wake up for a non-emergency summons, and the rest are either off-world, can't get here for immediate extraction, or they're busy protecting their own sectors." Damian crosses his arms and scowls at his dad. "I'm not one of your brainless coworkers incapable of any critical thought. I'm your Robin, and I know what I'm doing. This was the safest and most logical action to take for now."

Bruce sighs. He rests a palm on his hip and nods begrudgingly.

"I understand your reasoning," he says. "In the future, I'm going to update our metahuman contingencies to account for lack of recovery points. For now, you're in charge of keeping an eye on them until morning. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." Bruce turns away and heads for a different section of the cave. "I'll contact Superman and try to coordinate a retrieval. If he's indisposed, someone will take your place and keep watch until we can safely get them to the outpost."

Damian doesn't reply. He watches him disappear down the corridor, then reenters the medbay to find you missing from your chair.

"...hello?" He frowns, glancing around. There's only one way in and out of there, so he's not sure how you vanished. "Are you hiding?"

"No," you say. Damian looks up to find you perched on the edge of the fluorescent lighting. He has to squint to see you properly.

Your wings are out, flexing and adjusting to help you keep your balance on the light fixture. You look down at Damian with a small smile.

"I can hear many winged creatures in the adjacent rooms. There are none in here, though. I looked."

"Bats," Damian clarifies for you. "They're not allowed in this section because it has to stay well-sanitized. Bats have a tendency to carry disease."

"Is that why the bat-man could not speak with you in here?" You ask. Damian almost snorts.

"No, he's a human. He just dresses like...it's...it makes sense," Damian says, somehow embarrassed by your innocent curiosity. "His moniker is Batman. He's not a real bat. Just like my moniker is Robin, but I'm not a real bird."

You tip your body over until you fall from the light. Damian instinctively extends his arms to catch you, alarmed, but your wings flare out to their full length and help you coast gently to the floor again.

"May I go see them?" You ask. "The real bats?"

"If you promise not to touch them, yes."

You pout, bottom lip jutting out slightly, but don't argue. Damian automatically thinks back on how plush your lips felt against his and looks away.

"Do you have any other injuries that need treated before we leave this room?" He asks.

"I do not," you reply, reaching for the buttons on the front of your robe, popping them open one by one. "If you must examine me..."

Damian physically turns his whole body away from you, wishing his domino mask covered more than just his eyes so he could hide the redness of his cheeks. "No I don't! That's fine, you can keep your clothes on!"

You tilt your head, but don't ask about his flustered behavior. Instead, you reach past him for the door and turn the knob, stepping into the corridor.

"Don't leave the cave," Damian says, walking after you. "It's imperative that you stay here. You're not a prisoner, but this is the safest move for you right now."

"I will not leave," you promise. You look upward as you go, scanning for signs of any bats hanging out on the ceiling. When you find a cluster of them, you spread your wings again.

Hesitating, you glance at Damian over your shoulder.

"Project Angel," you tell him. "That is what they called me, in the laboratory. It's not my real name. You may use the... moniker of Angel."

Damian watches you push off of the ground, soaring into the air with a dizzying speed to admire the animals up above.

"Angel," he whispers, watching your graceful movements with unabashed awe. "Fitting."

[sorryimananti-romantic]

The Leaders | Chapter X

"maybe a place where light and darkness meet, the choice between truth and lies is mine."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of war/military, drugs, gangs and corruption, mentions of assassination, you finally have a clue on the real threat, romance with san, winter as bodyguard, mingi and woo are the teasers now-

chapter wc: 10.3k

chapter synopsis: you and hongjoong go to the president son’s residence to discuss the recent findings about secretary oh’s involvement. you learn some secrets about strictland, president lee and president han’s roles, and the rv spies. with your trust placed in each other, lady kim shares something with hongjoong that leads him to go to maddox and co. with seonghwa to trace the source of your ring without your knowledge. as per president son’s request, winter becomes your bodyguard and accompanies you to the warehouse where you prepare to deal with the clients in a true ‘leader’ fashion.

prev chapter recap: the crescents are being investigated and trade is temporarily shut down with the investors dubious of their involvement with the company. you collaborate with jaehyun to keep an eye on the tide at edenary and learn that inspector gong has been looking into you. seonghwa admits the possibility of a mole. apart from work, he also expresses his woes of failing to be a gentleman to you though you assure him that you are loved. your first date with wooyoung is successful but not free of worry and towards the end, you both go to wooyoung’s home to discuss work where you are joined by hongjoong and jongho. hongjoong muses that its time to stop acting like refined gentlemen and show the world that they are a gang. you learn from jaebeom that madame tiffany is involved with the elites who wish to trigger a regional war to test the strictland nuclear weapons and you confront hongjoong and seonghwa. you go to the bar to vent with yeosang and san and find a mysterious note in your purse after you leave. the identity of the last anonymous funder gets exposed and the crescents gather to plan ahead since it’s obvious that the crescents are deliberately being targeted because of silver light. yunho invites you to his place for the night and you get intimate.

“Oh, to be rich and own a farm where I can grow all my favourite flowers,” you sighed wistfully as you zoomed past the numerous farmhouses with luxurious mansions that bordered the expressway to Sector 2. 

The farmhouses were a staple of Sector 2. The residents of these sectors mostly owned acres of lands and had lavish living spaces surrounded by lawns or farms. The descendants of the royal family still dwelled in this sector along with some politicians and business owners who preferred the slow-paced life of Sector 2 over the occasionally suffocating Edenary air.

“I can make that happen,” Hongjoong declared almost casually, inspecting his nails and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. You passed him a tired glance, meeting eyes with Taeyong in the rearview mirror who anticipated your response.

“Let’s save the company first, eh, Captain? You can shower me with luxuries later.”

Taeyong made no effort to conceal the laughter that erupted from his mouth at your comment and Hongjoong, who was sitting behind the driver’s seat, kicked under the seat in warning. Taeyong resorted to low snickering. 

Hongjoong glared at you next. “It’s not that bad–”

“I know,” you placed your hand over his. “I’m just teasing you. Relax.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath, managing a weak smile. You smiled back, brushing dust off the lapel of his black coat and continued, “I always imagine myself with a big house or mansion, planting my own flowers and harvest. When I’m old and tired of this life, though.”

Hongjoong smiled. “When I’m ready to settle, I’d like to buy a mansion with big lawns too. I’d like for all of us to live together, let the business run itself. I imagine someone is married, and someone has kids. Another has too many pets. We all go hunting when the weather calls for it, or go fishing on one of the islands.”

“Sounds lovely,” you said, warmth bubbling in your chest at the thought.

“Seems impossible, for now, but I would like for a day to come when I do not have to watch my back.”

“Ah, the Captain’s feeling sentimental today,” Taeyong shook his head. “Rest up. We have a solid 20 minutes ahead.” 

Hongjoong closed his eyes and found your hand again, clasping it in his. You squeezed it gently, going back to admiring the scenery. 

It was a big day today. You were on your way to the Son Mansion in Sector 2 where ex-president Son and his wife resided. Hongjoong had sent a letter right after the weapons funder was exposed and President Son’s reply was positive. He invited him to his residence. The three of you made sure to leave the sector discreetly, making sure that you didn’t have eyes on you.

However… you felt restless and exposed. The note that you found in your purse the other day when you learned that Madame Tiffany was involved with the Strictland business was making you paranoid because it was proof that someone was watching you and had perhaps planned one step ahead.

Meet President Son, the note said. You’ll find something you are not looking for, but something you have been and will be looking for.

Right after you received the note, the weapons funder was exposed and Hongjoong had to request President Son for a meeting. That’s when you asked him for the favour– to let you accompany him. You told him that you were not sure why but you had a feeling that you needed to go and meet President Son. He didn't probe and accepted your request.

You reached the heart of the sector at a bounded society that serves as a secure place for the elites. The area had tight security which was a given since this place was a home to some of the retired military officials as well. You passed through each checkpoint slowly– the guards seemed to have been alerted that you were President Son’s guests and as soon as you entered the residential area, an officer accompanied you to the ex-president’s mansion.

Taeyong parked the car outside and you gathered your belongings– and your wits– before getting out, clutching your black fur coat tighter when the icy wind hit you. You linked your arm with Hongjoong’s before following the guard inside, the heels of your boot clacking on the paved path that bisected the lawn. You took a quick look around– different trees and big plants with some camellias grew along the boundary of the house. There were remnants of snow on the grass from the storm in the early morning.  

A middle-aged butler welcomed you inside, guiding you to the study. The study felt and looked warm with its book-lined walls and ruby rugs, multiple lamps lit around the space.  A tall man stood poking at the wood in the fireplace while humming a tune to himself, unaware of your presence.

The butler knocked to alert the arrival of the guests but the man did not move until he was done fixing the wood, hanging the poker back in its stand before turning and smiling at the sight of you both.

Ex-president Son Seokku. The man who reigned over Eden for two whole presidential terms, which made a whole decade. The man who did not let Eden lose when the war began and stood against Eden’s own army to make the Treaty of the Eight Hills happen, resulting in the end of the war. He stood tall but somewhat weary, the corner of his eyes creasing as he smiled. He was dressed very casually in a plain beige button-down and matching trouser, moving with a sort of grace that comes with a high position such as his.

Hongjoong saluted first and the man saluted back before shaking hands with you both.

“President. It’s an honour to be in your presence,” Hongjoong said, introducing you as his partner and you shared Hongjoong’s sentiment. 

“I’m president no more,” he reminded you both, motioning you to take your seats in the other corner of the study and you settled down on the plush maroon sofa. 

“You’ll always be referred to as the president,” Hongjoong said and the man shrugged, probably used to hearing that term. The three of you exchanged pleasantries while you were served tea, scones and biscuits. You got to hear some war stories before the topic naturally steered towards why Hongjoong requested for a meeting and more importantly, why was President Son eager to meet him. 

“I heard you’re in quite a pinch,” the man said, somewhat amused. “Edenary Station is not going to hold back if it’s the navy and the army backing them.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Hongjoong said confidently, sipping his tea and President Son nodded enthusiastically. A knock sounded on the door and Lady Kim Jiwon entered with a meek smile sent in her husband’s direction. 

“Hope I’m not late– the cats would not let me go.”

“That’s alright,” you smiled warmly, shaking her hand. She shook Hongjoong’s hand as well before sitting next to her husband, straightening her black skirt before crossing her legs.

“You’re right on time,” President Son affectionately squeezed her shoulder. “I was just asking Hongjoong here about how he’s handling the Edenary Station case.”

“Well, I hope,” she said casually. “I heard something more interesting, though.”

She passed a meaningful look at Hongjoong who got the cue. 

“Of course you know all about how we deal with weapons in the underground networks. Yet…” Hongjoong fixed his gaze on the ex-president. “Yet you do nothing about it.”

“Like I said,” President Son smiled slyly. “I’m not in a position of power anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Hongjoong smiled back. “You still control much of the political tide. You can’t be a man of no power after having ruled Eden for a solid decade, Sir.”

President Son chuckled darkly. “If I had a semblance of the power I had in my prime days, Major, the weapons channel would not exist.”

The room filled with silence at the implication of his words and the president decided that you all had joked around enough. He leaned in, rubbing his hands and shaking his head before beginning.

“The man that was arrested, Oh Jungse– President Han’s secretary. He was funding your weapons project, if you haven’t found out already.”

“We learned about that, but there’s not a whisper of it in the streets,” Hongjoong said.

“He is but a middleman. Someone else is your source. Have you figured that out yet?”

“It must be you,” you started and the couple regarded you with a curious look. “If there’s anyone who will not approve of the current presidency and how it functions regarding defence, it can only be a previous president or someone of a similar status.”

For a moment, you wondered if you had said the wrong thing but President Son nodded sombrely. “That’s right. It is no secret that I do not approve of the current defence status, but that is not why I was funding your project. I have other reasons.”

“Must be regarding Strictland, then,” Hongjoong commented and watched them shift uncomfortably. “Luna here… Are you aware of her identity?”

“Secretary Park Byung Eun’s allegedly illegitimate daughter,” Lady Kim said, her gaze sticking on the pearl ring you wore. Did she recognise the family ring? 

Your father had given you this ring some time before you left for Wonderland, saying that it was a keepsake of your mother’s and you were not to lose it under any circumstances. If she recognised the ring, was she also aware of your mother’s identity?

“Allegedly?” Hongjoong repeated, looking at you and finding the colour drained from your face.

“Allegedly,” Lady Kim confirmed. “I personally wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of that man’s mouth.”

“Well… Luna is my source regarding my knowledge on Strictland. She can be trusted,” Hongjoong said as if bringing you here was not a display of his trust in you enough. “You must be aware of the Strictland’s nuclear operation.”

“Major Sung visited Eden for a reason,” President Son sighed. “Do you know why the Strictland’s governor meets with the current president so often?”

Hongjoong shook his head, saying that he was not sure and explaining that all he knew was that Secretary Park was involved, as well as a number of elites including Madame Tiffany who they had signed on the silver light project with. President Son was aware of that deal and commended Hongjoong’s drive to get silver light passed as a medicinal drug.

“It’s going to be a war with the elites. Silver light is their ambrosia. They would never give it up and will crush anyone who gets in their way. Seems like they have already begun– stopping your trade and now putting a halt to your weapon’s project. Are you sure you can handle what’s next, Major Kim Hongjoong?”

“You know us, President,” Hongjoong straightened his back. “We are survivors and we will always rebuild no matter how much we lose.”

“And your loyalty lies with Eden?”

“With my home and my people, first and foremost,” Hongjoong announced. 

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” President Son nodded. “I will pull some strings and make your trade resume, even though I personally do not approve of it. However… it’s the only thing I can do for you right now to keep your organisation functioning.”

You and Hongjoong thanked the president and the man took a deep breath.

“Secretary Park is not your real enemy. He is but the right hand man of the person who’s leading the Strictland operation right now, wearing the cloak of an angel to hide his devil horns. Your real enemy is President Lee Jinwook– he is behind the Strictland operation.”

“That can’t be,” you muttered, finding Hongjoong just as shocked as you. Sure, you both had entertained the idea that President Lee could be the mastermind behind this, but to hear it directly still felt like a big blow.

“It’s not just that,” Lady Kim began. “And I’m only revealing this to you because we have tested your loyalties and found you to be our ally rather than the enemy– the RV spies answer to us among many others and have confirmed that the Crescents can be trusted.”

“It would be an honour,” Hongjoong said.

“President Han’s assassination– something about it never sat right with me,” she began. “You must feel that too, right?” She asked and you nodded, wholly agreeing. “It’s not just the way that she was assassinated but how Lee Jinwook reacted afterwards– censoring the media and shutting down all investigations on Hyojoo’s death. He said that he wanted to investigate it privately and we understood, but we were Hyojoo’s closest friends and he never shared any details with us. It was clear that he was basically cutting ties with us.”

“And we had an argument about it, hence the bad blood between us now, which is no secret,” President Son added. “We tried to investigate Hyojoo’s death but he always found out and sent a message– and it got ugly from there. We reached out to the RV spies who informed us that maybe we should shift our focus elsewhere first.”

Lady Kim exhaled. “There was too much going on at that time. The elections were right around the corner and the people were scared. Any detectives who tried to get leads for us got demoted or fired. The office employees started resigning. In hindsight, it looks like President Lee knew that he was going to win and purged the office, starting with a clean slate.”

“But he… he always goes on about how he wants to honour his wife and continue her legacy. He built that hospital in her memory,” you said but you knew your argument sounded weak now.

“Got him those pity votes, didn’t it?” President Son smiled almost sadly. “Built a hospital but won’t let silver light launch as a medicinal drug and plans to put patients in that hospital when he makes the Strictland operation public.”

“How did he get so much power?” Hongjoong mused, settling in resignation now that things seemed out of his control.

“I suspect that when President Han began her reign, Lee Jinwook stuck close and made connections with all sorts of people. His background is not special but he’s got a scheming mind, that one. He was quick to mingle, especially with the wrong type of people. Hyojoo had no idea what was going on but I think she started suspecting something when her term was about to conclude and Jinwook stopped pretending to not like the spotlight.”

“Do you think President Lee has got something to do with President Han’s death?” You asked and the room started feeling cold as the couple thought about it.

“Something, definitely,” President Son announced and you and Hongjoong exhaled, not realising you both had been holding your breaths for the answer. “How much he’s involved, I’m not sure. He’s very clean and we’ve got nothing to support whatever we just told you. It’s all about trust now.”

“It is,” you agreed. “I’ve got nothing to support whatever information I gave to Hongjoong either– I had more than a clue about what was going on with Strictland, but I wasn’t aware of President Lee’s involvement. It’s just about trust. Thank you for placing your trust in us and confirming our suspicions. And for giving us more.”

President Son concluded the meeting and Lady Kim asked if she could have a word with you while Hongjoong and President Son shared some technical details. You followed Lady Kim outside to the veranda which gave a beautiful view of the lawn. You started with small talk about the beautiful mansion.

“How did you get out of that house?” Lady Kim asked. “Secretary Park isn’t the kind of person who would have let you go if you’re really his illegitimate daughter. He would have kept you a secret.”

“Well, he did disown me and changed my surname to Jeon before shipping me to Wonderland in 1963,” you told her and she nodded. “I only came back because I asserted that I was no longer tied to him.”

“I think that someone wanted you to come back. The RV spies protect you– do you know why?”

“No,” you narrowed your eyes just a fraction. “Do you know why?”

“Not yet,” she smiled knowingly. “But I have my suspicions.”

“And what would they be?” 

Lady Kim only smiled in response to your frustration. You fiddled with your ring out of nervousness and she noticed that.

“That’s a lovely ring,” she commented. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s a family ring. From my mother, apparently,” you said with a broken laugh. “Not that I know who it belongs to. My father, Secretary Park, gave me this ring when the war ended to congratulate me for making it back alive– I served as a medical assistant. This is the only reminder I have of what was once my home.”

Lady Kim gently took your hand, to your surprise, and inspected the ring– a golden band that twisted into a knot with a small pearl in the middle. 

“Someone I know had the same ring. She lost it, though, which is odd because I had never seen her without it.”

“When did she lose it?” You asked, heart thumping wildly and Lady Kim looked at you, eyes full of secrets.

“Not sure,” she said. You nodded, willing yourself to calm down. “That’s a Maddox ring. Someone only of a high status could own such a ring. Your mother must be someone of high status– I would expect nothing less of Secretary Park.”

You shrugged and she let go of your hand. You glanced at the woman.

“Were you very close with President Han?”

Lady Kim looked surprised to hear the question but she smiled. “She was Seokku’s best friend, and after I married him, she became the closest thing I had to a sister.”

“I had the honour of meeting her once– a short little encounter, but it always stuck with me,” you found yourself recalling the party at Park Mansion in 1963– the same party Assemblyman Kim remembered you from. That was right before your father sent you to Wonderland.

“She was a lovely woman,” you continued. “She found me hiding in the balcony and we made small talk. She noticed my ring too– I guess you people have an eye for these things,” you said, chuckling lightly. “She told me that I felt familiar for some reason and she found herself opening up to me. It wasn’t a long conversation that we had, but she found herself telling me how sometimes, she feels as if she’s just a piece of chess in someone’s game and that the life she is living is a lie.”

“She said that?” Lady Kim frowned in surprise, though understanding started to wash on her features. 

“I obviously didn’t think much of it– I didn’t know her personally. I just said something dumb like how I feel the same, and that no matter how trapped you are, you should always be in control of your own life, at least.”

“Ah…” Lady Kim started to laugh, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. “That’s where she heard that, huh?”

“What?”

“She started saying that a lot after she became the president. She said a kid told her these wise words. It sort of became her mantra, and…”

Lady Kim paused. You could see that she was holding back from saying something so you didn’t probe. Right then, President Son and Hongjoong joined you both. They asked you to give them a moment of privacy, suggesting you explore their lawns before they would come to say their farewell. 

While you walked with Hongjoong along the cement path that led to the front of the Son Mansion, Hongjoong noticed a wistful smile on your face. He supposed you had a good conversation with Lady Kim– his conversation with President Son had ended on a rather heavy note. You caught Hongjoong watching you.

“What’s making you smile like that, love?”

Your smile deepened. “I once told Seonghwa about the only conversation I had with President Han– right before she got elected as the president in 1963. The same party where Assemblyman Kim remembers me from.”

“The party was hosted at Park Mansion to celebrate the debut of Lee Jinwook in politics,” Hongjoong said and you confirmed with a nod. “You met President Han there?”

“I was actually hiding when she found me on the balcony. We had a little conversation– she complimented my ring and made small talk, told me that I strangely felt familiar to her, and… she shared some of her worries. She said she felt like she was being manipulated and had no control over her life.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. He was so confused right now, especially with what President Son had privately told him. 

“I told her that she should at least have control over her own life, no matter how trapped she is. Lady Kim just told me that my words stuck with President Han and after she won the elections, it became a mantra for her.”

“You tend to leave a mark wherever you go,” Hongjoong took your hand, squeezing it. “That’s just how you are.”

“It’s kind of funny, because what she said also became a mantra for me that I repeat when I find myself in a dark place.”

“And what’s that?” Hongjoong asked.

“That there is light even in the darkest of places,” you grinned. “Such simple words, right? Somehow, at that time… I really needed to hear it.”

“Looks like she needed to hear those words too,” Hongjoong grinned back. 

President Son and Lady Kim joined you at the front of their residence, sharing some gifts for you both to take back– some high quality tobacco for Hongjoong and imported chocolates for you, as well as wine for Taeyong. You thanked them and Lady Kim hugged you in farewell, saying that she enjoyed your company and would like to meet you again- preferably under better circumstances. 

You got inside the car first, the couple having a quick conversation with Hongjoong which looked serious, seeing how Hongjoong glanced at you reflexively, looking surprised. He nodded earnestly before getting inside the car. 

It was starting to get dark now. You let a few moments pass, admiring the golden hour and how the fields lit under the sun before you turned your attention to Hongjoong and asked him about the contents of his conversation with President Son. 

Hongjoong looked at you for a moment too long before speaking. “Would you be surprised to hear that the Sirens answer to him?”

Your mouth formed an O shape and he chuckled. “If you told me after I processed the conversation we had with President Son today, I wouldn't be surprised. But right now… I admit that I am.”

“He’s going to have one of the leaders of the Siren come in contact with us. They can share the gritty details on how to take our new target down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, hope starting to bloom inside your chest.

“Also… you’re getting yourself a bodyguard and a car.”

“Now?” You frowned. “Secretary Park isn’t going to attack me now. What’s the deal?”

“You are a Crescent– a Leader. Now that things are going to get messier, you must have someone by your side when you go out.”

“You don’t take Taeyong everywhere, do you?” You asked and Taeyong groaned.

“If he starts taking me everywhere now, I’m blaming you, Luna.”

“You don’t have to take them everywhere,” Hongjoong shrugged. “But it’s an order.”

“Might I suggest Doyoung for the job?” Taeyong said. “He’s been inactive ever since Yuta replaced him when he got injured.”

“So Doyoung must be Seonghwa’s old bodyguard?” You asked.

“President Son made his own suggestion,” Hongjoong revealed and you raised a brow. That meant… President Son ordered Hongjoong to get you a bodyguard?

“Why would he suggest a bodyguard for me?” You asked.

“What can I say? He likes you,” Hongjoong shrugged dismissively, not meeting your eyes.

“Kim Hongjoong,” you called. “Tell me the truth. Right now.”

Taeyong whistled at how you bossed the boss around. Hongjoong shot you a glare. “He thinks we can use you to rile Secretary Park up. If Secretary Park messes up, that affects President Lee. It’s time we get back at them, right?”

“That’s… smart,” you folded your arms defensively. “Who did he suggest?”

“Let me have a little meeting with them first before I tell you,” he requested and you agreed, the two of you starting to unpack the conversation and make sense of what happened today.

When you reached back at the Crescent Office, Yunho called for your help and you immediately went inside his office room to assist him. Outside, Hongjoong watched your figure disappear for a long time before going to his office room, finding Seonghwa inside. 

“Ah, you’re back,” Seonghwa looked up from his reports. “How did it go?”

“Better than expected. We have an ally.”

“That’s great news,” Seonghwa put down the reports, stretching lightly. “What do you look so gloomy for then?”

“Say… you have a good eye when it comes to recognising jewels and the likes, right?” Hongjoong asked. Seonghwa frowned in confusion but nodded.

“We should make a trip to Maddox and Co. soon,” the Captain said, rubbing his chin in thought. “We’re going to look into Luna’s ring.”

“The pearl ring?” Seonghwa asked and Hongjoong nodded. “Why?”

“Lady Kim asked me to look into it. She said that Luna claims that it’s a family ring from her mother’s side, but such a ring can only belong to a high class family, and there aren’t many high class families in Eden, right?”

Seonghwa thought about it for a few moments. “Her mother… might be alive?”

“It’s not even about that– she’s probably dead, otherwise she might have reached out at some point… right?” Hongjoong pondered.

“If her mother had an affair with a married man… maybe not, Joong. I’m more surprised Secretary Park took the risk of raising his illegitimate child when he cares so much about his reputation. They could have sent her to the orphanage and she would have never found out about both her parents.”

“Right?” Hongjoong sank down on the couch. “It’s weird how he raised her, Seonghwa. Made sure she had an education, taught her all about business– why? If he cares about his reputation so much, he wouldn’t have gone through all these measures. And I really don’t think that it’s because he has a soft spot for her when he’s been trying to kill her lately.”

“Yeah, it definitely does not add up, I’ve had this thought too,” Seonghwa agreed. “But… does Luna wish to find out her mother’s identity?”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong admitted. “You know her better than I do.”

“But you know her in ways that I don’t,” Seonghwa remarked. “I don’t know, she never mentioned anything about her mother to me. Should I ask her if she wants to look into it with us?”

“And give her false hope? If this is a dead end, she’ll be distracted. I think once we have a lead, we can ask her if she wants to find out about her mother and share what we have from there.”

“Well, you may not know her as much as I do, but even you know that she would be mad to learn we looked into this without her permission.”

“I’m aware, but Seonghwa…” Hongjoong looked distraught, sharing the last bit President Son and Lady Kim told him in private. 

Seonghwa’s face paled when he heard that, eyes widening as the gravity of the situation started to sink in. 

“Lady Kim hinted something to Luna, but she’s clueless right now, and it’s better if she remains so until we have a solid lead,” Hongjoong said in a low voice and Seonghwa agreed.

“The RV spies must be protecting her because of this, right?” Seonghwa wondered, deep in thought.

“And that’s why President Son suggested we have one of the RV spies as Luna’s bodyguard. Set up a meeting with Winter– I think she’ll make a good fit. She’s already been watching Luna anyway. Yeosang found her at the Bar the other day.”

“Winter… I think she’s been watching Luna since she lived in Edenary. Luna mentioned that she looked familiar.”

“Well then,” Hongjoong clapped in conclusion. “It’ll be a match made in the underworld.”

It took a few days for Edenary Station to finally drop the case of the illegal shipment to Mist Island, settling on a heavy fine and a few restrictions on the trade limit. Seonghwa went to Edenary to sign on it, returning with his form the most relaxed you had seen in a while. He also brought news that Secretary Oh was released, though he was not in the best condition. With President Son being unable to intervene personally, Secretary Oh went into hiding, presumably. 

Hongjoong was half sure that President Son would have employed some guards to protect Secretary Oh. If Secretary Oh really was once loyal to President Han, and now a means for President Son to fund the underground weapons project, that surely meant that President Son would ensure his safety. So that was sorted as well.

Yunho and Jongho left for Edenary right after Seonghwa came back– it was Hongjoong’s idea that perhaps, they should start spreading word about Strictland around. If the public started to talk about President Lee and other politician’s potential involvement in Strictland’s status and how it could trigger a regional war, no amount of censorship would work to shut the civilians and quell the chaos that would follow. 

And for that reason, you all prepared to get into contact with the Sirens Rebel Party, waiting for President Son to send his men for a meeting– their goal was ultimately to stop the annexation and occupation of Strictland, and if they were aware about the active nuclear operations in Strictland, they were probably enraged and there would be no stopping them. 

You decided to keep the rumours related to President Lee and his possible interest in Strictland’s occupation to yourself, for now. If false, things would end at media censorship and restrictions imposed on the Rebel Party, but if this statement held some truth…

You needed to find out just what kind of a sadist President Lee really was. Only then you would be able to predict his next moves. For now, you were conscious of the suspicion that he was somehow involved in his wife President Han’s death. If he really was, that would prove to be a very grave matter because he had used his wife’s name to excel in his career in more ways than imaginable. 

Furthermore, you had learned about President Lee being the real mastermind behind Secretary Park and his business methods. That meant that President Lee had bribed quite a few people to make his way to the top. If President Lee was pushing in the favour of Strictland’s nuclear operation, he could possibly be a member of the ‘elites’ and there was a high chance that he was acquainted with Tiffany and might have used her to keep the silver light project from launching.

But first, you needed to confirm how involved Tiffany was– had she been the one to tip the navy about the illegal trade being carried out by the Crescents, and the one who had Secretary Oh, the anonymous weapons funder, arrested? All to stop the launch of silver light, after making the deal? 

The question remained. Why would she shake hands on the deal with the Crescents on the silver light project if she did not want the world– the common man– to find out about that drug? 

In any case, Tiffany was informed that the project was on hold when the illegal shipment was caught, and Hongjoong decided to not update her about the resumption of the business– you needed to find out how involved Tiffany was with the Strictland nuclear operation and President Lee. 

San and Yeosang had safely finished transporting most of their silver light batch to the other warehouse owned by MX Pharmaceuticals, located at the border of Sector 2. This was the warehouse where they used to produce drugs back in their gang days but the site had been shut for years after. They still had loyal staff and workers who were willing to cooperate in full secrecy and work alongside the Crescent’s own staff. So the duo ensured the workers got along and the production began smoothly. 

San returned to the Crescent Bar in the afternoon where you were waiting for him in the office, ready for the last meeting you would be holding in the main city before moving to the warehouse. He entered the office and took off his outerwear, hanging it on the knob before turning to you. You greeted him with a smile and he returned it with a peck to your cheek.

“You’re ready?”

“They’re arriving any minute now,” you told him. “I’m ready.”

Your client today was one of the anonymous funders who was in town and had agreed to meet, wanting to go through the terms of their deal with the Crescents, now that their identity was exposed– the youngest son of one of the old conglomerate families, owner of multiple businesses but best known for their construction businesses. Seonghwa was sure that they wouldn’t need much convincing. They would probably continue to fund the weapons project as long as they made sure their identity would remain hidden.

“It’s going to be a short meeting, so don’t fret too much,” San smiled reassuringly at you when he spotted you twiddling with the ends of your sleeves. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’m just worried if they will back out of this deal. We’ll suffer a huge loss–”

“And losses happen in every business,” San reminded you, cupping your face. “That’s normal.”

You nodded, managing a small smile to show him that you understood. He smiled back, leaning in for a quick kiss.

But it looked like you needed that, the way your fingers curled around his shirt and kept him close, so San continued to kiss your lips in slow, soft movements until you pulled away with a happy sigh, grinning at how he lingered and was unable to open his eyes for a moment.

“Would you like another?” You teased and San chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. 

“I would like another, but…” San trailed. As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door, indicating the arrival of your guests. San cocked his head in that direction and you pouted. Unable to resist, he kissed the pout off with a promise of more before the two of you exited the office and moved to Room no. 1. 

As expected, the meeting passed by in a breeze. The client agreed to continue with the old terms, strengthening their anonymity and addressing some rumours about silver light. You and San took that opportunity to hint on the sinister stirrings regarding Strictland, which piqued their interest. After a few drinks, the client left and a knock sounded on the door right after

When the door opened and San caught a glimpse of the new guest, he straightened and asked them to come in. You turned in your seat, your mouth parting in surprise to see the familiar face of who had to be one of the RV spies that Seonghwa had told you about.

The woman seemed to be around your age, clad in a short black robe with a hood over a cropped top and a black trouser. If the outfit choice wasn’t odd, the striking silver hair that framed her face rather beautifully caught your attention. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve met formally,” San began, urging the guest to take a seat and she did after bowing in greeting. “This is Winter. You might have heard of her.”

“Ah, yes,” you nodded. So this was the woman who had been present at the bar during your last meeting with Yeosang and San. The familiarity of this woman, however, was not because of the recent glimpses you caught. You were pretty sure you had come across this woman in Edenary too.

“Well… this is her. Your bodyguard,” San announced.

“So you’re no longer protecting me from the shadows, huh?” You addressed Winter directly, her lips curling into a small smile. 

Of course you found out. San shifted in his seat. “Are you okay with this arrangement, Luna?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you assured, extending your hand and Winter shook it. “I hope we get along.”

“Yeah, so, Winter can of course be trusted,” San began, eyeing the spy who had now taken off her hood, ruffling her short hair. He seemed to be sceptical of her. “She will be accompanying you when you move to the warehouse. It’s preferable if you take her along with you everywhere unless you have a private matter to attend to. Also… she won’t be reporting to us so you don’t have to worry about that.”

You nodded slowly. “Who do you report to, then?”

“My only job is to keep you safe, Miss,” Winter announced. “There is usually no reporting done… from my side. I just have to make sure you’re in no physical harm.”

From her side. That meant that there were other spies keeping watch over you. 

“Can you report to me, though? If I send you on errands or something?” 

“Definitely,” she agreed.

“And can you tell me why are you RV spies watching and protecting me? Is it because I know something that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that… yet,” Winter added and you looked at San in frustration who shrugged, equally irked. 

“No point probing,” San sighed, turning his attention towards you. “There is also a car waiting for you outside. It’s yours to use, however you please. You’ll need it.”

“Ah,” you recalled Seonghwa talking about arranging some transport for you. “I thought it was understood that I only need it to commute for now–”

“Think of it as a company car if that’s what eases your mind,” San grinned. “But really… it’s yours. You can’t be a Leader and not own a car.”

Hongjoong’s words. You narrowed your eyes at San but gave in. 

San got up with a grunt. “Well, I’ll leave you two to familiarise yourself with each other. I’ll be in the office in the meanwhile.”

With that, he left with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder while you folded your arms and looked at the woman in front of you who mirrored your position.

“Any terms that I should know?” You asked. “Because it looks like we’re not going to be talking much.”

“Well…” Winter shrugged as if that was a debatable statement. “Since you know that I’m an RV spy, it’s better if you don’t ask anything about the spies or related to them because you won’t be getting many answers.”

“Of course,” you understood.

“I have plenty of information that I can share with you, so I can be considered an informant too, if you’re willing. I, however, cannot tell you something you already don’t have an idea about.”

“What does that mean?”

“We know about your silver light business and whatever happened, for instance,” she said and you whistled– never did you think you would be talking about that secret project so casually with someone. “You can ask me what I know regarding that matter, but I can only tell you as much as I’m allowed to.”

“And how much are you allowed to tell me?”

Winter smirked. “Just enough.”

You smirked back in understanding though you tried to subdue the frustration bubbling inside your chest. “How lovely. Are you required to accompany me everywhere?”

“Well,” Winter took a deep breath. “I’ve been ordered to keep an eye on you anyway, so. It’s up to you– when you want the world to know that you’re under protection, I will be right by your side. And when you don’t… I will be watching over you anyway.”

“How reassuring,” you poured her a drink and then she returned that favour. You shared a toast before drinking, the liquid tasting awfully bitter on your tongue today. 

“Can you tell me how long you have been watching over me?”

Your request was not pleading or probing this time. It was simply resignation to what was. To the unknown. Winter considered that, probably going over the pros and cons of revealing that information to you.

And the pros seemed to have outweighed the cons this time. “Ever since you came back from Wonderland and Secretary Park could not watch you anymore.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of your father. Did she mean that your father hired her? That would not make sense because the Crescents would not have allowed her to be your bodyguard then. 

“Hearing that answer has made me more confused than I already was,” you sighed in defeat. “When you can elaborate on that, let me know.”

“I’ve given you more than I intended in that answer. It’s up to you, how you interpret it,” Winter said, getting up. “I’ll be outside then.”

You sat dejected, staring holes into your now empty glass. No matter how much you tried making sense of that one sentence, you could not come to terms with what it was threatening to imply so you got up and went towards the office with heavy steps, finding San inside seated on the couch, apparently waiting for you.

You passed him a tight-lipped smile before joining him there. He put his arm around your shoulder in an attempt to cheer you up, grinning at how sulky you could get when you didn’t have your way.

“She’ll warm up to you,” San assured and your pout deepened.

“She’s called Winter for a reason. I don’t think she will.”

“That’s a very bad joke,” San laughed, making you break into a smile as well. “She has already warmed up to you. I’ve caught her watching over you even when she did not need to.”

“Work habits die hard,” you retorted but decided to keep that in mind. Maybe this spy had a soft spot for you. That could work to your advantage.

San shook his head and gazed at you, half amused. His expressions changed into adoration as he tucked your hair behind your ears. “You’re leaving for the warehouse tomorrow morning, right?”

You hummed in response. San tilted your face with the pad of his thumb on your chin, capturing your lips in a slow kiss, lingering. “The boys will take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I know,” you assured him with a smile. “Wooyoung and Mingi make nice company.”

“That’s true,” San said, his gaze stuck like glue to your lips and you leaned forward.

The tips of your noses brushed, making him suck his breath as if this was his first time. He pecked your lips before pulling away to look at you in the eyes. You let his loving gaze wash over you like the warm rays of the sun, basking in his sweet touches and kisses, sharing grins. 

It was amazing what a simple kiss with San could make you feel like. The soft plush of his lips were welcomed on yours, your lips moving in tandem with your tongues poking in between, allowing for some open-mouthed kisses. You leaned further into his body, his hands leaving a burning but welcoming sensation on your skin, as if the delicious energy coursing through you was not enough. 

However, there was also a sense of solace that came with being in his arms. He was slow and relaxed with his movements, hands holding you steady and flush to him, exploring the curves and edges of your body without any innuendo, and you appreciated that. He was always so, so patient with you, letting you hold the reins while also reminding you of what was next with every step you took.

Since it felt like being home in his arms, you talked about your recent endeavours while he talked about his in the privacy of the cosy office room. You took your sweet time, poking at each other teasingly and exchanging affirmations and reassurances. San talked about how hectic it had been with the transfer of the silver light  project to the new warehouse and you eagerly listened to whatever complaints he had. And when you both were done and it was time for you to get back to your duties, you hugged him long and good. Even though you would be seeing him every other day, you would miss sharing moments like these where you could be in his arms leisurely.

When you exited the bar, you almost didn’t catch Winter leaning against the window in the shadows. You made an impressed face as she emerged from the shadows and joined your side.

“To the office we go,” you announced in a singsong voice and Winter bowed almost mockingly before walking beside you, just one step behind you at all times.

Your shadow, now finally at its rightful place.

While it was nice to be back at the warehouse, hanging out with the girls during break (or whenever you got overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone around you), you kind of missed the quiet life back at the Crescent Office– or even the bar.

The warehouse was still busy with its usual manufacturing, though the weapons assembling was slower now, giving some of the employees a much needed break. Umji, one of the engineers and Yerin, the lead designer, were your new company. The women tend to stick together in this rowdy workplace, often seeking quiet spots to share drinks, smoke or gossip. Some of the female employees were making the most of their days off, gone to visit family or friends. That left the three of you along with Winter, and boy, were they giving Winter a hard time.

While they did not know the identity of the spy, the girls were hellbent on cracking Winter’s front, aiming to have her join you all when you drank or chatted. Winter usually sat close by, opting to sip on her own flask which contained some mysterious drink she refused to reveal the name of. You were half-sure that Winter was enjoying the attention and was purposely pretending to not care about what you girls talked about.

You asked her one night if all that acting about being just ‘a bodyguard’ and staying on her toes was tiring and she responded with how being alert, even in her sleep, was ingrained in every fiber of herself now. It was muscle memory, a subconscious habit. You wondered what sort of training she had received to reach that point.

Mingi and Wooyoung, along with the rest of the boys in the warehouse, made sure that you were comfortable and cared for at all times, apart from all the teasing and playing around. You had accompanied them to one meeting so far, staying back and observing while they did the talking, just to get a hang of how you were supposed to handle these meetings in case the investors of the weapons project wanted to back out. You were scheduled for another meeting tonight and this time, you were ready to present yourself as one of the Crescents– as a Leader.

“Our client tonight is Mr. Ju Seok Tae,” Wooyoung said, reading through his file and passing it on to you. You skimmed through the two-pages report on him, your brows raising in mild shock as you made the connection. Wooyoung smirked in answer. “This should be easy.”

“‘Mr. Ju Jihoon’s cousin’,” you stated his family background out loud. “Ju Jihoon of Eden News, right?”

Mingi confirmed with a nod. “Co-partner of Jang of Eden News. Do you think that Ju Jihoon is aware that his cousin is funding the weapons project?”

“I think he’s aware…” Wooyoung scratched his chin in thought. “I think it comes down to whether he is quiet because he’s in favour of this, or because he’s holding this as leverage over his cousin.”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose,” you shrugged. “Do we need this investor or is he disposable?”

“Won’t hurt to have him stay,” Mingi considered, looking at Wooyoung for confirmation who nodded.

“He makes a hefty donation every few months, but even if he leaves, we can manage,” Wooyoung said with a light wince, making you chuckle.

“We can make him stay,” you assured. “We need everyone we can keep on our side. Especially now when everyone seems to be after us.”

“That’s true,” Wooyoung scoffed. “I talked to Jongho last night. He says that the people in Edenary have become wary of having any sort of connection with us.”

“I trust that Jongho and Yunho are doing a good job spreading word about Secretary Park and President Lee’s connection with Strictland,” you took a deep breath. “That’s the only thing keeping me from screaming in frustration these days, I can’t lie.”

Mingi laughed. “You can still scream. With how loud these machines are in here, no one is going to hear you.”

“That’s true,” Wooyoung clapped. “Scream your lungs out, baby.”

You genuinely considered for a moment. “Can I?”

“I must admit I wished to hear your screams in another setting, but…” Wooyoung shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped, and Mingi choked on his breath, stifling a cough. Once you realised what he meant, your mouth fell open and you grabbed a cushion from the sofa you were sitting on and chucked it across the room to where Wooyoung sat. He laughed loudly as he caught the cushion.

“Jung Wooyoung!” 

“Just like that,” he winked, making you shake your head. 

“You’re saying that man,” Mingi began, “when it’s usually you screaming like a bi-”

The cushion got thrown across once again, this time fiercer and hitting home– Mingi’s head. Mingi grinned and you shook your head, stifling a smile. 

It had barely been a week in the warehouse, but you were getting used to how different this duo was compared to the rest. You supposed their work environment allowed them to be relaxed and almost candid with their mischief. Still, when need be, the duo was authoritative and rough. They were truly a force to be reckoned with, and you liked how they handled things.

With fists, if words didn’t work. Plain and simple.

“I know what we need to do,” you interrupted the little banter that Mingi and Wooyoung had going on. “If Ju Seok Tae thinks about backing out, we need to threaten to expose the Ju family for funding the underground weapons channel. Do you realise how bad this sounds?”

“Especially because President Lee has been on good terms with Eden News, considering how he befriended the co-owners at the time of his wife’s death and censored all relevant news heavily,” Wooyoung shook his head in disappointment. “Do you think we should be direct with this threat now?”

“Now or never,” Mingi’s lips curled in a tight smile. “It’s time we stop pretending to be a sophisticated organisation and show them that we’re just a gang in the end, unafraid to expose the Ju family, no matter the consequences. If our weapons project suffers a loss, the Ju family must join us in our mourning. Let’s see them censor that.”

You were pleasantly surprised to hear those words come out of Mingi’s mouth, and when Wooyoung responded with an excited ‘hell yeah’, Mingi bit his lips and nodded, clapping Wooyoung’s hand loudly, making you shake your head. 

“Can I make the threats this time?” You asked, raising the file of your client, displaying Ju Seok Tae’s picture. “I think he looks like someone who can’t take a threat from a woman.”

Mingi laughed, wholly agreeing while Wooyoung’s eyes glinted in mischief. 

“You just want a taste of that thrill, don’t you?” Wooyoung scoffed. “The thrill of being the one in power.”

“I mean… I am a Leader now, aren’t I?” You shrugged. “Gotta exercise that power before it starts getting rusty.”

“That’s my girl,” Wooyoung clapped in agreement, a knock sounding on the door. One of the employees was asking Wooyoung and Mingi to check on the latest batch of metal. Wooyoung got up and kissed your cheek on the way out, Mingi following suit and ruffling your hair, spotting the same annoyed pout he did whenever he messed with you and correcting it with a kiss to your head.

Leaving you with flaming cheeks that you had to cool down with the back of your hands, smiling to yourself. They really did not let you think about any of the other boys at all, always keeping you busy, Wooyoung was downright smothering you in kisses and hugs any chance that he got. However, his was laced with a certain flirtiness reserved only for you. 

As for Mingi… he seemed to be following suit, though he was more mindful of your personal space and resorted to casual teasing as opposed to affectionate flirting. While Wooyoung had made it his life’s mission to break you (not that you were complaining), Mingi seemed to be the one grounding you. It reminded you just a little bit of Seonghwa.

You stifled another smile and shut your eyes, soaking in the silence of the office room before it would get loud again.

It hadn’t been long since Hongjoong stepped into the famous jewellery shop of Eden– Maddox and Co., known to be a genuine brand of the finest diamonds in the entire continent. 

As someone who admired their craftsmanship, Hongjoong and Seonghwa were both loyal customers. Their oldest branch was here in Sector 1 and all of Eden had done their utmost best to protect the family and their business during the war. It was why Maddox and Co. made sure that the favour was returned, contributing huge amounts of their earnings to help rebuild Eden and support its citizens. 

Stepping through the guarded gates, Hongjoong tried to quell the nervousness that was making him queasy now, but to no end. Perhaps, he was more jittery than Seonghwa too– Seonghwa definitely appeared more put-together, dressed in black leather with his freshly dyed platinum hair slicked back. Hongjoong was dressed in his usual fit but everything seemed to be going wrong today– the mud on his boots from when he accidentally stepped into a puddle of leftover water from the rain last night, the loose thread near his sleeve that he wanted to trim but kept forgetting, among a bunch of other elements that contributed to his somewhat sour mood.

Plus, the bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that he was looking into your family background without your knowledge. It felt like an act of betrayal, even though it was very necessary. 

When Seonghwa’s fingers brushed his, Hongjoong looked up to find him sharing the sentiment. With a squeeze to his hand, Hongjoong begrudgingly took the lead and walked through the glass door, entering the pristine ivory building that was the showroom of the shop, displaying some items from their latest collection with some old, classic designs. When one of the employees recognised them, she signalled the receptionist who made a call. 

Moments later, Lee Sunmi appeared from another room, lighting up at the sight of the two. While they were regular and valued customers, Sunmi was well-acquainted with them both and she welcomed them with a warm smile, accompanying them inside her office. 

“Back for another design already?” Sunmi asked, making Seonghwa smile as he recalled how Hongjoong suddenly had the urge to get you a cuff bracelet when he decided that you were meant to be a Leader and stand right beside him. 

Hongjoong shook his head, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. He took a seat and took a deep breath. 

“I trust you’ve been well?” He asked and Sunmi nodded. “How’s business?”

“Booming, as always, but you’ve got me anxious now. Enough with the formalities. Is something wrong?”

“Well, I’m gonna be straightforward then,” Hongjoong began. “There is a certain pearl ring designed by Maddox and Co., and I need to see who purchased it. Seonghwa can explain what the ring looks like, but can you do this for us?”

“Our customers’ privacy matters to us. Are you aware of the weight of what you’re asking?” Sunmi frowned, finding the request unexpected. 

“It’s important– I’m here because Lady Kim said that you could help.”

“Who does the ring belong to right now?” Sunmi asked after a moment.

“Luna. You must remember seeing her at the party,” Seonghwa answered. “She was wearing the cuff bracelet that you designed for Hongjoong not too long ago.”

“Ah, right,” Sunmi nodded, swiping her long black hair back. After a moment, she recalled and nodded. “I had a brief conversation with her.”

“Yeah, so she is the current owner of the ring, but it belongs to her mother. Only… she does not know who her mother is.”

“And her father?”

“Secretary Park Byung Eun,” Hongjoong revealed and Sunmi whistled in surprise. “Although… we’re starting to doubt that now.”

“And does poor Luna know that you both are looking into her parents?” 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong looked guilty, which was all the answer Sunmi needed. “Can you at least assure me that this is for her good? No one gets harmed?”

“Absolutely,” Hongjoong declared. “We only want to have something to tell her when we reveal that we looked into her. I don’t want to give her false hope, and I don’t want her to worry about this right now. Lady Kim planted the seeds of doubt in me, so I’m only doing what I do best. Finding answers.”

Sunmi nodded in all seriousness, asking Seonghwa to explain the design to her. Seonghwa started sketching and describing while Hongjoong watched the two intently, on his toes. 

“Are you sure this is the design?” Sunmi asked when Seonghwa was done, and he nodded.

“As close as it can get. It’s not a very complicated design,” he said.

“I think I’ve seen this design in one of the books, hold on,” she said, moving to the shelf and spending a few minutes checking them until she brought back two, asking Seonghwa to have a look. Seonghwa spotted the exact design, showing it to Hongjoong who confirmed it.

“Exactly this ring,” Seonghwa slid the book to Sunmi who had a deep frown on her face. 

“That’s strange– you see the receipts attached with the designs?” She scrolled through the pages and the duo nodded. Every design had a few receipts attached, indicating the transaction. “There’s no receipt attached to your ring’s design.”

“Which means?”

“All these designs made it into this book because they are custom-made– designed for one or few people,” Sunmi answered, looking at Hongjoong. “The fact that the design is here without any record of its purchase is strange, because every design on every page on every book on this shelf has a receipt attached.”

“So where is the receipt for this ring?” 

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong and then at Sunmi, the both of them nodding. “The ring belongs to some mysterious owner whose identity no one knows. And then you’re saying that there are no records of who bought this ring?”

“Seems like it,” Sunmi slumped back in resignation.

“Is there any other way of finding out?” Hongjoong asked. 

Sunmi thought for a few moments. “The archives, or my grandfather’s journals. This ring was made in 1939 and my grandfather was the sole designer back then. He must have some record of it– another cash receipt or an account of it somewhere.”

“So it’s going to take a while, I presume?” Hongjoong asked.

“Definitely,” Sunmi said with a sorry smile. “My grandfather is no more so I’ll have to visit his residence in Edenary or check the warehouse. But I’ll get to it as soon as possible–”

“Take your time, but make sure no one else learns about this,” Hongjoong requested and she nodded earnestly. “It must be an influential family from Edenary, so that’s your search pool.”

“Got it,” Sunmi took a deep breath. “I must tell you that If the receipt is gone from here, that means that either my grandfather did not want anyone to find out who this ring belongs to, or there has been a security breach without our knowledge. A grave matter, so rest assured not a soul will know about this.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong placed his hand over his heart as he got up, bowing in gratitude. “We owe you one.”

“Nonsense,” Sunmi waved her hand in dismissal. “You’ve done so much for us. My father still talks about you very fondly.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the duo left the shop, standing outside and watching the building with wistful expressions. Hongjoong caught Seonghwa staring at him and he shook his head.

“Everything about this feels sinister, I tell you,” Hongjoong dug out his pipe from his coat pocket for a much-needed smoke. “Can we make the RV spies talk about this matter?”

“What are the chances that they were not the ones who hid the receipt?” Seonghwa mused. “If it’s a security breach and not Sunmi’s grandfather’s own doing, I’d say that only our lovely spies are capable of doing this without anyone’s knowledge.”

“Fuck,” Hongjoong spat. “And now one of them is Luna’s bodyguard.”

“Let’s lay low,” Seonghwa placed his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “The truth will come out when it’s time.”

next chapter

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[eclipixels]

Homesick

Rafayel x Reader

Content: For some reason, you can't help but feel connected to Rafayel's paintings of Lemuria

A/N: I wonder if anyone can figure out which quote from my favorite book series I referenced.

[1,026 words]

      "You seem oddly fascinated by all my paintings of the deep blue," Rafayel remarked, his voice carrying from the kitchen as he prepared two cups of coffee. The early sunlight streamed in through the windows of his studio-turned-home, casting a warm glow over everything. The view of the vast ocean beyond the windows made the space feel even more intimate, like the world outside was folded into the room.

      You stood before his collection of ocean paintings, your gaze lingering on the turbulent seascapes. Rafayel had just finished explaining a place called Lemuria, though your mind felt strangely detached from the details.

      "Yeah, it just… looks so familiar," you mumbled, tracing the dark brushstrokes of one of the stormier pieces. Rafayel’s ears perked up at your words.

      "Really? Tell me more."

      You hesitated, the strange pull in your chest growing stronger. "I don’t know. It's like I feel homesick when I look at it. Not that it's my home, but like it’s a place that’s always been a part of me, even though I’ve never been there. Something about it feels like it's taken a part of me, but I don’t know what that part is." You exhaled slowly, your fingers lingering over the canvas. "It’s like this place isn’t mine, but it holds something of mine forever. And for some reason, I feel so angry about it."

      Rafayel’s voice softened as he took in your words. "That’s interesting."

      “Really? How come.” You ask.

      “Because I was thinking of Lemuria when I painted those,” He confessed.

      "Do you miss it?" you inquired, though the moment the words left your mouth, you immediately realized how obvious the answer would be. Of course, he missed it. It was a silly question, but you couldn’t help it.

      He paused for a moment, lost in thought. He had shared a few fragments of it before, describing the place he once called home and his identity as a Lemurian.

      He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on something beyond the kitchen, a small, wistful smile forming on his lips. You watched him carefully, wondering what was going through his mind in that quiet moment.

      He approached you with two cups in hand, offering one to you before both of you settled near the large glass window. You gazed out at the sparkling sea, the peaceful view stretching endlessly before you. He leaned back, his palms resting on the floor behind him, eyes fixed on you. His gaze was soft and intense as he took you in, just as you were taking in the painting just a few minutes ago. It stung a little whenever he looked at you. A part of him was in you, lodged in a place so deeply familiar to him, a piece of his heart quietly nestled within you. And you didn’t even know it.

      "It's funny," you began, your voice soft, as if revealing a secret you'd been holding onto for a long time. But something in you felt different now, like this was the right moment to finally say it. You felt safe enough, as though he wouldn't laugh at you or call you crazy.

      "Hm?" Rafayel responded, his attention fully on you.

      You took a deep breath, gathering the words that had been lodged in your chest for so long. "It's like… I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like your face has been carved into my heart, and I don’t remember when or why, but the scar is there, and I can’t make it go away. It won’t heal. I can’t get it to fade." You let out a small, nervous laugh, almost expecting him to think you were being ridiculous too. But instead, you were met with a heavy silence.

      When you turned your head at him, the air in the room shifted. Something had fallen to the ground, and the sound was sharp, unexpected. Delicate white beads scattered across the floor, catching the light. That’s when you saw it. The unmistakable glistening in the corner of his eyes—pearls, slowly calcifying as hot tears began to spill over.

      "What's wrong?" you asked, the question barely above a whisper. Your heart twisted in your chest, unsure how to process the raw emotion that seemed to suddenly flood him.

      His eyes were fixed on you now, he didn’t speak immediately, as though weighing the weight of your confession. The steady hum of the sea outside seemed to fade into the background as everything in the room focused on the space between you.

      He didn’t look away. His eyes softened, and you noticed the way his jaw tightened, a sign of restraint—or maybe he was simply processing the vulnerability that had just unfolded in front of him.

      “I've always felt homesick for the longest time.” Rafayel's voice cracked as he spoke, each word heavy with an unspoken weight. He reached his palm out towards your face, gently caressing it before his fingers fell to your chin. “Since you, I haven’t felt that."

      His eyes lingered, not in pity or concern, but with an almost unbearable intensity, as if he was struggling to find the right words. There was an undercurrent to his silence.

      It was almost as if he was afraid that if he spoke, if he let too much slip, it would all crumble—like a fragile house of cards teetering on the edge of collapse. The way he clenched his jaw, the way his fingers twitched nervously at his sides, it all suggested a tension far deeper than the moment you shared. Something inside him was holding back.

      His gaze softened for just a moment, as if he was considering something. But then, with a quiet sigh, he looked away, his eyes dropping to the scattered pearls at his feet. The shift was subtle, but it was there, like a door closing before you could step through it.

      the edge of something deep like a kelp bed. Grief and heartbreak colored his face, but so did love and hope. It was bittersweet. You wondered if he knew something you didn’t. A truth he was keeping locked away behind those sunset eyes, too painful or too dangerous to reveal.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling.  So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle. 

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good. 

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes. 

What’s worth Salvaging:  While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special. 

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm. 

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and  work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs.  Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills. 

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers:  They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make.  Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something. 

Artsource

[yinemw]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚

context: letters shared between villain dabi and pro-hero reader. (The parts that are marked like this mean they are marked off and unreadable to the receiver)

warnings: angst, swearing and Dabi talking about dying

character: Dabi/Touya Todoroki from mha

m.list

To Dabi

I know I’m the last person you probably want to hear from right now, considering all things. But I didn’t know, I mean how could I. You never told me he is your father. You rushed away so fast after our last meeting and you blocked my number. I thought writing you a letter would be better, to explain my side and hope that I’ll find Toga and get her to deliver this to you.

I care for you Dabi, whether you believe me or not it’s up to you, but I really do care. Why else would I let you crash at my place, eat my food and…just talk. You trusted me with your number and I trusted you with mine, and despite everything, those late night phone calls we shared mean the world to me. For a second I felt normal, didn’t have to think about heros or villains or my work, it was just you and me.

You never told me who you are, who you really are. And it was enough to just know you as Dabi, as the villain I stumbled upon all bloody and weak in an alley way one night, brought back home and ‘healed’ back to health. It was obvious your real name wasn’t Dabi, or that you were born with your scars and burnt skin, so I was always curious about your past. Your secrets. I didn’t think finding out who you really are would be the end of our relationship friendship. The way you reacted when I said your real name…I’ve never seen that look before and I knew I had messed up. I’m sorry Dabi, for snooping in your past. I broke our promise, but I hope you can forgive me.

From…Y/n you know who

Stupid hero, sending a letter like we’re back in the 70s. Blocked your number for a reason, and there you go finding another way to contact me. Surprised you couldn’t find where I’m staying despite knowing everything else about me. Cute of you to not include my real name in your letter, scared it might have ended up in someone else’s hands and my identity is out to the public? Don’t be, I’m gonna reveal my identity soon enough. Make my father know exactly who I am.

You’re really quite something I have to admit, having found out who I am. Was it Hawks who helped you? Or maybe I underestimated you, you’re a pro hero after all, even if the whole system is a joke. I am curious though, you say you care about me, yet you continue to work with my father. Funny really, don’t you think?

Doesn’t matter, I’m done with you. Was nice not starving and have a roof over my head, but that’s all it was. I’d start training harder, hero, you have no idea what’s coming.

To Touya

Thank you for writing back, it was unexpected to see your letter on my pillow. I wish you would have stayed so we could have talked in person, but I’ll respect your space.

I didn’t know you were planning on going public with your identity. I have to admit, the entire idea does sound alarming and your ‘warning’ is, not ideal to say the least. We always talked about what we would do when the day comes that we stand on opposite sides of the battle field, and by the sound of it, that day is coming faster then I thought.

You’re right, it does sound ridiculous when I say I love care about you, and continue to work with your father. I simply haven’t been able to come so far yet, I’m not entirely sure where my career is heading. I’ve gotten so used to working with Endeavor and Hawks, been in their shadow in a way, but always there. Helping civilians to safety and using my quirk to help as best as I can, they’re my safety net, I guess. You’re right, continuing to work with him is a mistake. But you have to understand Touya, it’s more complicating than just ‘stop working with him’. I’ll figure it out, I promise, please just give me time.

(P.s next time you come over, please feel free to take as much food as you need and blankets/pillows if you need)

From Y/n

Publicly going solo, huh? Have to say, was kinda hot seeing you on TV saying how you’re an independent hero now, not working with others. Got everyone shocked to say the least, all eyes on you. Been telling you since the beginning you’re better than all those other stupid hero’s, don’t know why you’ve been hiding in their shadows.

You’re one tough cookie to crack, and I have to admit, thinking about fighting you isn’t exactly…fun. Your quirk is annoying and to be honest, I’m not even sure which one of us would win. But you’re not my main focus, so do me a favor, stay out of this fight, yeah?

P.s the pasta you made could have used less salt, just sayin

To Touya

Your notes are so short Touya, and you still won’t see me in person, please, I need to see you. I seriously can’t take this anymore, us tip-toeing around our…well whatever we are. You’re even harder to read through your scribbles and wrinkled paper you leave on my pillow. I hate to confess through a letter, especially during times like these when the entire country is anxious. But I feel like I’m losing you, for real this time.

Touya I love like you, more than a friend. It became so much more than just a ‘hero-villain friendship’. You become apart of my life, apart of my routine. I would wait everyday by my window, just to see if you would come by and sneak into my apartment. I would make your favorite meals, just in case you came by and were hungry. My life was finally exciting, I was looking forward to something, to just see or hear you. You weren’t just a broken villain to me Touya, you were everything.

I wish you would have told me about your plans, I wish you would have told me everything about you. And I know that’s a selfish thought, but the whispers in the hero community are starting to freak me out. Touya you have no idea what you’re up against, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to save you this time.

Please, come back to me.

From Y/n

So the hero fell for the villain, huh? Typical, feels like some cheesy trope from a movie. I would go as far as to call you pathetic, the way you talk about me. You have so much to live for, yet seeing me excited you. Must have been one boring life you lived before me.

Doesn’t matter, nothing you say will change my mind. It’s not about you, believe it or not. Was never about you. You fucked me up, real good in fact. Postponed all my damn plans. Nights I was supposed to spend with the league, I couldn’t help myself but to spend with you, do you know how much trouble I got into? Not that I cared, spending time with you wasn’t exactly bad.

I still remember your shocked face when you started to see my white roots, how you bought black hair dye and helped me dye my hair whenever I needed. Or the way you looked all lovesick whenever I enjoyed your cooking. Even the first night I slept in your damn bed and voluntarily cuddled up to you, I could hear how fast your heart was beating. You seriously think I didn’t know that you like me? Stupid hero. You made it quite obvious, not to mention you got quite touchy too. Not that I minded. But none of it matters, because we can’t be together. Ever. Now stop using Toga as the mailman and leave all of this behind you for good.

To Touya

You finally got what you wanted, for people to know the truth. How does it feel? Satisfied? I guess you’ll only be at peace once Endeavor is dead, so this is just the beginning, am I right?

You held back during our last battle, I could see how angry you were when I showed up to defend Endeavor. I know you’re upset, I know he ruined your life and hurt you in ways I cannot imagine, but murder is not the way. I will not let you kill him.

I don’t know where you went into hiding, but I know you’re injured. Please tell me where you are so I can make sure you’re okay. Please. I love care for you so much I can’t stand this anymore.

From Y/n

I’m sorry. Wow, feels weird even writing it down. I’ll hand you this ‘letter’ myself, before the league attacks. I want you to know, I don’t intend surviving this fight, although if you’re reading this, it means I’m already dead. Not like you’ll have time to read a stupid letter before having to fight to survive lol.

I want you to know that this is the way I want to go. By killing him. My quirk will destroy my body Y/n, and I don’t want you to see that. My body, destroyed and burnt to pieces. I may be a villain, but even I have a heart, and I don’t want your last memory of me to be a corpse. So instead, think of our happy memories. The nights we sat on your roof and smoked, or when you taught me how to meditate and we ended up laughing for hours, or even the time we went to 7-11 undercover so no one would know it’s us and ended up buying those damn good iced coffee’s.

We were never meant to be Y/n, doomed from the start actually. From the moment you decided to save me instead of turning me in to the police and putting me behind bars. You’re a fool, so stupid. Fuck, I really hate you, you know? I don’t even know what to write, you make me feel all stupid and warm, and then all fucked up and mad because I know next time I see you will most likely be the last.

Fuck, I love you. And I know you’re not where I am, you may like some part of me and care for me, but I know someone like you could never love me. But it’s better this way, hurts less. Can’t believe it hurts at all, thought I was numb until I met you. But I love you, I really fucking love you.

P.s I left my phone at your apartment, it’s under your pillow. You know the passcode. There’s a bunch of crap on it, mostly pictures and videos of us or whatever.

Love, Touya

[panerasbox]

I might be taking a hiatus after “30 Days of Melissa Schemmenti.”

Emphasis on might—because I really don’t want to.

Writing keeps me going. It’s one of the only things in my life that feels like it’s mine. It brings me joy, comfort, and a sense of identity I don’t often get to access in my day-to-day life.

Recently, my husband mentioned wanting to make a Tumblr account. he wants to follow me. To read what I write.

And just to be clear: he knows I write fanfiction. He knows I’m a bisexual nerd who’s obsessed with Lisa Ann Walter, fictional characters, headcanons, and all things fandom. That’s never been a secret. The issue isn’t trust.

The issue is space.

People in my life already tease me for this part of myself. They roll their eyes when I talk about fanfic. They laugh when I get emotional about fictional people. They don’t get it—and that’s fine. They don’t have to. That’s what Tumblr has been for: a place where I don’t have to explain or shrink or mask. A place where I can just be.

If he’s here—reading along—it won’t feel like my space anymore. It becomes something else I have to manage. Something I have to filter. And I already spend so much of my life filtering who I am.

I know this might sound dramatic. But if I lose the one place where I can write honestly, where I can speak freely… what’s the point?

There’s more I could say, but that’s the core of it. He doesn’t even like fandom things, which somehow makes it all feel even heavier.

Thank you for being here. For making this space feel like home. For letting me be my full, nerdy, passionate self without judgment. I haven’t had real-life friends in a long time, and connecting with people here has been genuinely healing.

I don’t have much that’s just mine. I don’t go out. I don’t have privacy.

I just wanted this one thing 😭 i haven’t made a solid decision on what to do yet.

-Airen

EDIT : After a lot of thought, I’m not giving up my blog or what I love to do. It’s not a crime to want a personal space for my writing- free of judgement from people that want to confront me for my feelings. I just had to talk to my daughter about a boy she likes being too pushy and standing up for what you want and setting boundaries. So shouldn’t I do the same? My tumblr is mine and it will stay that way. I started publishing fics on ao3 that i don’t mind being read by him. I think it’s a good compromise & i’m sticking to it!

[whispersoflullaby]

"Breaking" the gendering of media: A case study on Shiguang

A question kept coming back to my mind again and again, that why do we tend to criminalize whenever we see a media which was "canonically" (the term canon icks me to the core) built to portray a broader political or social issue being used to deconstruct personal emotions? For example, a song used to portray the pain and horrors of partition being used to reconstruct the grief of personal loss and also about loss of identity. As if talking about personal loss is making a topic less serious or not respecting the depth of a subject. As if it is the continuation of the gendering the places being implicted upon media. The "oikos" (the personal space) , the "non serious" personal emotions are not meant to be dragged into the "polis" (the public sphere). When we take the journey from the home to the world, our personal journey becomes a palimpsest of many others which give us a feeling of community. When we get the feeling that our dilema is not only ours but a shared feeling of many, we tend to raise questions and break the boundary of the "home and the world", it tend to give us a vocabulary to curate.

Link Click as a series breaks this notion of differentiating between the the struggles. The suffering of the world is mine as well as my sufferings are also a matter to discuss, to analyze and to deconstruct, it's of everyone. For example the the incidents of sudent suicide due to excessive educational loan or even if it is about trying to save one's mother or about spreading the word of love, even if it is about the very domestic banters of Shiguang or it is about taking a step further to help Xu Shanshan and not taking money from her and just mere "helping" her to unite with her beloved .

As a very close friend of mine once mentioned " Shiguang through their love creates a brand new "vocabulary" of love" (if they gives me permission I will definitely tag them), the vocabulary enables them to question the normativity. And questioning the normativity makes you a threat to the authority - cause when you ask the right question at the right time , it makes your identity identifiable and then the authority can't treat you like a mass, a mass to be dismissed, to be discarded. I can't control my urge to quote Derek Walcott's "The Schooner's Flight" here- "I am either nobody or I am the nation" .According to me, probably this is how censorship also works - they fear the creation of the new vocab. The love which revolts but don't conform: a love which doesn't leave , but questions the normativitives. We try our best within our capacity - but what love does it doesn't know the capacity. ( They just don't know, how much love is too much love). That's what is so unique about the love of Shiguang. Here I am gonna quote TGCF " Your Highness..do you know why I refuse to leave this world?... because I still have a beloved in this world." - বিনা যুদ্ধে নাহি দিবো সূচাগ্র মেদিনী - ( I will not leave even a pinch of soil, without a fight). The guts to challange the person in control even though one is not sure about the price he has to pay, even self anhilating from each and every freaking time is probably a better option. You are not someone I choose over everything, you are the one who is inseperable from the concept of "being" of mine- you are the "I" of my eye.

The abilites here not only stand for the ability to change, but taking away the ability also stands for usurping one's ability to try, the silencing of emotions. Once your voice is strangulated you are creating a "destiny" for the opressed it is no longer their fate. Here I am gonna refer to a Bengali song "মোদের কোনো দেশ নেই,মোদের কোনো ভাষা নেই" (We don't have any country, we don't have any language)

But do you know where link click breaks the very gendering? When it identifies the silencing, the numbing. Many media portrays the consequences of the silencing, how the torture affects the people etc etc. But Link Click does is, it identifies where the mess ups are and it doesn't promise that "everything will be ok" and life will be "a bed of roses". No, it never will be- that's not what post modernism teaches us. Rather, Link Click teaches it may not be a smooth walk but still we will take the path as there is no "correct" path. As the author of the Ronxi chronicle mentions - it may not be the easiest path but you will never regret it. The concept of "correctness" is a construt, the "originality" is a mere myth and "TIME"!! … As we all know " Time is a hypocritical construct"...

[autumnrayyne]

My Ghosts and Me

Don’t go chasing ghosts

People say

They are gone for reason

Memories swept away in the wind

Ephemeral mirrors of who you could’ve been

The would’ves the could’ves the should’ves

They are all gone and buried

Don’t bring dull shovels to sun baked earth

To go and dig up past hurts

Unearthing the grave of your maladies

Won’t cure em

Let em lie

Ashes to ashes

Dust to dust

Who are they to tell me what’s worth forgetting?

Which ghosts should stay buried?

This isn’t your haunted soul

These shadows don’t darken your door

Don’t tell me which bones should stay untouched

Pieces of my history lay buried in these sands

Without them I’m a bare bones biography

Looking for meaning in the hollow places

Rifling through folds of brain matter

Searching

For just a fragment of my history

I’m a mosaic of missing pieces

Stitched together with guesswork and mystery

Absence makes it home in me

I’m a form created by negative space

Identity made of dreams

My features reflected back at me

My name etched in skin

My blood beside me

Dreams I’ve held so tight I feel their roots in me

Tell me how do I let it stay buried?

How do I forget the ghost? The specter in my bloodstream?

Half of me is sealed behind a face just out of reach

The tenor of a voice lost to the sea

A name spoken like an wound

Or never spoken at all

Forgotten like he isn’t half of me

Twenty-three chromosomes of my legacy

What did he leave behind, besides my eyes?

What did he leave inside of me?

What is him? What is me?

How much of my mother’s hatred is caused by pressing on a wound

Rather than a fresh bruise

Would he have protected me?

Don’t go digging up ghosts they say

But if I let them lie

I’ll die swallowed up whole by the emptiness of me

My lack of symmetry

One side of me abandoned

A haunted houses, my ghosts and me

So I will dig

Even when my arms shake

When the hot sun evaporates the hope from me

I’ll perform seances in the dirt

Scream into graves and brace myself for what echoes back to me

If the truth is jagged, I’ll bleed with my eyes open

If I find nothing, well at least I’ll know I searched

Sought for something

Rather than settled for nothing

Maybe no good will come from it

My ghosts volatile and malignant

Misty figures of history

Maybe I won’t find peace

Just questions with sharper teeth

But the bite doesn’t scare me

These ghosts are mine

And I’ll carry them with me

[bed-of-ashes]

young trans kids who are very afraid right now. I am looking you in the eye and holding your shoulders. It Will Be Okay. I remember being 13 and feeling like it was doomsday when I realized I was trans under the presidency of Donald Trump. if you were too young to have been majorly affected as a trans person last time, and this is your first go around, I know how terrifying that can be. so listen. he can do some things federally, and that's automatically shitty, but he can't do everything. local governments still have most say over nitpicky things like bathrooms. it's not over just because of the white house. here's some things to keep in mind for minors figuring out how to be themselves in this time:

you've got the Trevor Project. it's got browser history safe features so you can talk to them without getting caught by your parents. they're a hotline, as well as being able to direct you to other resources.

libraries are your friend. most of them host inclusive events for minorities to find community in, as well as having queer fiction and nonfiction. personally, when I was getting my passport at my local library, the woman helping me wore an asexual themed lanyard and had the ace black ring on. they're safe places, pretty much anywhere.

go to your school's GSA if they have one. I was an officer at mine, and let me tell you, numbers help. we got more resources and sway at the school the more people showed up. when the club was large enough, the school would fund us going on a field trip to Pride. plus, it's an automatic safe space away from home, and you can easily call it chess club.

don't feel pressured to come out. you don't owe it to anyone, not a single person. it's entirely your decision, and if you feel even slightly unsafe or just plain out don't want to, you don't have to come out. okay? some people will try to force you. they are not in charge of your identity.

eventually, if college is in the cards for you, know that universities are safe places. mine allows me to change my name on the website without showing my family. there's usually at least one LGBTQ support group, if not a dozen. most people you meet will use your pronouns and your name without questioning it. unis are massive hubs for queer people and allies, even if you're not even a student yet

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.247 Home sweet home

No sooner than we stepped in the door, Alessia called, wanting to know where we were up to and if we had moved yet. Luckily, she wasn't a talker like Chi Chi, so I indulged her until she had her fill of Luca intel and let me go. Sophia and I did a little light cleaning to pass the time. Desiree arrived just as we finished our chores, so it was time to say goodbye to the house. She was a little more emotional than we were, basically growing up in that house. When she felt ready, we left and went home.

The closer we got to the house, the stronger the salty sea air got and filled me with so much excitement and pride. Purchasing this house was a pivotal moment on my journey through manhood because I couldn't think about getting this house without thinking about Sophia. I proposed to her there. And I was living with her while I hustled to make enough money to pay for the house. Moving in with her was the first real adult thing I'd ever done, being halfway through my young adult life. Desi was born in that house, and it felt like the completion of a beautiful cycle climbing those steps with her in tow. I explained to her that the house was twice as big as it used to be. Everything to the left of the stair railing used to be our side yard. We had to give up something in order to get the space we needed, so the side yard had to go. Given our two yards, one filled with Desi's playthings, the decision was a no brainer.

With double the porch space, we added additional outdoor seating since we lost the space from the side yard.

As I told her before, the space limited our options, especially given how cramped the original space was. I hated losing the foyer, though. True, it's the least important room in the house, but I still loved it. It was almost like having a holding area to greet friends and family before letting them into our personal space, as if crossing the threshold was some secret badge granting them access to our lives.

I had the contractors put walls around the living room to make it a guestroom. With the original bathroom right next door and the stairs landing in the living room now, guests staying in there should have a fairly private experience now.

The living room moved to the new side, and we told them not to change the furniture in there. The entire renovation would change everything so much, we didn't want the house to feel foreign. Besides, we loved how we styled that space and needed to maintain that sense of identity.

The kitchen was the catalyst for the entire renovation. Whenever we thought about going back home, sad feelings about losing our multipurpose kitchen always pulled us back. If we were going to enjoy our old house, we had to transform the kitchen into an open chill/work/eat space. The jury is still out on which space I liked better, but at least we had parity. I watched Desi as she looked around. She didn't say much, but I knew she was excited and a little overwhelmed by all the space. I suppressed a chortle, thinking she should enjoy the space now because once we went upstairs, that was the end of it, heh.

Ahhh, cramped hallway. How I missed thee. Not. Now that the stairs faced a different way, they took up so much room in the hallway—room we didn't have in the first place. I tried to explain the old configuration to Desi, but I wasn't sure if she could visualize it. I told her she and I used to do tummy time out there and about the time I was teaching her to sit up. She gave me a half smile and said, "awww." I heard the tiredness in her voice, so I got back to tour duty and tried to keep the sidebars to a minimum.

I started at the end of the hall where the old guest room was—the room I thought Mama would take over—that was now Desi's place. I had them knock down the wall between it and Desi's old playroom to give her a good sized room like she was used to. She was all smiles as she gently stepped around the room, spinning around to see everything.

"This is mine?" she asked.

"Do you like it?" Sophia asked.

"I love it!"

"Your bathroom is next door," I said.

Since this was our forever home, and we had tons of cash, I made sure we all got our own luxurious bathrooms. I figured since her bedroom was so colorful and loud, she could use a calm, subdued style in the bathroom.

Our room was across from hers, so we went there next. We took Desi's nursery and turned into our en suite and gave our bedroom one or two more squares. I had hoped we'd have enough room for a closet system like the one we just left, but we only had one good wall for it and pictures, so we went with a dresser. At least it's inside the room this time. I was really missing that closet, though. We might have to try it and see if we can make it work.

On the new side, I created a room for myself that was inspired by Dub and Maia's place. She has a yoga studio, and he has a man cave where he has his gym equipment and SimTube studio. I've always wanted a dedicated space to record, so I didn't have to disturb everyone, talking in the hallway late at night. I setup a space to meditate and possibly record guided mediations, and there's also a desk to do vlogs and edit videos.

Across the hall is another guest bedroom we created specifically with the nephews in mind. Breanna, being the lone girl, always got her own room, so she could either take the room downstairs or sleep in Desi's room.

With nothing left to show, we all went to bed. The house was looking pretty plain, but we were in no rush to put up our pictures and get it looking like a home. We've now got the rest of our lives to shape this place into whatever we want.

[genuineformality]

Last night I hosted a Seder.

This is not unusual. I’ve been hosting one most years since 2018 when I realized that, actually, I don’t have to wait for someone else to do this. I don’t have to wait for an adultier adult or a more authentically Jewish person. I am adult enough and Jewish enough.

This is the first year that I wrote/compiled my own Haggadah.

My first attempt was eaten by the service I was using to create it, so the night before hosting 13 people, I was frantically writing a Haggadah. My partner was making masa for tamales and every time the masa was ready, I stopped writing long enough to help assemble tamales, and then went back to writing.

I read a lot of haggadot before writing my own, ranging from serious and traditional to hilarious and irreverent. I wanted mine to land somewhere between: I love my people, chosen and not, but a lot of what we do is objectively absurd. Poking gentle fun at ourselves while observing an important ritual is pretty much my entire wheelhouse. I take the ritual seriously, but not myself.

We laughed so much last night. We drank wine and I made notes on my print out about how I want to change this for the future. We ate a delicious meal and my home was full of love and laughter and friendship and fellowship. We told the story of the Exodus and reflected on what it means in the context of our world today.

I struggled with writing the nirtzah, the final part of the Seder. Traditionally, the parting words of the Seder are “next year in Jerusalem,” echoing the traditional hopes of the Jewish people to return to the ancestral homeland.

I’ve been to Israel and Jerusalem. It’s not my home and it’s not my homeland. I know some people feel a deep, spiritual connection to that land; I do not. For many Jews, “next year in Jerusalem” isn’t meant to be literal; for me it never has been. My connection is to people. My family is my home, wherever we are.

Writing my own Haggadah was an opportunity to choose words that are more meaningful to me. Jerusalem does not hold my heart and it feels disingenuous to say those words again, every year, while explaining that I don’t mean a literal Jerusalem.

Being Jewish is hard and complicated, especially right now. I have never felt so disconnected from so many of my people. But last night, for a few hours, I felt enlivened and enriched. I’ve spent so many years wrestling with my identity as an American Jew, but last night I felt like this was right. I was in the right place, leading a Seder, among friends and family. I got to give words to a ritual that is thousands of years in the making and still very modern. I got to be part of this big, beautiful, messy, complicated tribe. I made a place for myself. Space was made for me. I belong.

Next year I will not be in Jerusalem, neither literally nor a notional Jerusalem of the heart. Next year, I hope, I will be at home with my family. Next year, I hope, will be more peaceful. Next year, when I tell the story of Exodus and sing blessings over the wine, I will be surrounded by friends and family.

Next year, at home, wherever home might be.

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 29

David 8 x Reader Wordcount: 1,5k Crossposted on Ao3 Part 28 is here

30.12.2093

Dear Diary, nah that's too corny

Hello. My name is  I am the Botanist who joined the scientific exploration vessel USCSS Prometheus. (Y/N), born in 2066.

Doctor Elizabeth Shaw, David Weyland (son of the late Peter Weyland), and I decided to leave the remaining survivors on their journey home to start our own.

We want to find Paradise - or Eden. Wherever the Engineers came from. Our current course is set to the last place they visited before arriving at LV-223. We found a lot of papyrus-like paper, and David encouraged me to write our journey down, to sort my thoughts. Not a bad idea to be honest, my mind is still swirling with everything that happened in those few days. I awoke on 21.12.2093. We got briefed about why we were here and I got to know some of the others. I formed a small friendship with Sean Fifield, a Geologist, and Rafe Millburn, a Biologist. Those two were  I need a break We only had a few days with each other, a short time. But I think we would have been very great friends, to Sean’s displeasure, because he couldn’t shake me or Rafe.

And then there was David. He was the first Person I spoke to after waking up. He wrapped me in a soft robe and helped me sit. At this point I didn’t know yet that he was an android. I only found out when Peter Weyland’s holographic projection told us - in a very rude way. What a bastard It seems we couldn’t get our minds off each other. That night, he came to me when I couldn’t sleep. I held him. The next, we ended up with tangled limbs and soft kisses. Whatever it was that pulled us together - it only tightened afterwards.

On 23.12.2093, we finally landed. It was beautiful. The dark ground stood in stark contrast to the snow-covered mountain peaks. I had never seen anything so majestic before. I   Doctor Charlie Holloway  We I’ll continue this later. Lets focus on the present.

So we boarded a ship on the 25.12.2093. Christmas. Ironic, isn’t it? That all this torment ended on the day Jesus was supposedly born. (Who died for our sins this time? We have so many to mourn..) I didn’t see much of the first vessel, the one with the sleeping Engineer, but from what I did see it appears to be identical to this one. Only this one held no corpses. No damage. As if it had simply been waiting for us to find it. What cruel luck, that we had to enter the one torn apart by chaos first, instead of this (relatively) safe and clean one.

Is there something like destiny that brought us here? Did we have to stumble into this havoc, or were we simply doomed by life from the start? I’m so sorry-

There are seven main rooms. The one in the middle is the navigation room - the name came naturally, since it has the star map and the pilot chair. To its left and right each is a cargo hold, and to my regret, they’re not empty. David hasn’t deployed the contents yet, and sadly for very good reason. We still don’t really understand the goo, we have no idea what it can endure. Dropping it into space might seem safe, but what if it just floats , waiting to cling to another ship? What if it somehow finds its way to Earth? Even if that takes thousands of years… All it seems to take is one little drop of it to activate and kill..mutate..both.

I don’t want to be responsible for that, even if that means that I have to live with anxiety when I walk through those halls.

So we decided: We’ll search for lifeless, empty planets along our journey to Eden. And we’ll leave the urns there to rot. Hopefully forever. It’s the best we can do. There’s no way to destroy them, at least none that we have or are aware of

Back to the ship. One day I’ll sort this all in the correct order.

On the left side, there’s something like a med-bay - a robotics room. The tools are strange, yet strangely familiar. Oversized, which makes sense, considering how tall the Engineers were. (are?) Our bodies appear to be quite similar when you ignore the size difference. In an emergency, Elizabeth and I could be treated using those apparatuses. We’ve already figured out the purpose of most of the medicines, which is calming to know. If we ever break a fever or catch an infection, we’re covered. They grow something remarkably similar to Penicillium - and David and I are fairly certain we can extract an antibiotic from it. (He could probably do it without me, but it’s… nice to be included and use my skill after having felt useless most of the time.) We could even help David if he ever spontaneously loses his head! The biomechanical aspect of the armor is strange, but practical, especially if you happen to have a synthetic with you.

At the far end of the left side, there’s a laboratory. It’s where we figure out what all this alien stuff is made of - and try to make things ourselves, like the antibiotic. David seems completely at home there. It suits him. I like watching him work here. He has this habit of knitting his brows together in concentration and sometimes in awe. It’s interesting, really. He seems more ‘human’ with each passing day. I wonder if he had to hold back those gestures and expressions all this time, just so no one would notice his undeniable personhood. And if so - how lonely must this have been? I’m glad he’s getting comfortable enough to be himself with Elizabeth and me.

On the right side, past the cargo bay, there’s... well, we call it the water room. Very on the nose, I know, but It’s beautiful - you could even call it an oasis. It is one, at least for me.

Green vines climb their way along the curved walls, bearing strange, colorful fruits - almost as if they were reaching for the starlight that shines through the windows. In the center of the room lies a pool, fed by a constant drizzle of water that rains gently into and around it. Encircling the walkable ground is a second ring of water, where algae grows. (Apparently edible, though we haven’t dared to try it yet.) Beyond that, directly beneath the vines, lies a border of dark soil. Some pearly roots grow in there, and something like wild rice stirs gently in the damp warmth. Even if the food David brought along runs out, we won’t starve at all.

The air is warm and heavy with moisture. You can feel the water circulating all around you. A condenser in the center of the ceiling draws in this humidity and purifies it, recycling it into clear, drinkable water. The first time I stepped inside, I dropped to my knees and sank my hands into the earth without a second thought. I had missed the feeling of it so much. There was no visible difference to the soil back home, it felt the same, smelled the same. It was home, in a way. (But what is home anyway? At this point, I think it’s where David and Elizabeth are. So this is home now.)

We come here to gather fresh food, and to bathe - or just let the water wash over us. I like to sit down and pretend that the droplets wash away my sorrows. (Doesn’t work but still feels nice)

The last room is a small storage chamber. They seem to have gathered everything there that might be necessary: Clothes - because they apparently wore more than just that armor. Barrels of dry food that looks like it came straight from Earth. Wheat, millet, pine nuts, even almonds. (Where the hell were they? Is their world like ours?) And the paper I’m currently writing on? We also found it there.

The ship seems to be designed for only four people in total, as if it’s a transporter. (It dawns on me that it really is one..for that pathogen, goo, liquid death) There are no beds. Only the four cryo-stasis sarcophagi in the navigation room and  some nooks with benches or slabs, but nothing resembling a bed. I wasn’t ready to sleep in one of the pods. Too scared. Too claustrophobic. What if they close? What if David decides it’s better for us to sleep through the time and shuts them?

Or?

I guess that thought isn’t so unfair. I love him. And I trust him. I know he would never mean to harm me but I don’t know how far his protection might go. (I don’t like that he was ready to risk everyone but took this intense care of me. But I guess he also doesn’t like that I was ready to throw myself into danger for everyone else so…eh.)

I’ll end this entry for now. Don’t worry, diary of mine, I’ll come back another time, and then you’ll have to deal with my chaotic mind all over again. And again.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Taglist: @sadslasher13 @blxuqueenie

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Hii! I feel like I’ve been loving angst and smut all being put in one fanfic as of recently, so I thought about heartbreaker Johnny because we all know he’s not the most loyal man 🌚 so I was wondering if like it could be the sort of where the reader was basically taken by the slaughter family and instead of killing her they kept her as bate for more victims like she’s very attractive and they use her whenever they go out to hunt, (I hope that makes sense but I figured that would prob be the only reason they kept someone alive 😭) but ok so one day basically she and sissy are sitting on the couch watching Tv in their free time , and Johnny walks into the house with yet another girl, like the 3rd girl of the week, and like the reader rolls her eyes and sighs a little too loud out of jealousy and I guess Johnny notices, so later on he like teases her about it and she pretends to hate him when in reality he was one of the things she looked forward to when they first kept her alive, so they kind of like hate fuck? Or jealousy fuck idk, but she ends up riding him at some point,

(also I’m sorry this is so long, I had this whole long elaborate idea in my head 😭)

I finished 😈

Johnny Slaughter x reader

MINORS DNI this is fairly fucked up please spare yourselves

Contains: abuse, angst, blood, degradation, humiliation, knifeplay, mentions of self-harm, implied cannibalism, jealousy, fingering, hate-fucking, and breeding

(Sorry for double spacing, I still don't know how to format on mobile)

Eight months ago, Johnny Slaughter brought you home for dinner. 

Well, he brought you after a full night of fucking you out of your senses in a seedy hotel room. And it was thanks to your chemistry with him that—when he made clear that you were to be the family's next meal—you were able to talk your way out of it. 

"Johnny, you don't have to kill me," you pleaded.

"Well I can't let you go, doll," he said, looking down at you with a predatory gaze. You were in the gruesome basement with the scent of death flooding your nostrils, but nothing felt so visceral as the blade of his Bowie knife at your neck, one wrist flick from ending your life. 

"You don't have to. I can help you." 

He barked a laugh. "Yeah? How so?"

You'd swallowed hard, then placed your hands on his firm chest. He'd raised an eyebrow but didn't pull away. "I'll do what you did to me: lure people back to the house. I'll bring in five times my weight in the first month, I swear."

"You do have a certain," Johnny's eyes flicked down to your breasts, "charm. But how can I trust you?"

"Come with me. If you see me doing anything against you, you can claim to be my caretaker. Say I'm mentally unwell."

"How exactly are people gonna believe me if I say that?" He asked, his head cocked. 

You held out your arm somberly, self-harm scars littering your wrists. "It won't take much convincing, Johnny."

Rather than the usual looks you received when people noticed your scars, Johnny's face lit up. 

"You like the pain, huh?" He'd said in a low tone. 

"Proves I'm still alive, doesn't it?" You responded, a strange sort of calm flooding you at his reaction. You tried to lower your wrist, but Johnny caught it with his free hand. 

He removed the blade from your neck, then brought it to your wrist, making a quick, shallow cut. He then brought the blade to his wrist and made an identical cut. Finally, he brought his wrist to yours and pressed the cuts together, mingling your blood with his.

"Blood oath. If you break my trust, I'll know."

You nodded, adrenaline lighting up every inch of your body, especially the cut.

"Oh, and," his eyes narrowed, and he reached a gloved hand down, cupping you through your shorts, "this pussy is mine. If I hear you slept with another man, I'll kill you both myself."

Once again, you nodded, and watched entranced as he brought your wrist to his lips and licked it, humming contentedly at the back of his throat. 

"Let's see how long you can last, sugar."

—

Now, you and Sissy sat on the couch, watching the only TV channel available when Johnny kicked the front door open. He had a screaming young woman thrown over his shoulder, pounding his back with her fists.

Johnny locked eyes with you, wearing that same predatory smile he often had. Ever since you'd shown an aptitude for luring people back home for slaughter, you and Johnny had become quite competitive. It didn't take long for him to recognize that you had fully assimilated into the family, and he'd allowed you to hunt on your own.

This month, Johnny had been far more successful than you – three kills to your zero. His cockiness was becoming unbearable, and that smug look on his face stirred up a now-familiar ache in your gut.

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms as you turned away from Johnny, sinking deeper into the couch. Sissy looked at you and shook her head as Johnny slammed the door to the basement behind him.

"How you feelin', girly?" Sissy asked, patting your forearm.

You shrugged. "I don't like it when he does better than I do at bringing people home."

Sissy stroked your arm as she leaned closer. "Hon, I don't think that's your problem." She smiled, revealing her tooth gap as she caught your eye. "You wishin' Johnny was the type to settle down, hm?"

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. "No!" You responded a little too quickly. "I just... I wish he wouldn't sleep with them," you added in a low whisper.

"Well, don't you sleep with those guys you bring home sometimes?" Sissy asked with genuine curiosity.

"No, I..." The oath you made to Johnny flashed in your mind. "I don't."

Sissy giggled. "I'll get grandpa to bed and take Bubba out tonight. Sounds like you and Johnny need to talk."

–

You remained on the couch until the door to the basement clanged open. Johnny had been down there for a while, and by this point, your jealousy had you seeing red. You stood up from the couch and turned to face Johnny in the narrow hallway by the stairs. He wiped his blade off on his bloody shirt and locked eyes with you.

"We need to talk."

"Yeah, you haven't been pullin' nearly as many people as I have. Losin' your touch, sugar?" He taunted, leaning against the staircase and toying with his knife.

You put your hands on your hips. "Some months I got more than you did!"

"Yeah, like that month you brought in those slimy truckers. I couldn't even stomach their rancid, fatty meat." He spat in the corner by the door. "But it figures. You have lower standards than I do."

"'Cause I'm not sleeping with them!" You yelled, your fists trembling at your side.

Johnny's smile grew so wide it reminded you of a great white shark.

"Jealous?" He purred.

Your face heated, and you sputtered. "No, I fucking hate your guts, you piece of shit! Why would I be jealous?"

He pushed off the staircase and approached you slowly, a dangerous sway to his step.

"Needin' some attention? Has mean ole Johnny been denying you?" His tone was sickeningly sweet as he stopped in front of you, making your rage feel small and insignificant in his overwhelming presence.

It was true. When you were first brought home, Johnny had fucked you and only you daily for two straight months. He was the only thing you ever looked forward to in this hellhole, but in the last few months, Johnny had been using you less and less.

And you couldn't deny the anger that swirled in your gut whenever he brought a girl home. You knew how he was; you remembered how he'd hooked you that first night, and some of those girls he brought home had that same cock-drunk look in their eyes, some even willingly descending into the basement before realizing their fate.

It ate you up inside. Johnny had sworn you to him, but he took whoever he pleased, and the jealousy was making you more irritable than usual. You probably would have brought at least two men home this past month if it weren't for your overly-aggressive demeanor scaring them off.

But you couldn't help yourself. When you got horny, you were straightforward about it. Johnny had gotten you used to being with him, and without him to satisfy your urges, you were becoming more unhinged.

So now that Johnny was inches from you, admitting he was neglecting your needs with that cocky grin on his face, you couldn't believe the surge of desire that coursed through you. You hated how your body reacted, despised the urge to close the gap between your bodies, and grab him by his slicked-back hair, mashing your lips onto his. Damn it.

Johnny leaned even closer, whispering against your ear. "I can smell your cunt, you little slut."

Your face flushed deep red, and you pushed Johnny away as hard as you could. He took two staggered steps back, which gave you an odd sense of satisfaction.

That was until his predatory eyes narrowed, sending a shiver down your spine. He closed the distance between you two in one stride and crashed his lips against yours. You stumbled against the wall, cracking the drywall under the force of his kiss. Johnny couldn't care less.

His hands found your shorts, practically tearing them off your body to plunge his thick fingers into your needy core. You gasped and blushed harder as you heard the sound of your wetness squelching around his digits.

"You fucking brat," he growled low in his throat, biting your lip. You whimpered in response as he withdrew from you, bringing his fingers to your lips. You parted them, sucking yourself off him greedily, your eyelids fluttering shut.

When he removed his fingers, he harshly grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. "You've been a real bitch lately. Are you in heat or something?" He asked mockingly.

"Shut up, Johnny," you panted.

He ignored you entirely, turning your chin from side to side. "You need fucked, don't cha?" A slow grin formed on his handsome face. "Beg me for it."

Blood flooded to your core at his words, but you tore your chin from his grip. The words 'I'd rather die' welled up in your throat, but you realized Johnny might take you up on that offer, so instead, you glared at him.

"I'm waiting, darlin'," he drawled.

Your eyes unwillingly traversed his body, and you thought about how good that muscular form under his bloodied clothes felt against you. The thirst was truly getting to you, and he looked like a tall glass of red-tinted water.

Shame flooded you, and you squeezed your eyes shut. "Please, Johnny," you mumbled.

"What's that, doll? Please, what?" He asked, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

You gave him a spiteful look, hoping that your hate might set him on fire. "Please, fuck me," you said through gritted teeth.

"Ahh, there's my little kitten. You'll need to do something for me first, though," he said.

"Oh, come on!" You spat. "What could you need from me that you don't already get from your sluts? I'm the one who isn't getting any!"

Johnny couldn't have looked more pleased. "Jealous AND possessive. How pathetic."

Your anger grew white-hot, and you slapped him. Hard.

The instant your hand made contact with his chiseled jaw, you knew you'd made a grave mistake. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he slammed you against the wall by the throat. You felt his blade against your collarbone, digging in, rivulets of blood rapidly staining your shirt.

"I'm sorry!" You squeaked out from between already-bruised lips, memories of the first time you'd begged for your life flooding your senses. He tightened his grip.

"Remember who you owe your life to, dollface," he snarled, pressing the knife deeper. "I like that bitchy mouth of yours, but if you ever try to hit me again, I'll end you. Understand?"

You nodded as tears ran down your cheeks, unable to muster more than the tiniest of breaths. Yet, even as your life balanced on a knife's edge, your desire dripped down your thighs.

Johnny loved a fight, but when he fought, he always had to win. In Johnny's mind, the only true victory was taking his opponent's life. His demand meant he didn't want to kill you, you realized. He was holding himself back because... some part of him wanted you around.

Johnny's eyes moved from yours to your cheeks where tears formed salty streams that raced down to your chin, slipping down your neck and pooling against his grip.

You always knew Johnny loved tears; be they from fear or ecstasy. As light began to prick at the corners of your vision, you wondered if you'd pushed him too far.

All at once, he released you, and you fell to your knees, choking on air.

"Suck my fucking cock," he commanded. He gave you next to no time to recover before his thick length was in your face, stiff and upward-curved. 

Your throat was already aching, and you could barely breathe, but you complied, taking his flushed tip into your warm mouth. 

His cock was salty and musky, and your envy flared. Johnny was never yours, was never going to be yours, but you had grown to crave him, and the fact you were likely tasting another woman on his cock made you livid. 

There was no woman in the world who wanted to please him more than you did, and you were going to show him that he needed you at least half as badly as you needed him. 

You poured all your hate, anger, and devotion to him into sucking his cock. Johnny was a narcissist through and through, and for some fucking reason, you reveled in it. The higher you put him, the higher he brought you with him, and the harder you fell when he spurned you. 

Tears continued to pour down your cheeks as you forced yourself to deep-throat all of him. He let out a delicious groan. "Fuck yeah baby, take it!"

You gagged and sputtered, saliva gushing from your lips when he grabbed the sides of your head and pulled you as far as you possibly could go. He held you there, choking on spit and pre-cum, until you couldn't take it anymore and pushed off his muscular thighs, stumbling backward onto your ass.

Johnny took this as an open invitation. He knelt down in front of you and grabbed your knees, pushing them apart and slotting himself between them. 

"You need this cock, don't you?" He said, using one hand to tease your clit with the slick head. 

"I need it," you respond, your voice raspy.

Johnny grinned wickedly before he plunged into you, making your back arch off the floor and your legs tremble. 

"Knew you were too proud to ask me on your own," he said as he gripped your hair and thrust so deeply into you that you saw stars, "so I wanted to see how long you could hold out. After all, it ain't like I wasn't getting any."

Jealousy bubbled up yet again from your core, and turned those stars in your eyes green. You needed him to know those sluts had nothing on you. They weren't form-fitted to his cock, they weren't so rabidly in… 

Your mind drew a blank. In love?

No! You hate Johnny. He's your captor.  Your judge, jury, and executioner. 

You love him?

You really were pathetic. Tears bloomed in your eyes again, and as Johnny sunk his teeth into your already-bleeding collarbone, you sobbed out loud.

He ground his hips against yours, his cock completely filling you. "There's my girl," he rumbled against your bloody skin. You practically melted. His girl. His. But he wasn't yours. Even though the two of you were clearly sexually compatible, and you couldn't do much more in his personal life for him than you already were, he still remained out of reach.

Then, it hit you. 

"Cum inside me, Johnny," you begged.

His harsh thrusts slowed. "What?" He pulled back and looked down at your tear-swollen eyes gazing back up at him so desperately. "You're joking."

You shook your head.

"Then you're a fucking idiot," he muttered, returning his attention to your neck and rocking his hips so that you felt him at every angle. 

"No, I'm not!" You protested, and you felt his smirk against your neck before he gripped your hips and pulled you closer. 

"You are, but I'll humor you. Why?" 

He wasn't moving, he was just holding you impossibly close, planting small, bruising bites up and down your neck. You felt every inch of him viscerally, and lust clouded your mind as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. 

"I- I want-" you moaned, writhing in his grasp. 

"Speak up, sugar," he chided, digging his fingernails into your hips.

Fuck. Your vision was spinning, and you let your head fall back and hit the hardwood floor. Johnny didn't allow you to rest long; he took one powerful hand and gripped the back of your hair, pulling you to face him. 

"I already know, so why don't ya just admit it?" He whispered, his lips inches from yours. 

Your eyelids fluttered shut, and you squeezed your thighs around his hips. "I want your baby, alright?" You admitted, humiliation mixing ice with the fire in your core. 

"Honey, there've been more women than you who've wanted that. What makes you think you're so special?"

Shame and desire in equal measure painted your cheeks, but you finally knew what to say. 

"I'm the only one you kept." 

He hummed against your pulse point. "You already kinda act like a mama; cleaning the house and makin' my favorites for dinner." Johnny's lips, which had traced a path along your neck, paused for a moment. He lifted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "But I thought you hated me."

"Hate you so much it reached the end and flipped to the other side, I guess," you conceded.

Johnny rewarded you by slowly resuming his thrusts, giving you the cock you craved so primally. "I hate you too, baby. I hate how every damn thing you do drives me crazy, how you make me lose control then force me to keep you safe from me." 

He leaned close, fire burning in his gaze. "I hate that I can't kill you 'cause I can't imagine my life without you in it." 

In that moment, as your lips met again, it was a collision of contradictions—the fierce passion that had grown in the midst of hate and chaos.

Johnny was on a mission now, and you felt it in every fiber of your being. He sat up on his knees and pulled you into his lap without breaking the kiss, pistoning his cock so deeply you felt the head bruising your cervix. 

But you didn't care, you reveled in the pain. Johnny was claiming you, finally. All those women, and none had him like this—breeding them like the bitch in heat that you were. You moaned so loud Johnny broke the kiss with a cruel laugh. 

"You hopeless little slut," he chided as he moved one hand to your back and bent toward your chest. He licked at the still fresh blood before reaching your nipple, rolling it between his teeth and sending shockwaves through you. 

You gripped his shoulders and rode him harder. A low groan escaped his lips, and you felt his length somehow become even more hard before a warmth spread through your core as his cum shot deep inside you. The sensation was too much to bear and you came as well, holding onto him for dear life as you rode out your orgasms together. 

When he was done, he laid you back down on the floor and stood, leaning against the wall and gazing down at you, the girl he'd chosen to claim entirely. 

You laid spread-eagle on the floor, your chest caked in blood, wanting to meet his eyes but unable to move as his precious cum seeped from your abused pussy. 

"Get used to this," Johnny said, as he grabbed a cigarette from his pants pocket and lit up, "you want my baby, you're gonna get it."

[a-bag-of-issues-blog]

Language in a Space Age

I've been going down the "humans are Space Orcs" rabbithole again, and a lot of it felt unsatisfying to me, so I tried my hand at whipping up a story I liked.

---

It was four sols prior when the security contract with the mercenaries ended.

Three sols prior when the ship’s Captain had said Xe might know someone.

Two sols prior when we had landed on the sandy, hot planet.

And one sol prior when I had first seen a Human fight.

It was an underground fighting arena – almost literally, with only the very top of the domed structure rising out of the sand dune, its colored glass absorbing the worst of the radiation. The seating was arranged in the large, concentric rings common of many gathering places (and yet we still do not have a word in Common for it, is that not strange?), and they were packed with people and dust alike. Despite the obviously ill maintenance of the ventilation and heating, they were bearable, and I only had to remove a small amount of dust from my body coat as we ventured deeper inside.

“So, boss, who’s your mysterious benefactor?” Asked Asdelon as its left eye moved towards the Captain, the right one continuing to scan the crowd.

Our pilot was something of an outsider – from both its home culture and, perhaps, every culture it has ever entered. As a Khetansh, it was born an almost perfect clone of its progenitor, who was itself part of a set of almost perfect clones of their progenitor, like the rest of its species one way or another. And yet Asdelon has always described itself as different, in a way that the Common tongue can not express. There was a word for it, in its language – but it had never found the need to translate it, and I had never dared ask. It was one of the species that felt the need to stare at others’ eyes as it spoke, and while I would now trust it with my life, back then those large eyes and sharp teeth reminded me too much of the old cautionary stories my parents used to tell me.

Those eyes turned fully onto the Captain after some time of no response. While the scales on its face could move very little, its voice was higher and definitely sarcastic when it continued:

“Thanks for the info, boss, makes tracking this Iethid a lot easier.”

The Captain’s eyes swayed in time with his antennae, a sign of what I had begun to recognize as amusement.

“Oh, don’t scuff your scales now. I was just looking around.”

Captain Exlasl was a Xelthor, and a large one for Xirs age. Xirs outer skeleton was a slight blue and white, and Xe liked to brag that the brown stripped markings on Xirs abdomen were signs of great strength and wisdom in Xirs culture. As I did not – and do not – have much knowledge on Drugarian Xelthor culture, I never challenged Xir about that.

“And we could be helping you, if you were a little less mysterious about it.”

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll have your answer soon enough…” The translator trailed off as Xe reached up to adjust it with Xirs smaller hand, but Xirs eyes began turning towards the arena floor where the latest combatant (a Horenga, with a body coat almost identical to mine) had entered. Asdelon looked down at the combatant, and I could tell it was not impressed.

“Really? That one? I’ll give you that they’re probably a little faster than our Horenga here, but I can tell you right now they’re still more…how do you say…more words than action.”

“The Horenga has a name.” I reminded it. “And their name is Linome.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Its tongue flicked out to drag down its right eye (a method of self-cleaning that was also an expression of boredom, almost like how I and other Horengas clean our ears) and it shifted the weight on its legs. “Listen, if you’re out of ideas, then you could’ve just told us. No need to –”

The announcer’s voice called out, in a dialect of Common so blended with the local language that I could not understand a single word. A combatant walked out, and I have never felt such awe and dread so strong in a single moment before.

Humans are not rare. They are not the strongest species, or the largest species, or the toughest. But they are resilient, they are tenacious, and many are warriors.

This Human was small for her species – which meant her eyes were level with the middle of the ears of her opponent. Her skin had multiple marks on them, wounds healed from past battles in the raised and bumpy way Human skin heals, and her limbs were large and clearly muscled. Her clothes were loose and flowing, and her hands were wrapped – from the base of her digits up to the second joint of her arm. Her face, though, drew my attention.

Supposedly, Human faces change drastically as they emote – the movement of skin and muscles in the face being their primary form of expression. Since moving onto the sand, though, the Human’s face had changed as little as Asdelon’s had – even when they bowed to their opponent, even as they moved to opposite ends of the arena.

“Is that your secret weapon?” I still could not pick up on the inflections of Asdelon’s voice, but the way it moved closer to the arena showed it was interested in some way. Exlasl’s pincers clicked together quickly, amusedly – excitedly, even.

“You bet your behind it is. You’re about to meet the person that once tore off my big arm.”

That caught my attention – but the bell had already rung, and the combatants were running at each other face first already.

---

The event lasted almost an entire rotation, and afterwards we still could not immediately contact the Human, because she was still being treated for her injuries. She had promised to contact us on the next rotation, though, which was good because I needed the time to prepare myself.

The brutality and relentlessness of Humans were not exaggerated. When that poor Horenga struck the Human a over and over, she simply took the blows she could not avoid, and a single direct strike to their chest was enough to end the fight. When an Asdelon walked into the ring with her, she did not flinch as she stared down those large eyes, her face did not change as her skin became torn from claw and teeth. And when a Xelthor entered…

They say human hands were not born for fighting – they are dexterous, but with no more reinforcements than the rest of their body. Yet they taught themselves ways to fight with them anyways, and trained until their bones would break stone.

And on and on and on like that she went, battle after battle, until the rotation was done when her final opponent simply dropped from the exhaustion of so many previous battles. And we were to talk to that, because she was old friend of the Captain’s and “more than willing to be violent when necessary”.

I was scared. Terrified. Multiple levels of fear beyond that which the Common tongue could not fully describe. I was pacing the doorway in front of our rented resting place because I had rested and eaten multiple times during the rotation already and felt like I might be sick if I had done any more of either. I wanted to run, and – what? Feed the stereotype that Horenga were mostly weak cowards? Abandon the Captain and Asdelon, after all they’d done for me? But – but we were about to have a Human onboard! A fleshy, hairless, skin and bones death machine –

“Hello?”

The word was in Horengian (the global version of it, anyways) and while it was clear and understandable, it sounded…wrong. Like a machine had spoken it, except the voice was very clearly…

“Human?”

That was a rude way to address her, looking back on it. She did not mind though, instead only tilting her head slightly in a…shockingly familiar expression of confusion.

“Do you…prefer…the Common language?” Despite the pauses and hesitation and the accent (or, well, the complete absence of any accent), she was easily understandable. I was, of course, afraid for my very fragile life so I did not have an answer ready for her.

Luckily for me, it was at that moment that the Captain opened the door to investigate the noise. Xirs antennae rose fully up at the sight of the human, and her mouth curled upwards as she saw Xir (a human gesture of joy, the one that didn’t involve baring teeth).

Xir didn’t even turn on his translator, simply started clicking in his native Drugarian. And she answered back in kind, pulling her lips back and finally showing clear white teeth as she clicked back at him…somehow (Humans and their terrifyingly good mimicry.) The entire conversation afterwards happened entirely in Drugarian, and I wound up serving drinks for them almost out of an absence of other things to do.

The Human did not ever take off her coat – light brown, large, almost seeming to drag her down – and every time I turned my back to her, I could feel myself being watched. When the captain went to go fetch Asdelon, she turned and looked at me directly.

“You never answered my question, earlier.”

Cornered, instantly. Like a true predator.

“Well…I don’t mind whatever language you use, really. It’s not like I particularly like our global language.”

She moved her head up and down – nodding, a gesture of understanding in some cultures. “What’s your…original language, then?”

“Oh, no need to ask, it’s not like you need to learn it to really talk anyways if we’re going to be travelling together.” Deflect, quickly. “Why do you ask, anyways? The Common language was made for this situation, wasn’t it?”

The human tilted her head, again – the lack of moving ears removes much of the subtler indications in body language, so I wasn’t sure if she was just considering me or confused. She was staring at a point above my head, which – well, I appreciated, but still.

Eventually, when she spoke again, it was slow.

“The Common language…it is what we all have in common. The one through line to unite us disparate people. But it is not…comprehensive.”

She took off her coat, then – and I almost jumped when she let it drop onto the floor, its impact as heavy as if it was filled with sand.

“There are sandbags, in my coat.” Well, that explained it. “The gravity here…it is less than that of my home. Dirt, as we call it.”

Her lips curled up, briefly, at the name.

“The rotation cycle here is different as well. The people are of course different. Yet…when I see them…many are not from this world. Many do not need bags. They need other things. Things to maintain temperature, gravity…level of water.”

Her digits were moving, again, four of them thrumming a rhythm (humans sang, of course they did, anything with a voice like that could sing) as she tried to piece together her next words.

“The Common language is the thing we have in common. That we are people is another of those. But reducing so many people to only the things they have in common…it is like reducing a galaxy to a painting. Too much is lost in translation.”

There was a moment of silence. She was staring to a point to my right. I was looking just over her head.

“…we have a saying for that. In my language. Ylimuan Horenga, I mean. It…” I could not help but chitter a little at the irony. “It doesn’t translate very well.”

She tilted her head, a small amount to the other side. When her face changed this time, a little bit of teeth was showing, but she closed her lips almost immediately to hide it.

“Could you…teach it, to me?”

Excerpts from What Is Lost Between The Words by Linome Aiklion Prinou, translated into Earth English.