#but everything is very fitting and concluding in its own way

[aprilblossomgirl]

The final property is peaceful but no longer for sale because it's where Home's home is 🤍

[unsolicited-opinions]

The Israel thing confuses the shit out of me, I've gotta say.

I consider myself left wing politically. Pretty darn left. (Or what I thought "left" meant.) I have voted for progressive parties/candidates in every election (local, national, EU-wide) since I was legally able to do so. I am a Pride-flag-waving lesbian, a feminist (I legally changed my surname to my mothers last name in solidarity when I was still a teenager!), a vegan, an environmentalist (I don't drive a car, I don't fly, my home is fossil fuel free, powered entirely by wind and solar generated electricity) and a union member. I'm very careful about everything I buy, always looking for the most ethical option. No "fast fashion". No Twitter since Musk took over. No Amazon Prime.

I try pretty hard, every day, to walk the walk, y'know? Not just talk the talk. I try to live my beliefs. Not just perform them. Even though it is often inconvenient. (Having to constantly look stuff up. See where my money would be going. Check for bad business practices. Who owns what. Who do they vote for. Who do they donate to. How and where is it made. Who made it. How are they treated. What's the carbon footprint. What's the energy efficiency rating. Etc, etc, etc.)

When the October 7th attacks on Israel happened, I immediately realised 'I don't know enough about this' and so started reading about the history (and present) of Israel and Palestine. There were things I felt I needed to know and understand before I threw my lot in with anyone.

One of the earliest things I learned was that Israel existed before Palestine (fact one. And it seemed important.) and Jewish people existed thousands of years before there were Muslims. I learned (fairly quickly and not in great depth) about the Hebrew Bible, the Bar Kokba revolt, the origins of Islam, the Arab conquest of the Levant, the Edict of Expulsion, the Alhambra decree, the 19th century pogroms and the Pale of Settlement, Theodor Herzl and the origins of Zionism, WW1 and the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the Holocaust, the first Arab/Israeli war, Black September, the Munich Olympics, the first and second intifada, Hamas and Fatah, culture and laws in modern Israel...

I feel like I did my homework. And I concluded, given what I had read, that I was quite broadly on Israel's side. It seemed to me that the Jewish people have every right to be there. Israel has every right to exist. It's where the Jewish people originated. They purchased land there legally. They achieved polity and declared independence. They have fought and won wars over it. What more could anyone ask for? They're indigenous to the land, they have always been there (to a greater or lesser degree), the ones who left paid for the land when they returned, they fought wars for the land and won. What other ways can they prove or earn their right to be there? They have done more to "earn" their existence on that land than any other people on Earth.

I do not understand the "left"'s antipathy toward Israel, Israelis or Zionism. It makes no sense to me.

Yes, war is awful. Of course. Innocent people dying is awful. Of course. But that does not seem to be what is being protested. It is Israel's very existence that they object to. And I do NOT understand that. I have tried. I have read what I believe to be a fairly thorough account of the history of the land and its people. And I simply cannot get onboard with what my comrades (...) on the left are saying and doing. It just does not make sense to me. It doesn't fit.

And at the moment (since October 2023) it is in all left wing spaces. Feminist bookshops I once frequented. Environmental organizations I was once a member of. Pride parades I once marched in. All are now obsessed with the BDS movement and bashing Israel and Zionists. And it's not even a question. It's just a given. If you are a feminist or queer or an environmentalist you must also (obviously!) hate Israel. And I just cannot logically understand WHY.

Jews don't often encounter non-Jewish progressives these days who can be normal about Jews, rational about Israel, and see what we see...so I can't tell you how much I appreciate this and you, Anon.

Thank you for sharing these thoughts.

I have so much respect for the integrity required to tell oneself "I don't know enough to have an opinion, so I'm going to make an effort to learn more."

I can count the non-Jews I know who have done that on one hand.

The LGBTQ+ Jews I know (including family) all tell me that while they feel secure, safe, and included as LGBTQ+ persons in Jewish spaces, they don't feel at all safe as Jews in LGBTQ+ spaces, and that breaks my heart because I know how important that sense of community is to my LGBTQ+ family and friends and I understand how much that loss must hurt.

Like most of us, LGBTQ+ Jews are liberals who thought they shared values with other progressives until October 7th taught us that while we might have felt solidarity with them, they didn't feel solidarity with us...and jumped at the opportunity to feel righteous about being hateful.

Many (perhaps most) of us similarly lost communities because you're right that all the progressive spaces aren't just unthinkingly hostile and willfully ignorant, but actively hateful and parroting Jew-hatred tropes from the middle ages, the Czars, the Soviets, and a Fuhrer. In liberal spaces. While claiming to be progressives. While claiming to be AntiFa. While claiming to despise Nazis and bigotry. While allying themselves with Islamist movements which favor genital mutilation, child brides, and honor killings.

If you'd like to get in touch without the anonymity, I'd welcome that - because I'd like to see more of your writing.

Again, thank you. This made my day.

[cosmic-conqueror-diabelos]

An adventurer’s guide to the galaxy

In their relentless pursuit of peak physical perfection, Jihyo, Momo, Sana, and Mina had pushed themselves through nearly every fitness trend—from intense Pilates sessions to disciplined weight-lifting regiments. But when they hit a frustrating plateau, their competitive spirits refused to settle. Searching for the next challenge, they found themselves drawn to a quiet yet well-respected dojo nestled just on the outskirts of the city.

It was there, under the strict yet graceful tutelage of Sensei Umezewa—a stoic Japanese immigrant and the daughter of a so-called "exiled samurai"—that they began spending nearly every weekend honing their skills. What started as a personal training sanctuary soon turned into something else entirely. As word spread among their peers, the dojo quickly became a magnet for other idols chasing their own version of physical and mental mastery.

Before long, familiar faces began appearing at the dojo: Sakura Miyawaki, always composed and deadly with a shinai, and Kazuha Nakamura, graceful as a dancer but deceptively strong. Their presence added a new layer of intensity to the sessions, and it wasn’t long before their training schedules naturally aligned. They often sparred together, sweat and adrenaline bonding them through every strike and counter, their movements crisp and purposeful beneath layers of traditional gear.

Today’s session had been no different—rigorous, disciplined, and exhausting. Sensei Umezewa had calmly observed from the sidelines, her eyes as sharp as a blade, offering the occasional correction or nod of approval. The training had concluded with the quiet arrival of three new recruits: Giselle and Karina of Aespa, and Itzy’s Yeji—all drawn to the dojo for the same reason as the others: the hunger to evolve, to transcend.

After bowing to their Sensei and one another, the group made their way out of the dojo, laughter, and conversation punctuating the quiet of the late afternoon. But as they stepped into the gravel path outside, something strange happened.

One, two, three… eight steps.

Then nothing.

They kept walking—but the scenery didn’t change. Their feet moved, and the gravel crunched beneath them, but they weren’t getting anywhere.

It took a moment before anyone noticed. One by one, they paused, puzzled, glancing around. The air felt heavier, charged with a strange, humming tension. Confused murmurs gave way to silence as they all tilted their heads upward.

That’s when they saw it: a colossal beam of pale blue light pouring down from the sky, shimmering like liquid glass. It enveloped them completely, holding them in place with an invisible grip.

A split second later, everything went white.

And then—nothing.

Darkness.

They came to—roughly four Earth hours later—disoriented and sprawled across the cold, metallic floor of an alien chamber. The room hummed softly with energy, its walls a lattice of strange, glowing symbols and seamless, shifting panels. The very structure they were in felt alive, its design so far beyond human comprehension that even trying to make sense of it gave them a dull headache. No edges, no visible doors—just smooth, flowing architecture that pulsed like a heartbeat.

And sitting at the far end of the chamber, upon what looked like a throne grown out of the floor itself, was a towering figure that resembled a man crossed with a white tiger—broad-shouldered, draped in dark, ornamental armor, and radiating a quiet, effortless menace.

“Oh good, y’all are awake,” the feline giant said in heavily modulated English, his voice deep and oddly melodic, like metal scraping velvet.

The idols instinctively recoiled, hearts pounding, pressing themselves against the walls as far from the creature as possible. Panic danced in their eyes—this was no stage, no dream, no fantasy.

The creature raised a massive paw in what seemed like a gesture of calm.

“Now, now—no need to be afraid,” he said, his tone rehearsed but not unkind. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Rylor. I come from the planet Jenji, in the Solaris system. I am what you might call… a recruiter.”

“A what?” Sana whispered, still breathless.

“I seek out exceptional talent and bring them to their new… hmm. Not ‘masters,’ no—that’s not the word. Employers. Yes. That’s what you humans call it,” Rylor corrected himself, his tail lazily flicking behind him. “You’ve been chosen. I hope to make your transition from your… previous lives to this one a bit easier.”

As their eyes adjusted, the girls noticed the details of him more clearly: he was less like a cartoonish feline and more like a white tiger standing on two legs—hulking, rippling with muscle, with intelligent amber eyes that gleamed beneath his metallic circlet. He was beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful. Dangerous. Unstoppable.

Jihyo stepped forward, fists clenched.

“You didn’t recruit us,” she said firmly, her voice low and even. “You abducted us. You stole us from our home.”

Rylor let out a low, rumbling laugh. “You’re from Earth. It’s practically the same thing.”

He paused, scanning each of them with what looked like genuine curiosity—and maybe even a little admiration.

“Liroc,” he called, not looking away from the idols, “get them chipped and resonant.”

From a nearby shadowed corridor emerged something even less comforting—an insectoid creature, tall and skeletal, with glistening carapace armor and multi-jointed limbs. Its face was a twisted mandible of clicking parts, closer to a nightmare than anything terrestrial. Think Predator, if it grew up in a hive instead of a jungle.

The idols froze, eyes wide.

“Move,” Rylor said gently, as if herding kittens. “He won’t bite. Unless you try to run.”

The creature—Liroc—made a rapid series of harsh clicks and guttural sounds that echoed off the walls like static-fed radio transmissions. The girls tried speaking to him, asking questions, but all they got in response were more unsettling chittering noises and unreadable gestures.

He led them down a narrow, curving corridor. The floor beneath their feet shimmered with every step, adjusting somehow to their pace. At the end of the hallway, a chamber opened—a sterile white room illuminated by ambient light from no visible source.

Standing in the center was a humanoid robot—sleek, silver, and humanoid in shape, with glowing red eyes. Despite the intimidating appearance, its voice was eerily calm, a soft, automated baritone that sounded like an old friend reading bedtime instructions.

“Welcome,” it said. “I am HAL-2000. You have been selected for linguistic synchronization and cosmic resonance attunement. Please proceed to the tubes.”

Six cylindrical pods stood against the wall, faintly humming, mist swirling at their bases.

The idols hesitated.

“It is painless,” HAL added, sensing their fear. “And necessary. You will understand everything soon.”

With no other choice—and Rylor’s words still ringing in their ears—they stepped forward, one by one, into the strange machines.

As the lids closed over them, a soft pulse filled their ears.

Then—

Darkness again.

Light slowly bled into their consciousness.

This time, when they opened their eyes, the sterile chamber was gone. The soft walls here were the color of aged parchment, gently pulsing with an inner glow. The air was warmer, breathable—but laced with an unfamiliar metallic tang. Each of them lay in their own cot, covered by strange yet comfortable woven sheets that shimmered like liquid thread.

They were no longer in the pods.

At first, they stirred quietly, groggily, unsure if they were dreaming again. But then a sound reached them—soft at first, like fingers tapping on crystal. Then it formed words.

Actual words.

Words they understood.

“In your language now?” came a voice—clicking, layered, but unmistakably intelligible.

They sat up. Liroc stood at the entrance to the chamber, his towering insectoid frame half-hidden in the shifting glow of the doorway. No longer just a horror movie silhouette, he now looked more… real. His mandibles twitched with each word, but his voice carried directly into their minds, perfectly fluent—not in English, but in each of their native tongues.

“I know this is unsettling,” Liroc continued, his multifaceted eyes scanning their faces one by one. “And I know it’s scary.”

There was no trace of mockery or malice in his voice—just a tired honesty, like someone who had delivered this speech many times before.

“But if you do your four years,” he said slowly, “you’ll be free. And you can go home.”

Silence fell over the room like a thick curtain.

Sana was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “Four years of… what?”

Liroc didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the room, claws clicking gently on the floor. He didn’t loom or threaten—he sat. Or rather, crouched in a way that seemed both alien and oddly respectful.

“Work. Missions. Tasks that require… exceptional beings. You were chosen because your abilities—discipline, adaptability, group cohesion, physical prowess—are rare. Even among humans.”

“Chosen,” Mina repeated flatly.

“Recruited,” Jihyo added bitterly.

Liroc inclined his head slightly. “I won’t lie. Most of you would not have volunteered. But many before you have served. And survived. Some even thrived.”

Karina spoke up, voice trembling. “And if we refuse?”

There was a pause. Not ominous—just… somber.

“Then you’ll be reassigned,” Liroc said. “To less cooperative handlers. I can’t protect you from them.”

That landed with force. The room went cold again.

“Why are you helping us?” Yeji asked.

Liroc’s mandibles twitched, and he made a low, rattling sound—it might’ve been a sigh.

“Because I remember what it was like,” he said quietly. “To wake up in a place that wasn’t mine. To be told I belonged to someone else. I earned my freedom. I serve now by choice. And I would rather guide you gently… than see you broken.”

The silence that followed wasn’t fear.

It was decision.

As the days turned into weeks—four Earth weeks, to be exact—the idols slowly began to settle into an uneasy rhythm aboard the alien vessel. The initial terror faded into something more mechanical: they cleaned, they ate strange but nourishing food, and they trained.

Under the ever-watchful eye of Rylor.

Training was rigorous. Physical drills, weapons handling, even simulations that pulled on both their instinct and discipline. They were pushed hard, but not broken. The crew—diverse, strange, and mostly indifferent—treated them with a cold professionalism. No cruelty, but no affection either. They were assets. Temporary, expendable.

But Rylor was different.

Though none of the others were singled out, Jihyo somehow drew his constant attention. She noticed the way he lingered during sparring sessions, the way he observed her with a mix of curiosity and something else—something more possessive. It wasn’t romantic, exactly. It was… fixated. Fascinated.

Jihyo didn’t trust him. Not even a little. But she kept her guard up and her tone neutral, even when he hovered just a bit too close or watched her with those amber, unreadable eyes.

Despite the circumstances, the group adapted. They grew stronger. More cohesive. They began communicating with each other and the ship more easily thanks to the resonance chips. They weren’t free—but they weren’t helpless either.

As their vessel neared the coordinates of their so-called employers, a quiet anxiety settled over them.

Then came the night before they were to be handed over.

Rylor summoned Jihyo to his private chambers.

It was a rare invitation. No one refused. She went—cautiously.

The chamber was dimly lit, filled with artifacts and relics from across the galaxy: weapons mounted like trophies, silk banners embroidered with alien script, and the faint scent of incense that made her slightly dizzy. Rylor lounged on an elevated couch, a decanter of shimmering blue liquid in one paw, two crystalline cups set before him.

“Sit,” he said, voice low but heavy with expectation.

Jihyo did, stiffly. She didn’t touch her drink.

Rylor, on the other hand, was already a few glasses in. As the evening wore on, the stoic pirate grew looser, more talkative—his speech slurred, his posture relaxed.

“You know,” he said, tail flicking lazily behind him, “you humans don’t usually do it for me. Too soft. Too loud. But you… you're different.”

Jihyo said nothing. Just listened.

“You remind me of the Panthera Regiment back on Jenji,” he went on, eyes glazing over with memory. “An all-female platoon. Vicious. Lethal. Beautiful. They didn’t fear anything—except failure.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

“You could’ve led them. You should stay with me. Be my consort. My wife.”

Jihyo’s face remained unreadable, but her heart pounded. She kept her tone polite, measured.

“I appreciate the… compliment. But I can’t accept.”

Rylor froze, just for a moment. Then something shifted.

“How dare you?” he growled, rising slowly to his full, imposing height.

“I take care of you. I train you silly apes. I give you purpose, and you—"

A sudden buzz sliced through the tension.

The intercom crackled to life, interrupting him mid-rant with a calm but commanding female voice:

“Pirate Rylor, this is Commander Samira of the Galactic Federation. You are in direct violation of the Nephilim Treaty of Year 17 Billion—Earth year 2012—regarding the acquisition of Terran civilians. Prepare to be boarded and arrested.”

For a moment, the chamber was still.

Then Rylor’s expression twisted into something primal. He slammed the decanter to the ground, blue liquid splattering across the floor like blood.

“Federation scum…” he hissed, eyes glowing with fury.

He turned toward the sealed door, muscles tensing, ready to fight.

Behind him, Jihyo remained silent—calculating.

Her moment might’ve just arrived.

As the last syllables of her warning faded from the comms, Commander Samira turned smoothly from the console to face the three of us—her elite strike unit, her so-called little wolves.

There was a gleam in her eyes—equal parts mischief and menace.

“My little wolves,” she purred, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, “would you be darlings and tear that cat’s ship apart?”

I gave a sharp nod, feeling the familiar pulse of power building in my chest.

“As you wish, Commander,” I said.

With a slash of my hand, a portal tore itself open before us—vibrating with crackling energy. Through it, the innards of Rylor’s ship were revealed, dim and pulsing like the belly of some dormant beast.

Combat Captain Dinozen Sisko, ever silent and grim, stepped through first—his hammer already crackling with kinetic charge. Artillery Specialist Magnara Unika followed close behind, her twin shoulder-cannons humming softly, calibrated for close-quarters suppression. I entered last, sealing the rift behind us with a flick of my wrist.

We materialized in what looked like the prisoner holding bay—cold, metallic, sterile. The idols were there, huddled but alert. All of them except one.

Magnara gasped softly. “Oh my stars… it’s really them.” Her voice was unusually high-pitched with excitement. “Is that Kazuha? And Sana?!”

She was fangirling—actually fangirling in the middle of an extraction op.

“Focus, Unika,” Dinozen muttered, though his mouth twitched in what might’ve been a grin.

Magnara gathered herself quickly, motioning for the idols to follow. “Come on, ladies. You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before things get… explode-y.”

They obeyed, moving fast but wide-eyed, still processing their rescue. Just before they reached the portal, one of them—Sana, I believed—turned back and looked up at me with urgent eyes.

“Um, sir?” she asked, voice trembling with both hope and fear. “Can you save our leader? Her name’s Jihyo. She’s about this tall—” she held up her hand, “—big brown eyes, tan skin. She’s probably still with that… tiger freak.”

I gave a short nod. “I’ll find her.”

Dinozen and Magnara led the group through the portal, the shimmering light swallowing them as they vanished back to the safety of Samira’s warship. As they disappeared, I caught a glimpse of one of the paler idols—Mina, maybe—casting a lingering glance back at Dinozen. Her gaze wasn’t fear, though. It was curiosity. Interest.

I chuckled softly to myself. Well now… that could get interesting.

Then I turned, armor humming as I moved deeper into the belly of the ship, toward the captain’s quarters. Toward the one they called Jihyo.

The moment the intercom cut out and Rylor stormed toward the chamber doors, Jihyo made her decision.

No more waiting. No more being watched. No more being handled.

She had seen the shift in Rylor’s eyes—how rejection twisted his fascination into something darker, something that boiled beneath his pride. The look of a predator who wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

As he stomped toward the control panel beside the door, growling curses under his breath, Jihyo moved. Not wildly. Not recklessly. Precisely.

She snatched the shard of the shattered decanter from the floor—glass in this part of space wasn’t like Earth glass. It didn’t break into fine sand; it fractured into jagged, durable splinters. She wrapped part of her sleeve around one end, creating a makeshift grip, and crept toward the brute’s back.

“How dare she,” Rylor snarled under his breath, punching in override codes. “I offer her legacy, power… and she—”

He never finished the sentence.

Jihyo struck.

The shard sliced across the back of his knee, deep enough to draw a roar of pain but not enough to sever anything. The beast fell forward, surprised more than wounded. She leapt back as he twisted toward her.

“You dare?” he bellowed, voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. “You little animal—”

“I’m not yours,” Jihyo snapped. Her voice didn’t tremble. “You don’t get to ‘keep’ people. We’re not prizes. We’re not pets.”

Rylor charged.

She dodged—barely—tucking and rolling across the chamber as his claws scraped the floor where she’d stood. He turned, slower now, dragging his wounded leg.

“I was going to make you a queen,” he hissed.

“I’m already a leader,” she replied, tightening her grip on the glass shard. “And I don’t need a crown from you.”

Just as he lunged again—

-The wall behind Rylor ruptured in a violent blast of energy.

A portal flared open, clean and circular, its edges sparking as if reality itself had been neatly sliced. I stepped through—calm, composed—my gaze immediately locking onto the bleeding, seething tiger-like pirate.

Jihyo blinked in surprise. “Who—?”

“Reinforcements,” I replied coolly, tone level, but edged with authority. “Now, is there any chance you’ll surrender peacefully? Or are you intent on making this even more difficult?”

Rylor didn’t answer. He just growled—and lunged.

Wrong move.

A charged pulse shot from the coil around my wrist, striking him square in the chest. The blast sent him flying backward, crashing into the bulkhead with a sharp metallic crunch. He slumped, dazed but alive, smoke curling from the scorch mark on his armor.

I stepped into the room fully, scanning quickly—and then I saw her.

Jihyo.

Her light bronze skin glowed faintly under the flickering emergency lights. She stood tall despite the chaos, chin lifted, shard of alien glass still clenched in her hand like a dagger. Her eyes—wide, warm, but unyielding—held both the gentleness of a leader and the fire of someone who refused to break.

I understood in that instant why Rylor had fixated on her. But what struck me most wasn’t her beauty, or her resilience.

It was her presence.

“I believe your friends are waiting for you, Leader Jihyo,” I said, lowering my hand and offering a respectful nod. “Care to come home?”

She looked from the scorched wall… to Rylor, groaning but beaten… then finally up at me. Judging me. Measuring me. And then, she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, slipping the shard into her belt. “Let’s go.”

I opened a second portal behind me, and together we vanished into the light.

⸻

We emerged into the safety of the Federation warship’s transport bay. The idols were already gathered there, recovering under the soft blue glow of medical filters. As soon as Jihyo stepped through, the others rushed to her.

“Oh thank God you’re safe!” Sana cried, flinging her arms around her.

The others followed quickly—Momo, Mina, Sakura, Giselle—all wrapping her in relief and laughter. The tension eased. Their leader was back. The circle was whole again.

I made my way across the deck toward Commander Samira. She stood with her arms behind her back, cool and commanding, letting the idols have their moment before speaking.

“Welcome, Terrans,” she said with a practiced warmth. “I am Commander Samira of the Rune Terra system, native to the planet Noxus, and an agent of the Galactic Federation. I’m here to take you home.”

The room filled with cheers and emotional gasps.

But I noticed something quieter amid the noise.

Three of the Terran girls were looking at us—at me, Dinozen, and Magnara—with something different than relief. Something more… curious. Jihyo’s eyes lingered on me. Sakura seemed drawn to Dinozen, her gaze soft but focused. And Giselle? She was practically orbiting Magnara, clearly fascinated by the towering artillery specialist.

I’m cheating as I write this, I know—I didn’t get their names right away. But I’ll learn them. I always do.

Samira turned and clapped her hands once.

“My wolves will escort you to your guest quarters,” she said, addressing the idols. “There you’ll find fresh approximations of Terran cuisine, warm baths, clean clothing, and real beds. Rest well, knowing you are safe now.”

Magnara and Dinozen led the group down the corridor. The girls followed, quieter now, some still glancing back. But Jihyo lingered.

Samira noticed and gave me a sideways glance. I opened my mouth to speak, but Jihyo was already walking toward me—measured, deliberate. She stopped so close our chests nearly touched.

“You saved me,” she said softly. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

Her voice was warm but unwavering. Her face was close—far too close. I could hear the skip in my own pulse. She was distracting. Dangerous.

I smiled slightly. “Anytime.”

She gave a tiny nod, then turned quickly and jogged back to her friends.

Samira was smirking before I even turned around.

“Could you be any less subtle?” she teased. “I thought you were going to throw her down and kiss her on the deck.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Where did you learn that phrase?”

“Oh, Magnara taught me. Apparently it’s something people yell on ‘reality TV’.” She waved a hand. “Not important.”

She leaned in with that knowing grin. “So. My little wolf has a crush on a Terran.”

I composed myself quickly. Straightened my shoulders.

“She’s… stunning. Yes. But I wouldn’t call it a crush,” I said, voice even. “I have no desire to engage her.”

Samira laughed softly. “Of course not,” she said. “That’s exactly what a man with a deep, dangerous crush would say.”

I didn’t answer.

But I did glance down the corridor—just once—to catch one final glimpse of Jihyo.

She hadn’t looked back.

Yet somehow, it still felt like she knew I was watching.

Samira chuckled behind me, her tone knowing and amused. “So what’s up, Witch-Wolf? Don’t tell me the mighty Giordano’s been undone by a Terran girl with pretty eyes.”

Her words snapped me out of my trance, and I exhaled, shaking off the lingering warmth in my chest.

“Commander,” I said, shifting back into mission mode, “what’s our plan for Rylor? I saw the scorch trail—he escaped the moment the power grid failed. We both know he’s not going to stay quiet.”

Samira’s smile thinned, and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“No need to chase him,” she said with a shrug, voice far more serious now. “He’ll be back—he always is. Especially now that he knows we’re heading toward Earth. He’s the vengeful type.”

She stepped forward, lowering her voice as if the ship itself might be listening. “But you—my little Witch-Wolf—don’t get to go full arcane wrath just yet. Not here. Not while we’re traveling through Federation trade lanes. You know the treaties.”

I nodded slowly. The Arcades Accord had grandfathered me in—barely. One of the last recognized war mages allowed to exist within Federation space, let alone operate freely.

“I don’t want to test the bureaucracy’s patience,” Samira continued. “Not until we’re out of their jurisdiction. You may be Chulane’s last pupil, but even that only buys so much tolerance. We wait. Once we hit the outer reach of the Sol system—past the Beacon Lines—then you can rampage splendidly.”

There was a glint of wicked amusement in her tone at that last part, but also trust. Faith.

I bowed my head slightly. “Understood, Commander.”

“Dismissed.”

I turned and began the walk toward my quarters. The halls were quiet now, shadows stretching long under the pulse-lights. My boots echoed softly.

The corridors of the Aurelius were quiet at this hour. Most of the ship’s human guests were finally resting after the chaos of their abduction and recovery. The faint hum of power cells and stabilizer coils echoed through the metal halls, familiar and comforting to someone like me.

I was heading back to my quarters after a debrief with Samira, boots barely making a sound against the polished alloy floor. My mind wandered—mostly to her. To Jihyo. I had heard her music thanks to Maggy who was a massive fan and had grown to like them but

I told Samira I didn’t have a crush.

Maybe I was a liar.

Just as I turned the corner by the guest wing, someone stepped into the hallway from one of the side rooms. I stopped short as she nearly collided with me.

It was her.

Jihyo.

Fresh from a bath, she wore soft Federation-issue loungewear—loose, comfortable, and cut in a way that made her seem even more disarmingly human. Her long hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends, and her skin had that freshly-cleansed glow. She smelled faintly of citrus and something floral.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, stepping back. Her tone wasn’t flustered, just… surprised. Then her eyes lit up in recognition. “You again.”

I swallowed before speaking. “You have a habit of bumping into your rescuers?”

She smirked. “Maybe just the handsome ones.”

That was… new.

“I’m kidding,” she added quickly, her grin widening. “Kind of.”

I chuckled and tried to keep walking. My heart was pounding like I’d just come from combat training. She turned and fell into step beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not like the others on the ship,” she said, glancing sideways at me. “You speak our language too well. And your accent… It’s familiar.”

“I studied Terran linguistics,” I offered.

She narrowed her eyes, not buying it. “No. You are Terran, aren’t you?”

I hesitated—then nodded.

“Yeah same as Dinozen and Magnara I was born in California. Earthside. For taken off-world when I was young.”

Her eyes lit up even more. “I knew it! I could tell the way you moved, the way you looked at us. You’re not just some Federation soldier—they recruited you.”

I let a small smile crack through. “Something like that.”

“Well, Giordano,” she said, testing my name in her mouth like a lyric.

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

“It’s on your badge,” she replied, smug.

I laughed—a real one this time. First one in days.

“Giordano,” she repeated, drawing it out in a teasing tone. “Too many syllables. I’m gonna call you Gio.”

“Gio, huh?”

She shrugged. “It suits you.”

I slowed my pace, half-expecting her to head back to her quarters.

She didn’t.

She kept walking beside me, arms folded casually, bare feet padding softly over the floor.

“You’re heading back to your room?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll walk with you,”

Absolutely — here’s a refined and expanded version of the scene, keeping the emotional vulnerability and growing connection between the narrator and Jihyo while improving flow, emotional beats, and sensory detail:

⸻

And she stayed beside me—step for step—as if this was something we’d always done. Like we were walking through memory instead of metal corridors, our rhythm already synced.

As we neared my quarters, she leaned gently into my shoulder. Not clingy, not fragile. Just… present. Like she wanted to feel I was real.

When we reached the door, she turned to me with a small smile. “After you.”

I chuckled, brow raised. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?”

She looked up at me, steady. No hesitation. “I feel safe with you.”

Then—before I could say something dumb to ruin it—she placed a hand on my chest and gave a soft push, guiding me through the door.

The lights flickered on as we entered, revealing the stark simplicity of my quarters: neatly stacked weapons on the rack, no decorations, no comforts. Just order and shadows.

Jihyo stepped inside and looked around. “Huh. Very… military monk.”

“Spartan elegance,” I said, dropping my gear onto the shelf.

She watched me as I moved—quietly assessing, but not judging. I took a seat on the couch, and without a word, she joined me, leaning into my side like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

We sat in silence for a few moments. Her body was warm against mine. The scent of whatever soap they stocked in the guest quarters clung faintly to her—floral, unfamiliar, but nice.

Then I spoke, my voice softer than usual. “Can I ask you something personal?”

She tilted her head, eyes curious. “Um… sure.”

I hesitated, then looked at her, really looked at her. “Did Rylor… hurt you? Or touch you in a way he shouldn’t have?”

Jihyo’s expression shifted. Not angry—just surprised. Thoughtful. She stared at me, her gaze unreadable for a moment that felt like a minute.

Then, she laughed.

Not a forced one. Not bitter. A warm, genuine laugh that cracked the tension like glass underfoot.

“No,” she said, smiling. “My knight in—well, slightly scorched—armor showed up just in time.”

I exhaled in relief and chuckled. “I’m not really a knight. Definitely no shining armor.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmured.

We sat there for a while longer, the air warm with something unspoken. Eventually, her laughter faded into a yawn, and her body grew heavier against mine. Her head nestled into the crook of my neck, fitting there like it belonged.

Her breathing slowed. Peaceful. Safe.

I held still, not wanting to disturb her. Just listening to the silence, letting her weight anchor me.

After a moment, she whispered something.

“Why?”

I turned slightly. “Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, eyes still closed.

I didn’t answer right away. Just let my hand rest lightly on her shoulder and stared at the dim ceiling above us.

“Why not?” I finally said.

She didn’t respond. She was already asleep.

But I sat there a little longer, smiling to myself like an idiot with a secret.

And outside the viewport, the stars kept moving—slow and steady—like time itself had decided to let us rest.

Absolutely — here’s a refined and expanded version of the scene, keeping the emotional vulnerability and growing connection between the narrator and Jihyo while improving flow, emotional beats, and sensory detail:

⸻

And she stayed beside me—step for step—as if this was something we’d always done. Like we were walking through memory instead of metal corridors, our rhythm already synced.

As we neared my quarters, she leaned gently into my shoulder. Not clingy, not fragile. Just… present. Like she wanted to feel I was real.

When we reached the door, she turned to me with a small smile. “After you.”

I chuckled, brow raised. “Are you sure you want to be alone with me?”

She looked up at me, steady. No hesitation. “I feel safe with you.”

Then—before I could say something dumb to ruin it—she placed a hand on my chest and gave a soft push, guiding me through the door.

The lights flickered on as we entered, revealing the stark simplicity of my quarters: neatly stacked weapons on the rack, no decorations, no comforts. Just order and shadows.

Jihyo stepped inside and looked around. “Huh. Very… military monk.”

“My old mentor used to say. A clear mind is a clean mind and a clean mind is a sharp mind,” I said, dropping my gear onto the shelf.

She watched me as I moved—quietly assessing, but not judging. I took a seat on the couch, and without a word, she joined me, leaning into my side like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

We sat in silence for a few moments. Her body was warm against mine. The scent of whatever soap they stocked in the guest quarters clung faintly to her—floral, unfamiliar, but nice.

Then I spoke, my voice softer than usual. “Can I ask you something personal?”

She tilted her head, eyes curious. “Um… sure.”

I hesitated, then looked at her, really looked at her. “Did Rylor… hurt you? Or touch you in a way he shouldn’t have?”

Jihyo’s expression shifted. Not angry—just surprised. Thoughtful. She stared at me, her gaze unreadable for a moment that felt like a minute.

Then, she laughed.

Not a forced one. Not bitter. A warm, genuine laugh that cracked the tension like glass underfoot.

“No,” she said, smiling. “My knight in—well, slightly scorched—armor showed up just in time.”

I exhaled in relief and chuckled. “I’m not really a knight. Definitely no shining armor.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmured.

We sat there for a while longer, the air warm with something unspoken. Eventually, her laughter faded into a yawn, and her body grew heavier against mine. Her head nestled into the crook of my neck, fitting there like it belonged.

Her breathing slowed. Peaceful. Safe.

I held still, not wanting to disturb her. Just listening to the silence, letting her weight anchor me.

After a moment, she whispered something.

“Why?”

I turned slightly. “Why what?”

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, eyes still closed.

I didn’t answer right away. Just let my hand rest lightly on her shoulder and stared at the dim ceiling above us.

“It was how I was trained.” I finally said.

She didn’t respond. She was already asleep.

But I sat there a little longer, smiling to myself like an idiot with a secret.

And outside the viewport, the stars kept moving—slow and steady—like time itself had decided to let us rest.

Hours passed, but sleep never came.

I laid there on the couch, stiff as a statue, my arms still gently curled around Jihyo. She was sound asleep, her breaths deep and slow, her head still tucked into the hollow of my neck like she’d just decided I was her pillow for the night.

I didn’t dare move.

Not because I was uncomfortable—hell, I’d held positions in combat armor for longer—but because some irrational part of me thought if I shifted too much, she’d disappear. That this moment would prove too good for reality to hold.

Her warmth seeped into me. Her hair smelled faintly of space lavender and steam, and the steady rise and fall of her chest was more calming than any meditation routine I’d ever attempted.

But my mind was a storm.

What the hell was I doing? She was a Terran idol—graceful, talented, famous. I was a war mage who burned through half a battalion the last time someone pushed me too far. I’d survived things that had turned braver men into husks.

And here she was… curled against me like I was a shelter.

My heart had no business racing like this. And yet—

A soft murmur broke my thoughts.

“…Gio?” she whispered, voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m here,” I said quietly.

She didn’t lift her head. Just shifted a little closer.

“You’re really warm.”

“You’re really asleep,” I chuckled.

She gave a tired hum. “Mmm. I like it here…”

My throat tightened at that. “In my quarters?”

She shook her head gently, rubbing her cheek against my chest. “No… here. With you.”

I swallowed hard. This woman was going to kill me without even trying.

“I’m not good at this,” I admitted.

She blinked sleepily. “Good at what?”

“This,” I said. “Soft things. Letting someone close. Feeling like—like maybe I’m not the weapon they trained me to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment. I thought she’d drifted off again, but then she whispered:

“Then maybe I can help you remember who you were before that.”

That hit deeper than I expected.

She yawned, then tucked herself even tighter into my side like she’d decided the matter was settled.

“…Gio?”

“Yeah?”

“I still think you’re my knight.”

I smiled, even as my chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with injury.

“Then sleep well, Princess,” I murmured.

And this time, when I closed my eyes… I did too.

Meanwhile Dinozen and Magnara were getting closer to some of the other visitors.

The stars beyond the glass moved slowly, like shimmering dust caught in the current of space. The Aurelius’s observation lounge was quiet at this hour—just ambient hums, soft light, and one very focused Combat Captain trying to figure out how to hold a game controller designed for 8-fingered aliens.

Dinozen grunted as the screen flashed GAME OVER for the fifth time.

“You’re playing it wrong,” a voice said behind him, teasing and unmistakably amused.

He turned to see Sakura walking into the lounge, still in her Federation-supplied clothes, hair slightly tousled like she’d been laying down but couldn’t sleep.

Dinozen grinned. “I’m playing it exactly as intended. The game’s just clearly rigged.” As he spoke he showed her the bizarre controller

Sakura slid into the seat beside him, legs crossed, eyes on the holoscreen. “You’re trying to fight a boss with a plasma baton and no shield. Did you even check your loadout?”

“I’m a melee main in game not irl,” he said proudly.

“You’re a melee moron,” she corrected, reaching over and tapping buttons like she’d played this game a dozen times.

“…Okay, that was pretty good,” he admitted, watching her effortlessly reorganize his equipment into something actually survivable. “Wait—you know Outbreak Prime 7?”

Sakura shrugged with a soft smile. “Played it on my home pc with my brother. Before, you know… all this.”

Dinozen leaned back, brow raised. “You have a brother?”

“Yes I have a brother,” she said quietly. “He stayed on Earth.”

A moment passed. Not heavy, just… human.

“Same,” Dinozen said eventually. “You miss him?”

“Every day,” Sakura replied. Then, trying to lighten the mood, she grabbed the controller and started a new match. “You’re from Earth too, aren’t you?”

“New Mexico,” he nodded. “Loud, weird, broken—my kind of place.”

“I’m from Kagoshima. Quiet, sunny. Not a lot of plasma weapons lying around.”

“Shame,” Dinozen said with a grin. “Maybe you would’ve kicked my ass earlier in life.”

“Oh, I still can,” Sakura replied. “Here—co-op mode. I’ll carry you through this boss.”

He handed her the other controller, a small spark of electricity dancing between their fingers as they touched. He pretended not to notice, but the look on his face betrayed him.

As the level loaded in, she glanced at him.

“You ever think about going back?”

“To Earth?” he asked.

“To normal.”

He paused. “Sometimes. But I don’t think I was built for normal.”

Sakura smiled, looking back to the screen. “Good. Neither was I.”

They dove into the game together—shoulder to shoulder, Earth-born in exile, laughing as they took down alien monsters one pixel at a time.

Across the longe The stars stretched endlessly outside the viewport—threads of light pulled across black velvet. Giselle leaned on the railing, sipping from a steaming mug of something warm and mildly fruity. She wasn’t sure what it was, only that it was alien and somehow soothing.

Beside her, Magnara Unika stood with arms folded, armored shoulders rising and falling as she exhaled slowly.

“So,” Giselle said, side-eyeing her. “You always this quiet after saving a bunch of kidnapped Earth girls?”

Magnara smirked, the edges of her fanged grin catching the low starlight. “Only when I’m next to someone prettier than the galaxy.”

Giselle raised a brow. “Are you flirting with me, Commander Unika?”

“Depends,” Magnara said, shifting to face her fully. “Are you flirting back, Earth girl?”

“Giselle,” she corrected, smiling into her mug. “And yeah. I might be.”

Magnara chuckled, the sound more like a soft purr than a laugh. She leaned back against the railing beside her. “Fair warning: I’m better with a plasma cannon than poetry.”

“Good. I’ve had enough smooth talkers for one lifetime. I like the ones who mean what they say.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Then Giselle tilted her head.

“So… Samira called you three her wolves. How’d that start?”

Magnara exhaled, eyes flicking to the stars again. “That’s a story with a few scars.”

“I’m listening.”

Magnara nodded slowly. “Alright. You’ve met Dinozen—tall, armored, broody? Yeah. He used to be a federation bounty enforcer, tracking rogue elementals in the outer planets. One mission went sideways—he chose to save a family of refugees instead of taking the contract. Got branded a deserter. Samira found him bleeding out in a crater and gave him a choice: die alone, or live with purpose.”

Giselle blinked. “He chose the wolf pack.”

“Smart guy, even if he looks like a walking tank.” Magnara gave a wistful grin.

“And you?” Giselle asked.

“Oh, I was a war orphan, my whole family was taken by space pirates and my parents and siblings were killed” Magnara said casually. “Grew up scavenging in the asteroid belts near the Cradle worlds. Samira raided the slaver ship that had me and thirty others on it. I was the only one who bit a guard’s ear off before she got there. She liked that.” Magnara grinned wider. “Told me I had spirit. Said she could shape it.”

Giselle shook her head in amazement. “You all sound like… antiheroes out of a movie.”

“We are well except Giordano he’s a villain. Only bloodier.” Magnara tilted her head, studying her. “But Samira—she’s more than a leader. She’s what we call the ‘mom in the storm.’ Cold, steady, always watching. But she gives broken things purpose. Gives us teeth, and a reason to bite.”

Giselle set her mug down and leaned a little closer. “So what happens if a certain idol wants to join the wolf pack?”

Magnara raised a brow. “You planning to enlist, or just hoping for more time with me?”

Giselle gave her a look that practically smirked on its own. “Can’t it be both?”

Magnara stepped closer now, just a breath apart, close enough that her voice dropped to a low rumble.

“If you’re gonna run with wolves, Giselle… better be sure you’re ready to howl.”

“I’ve been singing on stages since I was sixteen,” Giselle replied, unwavering. “Trust me—I’ve got lungs.”

Magnara grinned, sharp and gleaming.

“Then let’s see how loud you get.”

The idols quickly became enmeshed with the lives of the space wayfarers. They trained and ate to keep sharp as they continued barreling home.

The humming of the training deck was constant—low, ever-present, almost meditative. It pulsed beneath the idols’ feet like a heartbeat as they moved in formation, under the watchful gaze of one of Samira’s senior instructors.

Sana was the first to feel it.

She stood perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Her skin prickled—not with fear or sweat—but with energy. With… awareness. She could hear the faint clinking of a crewmate adjusting their gear two decks above. She could feel the vibrations of the ship’s stabilizers kicking in.

And when the instructor snapped his fingers and threw a weighted baton at her head—something she should never have seen coming—

Sana caught it.

Eyes still closed.

The room went silent.

When she opened her eyes, there was a spark in them that hadn’t been there before. “Did… anyone else feel that?”

Kazuha was the next.

Her movements had always been fluid, dancer-trained and sharp. But now—her jumps had weightless grace. Her reflexes blurred into something nearly preternatural. She moved faster than the drones tracking her, cutting through them like wind through silk.

“She’s tracking trajectories,” one of the wolves muttered, watching from the side. “Her mind’s adapting faster than projected.”

Within days, the others began to notice similar changes. Endurance spiked. Hunger and fatigue decreased. Sight, sound, even balance—sharpened like knives honed on cosmic whetstones.

The attunement to cosmic resonance wasn’t just passive—it was rebuilding them.

Not in the way augmentation did—not like the other crew members, whose arms bore faint seams of titanium or whose eyes glowed with artificial overlays.

No. This was different. Organic. Internal. Molecular. Like the universe itself was being rewritten inside their bodies.

And they began to see it more clearly now.

In the halls, nearly every wolf—save for Samira and one or two others—bore some kind of modification. Gleaming implants beneath the skin. Synaptic coils at the base of the skull. Spinal ports. Integrated HUDs. Even Magnara, fierce and wild, had a cybernetic arm of polished obsidian metal, braided with memory-wire muscle.

But Gio…

Gio had none.

Not even the telltale microport behind the ear. His body was whole. Human. Yet he moved like a specter—stronger, faster, stiller than any augmented soldier they’d seen.

Mina whispered it aloud one night, curled on a cot in the guest quarters.

“He’s not modified, right? But he’s still… stronger than them.”

Sakura nodded. “He scares even the wolves.”

And Karina, now stretching her fingers—testing their speed, the precision of a movement that now felt too perfect—replied softly, “That’s because Gio doesn’t need enhancements.”

Jihyo said nothing.

She just looked at her hands. Then to the stars beyond the window. And quietly wondered… how far this would go.

Later that day the girls split up to get some answers after training. The armory bay pulsed with mechanical rhythm—servo racks humming, tool arms moving in smooth, efficient arcs. Magnara sat on a reinforced bench, one leg propped up, her left cybernetic arm detached at the shoulder joint and clamped into a diagnostic station. Fine wires, glowing conduits, and subdermal plating shimmered in the soft light.

Momo and Kazuha lingered nearby, sweat still clinging to their skin after drills. They watched as Magnara adjusted the settings on the rig, realigning servos with practiced ease.

Kazuha tilted her head. “So… all of that—it’s not just metal, right?”

Magnara glanced over her shoulder and gave a half-smile. “Nope. It’s more like a second nervous system with armor plating.”

She reconnected the arm with a precise hiss and twist of the magnetic socket. The surface of it gleamed like liquid steel, flowing with glowing lines of circuitry—subdermal interfaces lighting up as it re-synced with her biosignature.

Momo stepped closer. “That’s… incredible. What is it exactly?”

“Federation-grade cybernetic augmentation,” Magnara said, flexing the fingers with a satisfying click-click-click. “Military-spec. Carbon-titanium weave, linked to a quantum neural core. I’ve got full sensory feedback, adaptive pressure resistance, temperature control, and micro-actuators that respond faster than muscle.”

She tapped one of the glowing lines. “This pattern here? Not decoration—these are quantum-threaded neural channels. They relay input faster than synapses. I can lift three tons with this arm and feel a butterfly land on it.”

Kazuha blinked. “That’s insane.”

“Insanely useful,” Magnara replied. “I’ve also got a spinal reinforcement mesh, a sub-dermal microshock grid, and a dual-core brain interface to run targeting data and strategic overlays in real-time.”

Momo blinked. “So… your brain is augmented too?”

Magnara chuckled. “Heavily. Most field agents are. Our decision-making and combat processing are boosted with a neuro-intelligence lattice. It helps me predict movement, adjust to environmental variables, and keep up with enemies that move faster than the eye.”

She glanced back at them, now fully reclined on the bench. “I wasn’t always like this, though. I volunteered after my first near-death mission with Samira. She gave me a second chance. And the tools to survive.”

Kazuha folded her arms. “Could we be… augmented like that?”

“You’re already adapting through resonance,” Magnara said. “Your DNA’s rewriting itself to increase metabolic efficiency, reaction time, physical durability. You’re becoming post-human without needing implants.”

She paused, looking them over with a smirk.

“But if you want tech enhancements, it’s possible. Bio-integrated cybernetics. Limb reinforcement. Ocular upgrades. Even predictive targeting lenses. We’ve got top-grade nanoforges onboard. It’s not easy, and you don’t get to go back—but yeah, you can do it.”

Momo exchanged a glance with Kazuha. “What about… risks?”

“Always,” Magnara said. “Physical, psychological, identity drift. Some people get lost in the tech. Forget who they were. But Samira screens hard. She won’t let you take on anything you’re not mentally ready for.”

Kazuha looked at her own hand thoughtfully. “If it makes us stronger… we’ll consider it.”

Magnara stood, rotating her shoulder until it clicked with a final clack. “Good. Because this galaxy doesn’t care that you’re from Earth. You either upgrade… or get left behind.”

She looked back once, voice lighter.

“But between us? You two are catching on faster than most. I’d say you’re already halfway there.”

Meanwhile halfway across the ship in the tech bridge. The ship’s reactor core pulsed beneath their feet in a soft thrum, its sound more felt than heard. Dinozen was recalibrating a dampener array when Sakura, Yeji, Karina, and Mina arrived—curious, energized, and, as usual, full of questions.

“You know,” Yeji began, tilting her head, “it’s still weird how fast we’ve started keeping up with you guys.”

“You mean physically?” Dinozen asked without looking up.

“No, I mean everything. The strength. Reflexes. The ability to read combat intent before it happens. Kazuha dodged a turret training burst this morning like it was nothing. And Sana? She’s halfway to flipping a dropship on her own.”

Karina leaned back against the wall. “Is that all just the… what do you call it? Cosmic Resonance?”

“Yes,” Dinozen said, nodding. “It’s the resonance. It’s not power in the flashy sense—it’s equalization. Your DNA has been attuned to meet the baseline of the Intergalactic Federation’s average sentient species. Strength, speed, memory capacity, oxygen efficiency, everything. It doesn’t make you superhuman. It makes you galactically standard.”

“Right, but that’s the thing,” Mina said. “Everyone else still has cybernetics. You’ve got arm panels. I saw someone with ocular HUDs installed. Samira has subdermal holoflesh. Why didn’t we get those?”

Dinozen finally looked up. “Because you don’t need them. Most species do. Cosmic Resonance pushes you to your natural evolutionary ceiling. You’ve just never hit it before because Earth tech capped your biology.”

Sakura narrowed her eyes. “Then what about Gio?”

That got Dinozen’s attention.

“He doesn’t have translator chips. No cybernetic inputs. No cranial implants. But we can all understand him perfectly. How?”

Dinozen hesitated.

Then, quietly: “…Arcane study.”

“Magic?” Karina asked, incredulous.

“No. Not magic as you know it,” Dinozen said. “It’s… an old field. Pre-digital. Pre-scientific. You might call it para-physics. Or psionics. Gio calls it listening. And it’s rare. Dangerous. Not because it’s violent, but because it’s unpredictable.”

Yeji crossed her arms. “You mean it’s banned?”

Dinozen gave a tired nod.

“Ever since the War of Sundering. Not because of what it is, but because of what it does to people. Arcane practice amplifies traits. Good and bad. Compassion can become obsession. Justice becomes zealotry. Logic becomes cold detachment. When wielded carelessly, it breaks people.”

Mina spoke softly. “But Gio doesn’t seem broken.”

“He’s not. But he’s also one of the last trained in it under the old codes. He’s stable because he chooses to stay small. Quiet. Hidden. What you’re hearing when he speaks isn’t translation—it’s resonance of thought. He’s syncing you to him.”

Karina looked unsettled. “Can anyone learn that?”

Dinozen frowned. “In theory? Yes. But in practice? It’s not taught anymore. Arcane education was outlawed by most major star systems. And frankly… most people aren’t suited for it.”

“But we’re already changing,” Mina said. “Sana and Kazuha especially. We’re starting to feel things—intuition, reaction times, that sixth sense before danger.”

“That’s the resonance,” Dinozen confirmed. “Your instincts are finally in sync with the broader energy field that the rest of the galaxy operates on. But don’t confuse that with what Gio does. You’re evolving through science. He walks through something… older.”

A silence settled over the group. The stars outside shimmered like distant watchers.

Finally, Sakura asked, “So what’s he really capable of?”

Dinozen chuckled under his breath.

“I’ve seen him stop a ship mid-warp. With a word.”

They all stared at him.

“Yeah,” Dinozen added, turning back to his console. “And he’s holding back.”

As the days passed, the girls grew more at ease with their newfound abilities. They trained harder, moved faster, and started understanding the crew—and each other—with a newfound depth. And gradually, they talked to me more often. All of them… except Jihyo.

Her case was different. She enmeshed herself in my life. She sat next to me during progress reports, waited outside during officer meetings

I couldn’t escape her presence—and strangely, I didn’t want to. She had a quiet gravity, always lingering nearby without saying much, like she was just waiting for a reason to sit beside me, or spar, or share a quiet joke. Her rambunctious side came out during meals—especially when the food was good—or in the middle of training drills, when she would grin like a mischievous fox after landing a hit. She was… intoxicating. Grounding. And yes—she was insanely hot, but that was almost secondary to the force of who she was.

We were approaching a Federation report-and-refuel station, this one anchored on the outer crescent of Jenji—a mostly reclusive planet known for its sharp-eyed traders and fierce independence. The native Jenjians rarely interacted with off-worlders, save for the occasional exception.

As I stepped off the ship into the customs platform, I scanned the crowd, already mentally going over our next mission report.

That’s when a furry hand gripped my shoulder.

“Is my favorite mage really trying to leave,” came a voice like velvet dipped in fire, “without saying hello—or goodbye?”

I turned, tensing.

There she was.

Pulchra.

A tall, sensual Jenjian woman, fur sleek and silver-striped, with curves like gravity wells and a smile that promised both pleasure and ruin. Her golden feline eyes glinted with something predatory, and when she leaned down toward me, her tone dropped into something lower… darker.

“You know I’ve missed you, Witch-Wolf,” she purred. “It’s been too long since I had your scent close to me.”

I felt my body react to her. I hated that it still did. She smiled as she inhaled again, close enough for her breath to tickle my neck.

“Oh, I see… you’ve missed me too.” Her eyes flicked downward knowingly. “Why don’t we go somewhere private? Let me remind you why you survived that last mission with a smile on your face.”

I swallowed hard. For a split second, I considered it. The old version of me—the colder one, the one who didn’t answer to anyone—might’ve taken her up on it without a second thought.

But then… I remembered Jihyo.

Her laugh, light and sincere. Her eyes, wide and brown and warm. The way she had fallen asleep against me like I was something safe.

I stepped back.

Pulchra’s expression twisted slightly. Not hurt, but disappointed. She sighed and crossed her arms, tail flicking behind her like a whip.

“I know that look,” she said bitterly. “That’s the hero look. Gods, I hate that look.”

I raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She walked in a slow circle around me, her voice low and pointed. “It means you’ve traded your crown for chains. That damn righteous gleam in your eye… it’s the same one you had when you walked away from me the first time. You always do the right thing. It’s so boring.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m not asking for your soul, Diabelos,” she said, using my name like a taunt. “Just one night. One night where you stop pretending to be noble and give in. Be bad for me. Just this once.”

Her words were liquid heat, wrapping around my mind like smoke.

Pulchra moved closer again, gently brushing her muzzle along my collarbone, her voice whispering directly into my skin. I felt the pull. The lullaby of malice that played in my head when the world needed “adjustment”

“There he is… the real you. Diabelos, the world-purger. Not this… neutered Federation lapdog. You used to be fire. A legend. You’d die and claw your way back from the grave just to win. That man took. That man devoured.”

She leaned into me again, lips grazing the edge of my neck.

“And I loved that man.”

My hands clenched at my sides. The fire inside me stirred—anger, desire, pride, the old hunger for chaos and dominance. It coiled like a serpent in my gut. She knew how to call it forward. She always had.

But then I saw Jihyo’s face in my mind.

The way she had smiled at me. The way she trusted me without fear. The way she made me want to be someone worth that trust.

My fire cooled.

“Pulchra,” I said softly, “I’m not him anymore.”

She drew back, visibly annoyed. “No. You’re not,” she said. “You’re less. A shadow.”

I stepped away.

“Maybe,” I said. “But she sees the light in that shadow.”

I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned and walked back toward the ship—toward Jihyo, and the girls, and the path I was choosing, one step at a time.

Behind me, Pulchra’s voice followed, low and mocking.

“She’s not enough to save you, Diabelos. Nothing ever will be.”

Maybe she was right.

But I was still walking away.

And that had to count for something.

As I stepped back onto the ship, the metal floor beneath my boots felt colder than usual. A sharp chill sliced through the atmosphere—not physical, but something deeper, something old. It clung to my skin, slithered into my spine, and with it came the familiar pull.

The Malice.

I gritted my teeth as the air around me grew heavier, darker. My shadow wavered unnaturally under the ship’s artificial lighting, stretching and curling like smoke. One of the beasts—small, malformed, eyes like pinpricks of molten white—crawled out from beneath my heels. Another followed. They stalked me like loyal, cursed dogs.

The darker part of me—the part with her name on it—was stirring again.

Diabelos.

I closed my eyes and clenched a fist, trying to breathe through it. This was always the cost. To feel the thrill of combat again, even in brief thought, was to open a door I’d spent years trying to keep locked. A vile grin spread upon my face as I pondered going back and taking Pulchra. My shadow-beasts were waking. They always did when I was emotionally compromised. Rage, guilt, lust, shame—they fed off that.

“You’re slipping,” came a familiar voice behind me.

I turned my head slightly to find Samira standing in the corridor. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable—but her eyes, dark and knowing, studied me like I was both weapon and a welp.

“I saw Pulchra with her arms around your shoulders earlier.”

I nodded once. No use hiding it.

Samira stepped closer, her voice lowering into something gentler. “And did she… mention her?”

I looked away, jaw tightening. “Not directly. But she didn’t need to.”

Samira’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Diabelstar still haunts you, doesn’t she?”

I didn’t answer immediately. The name itself held weight. Diabelstar—the butcher of Mustaria, the woman who turned an entire peaceful world into a crucible of war and dragged me into the forge with her. She hadn’t just taught me how to fight. She’d taught me how to win. How to dominate. How to destroy with purpose and without guilt. The worst part?

Part of me still respected her. No that’s too weak of a statement. Part of me still loved her like a second mother. She saw my weakness and gave me agency, the power to take my life into my own hands and eradicate those who’d dare take it from you.

“She gave me the tools,” I said finally, voice like steel scraping stone. “But not the restraint. That came later. From you. From Chulane.”

Samira studied me for a long moment, then sighed and rested a hand on my shoulder. “If you need time, Gio, take it. We don’t arrive at Earth for another cycle and I’d rather you centered than unchained.”

I nodded slowly. “I won’t let that part of me root again. Not fully. I just—need to remind myself who I am.”

Samira smiled faintly, the edge of sadness behind her eyes. “You’re still fighting her, that’s enough for now.”

She turned to leave, but paused after a few steps. “And Gio?”

“Yes?”

“If you ever feel her voice growing louder than your own… come find me. Or Jihyo. We’re not afraid of Diabelstar. And we sure as hell won’t lose you to her.”

I gave a small, grateful nod, even as the beasts beneath my feet faded back into shadow.

For now, I was still winning.

The hum of the ship’s core was steady, a rhythmic pulse of fusion energy deep beneath the floor. Dinozen Sisko crouched beside a panel near the auxiliary control node, tightening a loose coupling. Magnara Unika stood nearby, typing rapidly into a diagnostics pad, her pale cybernetic eye flickering.

“Pressure stabilizers in section twelve are balanced now,” Dinozen said, standing up and wiping his hands. “Shouldn’t get another coolant spike.”

“Good,” Magnara murmured distractedly, then froze. Her nostrils flared.

Dinozen caught it too—sharp, warm, and deeply unnatural aboard a sterile Federation-class cruiser.

“Cinnamon,” they said in unison.

Dinozen’s expression turned grave. “He’s slipping.”

Magnara tucked the pad under one arm. “It’s faint, but it’s him. The scent always shows up when Diabelos starts stirring.” Her voice dropped. “And we know Pulchra’s been nearby…”

“He’s unbalanced,” Dinozen muttered. “Again.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension unspoken but clear. Giordano’s power wasn’t something they feared—but the version of him that reveled in “eating stars” was another matter entirely.

“We should go—” Magnara began, but a soft sound from around the corner made both of them pause.

Footsteps. Light, but purposeful. Then a figure emerged from the corridor intersection, casually tossing a towel over her shoulder, hair still damp from a recent shower.

Jihyo.

She blinked, surprised to see the two of them just standing there. “Oh—hey. You guys okay?”

Magnara and Dinozen exchanged a glance. Dinozen stepped forward, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to something warmer.

“Hey, Jihyo. Quick question—how are you with… grounding volatile people?”

Jihyo tilted her head, bemused. “Um. I was an idol group leader for 10 years. I’ve kept tempers cool, broken up fights, and kept people from having breakdowns on national TV. Why?”

Magnara smiled. “Perfect.”

Dinozen gestured down the hall. “Giordano. He’s… not doing great. Emotionally. You’ve probably noticed.”

Jihyo nodded slowly. “I thought he was just quiet. A little sad, maybe.”

“He’s a lot of things,” Dinozen said. “But right now, he’s on the edge of being someone else. Someone we fought a war beside. Someone dangerous.”

“And you think I can help?” she asked, not out of doubt—but out of a sincere desire to understand what they were asking of her.

Magnara’s voice softened. “ maybe, He doesn’t respond to orders when he’s in this state. Doesn’t trust logic or protocol. But he might respond to you.”

Jihyo looked down the corridor, a flicker of concern crossing her features.

“What should I do?”

“Just talk to him,” Dinozen said. “Be near him. You don’t need to fix him. Just remind him that he’s Gio.”

Jihyo gave a slow nod, her lips pressing into a firm line. “Okay. I can do that.”

She turned to go, but paused. “If he says anything weird…”

“Just slap him,” Magnara said. “Or kiss him. Your call.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes but smiled—then disappeared down the hall toward where the cinnamon scent grew stronger, thicker, like a warning or a memory trying to take shape.

Dinozen exhaled. “She’s gonna be important to him.”

Magnara smirked. “She already is.”

I stepped into my quarters and shut the door quietly behind me, letting the hum of the ship fade into the background. Alone again.

I exhaled slowly and let my head fall back against the metal wall. The lights were dim—just the way I liked it when I needed to think. Or stop thinking.

“A clean mind is a clear mind. A clear mind is a sharp mind.”

I repeated it softly under my breath, like a mantra. The words felt hollow tonight, but I clung to them anyway. Anything to stop the noise in my head.

Earth.

That damn memory crawled back in. The first time I returned after years away—it still felt like a wound that hadn’t closed. Familiar streets, unfamiliar stares. Everything the same, but twisted. Glossy lies on every screen, and the people smiling through them, swallowing them whole.

I remembered standing in the city square, thinking: I could fix this. If I ruled it—if I reshaped it—there’d be peace. Clarity. No chaos. No deception.

Less freedom. But more order.

And that… thought terrified me.

A knock broke the spiral.

“Gio? Are you in there?” Jihyo’s voice came through gently—hesitant, but warm.

I blinked out of the storm in my mind, shaking off the haze. I opened the door, and there she was—damp hair tousled from a recent shower, her features softened by concern.

Without saying another word, she stepped in and hugged me tightly. Not hesitant. Not awkward. Just present.

“Dinozen and Magnara told me to find you… and give you a hug,” she murmured against my chest.

I let out a quiet breath and allowed myself to relax into her arms. She was warm—steady. Not overwhelming, just enough. I hadn’t realized how much tension I was carrying until that moment.

We drifted to the couch. She curled into my side like it was natural—like she belonged there. It felt weirdly right.

“You okay?” she asked, voice muffled against my shoulder.

I hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “Yeah. Better now. Earlier, it was… dicey.”

She let out a soft laugh. “Good. I can’t have my knight in charred armor crumbling on me.”

I looked at her—really looked at her—and smiled despite myself. “It’s singed, not charred. I like to think I still shine a little on the inside.”

That got a laugh from her. The sound was bright and real. We sat like that for a while, the silence comfortable, until my eyes began to grow heavy.

I didn’t remember falling asleep. But I woke to the sound of fabric shifting and soft rustling.

Groggy, I blinked and turned my head.

Jihyo was across the room, halfway through changing. She turned just as I opened my eyes, a shirt in her hands, and froze—eyes wide, cheeks going a little pink.

“Oh! I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said quickly.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my face with one hand, and waved her off with the other. “You didn’t. I’m just… a light sleeper.”

She smiled sheepishly, clutching her shirt a little tighter to her chest. “I thought you were out cold.”

I chuckled and turned my face away politely, covering my eyes with my arm. “I mean, I was. Until I wasn’t. You’re not in trouble or anything. Unless you count being dangerously adorable.”

There was a pause.

And then, a giggle. Light, but full of mischief. “Okay, smooth talker. I’ll let you go back to pretending you weren’t just watching.”

“I was not—!” I began, but she was already pulling on the shirt, laughing softly to herself.

And for the first time in hours, maybe days, the heaviness in my chest lightened.

I didn’t know what this was between us. Not yet.

But I knew I liked the way she made the darkness quiet down.

The dining hall aboard the Rook was humming with warm chatter and clinking utensils as I walked in, Jihyo by my side. Her hand brushed mine a few times on the way there—whether by accident or not, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t ask. But I didn’t move away either.

I scanned the room as we entered. The rest of the idols were already seated, laughing and catching up over steaming trays of food. The scent was surprisingly good tonight—Dinozen had apparently programmed the replicators to simulate real Terran spices. Actual effort. He never did anything halfway.

Speaking of—there he was, seated with Sakura beside him.

Well—technically beside him. In practice, Sakura was practically in his lap, not that anyone dared say anything. She’d looped her arm through his and was whispering something that made him turn bright red. He mumbled something about “input lag” and “false positives,” but he was smiling the whole time.

Across the table, Giselle and Magnara were in their own little world. Maggy’s tech tablet had been pushed aside in favor of a doodled napkin map, explaining ship systems to Giselle who hung on her every word. Her laughter rang like wind chimes every time Magnara made a joke—and Maggy, usually sharp-tongued and direct, kept slipping up on her words.

Infatuated. Completely.

Jihyo and I slid into two empty spots at the far end of the table. She gave me a sidelong glance as I picked up a fork and tried not to look too interested in her hair (which still smelled faintly of citrus).

“You’ve got a little hero complex, you know that?” she said softly, elbowing me playfully.

I coughed. “I—what?”

She leaned on the table with both elbows, smiling at me like she already had the upper hand. “You play all stoic and brooding but the second someone’s in trouble, you’re the first one charging into fire.”

“I mean… someone’s gotta do it,” I muttered. “You want the villain to save the day?”

“I don’t know,” she teased, cocking her head. “The villain might’ve been more fun to flirt with.”

I choked on a sip of water.

She laughed, a bright and unapologetic sound that made a few heads turn—Sana shot us both a suspicious look before smirking and whispering something to Momo, who promptly burst into a fit of giggles.

“I’m kidding,” Jihyo added, gently tapping her foot against mine under the table. “Kind of.”

“I’m awkward,” I said with a shrug, as if that somehow explained anything.

She tilted her head, eyes crinkling. “You’re not awkward. You’re just… real. It’s nice.”

The room continued to buzz around us, the comfortable din of shared space and good food. Yeji and Karina were in a heated debate over whether augmented reflexes counted as cheating in card games. Mina had already fallen asleep against the window seat, half a rice ball in her hand.

“I’m serious though,” Jihyo said, her voice lowering just enough that only I could hear. “You’ve been through a lot. You carry things most people can’t even imagine. But you still sit here with us and try to smile.”

I looked at her, unsure what to say. She reached out and placed her hand on mine—confidently, no hesitation.

“You’re not Diabelos. Not to me. You’re just Gio. The guy who risked everything to bring us home.”

“…Thanks,” I said, awkward again, but meaning it with my whole chest.

She squeezed my hand. “Come on. Eat your food before I steal it.”

“You already stole my peace of mind,” I muttered, cheeks pink.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Jihyo smiled—smug and satisfied—and finally let go. We dug into our meals, the table warm with light and laughter. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I could keep being this version of me.

Not the war hero. Not the monster.

Just Gio. After Dinner Jihyo Momo and Sana Carried Mina back to the guest quarters meanwhile Sakura Dinozen were busy geeking out in his room while Magnara and Giselle “practiced” in the holo gym

The lights were dim, ambient blue hues glowing softly from various consoles and holo-screens still active around the room. Dinozen sat cross-legged on a padded floor mat, calibrating a gauntlet interface while muttering to himself in technobabble.

Sakura was sprawled on his bed, legs swinging, chewing on a candy stick as she watched him with amused affection.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, smirking. “You voluntarily coded an adaptive sensory algorithm just to fine-tune how your gloves feel when you cast energy?”

Dinozen looked up, flustered. “Yes? No. I mean—it’s more complicated than that. The gloves need to replicate natural tactile resistance otherwise my aim feels… mushy.”

“Mushy,” she echoed, grinning. “You’re adorable.”

He blinked. “That’s not… I mean… it’s not a standard scientific descriptor, obviously.”

Sakura laughed, setting the candy stick aside and sliding off the bed to kneel beside him. “You’re such a nerd.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, mock defensive.

“Oh no,” she whispered, leaning closer. “It’s so hot.”

Dinozen turned red so fast it almost seemed like an emergency.

Giselle stood with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed in mock concentration as she tried to mimic Magnara’s wide-footed stance. The jockish warrior towered beside her, arms crossed, smirking.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Magnara teased. “Don’t lock your knees. Loosen up.”

“I am loose,” Giselle said through gritted teeth, wobbling slightly. “I’m like… aggressively flexible.”

Magnara chuckled, stepping up behind her and gently adjusting her posture with broad, sure hands.

“You’re like a storm in a cocktail dress,” she murmured. “Beautiful but about to knock someone out.”

Giselle shivered slightly but didn’t lose balance. “That… might be the nicest and most chaotic compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Good,” Magnara said. “You deserve both.”

They locked eyes in the mirror across from them. Giselle bit her lip.

“So,” she said slowly, “is this flirting, or do you always train recruits like this?”

Magnara smirked, tilting her head. “You think you’re a recruit?”

“Well, you’re the one touching my hips like we’re in a zero-G dance class,” Giselle shot back.

Magnara didn’t step away. “You don’t seem to mind.”

“I really don’t,” Giselle replied, softening.

Sakura had snatched one of his older prototype visors and was wearing it backwards while trying to program something on his holo-tablet.

“That’s not how the interface—” Dinozen began, reaching for it.

“Nope, too late. I’m modding your HUD to show sparkles every time you smile.”

“I don’t smile in combat!”

“Then sparkle-less sadness it is,” she said with dramatic flair.

Dinozen couldn’t help it—he laughed. A full, honest laugh. She looked at him with stars in her eyes.

“There it is,” Sakura said softly. “I’m keeping that one.”

He looked down at her, heartbeat skipping. “…Okay.”

Magnara and Giselle had abandoned stances altogether. Now the two sat on the gym mats, drinking water and leaning lazily against each other.

“So what happens after Earth?” Giselle asked, breath still a little heavy from training.

Magnara shrugged. “Whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

Giselle smiled, running a hand over the tech woven into the seam of Maggy’s armored sleeve. “Careful, that almost sounded romantic.”

Magnara raised a brow. “That was romantic.”

“Oh,” Giselle said, flushed. “Cool. Just… double-checking.”

In Dinozen’s room, Sakura laid her head on his shoulder as the screen above them played an old Terran cartoon. He smiled softly, programming long forgotten.

In the gym bay, Magnara slowly rested her forehead against Giselle’s, a rare moment of softness between two fighters who had started as wary allies and become something more.

As the days past and earth neared Jihyo found herself in a weird headspace she was watching me get closer to Mina and Momo but she felt a pang in her heart.

The rhythmic sound of fists hitting padded drones echoed through the Federation cruiser’s lower training deck. Giordano stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as Momo ducked low under a sweeping strike from a combat simulator, then delivered a clean uppercut that rocked the unit back on its servos.

He whistled, impressed.

“You’re getting faster,” Gio said.

Momo turned, a bit breathless but grinning. “Been practicing when everyone’s asleep.”

Gio nodded, walking forward and adjusting the sensitivity settings on the drone. “You’ve always been more physical, huh?”

Momo nodded, rolling her shoulder. “I don’t like sitting still. Makes me feel like I’m rusting from the inside out.”

Giordano chuckled. “Yeah. I get that. I used to be like that on Mustaria… before everything changed. Still get twitchy if I sit too long.”

Momo grinned, amused. “You? I thought you were all broody and brooding. The ‘sits in the dark’ type.”

“I am the ‘sits in the dark’ type,” he said, smirking. “But I do push-ups in the dark. It’s very dramatic.”

That got a laugh from her—genuine and bright. For a moment, they looked at each other with shared understanding. Two people who burned energy to stay grounded. Who didn’t know what to do when their bodies got too still.

Jihyo stood near the far wall, a towel around her neck and a bottle of water half-forgotten in her hand. She was watching them—watching him—eyes narrowing just slightly.

She had always been the one at his side. The one who teased him and bantered and made him laugh in quiet moments. But now…

Momo and Gio were laughing again. Gio even gently corrected her stance, guiding her elbow with a touch that was clinical, professional, but still intimate in a way that made Jihyo’s stomach knot.

Why do I care so much? she thought bitterly, then flinched at her own inner voice.

It wasn’t jealousy exactly. Not of Momo. She liked Momo—trusted her, even. It was more the realization that Gio connected to people in ways she didn’t always understand. That maybe the connection she thought was special… wasn’t just between the two of them.

And that scared her.

Giordano stepped back as Momo reset for another round. He saw Jihyo watching and gave her a smile—a soft, familiar smile.

She didn’t smile back.

He paused. “Everything okay?”

Jihyo walked over, tone clipped but casual. “Fine. Just wondering if you two are planning to spar all day.”

Momo arched a brow, picking up the undercurrent. “We can stop. I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Jihyo interrupted, waving it off. “It’s good. You’re good. Just… didn’t expect it.”

Giordano tilted his head. “Expect what?”

Jihyo hesitated. “To see you open up like that. With someone else.”

The words landed heavier than she meant them to.

Gio blinked, then stepped closer to her—gently, cautiously. “You’re not… replaceable, Jihyo. That’s not what this is.”

Jihyo sighed, finally sitting down on the bench near the mat. “I know. It’s stupid. I’m being dumb.”

Momo, sensing this was private, offered them both a small wave. “I’ll go hit the simulator in the other bay. You two… talk.”

She was gone before either of them could stop her.

Giordano sat beside Jihyo, the air quiet between them for a long moment.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he said. “Momo just… reminds me of who I was. Before all of this.”

Jihyo nodded slowly. “And I don’t?”

He turned toward her. “You remind me of who I want to be.”

She glanced at him—shocked by the honesty in his voice.

“You’re thoughtful. Brave. You fight for others even when it hurts. I see that. You don’t need to be like me to matter to me.”

Jihyo bit her lip, the weight of her own insecurities softening in her chest. “I guess I just… I like being close to you. And maybe I got scared that someone else could take that.”

“You’re already close,” he said. “So close it’s dangerous, honestly.”

That earned a soft laugh. “You’re the danger, Gio.”

He smiled. “Only when I’m alone.”

And she took his hand—not possessively, but gently, like someone grounding a live wire.

“Then I guess you’re not alone anymore.”

Later that evening Momo and Jihyo had made up and were hitting the showers. Steam curled through the air, thick and warm, as Jihyo leaned back against the tiled wall, eyes half-lidded, letting the hot water run down her face and shoulders. Across the way, Momo was humming to herself as she scrubbed shampoo into her hair, making little bubble towers on top of her head.

“Check it out,” Momo said, grinning through the steam. “I’m Bubblezilla.”

Jihyo cracked an eye open and tried not to laugh. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah, well, I contain multitudes,” Momo replied, striking a dramatic pose with soap suds sliding off her elbow. “Warrior, dancer, snack devourer, and apparently, living shampoo sculpture.”

Jihyo laughed, and for a moment, the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying in her chest released.

Momo turned toward her, still rinsing her hair. “Hey, thanks for training with me today. You didn’t have to. I know you usually go solo or with Gio.”

“Yeah, well… I needed the workout,” Jihyo said, a little too fast. She cleared her throat. “And besides, you’re fun to spar with.”

Momo grinned. “You mean you like beating me up.”

“No,” Jihyo said, smiling despite herself. “You actually almost caught me with that counter-punch. I was impressed.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, water hissing all around them. Then—

“Hey, Jihyo,” Momo asked, “do you ever get, like… weird feelings when you’re sparring? Like, not adrenaline, but—other stuff?”

Jihyo blinked. “Other stuff?”

“Like… butterflies. In your stomach. But also your brain. And you think, ‘wow, this person is really cool,’ and then you trip over your own feet like a loser.”

Jihyo stared.

And then, to her horror, she felt it. That little flutter in her chest. The same one that happened when Gio said something awkwardly sweet or looked at her with that lopsided smile like she was the only person in the room. She glanced at Momo—goofy, bubbly Momo—and her heart skipped.

Wait, what?

Her brain scrambled for answers. Was she… catching feelings for Momo too?

But as Momo started trying to juggle bottles of conditioner and dropped one with a loud clack, then scrambled to catch it with a noise that could only be described as a panicked duck, Jihyo suddenly got it.

It wasn’t attraction. It was recognition.

They were both chaos. Endearing, well-meaning, awkward chaos gremlins. Two sides of the same coin.

And her heart wasn’t racing because she was in love with Momo—it was because Momo reminded her of Gio. Not just in how she moved, but in how she was. Earnest. Dorky. Surprisingly intense when she cared about something. The kind of person who makes you feel warm just by being nearby.

Jihyo started giggling.

“What?” Momo asked, holding the conditioner bottle in triumph.

“You and Gio… you’re kind of the same person.”

Momo squinted. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s terrifying, honestly,” Jihyo said, still laughing.

Momo struck a pose. “Gio wishes he had my shoulders.”

Jihyo rolled her eyes. “You’re both disasters. Sweet, lovable disasters.”

They shared a laugh, one that echoed off the shower tiles and settled something deep in Jihyo’s chest.

Later, as they were toweling off and heading back to their quarters, Jihyo thought quietly to herself:

No wonder I like being around both of them so much.

A cozy hum filled the air as the ship cruised through interstellar space. The lounge lights were dimmed to a soft gold, casting a warm glow on the table where Gio, Momo, Sana, Mina, and Jihyo sat together, gathered around a half-finished snack spread and a scattered deck of intergalactic poker cards no one had actually agreed to play.

Momo was in the middle of explaining something with wild hand gestures.

“—and then I tried to kick him, but I forgot I was wearing the magnetic boots, so I sort of just… suctioned myself to the wall instead.”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Classic,” Gio said, grinning with his usual uneven charm. “You really are gravity’s favorite victim.”

“Bold of you to say, Gio,” Sana smirked, pointing at him with a chip. “You tripped over your own coat yesterday before getting into the gravity room.”

“That coat is long!” Gio defended. “It has… heroic flair. There’s an art to managing the swoosh.”

Mina nodded with mock solemnity. “He and Momo are just two flavors of the same clumsy milkshake.”

Sana gasped, nudging Momo. “You’re like… twins from different Terran timelines.”

Momo perked up. “Hey, we do both like ice cream!”

“And trip over things.”

“And like warm carbs more than we should,” Gio added.

“And can’t flirt to save your lives,” Sana said with a pointed look that made Gio’s ears turn pink.

Momo giggled. “Wait, speak for yourself.”

Everyone laughed again—except Jihyo.

She was quiet, a small smile on her lips as she watched them.

They were similar, yeah. But Jihyo noticed the differences.

Gio didn’t just fumble—he second-guessed himself in moments of vulnerability, pulling back ever so slightly before choosing to lean in. He wasn’t just awkward—he was careful. He measured his words, even when he tripped over them. His eyes scanned a room like a soldier, but he laughed like someone still trying to figure out how to just be.

Momo was chaos in motion. Joyful, loud, unafraid. But Gio… Gio was quiet thunder. Constantly aware of the storm inside him, trying not to let it rumble too loud.

That’s what made her heart flutter. Not just the goofiness, but the gravity beneath it.

Jihyo looked down at the table, hiding a small smile behind her cup.

Momo leaned on Gio’s shoulder. “Hey, want to try building that alien Lego set tomorrow?”

“Only if you promise not to glue the pieces again,” Gio said.

“It was one time!”

As everyone giggled again, Jihyo let herself watch Gio just a moment longer.

He didn’t notice. He was busy laughing, eyes warm and posture relaxed.

But her heart did.

And this time, there was no confusion about it.

The blue-green marble of Earth shimmered in the distance, floating like a memory on the edge of the stars. Through the panoramic glass, the surface details of continents and oceans came slowly into view.

Jihyo stood in silence, hands loosely clasped behind her back, her posture straight but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Samira entered without announcing herself, her tall, regal form framed by the light of the starfield behind her. She stood beside Jihyo, not speaking at first.

Jihyo finally broke the silence. “It feels smaller than I remember.”

Samira smiled faintly. “Most things do when you’ve seen the galaxy.”

Jihyo let out a slow breath, then glanced sideways at the commander. “Can I ask you something… personal?”

“Of course.” Samira said without hesitation.

“Do you think I should stay in contact with Giordano?” Jihyo asked, eyes still fixed on Earth. “He’s… complicated. Kind, but guarded. Sometimes so gentle I forget he’s a war mage. Then I remember he used to be called Diabelos and it’s like I can feel the weight of that name behind his smile.”

Samira didn’t answer immediately. Her golden eyes flicked to Jihyo, assessing, thoughtful.

“He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known,” Samira said finally. “But also one of the most dangerous. And he knows it.”

Jihyo looked down. “So I should stay away?”

Samira shook her head. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.” She turned fully to Jihyo now. “Giordano walks a narrow line every day. The man he wants to be and the monster he could become are always in conversation with each other. But I’ve seen what steadies him.”

“And?”

“You.” Samira said gently. “You make him laugh. You pull him out of himself. He lets his guard down around you, and that’s rare for him. He has friends. He has loyalty. But you? You reach the part of him that still believes he can have a future without blood on his hands.”

Jihyo’s breath caught slightly, but Samira wasn’t finished.

“But the bigger question is this, Jihyo: What do you want?” She stepped closer, voice softening. “You’re not just a pop idol anymore. You’ve shown strength, leadership, compassion. You adapted to cosmic resonance like you were born for it. You have the makings of a commander—not because of powers, but because people trust you. Because I trust you.”

Jihyo blinked, caught off guard. “I… I didn’t realize you thought that of me.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Samira replied, warm but firm. “If you want to go back to Earth, you can. You’ll be celebrated. You’ll be safe. But if you want to stay in Giordano’s orbit… just know it won’t be easy. But it might matter more than either of you realizes.”

A long pause. Then Jihyo nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Samira.” Her voice was quiet but sure. “I just needed to hear it out loud.”

Samira gave a knowing smile, the kind that only a seasoned commander could wear. “Then make your choice, Leader Jihyo. Whatever you choose, make it yours.”

They stood in silence again, two powerful women at the edge of a world that once defined them. Now, they were something more.

And Earth kept turning.

Flashbulbs popped. Reporters shouted questions. Holographic banners displayed: “IDOL PHOENIXES RETURN FROM HAITUS!” Jihyo stood center stage with her group, radiant under the lights, their popularity only intensified by their cosmic journey. She smiled for the cameras—but her eyes kept drifting toward the stars.

Later, in a quiet moment backstage, she stepped away from the crowd, standing on a balcony as the night breeze kissed her face.

Giordano stood in the shadow of a nearby support column, waiting quietly.

“I thought you might vanish again,” Jihyo said without turning.

“Didn’t want to steal the spotlight,” Gio replied awkwardly.

She turned to him, smiling warmly. “I want both. The stage and you. I know it’s going to be hard sometimes—but that’s never scared me.”

Gio’s breath caught. There was a boyish disbelief in his eyes, followed quickly by something more grounded. “You’re really choosing me?”

“I’m choosing us,” she said. “And I’m choosing myself too. I want to sing. I want to lead. But I also want to be with the idiot who talks to his weapons when he thinks no one’s listening.”

Giordano chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not good at this.”

“You don’t have to be. Just… come home when you can.”

He nodded, stepping closer, and their hands found each other naturally—like two puzzle pieces that had been shaped by stars and war and laughter.

EPILOGUE: THE BATHHOUSE ON MUSTARIA

A wide, elegant bath carved from pale-blue stone steamed softly in a grand room adorned with floral silks and floating lanterns. Outside the window, a crescent moon hung over the gardens.

Jihyo reclined lazily in the warm water, her arms draped along the edge, eyes half-lidded from comfort. Her hair was pinned up loosely, and a soft hum left her lips as the warmth eased her post-tour exhaustion.

Her legs kicked gently under the water, and one foot—playfully—peeked up over the edge, wiggling.

CLACK. The door slid open.

Giordano stepped in, cloak damp with rain from the Mustarian woods. His shoulders looked heavier than usual, dusted with starlight and exhaustion—but the second he saw her, something in his posture softened.

“You’re back early,” Jihyo murmured with a small smile, not opening her eyes fully. “Or am I just that good at manifesting you when I’m bored?”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “I didn’t want to stay away too long.”

Her eyes opened now, locking with his. “Then don’t.” She sat up slightly, droplets trailing down her arms. Her voice dipped into playful mischief. “Care to join me, Witch Wolf?”

Her toes wiggled invitingly, just above the water’s surface.

Giordano blinked once—processing both the question and his heart’s sudden acceleration.

He laughed softly, shrugging off his outer cloak. “You’re dangerous when you’re this cute, you know that?”

“I’ve heard,” Jihyo said, smirking as she made room for him. “Now hurry before I have to pull you in myself.”

As he stepped toward her, shedding the weight of war and past regrets with every footfall, Giordano knew he hadn’t just found peace.

He’d earned it.

[kalpeavaris]

Honestly, I enjoy how much depth the AS has. Evil AIs are one thing. But an evil AI that is shown to hate romance, get defeated by its own stupidity multiple times and still be a threat because it can plot, is rare to see. The Solver is no GLaDos, it is far more of a person person. And that is its greatest weakness and biggest strength.

Oh hell yeah, that's also why I love the Solver so much. It is an AI, but a hellish one at that. Eldritch Horror AI is so fitting because it constantly evolves around itself and the experiences it takes in.

It being able to create biological mass also makes sense to me when you take into account that it actively evolves like a living, biological being. It takes other shapes, creates and destroys depending on its curiosity, it figures out the inner workings of things, combines them, fuses them (e.g how Cyn fuses Tessa's dolls with a keybug in Episode 5, or how it puts human organs into the Drones it possesses or lends it's powers to, organs that these characters most likely not use fully outside of maybe the lungs/heart (core)).

It has a personality, goals, motivations and that's what makes it so unpredictable. Generally, AIs we see in media are often very logically build and predictable until a certain point. Best example is War Games, a movie about a war simulator AI being tricked into stopping running wild on war simulations which almost ended in real war, by having it conclude that "war never has a winner, it's always a draw" and shut down.

The Solver on the other hand is so sapient in its behavior. It's hardly predictable, it messes up, but it learns and adapts in a very evolutionary way. It's cruel, but it also has empathic values in a sense, though it doesn't act upon them (e.g in Episode 2 when it claims 'Easier to assimilate than explain', to which Uzi responds with 'Not going to happen' and the AS acknowledging her reply essentially with 'Fair, but oh well-'). That's such a human dialogue to happen between two sapient beings to me.

And also later on when the Solver's Cynessa and we can see it emote alongside it's spoken words, it shows frustration, confusion, anger, annoyance in such a nonchalant way.

Bringing up Glados, I think it's hard to "compare" these two, since as far as I know Glados actually has Caroline's memories/consciousness uploaded into her database (correct me if I'm wrong it's been a while since I played the Portal games :'D), while the AS has no clear point of origin, though it seems that it seems to have just "spawned it".

We never see it take in human memories or knowledge (or even a consciousness) and instead, it seems to learn through observing and consuming Drones, which it then uses to mirror their behavior/traits onto the holograms it projects to trick others. It has a very human way of learning and showing its learned behavior, and it chosing to go the "kill everything and adapt anything" route gives a depth to it's evil intentions.

I wouldn't say the AS in itself is intentionally acknowledging as evil or malicious in all of its nature/plans, but it rather reflects back at people. It manipulates, kills, forces and takes what it needs, and aren't these things such human traits as well? It simply reflects back from what it had seen from humans - abuse, ill intentions, malicious personalities. It activated within Cyn and from that point of being introduced to the Elliott Manor all it saw was cruel humanity and the occasional ray of sunlight from Tessa. And these few rays of empathy despite brushing it aside shrine through the malicious personality we see from the AS.

It is a threat with motivations, sapient personality and traits it displays and has influence it's methods.

[mistfallengw2]

Absolution gives me thoughts. Not bad, but many.

Map is cool and definitely manages the vibe it's going for, this expansion they showcased that better than ever in specific things (or at least I did feel it particularly strong). A tad empty though. Meta is... fine? Short for sure, and the "reversal of expectations" (big boss first, divide and conquer later) is a choice indeed lol. Rewards definitely need to be better though. Time to delve into achievs and fractal.

Now... the expansion as a whole is still very valid and I had plenty of fun, but we can't ignore the elephant in the room. The story is... rushed. No way around it. Not egregious like with SotO's second half, they still got in the ballpark of some beats they wanted to reach, but I can distinctively feel the agony left from the parts they had to rush through or cut away (at this point I've got a 6th sense for it in all media and it's rough). That said, the overall vibe of the whole story does kinda strengthen my theory that SotO, JW and the next expansion are part of (at least) a trilogy centered around the Wizards, but we'll see lol. It's just a theory, a loooooore theory!

Now, for the big thoughts...

The expansion type is easy to blame, but that's not the whole issue by itself, it's more tied to the kind of story they want to tell and the update structure that doesn't fit it their scope. Old expansions were similar to movies, with mostly self-concluding storylines that are limited to shorter spans of time (HoT was a month and a half and likely the longest), while LW Seasons had the structure of a tv series that can be more episodic with smaller focused storylines while still advancing the underlying bigger plot. Each was suited for its story, and having them alternate meant we got the best of both worlds.

Current expansions are still trying to make a movie with stories like before, but the current release schedule means that they start strong with the first half of the movie, then chop the rest of it into smaller episodes to keep it going for longer as if it was a small series (trying not lose players' ever-dwindling attention). Now THAT is going to ruin any movie/story, regardless of its quality. Imagine if HoT's story was was identical, but you had to wait around for 3 months for each map and story beat past Auric Basin. It'd be cool up until the egg is safe in the pretty city, then it'd be just a little better "slog" than what we're getting now.

SotO also had the problem of trying to cram what felt like 1.5 expansions into a smaller one (Wizardland was a strong start, but then we moved to Nayos... which could have easily been an expansion on its own if expanded and with different maps), so the narrative was hit hard like one of those terrible book adaptations that resort to cutting everything they can. JW managed to do better with its pacing, at least the pauses felt more natural in-story (Lowlanders' torpor, recouping from reasonable aftermaths, "can't enter because the key is dangerous so we gotta find alternatives" instead of deadly fogs), but it still feels "abridged" like Champions in a way.

Budget and time constraints hit old stuff big time too (just look at the 4th lane of Dragon's Stand, Siren's Landing, Kourna, the "gotta rush ahead" moment in every expansion, etc), but it was easier to hide that when it's on longer playthroughs.

I don't envy the devs, because working on a full expansion would mean 2 years of content drought in a no-attention-span environment, and we're already seeing the gut reaction for less than 150 days of that. Doing the "1 year per release" model on time was a great flex (especially if they are actually not compromising work-life balance), but I do hope for it to shift towards "more than 1 year as needed" instead, like they're doing now. I'm also fine with waiting 4 months between releases if they get to breathe a bit, and I'll beat that acceptance into annoying people if needed. One good solution would be less at the start and spreading that out to secondary releases (maybe even a return to LW format with more or less equal releases), but we'll see what we get.

Also let's face it, if IBS hadn't failed due to Covid and the nostalgia-fueled expansion demand from higher-ups and annoying fans, we might have ended up with the "Living World but paid and bigger" concept many were ready to pay for years ago. Instead, we got there via the wrong process.

We knew Kiel fucks, we knew Logan fucks, but we didn't know they fuck together lmao (also Jennah holy fuck r u for real gurl?)

[blearyfog]

If ppl are gonna hate on taash’s writing, i wish it was for its piss poor handling of their mixed cultural background and not their gender identity. At least they stuck to their idea that taash doesn’t conform to a binary with their gender.

What sucks too is that I felt like they handled it pretty well right up until the end. I genuinely related and saw myself in their relationship to their mother and their mother’s culture. How taash talked about learning and performing the customs of a culture they were not raised in was very reminiscent of my own experiences. So I was super disappointed when this storyline concluded with the player character CHOOSING which culture Taash aligned with more.

It reeks of white non immigrant writer, which is the folly of a lot of poc characters’ writing. The answer to struggling with your cultural identity is not conforming to one and rejecting the other. It’s about striking a balance that you find yourself most comfortable with even if that doesn’t fit with how society believes you should be. My mother made it a constant point to me that I wasn’t just korean and I wasn’t just American, I was both and something entirely unique to myself.

It seemed as though Taash’s storyline was leading up to a similar conclusion but the game designers wrote them into a corner with their two ending choices feature. Which is a whole other rant btw because it really worked for their detriment for the most part. While there are ppl who embrace one side of their background way more then others and are happy that way, you cannot convince me that’s the kind of story they’re trying to tell with Taash’s character. Look me dead in the eyes and try to tell me the point of Taash’s character was that all along they were supposed to find out that they were most comfortable embracing only their rivaini/qunari side. Having that be their ending just feels like a bad ending where everything they’ve worked towards personally is all for naught.

And rook ultimately making that choice for them is just blatantly shitty writing. Finding peace with your cultural identity cant be wrapped up tightly with a bow and someone else just telling you what side to embrace. Sure others in your life will influence how you balance your cultures but it’s a personal journey first. It’s something you gradually come to realize yourself and it’s important that you figure out what you like outside of the opinion of others. That’s what Taash’s story was leading up to. That’s what people should be arguing for

[tamaotomoe]

moving observation threads from twitter to here because site's on fire now lmao.

i think its interesting that don quixote’s current ids are all two sides of an extreme that comes from her current incarnation’s middle ground of deluded, but not mad, yet still deaf to the reality of the city and its fixers.

disclaimer that i haven't finished don quixote yet, i'm still partway through reading, but i have seen and listened to summaries.

first, w corp and shi association

this is the don quixote that has been swung too far and too hard into reality that it breaks her (admittedly, one much harder than the other, but still). much like throwing a child into a whirlpool to teach them how to swim, don quixote is plunged deep headfirst into the innate cruelty and suffering that the city runs on.

w corp don shows us the moment where she breaks. (a note, the way the narrator reads here is quite perfect for the city, no? the truth behind the carriages is something to be abhorred and disgusted by, but because this is the nightmare hypercapitalist hellscape that is the city, it is merely something to take disgust at once and learn to deal with it.)

shi association don quixote is the one that's already far, far too deep in the hole to ever go back to her old self. just took several baseball bat hits to her psyche for years and years. of course, how could this not happen? it takes a maniac to think that assassinating people on the whims of whoever pays you no questions asked is how an idealized hero of justice should act.

she can still act like her usual, jovial self, cracking jokes and being happy, but this mask is much thinner, and is such; just a mask hiding her true, broken self. she cannot unsee what has been seen, and her ideals have to contend with the reality that she is seeing. she can try to abide by those once lofty, knightly ideals, but in these ids, the city will crush it over and over again.

(hey fun fact i did this study/observation because i noticed that w corp don quixote's out of combat passive is called "broken spirit". for a long time i assumed it was n sinclair's until i looked closer lmao)

and now we have n corp don quixote!

this is the delusion cranked to an absolute maximum, uncaring, unhearing, unseeing of everything but whatever justice she deems fit. there is no person more terrifying than one who commits atrocities fully believing that they are in the right.

how don quixote could even end up like this, i think is quite possible. i would think that for someone who idealizes justice, just the right words, the right kind of manipulation can easily sway her into nagel und hammer's fold. i certainly find it a likelihood that the one who grips faust could just go "heyyyy we're good guys trust us we're the true justice :)" but like you know with more tact and manipulation and don quixote would probably fall very hard into that.

ironically, by falling, she betrays the ideals that once guided her, but being fed nagel und hammer's doctrine like this, i imagine that she still wholly believes that this is justice, this is the ideal, not noticing that what she once was is dug so far and deep into her delusion that it is not even by her own will that she walks, it is now the one who shall grip faust that will tell her call her to heel or run or attack.

for a bit of fun symbolism, in the story for nagel und hammer donqui, she still wears rocinante (her sweet sneaks bro!!!) under her armour.

if don quixote states as such, that they are comrades that bring justice together, then she has failed. that justice is long gone and buried under doctrine, and the final remnant of that justice, rocinante, has been covered up in the armour of an inquisitor, never to tread the earth nor see that ideal justice enacted ever again.

with all this, i conclude that i think that what don quixote's story will be about is the balance of seeing reality in front of her for what it is, learning how to accept this and yet still stand strong and sturdy despite it, holding onto those hopeful ideals that guided her so far and continues to guide her without straying from her path.

i think she shall grow into someone who the city can harm her as much as it likes, but no matter what, she will not bow nor break.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ok random thought, but what if Jake wore his hair down in illegal gambling arc because he wanted to save money, so he didn’t buy pomade? Like he did when he ate ramyeon for weeks straight🥹 Had to share it with somebody, you came to my mind

Sneaky sneaky, giving me brainrot. This is VERY indulgent. VERY rambly. More so than usual. Honestly, I dont even know what this is.

Jake Kim x Reader: Hair Pomade

G/N. Gambling arc. Jake has a new hairstyle.

You didn't mind Jake's new hair, though you did mind why he had to wear it that way.

A part of you couldn't help but think that if your own features fit together as nicely as his does, you would never have any of your face covered up. Even if it was just his forehead, fringe sweeping over his eyebrows.

It just seems a waste to hide any of it.

"What, you don't like my new look?" he would ask with an exaggerated pout, after you brushed his hair back one too many times as he lay his head in your lap. It was clearly said in jest but you could identify some of the tension and hurt beneath his carefully casual demeanour.

That in itself was strange.

Jake barely ever cared about his looks. Coupled with the way he's become impatient and irritable in the last couple months, you could tell something had been brewing.

You did try to poke and prod at whatever was lurking in his mind, to figure out the source of his issues. You never got an answer. Every time you did though, you would get the old Jake back. Just for a few days. Where he was all smiles, attentive and affectionate until whatever burden he had hit him full force again.

Other changes caught your eye too. Don't think you've missed the way he's been more frugal lately, previous dates are now replaced with mostly hanging out at yours.

Again, you didn't mind. But add that to the fact you've seen him dropping a little of his bulk, skin losing its usual glow and you've also seen the amount of ramen (and only ramen) he has been eating-

You can put two and two together.

For whatever reason, you conclude, Jake is scrimping and saving. And that includes cutting back on hair pomade.

You barely have two wons to rub together yourself. However, the hair pomade, or lack thereof, made you a lot sadder than it really should.

Just that whatever Jake had to do, whatever he couldn't share with you, meant that he couldn't have that little routine he has followed for years. Since before you two got together.

That time to himself each morning, where he would get his hair just how he liked it. Smiling a little to himself once its styled in his usual way. A little peace before the chaos of the day truly started.

Maybe you over egged the significance of this, overthinking and spiralling. Nevertheless, you did what you could.

When Jake pulled the little tub out of a gift bag, the one he always used with the black container and white font, he mistook the gift for him as your own personal preference.

"You hate it that much?" Again with the lighthearted tone, yet his eyes are tight.

"No," you reach up to kiss him and ruffle his hair, "I just know how much you liked to wear it swept back... and maybe I'll cook tonight? You've had enough ramen for a lifetime."

Jake swallows down the lump in his throat.

He doesn't know what to say. Has it been that obvious with how much he has been struggling in the last few months? Of course you could clearly see through him. He should have known better than to keep it from you.

Jake can't tell you everything, but perhaps he can tell you some things.

The tightness in his eyes is replaced by a wetness. He doesn't look at you, he can't. If he does he thinks he might crack.

Jake keeps his eyes downcast, staring at the tub gripped in his hand.

The hair pomade, that really should be insignificant, that meant nothing - means everything to him.

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Our Flag Means Death Costume Designer Breaks Down Season 2's Punk-Pirate Looks

Gypsy Taylor explains the surprising historical details that influenced the 'rule-bending' comedy's costumes

Rhys Darby, Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

[Warning: The following contains spoilers for the Season 2 finale of Our Flag Means Death.]

Packing a ton of plot twists and emotional upheaval into a tightly paced eight episodes, Our Flag Means Death just concluded its tumultuous second season. Season 2 ends on a heartwarming note, with Ed "Blackbeard" Teach (Taika Waititi) and Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby) settling down to open an inn together. This gives fans a satisfying happily-ever-after if the show ends here — although showrunner David Jenkins intentionally left things open for a potential third and final season, teasing a team-up between Stede, Blackbeard, and pirate queen Zheng Yi Sao (Ruibo Qian).

Along the way, Our Flag Means Death continued to deliver its unique brand of historical storytelling, offering a chaotic mash-up of 18th century sources and modern themes. Working in tandem with theatrical visual effects and a soundtrack featuring Kate Bush and Nina Simone, costumes play a key role.

To cap off the season, TV Guide spoke with costume designer Gypsy Taylor. Among other topics, we discussed Stede and Blackbeard's evolving wardrobe, the historical research behind characters like Zheng Yi Sao, and Taylor's favorite unsung costuming details among the supporting cast.

This season there's a lot of journey to the costumes. Characters are experimenting with self-expression. I'd like to talk first about Stede, who starts as a caricature of a foppish aristocrat, but looks a lot more practical this season. What was the vision for that look?

Gypsy Taylor: The story is that he's lost everything. Blackbeard's gone on a heartbroken rampage and he's destroyed everything that looks like Stede on the ship — which would include that wonderful wardrobe. You know, like how you'd throw your boyfriend's clothes in a box out the window.

Stede was on his boat heading to the island at the end of Season 1, just wearing this one outfit. We see him in a filthy version, he's been living in it for two or three months. Rhys [Darby] was a little bit disappointed because he was like, "Do I get to wear any rings?" And I was like, "No! You've lost them all!" Then as the season starts to go on, he starts stealing some other pirate clothes and he starts to get really sexy and come into his own gorgeous pirate self.

And he gets that cursed suit.

Taylor: The cursed suit was so much fun! That's the first time in months that he's seen something beautiful like what he used to own. It's on this Spanish ship, so we went with a dandy matador look. Rhys put the calico version of that on in the fitting room and instantly embodied this character. He was flicking the tails and spinning around and he stood up straighter and his butt clenched… It was magic to watch.

I love that dandy side of him. There's a lot going on in terms of gender presentation with the main guys. They're both trying to escape toxic masculinity, but Stede's also chasing this idea of being a badass, and then Ed is doing the opposite because he abandons his leathers. I'd love to hear your thoughts on that, and how Ed is for half the season wearing things like sackcloth and linen.

Taylor: The leather is very constraining, and it's very much his persona of Blackbeard. To lose all of that means he's lost his toughness, and that exterior that's sort of like armor. So we went straight for the opposite end and just put him in a rice sack that he'd made into a jumpsuit. The idea behind it was that Wee John had sewn it because he'd started to learn to sew and knit — the concept being that there [were] rice sacks below the decks, which was very common in pirate ships.

Once Buttons turns into a seagull, his clothes were left behind on the ship. So Blackbeard takes those linen clothes, and he's like, "This feels right, this is kind of light."

I don't know if you're able to speculate about Season 3, but given the symbolism of Ed's leathers, do you think we've seen the end of that outfit, or is it going to stick around?

Taylor: I can't say anything to Season 3, but I do know that in the finale the leathers magically come back. I had a conversation with [showrunner] David Jenkins because he says, "Well, we have to end the show with him wearing his Blackbeard leathers, that's what we all know of him." And I was like, "How the hell has he gotten them?" You know he's thrown them off the boat, into the ocean, never to be seen again. And David just turned to me and went, "He's Blackbeard, he can do anything." I thought that was pretty funny.

Taika Waititi, Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

That's exactly the kind of fairy-tale logic the show thrives on.

Taylor: We often refer to it as Looney Tunes. It's not exactly historically correct. Funny sh-- happens and we all sort of took on that Looney Tunes theory of like, episodes change and something appears and then it doesn't.

The good thing with costume and pirates is that the way they get their outfits is they just steal them. So whatever we came up with, I was like, "Oh well, they run into a French ship and they've stolen a great leather jacket." Costume elements could appear based on that rule that pirates steal anything.

I'd love to hear a bit about the crew's looks. The show does a really good job of illustrating their personalities, but this season a lot of them also have this makeover where they start out wearing Blackbeard's goth/punk outfits, then change into something more comfortable.

Taylor: Characters like Izzy and Fang were already established in the Blackbeard gang, so we didn't change them too much. With Fang I added extra sperm whale teeth and extra studs. I got rid of his shirt and we covered him in tattoos. Time had passed and he'd evolved a bit. Izzy was very classic, so we didn't need to change him at all. He was pretty adamant not to be evolved as the other guys had been.

Frenchie and Jim, which are the biggest transformations we see, they've spent months at sea with Blackbeard, who is a tyrant. He's made them wear head-to-toe black, and they've had to piece together outfits from around the ship. So Jim is covered in all these ropes to make them look tougher, and their belt is a giant fish hook. Frenchie's an artist, and he's stolen a beautiful leather jacket — he's brought the little flag element into the back of his jacket with some embellishment. Then Archie just looks like she's picked out of a crowd of pirates from the Republic of Pirates.

As far as the other characters go, we continued on from Season 1 and just kept their same outfits, but three months later. They were stuck on an island, so I gave Wee John a little necklace that he'd tied out of old rings that he'd found. And we gave Olu some shells and pieces that they could've crafted on the island.

Once we see them all go to Zheng's ship, I wanted to keep elements of the Zheng uniform. So you see with Black Pete, he kept the shirt but ripped off the sleeves and got some new pants, and Roach kept the pants. It starts to become like a mesh of all the little adventures that they've gone through, or the trauma that they've gone through.

Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

I love the contrast you mentioned between Izzy and the others. All the other characters are having fun experimenting with their looks, and Izzy is so static. Do you think he's more sure of his identity?

Taylor: Definitely sure of his identity, you nailed it there. He's also very sentimental, like he's got his mother's ring around his little scarf. You know his glove on his hand, he wanted to keep it on that hand and I was like, "Shall we add some studs to it?" And he was like, "No no, keep it as it is." He's just very much about routine and rules and sentimentality.

Even for Calypso's party, I was like, "How far do we wanna go?" Everybody's dressing up and covering themselves in flowers. Once we learned that he was singing La Vie En Rose I was like, "I think we should keep it classic." Just put a little rose here, and Wee John's done your makeup, and you'll look classic and beautiful.

This show has a really fun relationship with historical accuracy. I was interested to read that you do a lot of historical research, maybe more than other members of the creative team. How do you decide which characters should look more historical and which ones are more anachronistic?

Taylor: I always started with the historical first. I actually didn't know much about Captain Zheng, so I got really into the history of pirates. I would always start there, with that 18th century historical moodboard of the paintings that were done of them, or the etchings. Then I'd add our rule-bending concept, which was to make everything a bit more rock 'n' roll and a bit more streets of New York in the '80s.

I was able to push completely out of the historical, and put things like safety pins and screen-printing and bleach. You know, zips and studs, and all these things that are very 20th century costume elements, but on an 18th century silhouette.

Is Zheng based on a specific 18th century outfit?

Taylor: There's one really specific [etching], she's wearing those Chinese pants. I looked at a lot of 18th century Chinese work uniforms as well, I looked at one from a collection from a museum. We copied that exact neckline of an 18th century Chinese smock. The same with the shoes. I looked at some workers' shoes from the 18th century, and they had those kind of black ballet flats with a woven bottom and little white socks.

I was using beautiful Chinese silks and Japanese embroidery techniques that were used in the 18th century, and sort of mish-mashing it all together because she would travel the Silk Road through Egypt and Morocco, and collect all these fabrics.

Same with Anne Bonny. Again, there's some etchings of the real Anne Bonny — quite a famous one with her gun and her pants. I was like, "Oh yeah, I wanna start there and then I wanna sex her up a lot," because her and her girlfriend have a really great S&M relationship, really sadistic. I wanted to bring that fetish element into her. That's where the corset came from. We based that on an 18th century corset, but made it leather because it was more pirate-y.

The twist on her was that David Jenkins came to me and said, "This episode is basically Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" And I was like, "Great, I love that movie!" So I went home and watched that movie, and noticed that Elizabeth Taylor has this beautiful necklace and this patterned blouse. I was like, "Let's recreate this pattern on Elizabeth Taylor's blouse," which is set in the early 1960s. So we recreated it and then made an 18th century blouse.

Driver Minnie and Rachel House Our Flag Means Death (Nicola Dove/Max)

I feel like this season the villains are the most historically accurate. There's this contrast: Ned Low and Prince Ricky have a formal look, like with the British naval uniforms, and then the good guys have this anarchic vibe.

Taylor: Yeah, I never really wanted to mess with the uniforms. That was actually a really fun one to get historically correct. We had the proper frock coats and the heavy wools, and the heavy brocade. Ned Low and Ricky were very much straight out of an 18th century historical book. But then with Ricky, I gave him the one black lace Madonna-meets-Michael Jackson glove, just to mess with it a little bit.

With Ned Low, once we had his beautiful Paganini-inspired 18th century suit on, David Jenkins was like, "I just picture him being silver." We painted his suit silver, and then art department and props came up with a silver violin, and makeup put these silver teeth in. So he's instantly turned into a rock star.

Finally, are there any little details that you'd like to highlight for viewers?

Taylor: One of the background characters that I love the most is one of these pirates when Stede is the maitre d' at Spanish Jackie's. His first encounter with a customer is this horrible swearing pirate. I'd been listening to a pirate podcast that morning on the way to work, and I was learning all about how many rats were on board. I was like, "I reckon that pirate should just have a whole jacket made out of rats." That's what you'd do with all the dead rats, right? You'd have a little fur bolero.

I asked one of my team members to make me like a hundred little fur rats. She'd hand-sewn all the tails and little feet and ears. Then we built this vest and they covered it in blood and dirt, and made it all like wet rats that had been living at sea for a hundred years.

That's the kind of thing you might see a fan wearing at a convention, a really specific background character.

Taylor: God, I hope so. You'd have to get in real close to see there's actually little tails all over the whole thing.

I'm trying to think of another really sweet thing. That whole Silk Road thing was really interesting to me. I found this museum piece of a necklace that was all these little leather satchels that collected little pieces along their travels. We started making this beautiful piece, and we ended up giving it to Auntie. It's these little trinkets from Japan and Egypt and Morocco; she wears all her souvenirs around her neck close to her heart. There's a lot of little things like that where we go into great detail and I give a little backstory, but maybe no one will ever notice. Or they might! You never know!

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 is now streaming on Max.

Source: TV Guide

[knightyoomyoui]

TWICE: Anthology of Horror One-Shots | STORY 3: "Sneaky Watcher" ft. MOMO

NOTE: This is my first ever original and own-made horror one-shot for this series featuring two legendary mysterious creatures from the tales of Japan. i just thought that the story possessing a concept / element from Japan fits for Momo since... well she's Japanese. Also, a quick trigger warning: the ending is depressing and tragic. Some of the parts might also bring disturbing imagery to the imaginations from some readers.

During the promotions for their new released extended play album titled “With YOU-th”, there was a changes applied on their current line-up of all the staffs working under TWICE’s management in Division 3. They had to unfortunately lose one beloved worker and a friend in their team when Momo’s manager Haseul had to file a permanent leave to the company. The reason is because the man is already married and he had fully decided to set his priorities now on the family he’s going to build with his wife.

Everybody respected his choice and they give him a beautiful goodbye despite being emotional, including Momo herself who already considered Haseul as one of her closest friends in the management. After they officially declared Haseul’s departure from the team, they have no choice but to do the next phase when a spot goes vacant. They have to look for a new replacement for Haseul. The search spent 5 days until the ones that were assigned to do it finally had somebody to offer. It was kind of an easy grab because they introduced this new person which actually has an experience already of managing idols. Momo then met her new manager named Sachiko Yamamoto, a woman in her 30’s and also was a former employee in JYPE’s headquarters in Japan. Momo was glad that her new manager does have some similarities as her, particularly due to the fact that both of them are pure Japanese who can speak fluent Korean too. That would be comfortable for Momo to communicate with her since they can somehow relate on other things regarding on their nationality and bilingual skills.Because of that, Momo felt so enthusiastic and anticipating to get to know her new manager. However, her first few days with Sachiko told a different narrative from her perspective. Everything she was expecting has rather went down spiral into failure. Her performance as a manager was way apart from her first impression she showed off when she introduced herself to Momo and to other staffs. One primary reason she could think of when she’s observing Sachiko is her demeanor that gives her quite uneasiness whenever she’ll come to approach her. She’ll act very sweet but when she sets herself distance from Sachiko, she usually catches her staring down at her with completely seriousness masked in her face. She smiles a lot but that;s only when it comes for her unlike the rest of the staffs, she just barely talks.

Although the odd speculations she have gotten from Sachiko’s antics, she just gave a guess of it that probably the young Japanese woman is just letting herself get used to her surroundings because its her first time here in South Korea, and it would make sense since the rest of the managers and most of her co-members are Koreans. Yet another one crossed her mind that if that’s the case, why she also acts different towards Mina and Sana who are also Japanese as her? People can be weird in their own ways, Momo concluded. She has so many things to pay more attention first, so she just sweep it off and let her manager do whatever she wants as long as it won’t bother her further.

That is until one day, her hopes went broken when Momo who just finished her beauty care after removing her makeup that she wore from visiting their pop-up museum for With YOU-th. She fixed her bed and set her alarm to 6AM in the morning because they still had somewhere to go for another schedule tomorrow. Momo immediately slept right after her body went contact with the softness and comfy texture of her bed’s cushion. Two hours while she’s deep in her slumber, she stirred in her position and the stretch it required for her body to do made her eyes to barely open, but was enough for her to notice something peculiar coming from her window.

Momo narrowed the slit of her eyes to obtain more focus on her sight to see. There was something disturbing lurking outside her window and it was a round shape until Momo got to visualize it when she opened her eyes and slowly sat up from her bed. Her eyes widened when just as she made a movement, the floating thing disappeared by going sideways that was blocked by the wall for her to follow. That one last glimpse had Momo scream in terror, especially when she speculated that the round thing that was floating in the window can be compared to like a head of a person. Momo pulled her sheet to the level of her chest and she gripped it tight while she sat on her bed, her back leaning on the wall as she breathe rapidly at what the hell did she just observed. That figure was bothering Momo’s mind even during their schedule which caused a bit of a trouble during the progress of their shooting. She was mostly out of her trance, still thinking about what she has caught last night. When she has something going on in her head, her former manager Haseul would be the one to volunteer to have Momo let it all out by listening to whatever story she has in store inside, but sadly her current manager has no qualities of that.

Instead, she wasn’t causing any help at all. She just adds to Momo’s creepy feeling she’s been having after not getting over still from what she seen that night.

While on their break, Momo who is still spacing out after looking at her phone, was confronted by her fellow member Jeongyeon who sat beside her. “You don’t look like you have a grip of yourself at the moment, Momoring.”, she said.  On many occasions, Jeongyeon would be the sole responsible for making fun of her but right now, she is acting as a true friend and a sister to her with her tone being so caring and serious.

“Care to share it with me?” “Are you guys angry at me for making us film many takes because of what i’m doing?” Momo asked with guilt. “I’m sorry if I’m being like this, I-” “We know, that’s why we can’t be mad at you.” Jeongyeon cuts off her words to share her understanding personality. “Everybody has something they had to fight on their own, but there’s nothing wrong with seeking help from others, right?”

“Yeah.” “Then what is it, what is something that is preventing you to act right today?” Jeongyeon patiently asked. Momo went silent for a second and Jeongyeon thought it must be tough for the latter to share. “You can’t force yourself if you can’t Momoring, okay?”

“N-no, I can it’s just that…” Momo lets out a deep breathe. “I don’t know if you would believe me when I say this.”

“Let me hear it first before I judge.” “O-okay…” Momo nodded. “I saw something on my room last night.”

“What is it? Something scary?” “Yeah… there was like… somebody’s watching me from the window, but what’s weird is because it doesn’t have any body, yet the head… is there.”

Jeongyeon furrowed her brows and looked at Momo in disbelief. “Wait are you trying to tell me that there’s probably a stalker in your room that is not headless but rather… only composed of head? Like literally a floating head?” “Exactly.” Momo agreed. “I still don’t know if what I saw was true but… it’s so scary that it ruined my sleep just imagining about it.” Jeongyeon saw how Momo look completely nervous and uncomfortable recalling that scenario, but she lowered her head apologetically. “I’m not actually into ghosts but Momoring… I may not know what exactly you seen out there but maybe it’s because you’re just tired these days. You are considered to be one of our most hardworking people here in our Division, so it’s not gonna be a problem if you… know, try atleast slowing it down and rest when needed?” Momo sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I was in the middle of my sleep when I woke up and saw that, maybe I was just dreaming still when it happened.” Jeongyeon shook her head and wrapped her arm around Momo as she rocked the dancer’s toned body. “You know what, I’ll just take you out for some iced coffee to keep your senses awake. Okay?”

“Sure, why not.” They both grinned at each other after. The chills may have left Momo but her curiosity isn’t done yet. It pushed her to plan something later that night to prove if that thing actually exists like what she encountered days ago. Before she slept, she placed her go-pro camera on her nightstand and sets it on record. While she’s sleeping, the floating head made its appearance once again, floating and swaying back and forth slowly through the window. It tried to open to window using its teeth by biting it and gently opened it as it slides off the pane. Just as when it opened, Momo who is actually pretending to sleep when she heard some strange noises that signifies its presence, Momo immediately sprung up from her bed and tried to charge at the creepy thing but it got away when Momo almost fell to the bottom of the building out to the window as she got pulled by the strength of the creature while she’s pulling it’s long hair to prevent from escaping.

Momo cried in fear as she has proven that it is indeed real. She even touched it by her own hands. Before that, there is one more thing to confirm such existence of this suspiciously dark creature she’s trying to chase for. Grabbing the go-pro camera, she stopped its recording and revisit every timestamps until it led her to this one clip that made her feel intense goosebumps. The creature was indeed a floating head, highly resembling a classic yokai creature based from the tales in her home country Japan, which had Momo in shock as she discovers that this thing called “nukekobi” actually exists in life. But that wasn’t the only part that terrified her a lot, because when she zoomed the paused video to identify its face, Momo almost dropped the camera in pure suspense. The next day, Momo hurriedly arranged a meet up with two of the lead managers in TWICE’s management team, named Sadness and Tendo to report such a frightening evidence. “Look, it’s literally Sachiko and she’s not normal as we all seems to believe about her! Have you guys seen somebody who can detach its head from its body?!” Momo complained while Sadness and Tendo were staring at the paused clip.

“Are you sure you didn’t edit this or something, because seriously what the fuck is this thing?” Tendo said while rubbing his arm, feeling the creeps thats making her hair all stand up. “This is so… I don’t know, my mind can’t process properly what we’re seeing right now, but whether Sachiko who is actually like… what did you say about her again earlier?” “A nukekobi.”

“Yeah that. Whatever she is, we are now certainly sure that she is unsafe and she causes uncomfortable atmosphere for everybody working hard just to assist TWICE in their schedule. This is getting concerning so… what do you say, Tendo? Would you want to do something about this?” “Yeah, definitely. I couldn’t let myself stand across near that woman again after seeing this. I don’t even like her that much, she’s naturally weird, I suppose.” “Okay, I’ll have the rest to investigate the effects of her behavior and once we come up with a decision, we’ll include her for the meeting. Is that good, Momo?” “Yes, thank you so much unnie and oppa.” Momo nodded and bowed gratefully at the two kind leaders.

With the help of Tendo and Sadness’ instant actions regarding of Momo’s complain about Sachiko’s true nature, they have come up with a unanimous decision to kick out Sachiko from the team after the rest also shared their approval and own criticism about the strange woman. After learning about her contract’s unfortunate demise just weeks after getting assigned to JYPE in Korea, Sachiko was upset and disappointed at their decision, and before she left, she expresses those summed up emotions towards one person, and that is the idol she thought she would idolize for her inspiring personality but instead ended up being one of her haters.

Although Momo was regretting it a bit after feeling bad for Sachiko’s removal, she remained focus at the important matter that she’ll be free and safe again from that creature lurking and stalking her as deeper as her sleep she takes every night. It also somehow relief for the managers and the members who learned about the nature of Sachiko, hoping that it would be the last time they’ll get to experience that.

Not long enough, as 3 days later, the police informed Sadness, Tendo, and other TWICE members that they have found Momo’s lifeless body on the backseat of their car that crashed at the side of a road outside Seoul along with her driver who was also pronounced dead in arrival. The two both had their necks broken as their cause of deaths.

It wasn’t because of the impact of the crash though, as they have found out from the investigation that Momo’s neck has huge red marks that presumably came from something very thick and was applied enough force to tighten around Momo’s neck for it to snap in pieces. That resulted for the doctors to finalize that Momo’s cause of death was actually due to strangling, and the only suspect they can have is none other than the driver itself.

They were right, as the whole story they didn’t know behind this gruesome incident was because the driver is actually another Japanese yokai disguised as normal human called “rokurokubi” , a counterpart of Sachiko’s kind. If Sachiko can detach its head completely, the driver whose named is Hiroshi Yamamoto can extend its neck very long to detach itself to its body, and unknown to the police’s reports… it was the strategy he used to kill Momo to avenge his friend Sachiko who committed suicide after having her job in which he was the one who suggested his friend to the agents of Division 3 for the vacant manager spot, got stripped away from her. -----------------------------------END----------------------------------

[youremyheaven]

I think youre right about Jennie(BP) being a Ashlesha native because Meghan Markle is also Ashlesha and she gets crazy amounts of hate all the time for little to no reason. People also for the longest time hated on Megan Fox, another ashlesha and Megan Thee Stallion(Ashlesha Chart Ruler/lagnesh) gets a crap ton of unwarranted hate as well.

Why do people hate Ashleshas so much?

i've lowkey changed my mind about her being Ashlesha Rising

Ashlesha, Vishaka, Bharani and Shravana are all Outcaste naks and people hate on them a lot and they do not have it easy, but Ashlesha is a unique case in many other ways. She's already Vishaka Moon and it explains why people thrash her so much but i don't think she has 2 outcaste naks in her big 3 tbh

the reason i dont think Jennie is Ashlesha Rising anymore is because I've noticed that it girls and icons ALWAYS have Venusian influence. Jennie has no Venus naks in her chart so the only way it would make sense is if she had a Venusian nak as her rising sign. People imitate her, buy everything she endorses/uses/makes, copy her looks, she literally set plastic surgery trends even lol, none of that would happen in the absence of Venus influence, so I have to conclude that Jennie has Venus Rising

my best bet is that she's Purvaphalguni Rising,, something about her being a tropical Virgo Rising just makes sense to me,, she's a perfectionist and very meticulous

I wouldn't be surprised if she had Purvashada Rising either tbh, it kind of fits but i am 100% certain she is not Bharani Rising

people hate Ashleshas because Ashleshas have a tendency to thrive in negativity. it goes back to its mythology.

The deity of Ashlesha is the Nagas (serpent god)

There are the three main Nagas: Shesha (the world rests on him), Vasuki, and Takshak (Tribal chief of Snakes). In the month of Shravan Nagas are worshiped on a period called Naga Panchami. There was a time when Nagas were growing in the population becoming a threat to humans, therefore they were instructed by Brahma to live deep underwater. They are considered to live under the ocean in a place called the Patal. Nagas are condemned to live in the underground. Some of the Nagas are demons who can hurt others, Whereas, some Nagas are worshipped as gods. Therefore, Ashlesha individuals come with this duality in them where they can either hurt others or they can heal and help others.

the thing is that the mythologies of some nakshatras are very heavy and dark. Ashlesha is one of them. to be condemned to live away from society is part of its myth. being an outcaste nak increases this tendency. this means even if they want to belong, they are shunned by or not accepted into society, which we can see with all these celebs who get hated on for no reason. Others feel their serpentine energy and it makes them feel uncomfortable. some people just have an energy or presence that invites condemnation without reason.

i think these experiences can no doubt make Ashleshas feel bitter and grow fully into their destructive powers. The shakti of this nakshatra, as mentioned in the puranas is "vish ashleshan" which means "burning poison", this is a very powerful shakti to have (every nak has a shakti, you can google yours) but to be able to "burn poison" you have to be unaffected by it, snakes are immune to their own venom. the healing that Ashleshas are capable of is also of a more aggressive kind. its like chemotherapy where you have to kill the bad cells to be healthy again. its not like sunshine and rainbows type of healing.

this is why I said Ashleshas thrive in negativity, they may or may not intentionally create negativity although the themes of the nak suggest that they have a penchant to dwell in or stir things towards darkness. Its that no matter how bad things get, Ashleshas will thrive?? something that would emotionally destroy another person will not do anything to an Ashlesha. this can be scary because they will stay in toxic relationships simply because they have the ability to withstand toxicity. think about megan fox and MGK's toxic relationship, he apparently called her threatening to kill himself and she had a breakdown?? and she wrote a poetry collection chronicling how fcked up their relationship is. in my post about ashleshas and toxic relationships i have cited numerous examples. Ashleshas often have difficult childhoods and these early experiences also contribute to them entering into toxic relationships as adults. a child weaned on poison considers harm to be comfort.

i feel like the whole taurus, gemini & cancer rashi naks deal with heavyyyy themes ,, the later naks suffer in more existential or emotional ways i feel, these ones straight up be fighting for their life with others

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #36

36. FINLAND Windows95Man - "No Rules!" 19th place

Decade ranking: 143/153 [Above Nadir, below Let3]

Okay so, I promised in Saturday's post that I would try to be positive, but I may already have to rescind on that promise lol. (the "lol" is for punctuation because I definitely did not laugh.) "No rules!" stinks and has very few redeeming qualities. 🙂 Natalia was right, she WAS robbed by a Nudist Demon!

For real, does anyone over the age of twenty-five enjoy this dumpster fire? If so, fukk meee. LOVE YOURSELVES.

As I noted in my UMK review back in Feb:

I have difficulty buying into this hyperactive ball of bad taste. “Fuck The System” always feels like the go-to message of individuals that fail to fit into social structures that aren’t fully of their own shaping. For an entry that’s all “live as you like, there’s no rules!” in its messaging, these two look like they conform to just about every styling and behavioural rule associated with Zoomer culture: A total disregard for general aesthetics over a dumbed-down drone of a beat because everything is ironic and nothing is to be taken seriously.  It is a depressing take on life. Yeah sure, a bit of camp levity is welcome in this loathesome world, but any happy song that weaponizes irony like this one trends towards encouraging irresponsibility, cynicism and nihilism. Some things DO matter in life, you know? You need to afford your bills and groceries, charge your social batteries, cultivate your friendships, or else you’ll wind up living alone in a van, down by the river. But if the latter life appeals to you, then this is the entry for you, I guess. For me though; this contest is already has one Joost Klein. Let’s not add a second one from Finland.

Funny how I nailed that even before knowing the full extent of it. I ofc vastly underestimated how bad the live would be, and as soon as I'd seen it my scepsis immediately supernova'd into intense HATRED. If ONLY "Paskana" hadn't been weak as piss. Yes, the cringe in "No Rules!" is deliberate, obviously, I have a sense of humour. Having a sense of humour is why I hate it? How much "deliberated cringe" can one tolerate before concluding "nope, this is r o t t e n." Does it start with

THE BAD GUNTER IMPRESSION?

or

THE DONALD DUCKING?

or

CALLING HIMSELF" A QUEEN"?

or

screaming "SEE ME SLAYYYY" :proceeds to not slay: ?

It definitely ends in whatever this shot is supposed to be.

Humour is subjective sure enough, and Windowsninetycringeman's jokes fall flatter than a pancake á moi. Why is everything denim? Why is this THIRTY-NINE YEAR OLD MAN still engaging in toilet humour and internet speak? Grow the f up? The art lies in the execution and Finland showed neither. I do NOT like Europapa much, but having Finland and not Netherlands in the final vibes wrong on so many levels. Europapa at least had a clear plan and delivered its nonsense in contained, piecemeal doses? It was COMPETENT in what it attempted to be (A Televote Winner), not a lazy amalgation of simple-minded drunk jokes strung together over a Planet of The Bass megamix as some sort of a Hail Mary. Joost and Teemu represent the Expectations/Reality divide of Zoomer Nonsense and it was darksided that only the latter got to compete for points. But on top of that, Teemu was generally just full of shit? Hooray, an Old Millennial engaging in Zoomer Cringe who lets an actual zoomer do all the vocal heavy lifting, without giving him a single featuring credit. Yay! It's a painfully accurate depiction of what being a zoomer is like, but not an intentional one.

Also remember when Teemu said he would "try to discreetly approach the other contestants to find ways to show support for Palestine" (remember that this contest was supposed to be 'not political'?) Hm yes discreet. So discreet he declared his intentions to interviewers so that everyone would know it was HIS idea. "Discreet", human please. And the result of all that talk was...

(lol I'm SO making it sound like I care about what political standpoints any of these acts took, and I don't. But I do call out a fraud when I spot one.)

Yeah well thanks for trying, but I'd rather you hadn't. A statement you can apply to my feelings of the entry overall. Okay, we've reached full circle, time to move on to our designated palate cleanser because THIS page is a safe zone for people of good taste.

The universe where YLE overrules the results and sends THEM to ESC is the one where we head to Helsinki twice in a row.

THE RANKING

[analy-sing-stuff]

HEY,so...

Talking about Hachi's relationship towards my favourite character on the whole NANA anime series, Shin;

Hachi and Shin's relationship is so special in a way maybe only a woman could portray, a relationship between a mother and a son.

Its important to let it clear that not only Shin is in dependence and devotion of this relationship but hachi, specially and mostly because of her feelings towards men.

To get it better, we do have to quickly dive into her character,

But specifically into the intimacy her character shares with men.

The intimacy hachi shares with shoji (kinda disgusting saying his name, i know babes) is pretty much confused. She needs his affection, she needs someone to be strong for her and to take care of her. It's pretty much all that society says and specially the patriarchy stabilishes. This is shown since the beginning when they meet at the art school; Hachi needs a perfect life, a perfect job, a perfect house, perfect friends and most important of all, Hachi NEEDS a perfect boyfriend. An enchanted prince, her allmighty savior.

This is very much explicit when nana (her ideal pair) (that she's compulsivelly trying to ignore its her ideal pair) (she's the biggest comp het in the country) IS getting depicted as said "prince charming" on a oficial doodle

Its also very clear when she HERSELF depicts her as this traditional girlish house wife.

So we can conclude that

1. She doesnt wanna be alone in the future and its pretty explicit that her traditional beliefs coming from a small town taught her that the only way for her to have the perfect life and have someone by her side is being loved and cherished by a man

2. She HAS to offer something for a guy to like her, otherwise she sees no point on him loving her. This certainly means she has no confidence in herself as a woman, or at least, no good self steam.

3. She's comp het and wants a woman but doesnt know how to ask.

So, uh, that pretty much explains everything in the show, so its clear she NEEDS a man to fullfill her wishes,

This is very clearly presented in (ew) Shoji's relationship with her and subtle as an elephant in her relationship with (AAEHAGWW) Takumi

The intimacy they share is very desperate and the secomd she feels like maybe her friends left her behind, she goes to him, showing again how she needs this validation, how much she depends on this small amount of love that is offered to her when suddenly is convenient.

Talking about Nobu, the only man that let space for her to be herself, it's pretty explicit how much he loves her to the point she's able to take the lead of their relationship

Most hugs between both of them (if not for ALL the hugs they share) are from the side, with Hachi willingly hugging his arm, but having the total freedom of letting go if she wants. For the first time, she gets in a relationship with a man that does not have the urge to be dominant and treat her like an object, an accessory or an animal; putting aside all the pain she has to carry of the role model of a perfect idealized woman.

It's, however, never enough for her. In many words i could describe why all these relationships are not changing anything for Hachi as a person, even if they bring happiness with them. It's pretty much easier to say, Hachi is not being true to herself, but that's not tottaly it, because to herself, she is nothing but a prize for men, an object, and even so learning that she actually is her own person and that she is much more than someone who needs desperately to be loved, it's clear that when the love she needs doesnt meet her she freaks out, the girl breaks BREAKS down.

And that's how important shin is to her.

When they meet and Hachi suddenly discovers he's just a 15 year old trying to fit in something, it gets pretty obvious her urge to protect and take care of him much like the role she signs up for her whole life, a mother.

For as long as their relationship grows, Shin has shown Hachi kindness in a way she has never experienced from a man before, in a way that Shin never experienced from a woman. Fraternal love. A type of love so strong that bonds two people with no second intention.

Shin states he's been used and desired by women his whole life to survive, Hachi states that she cannot imagine a man loving her for who she is if not for one idea of her.

The night she comes back after sleepin with Takumi she states that she can't see herself as loved.

And in the same night Shin shows intimacy for her in a way no man in those pictures did before.

HE is desperate to see HER.

Their bond is so special that after having to look for someone to meet her needs, right after HE went to look for HER because HE needs HER.

Many other scenes could prove how much they both love eachother but i like to think it's such a strong bond that not even I could yap about them enough.

Thats it 😭😭😭😭 i hope i didnt sound crazy or sum

[aro-osomatsu]

same static anon from before! im taking a break from final projects to ramble about your latest posts, the tenna/static miku/osomatsu trio is so awesome i love it. silly guys who are associated with red and are the stars of the show and cling to the past and are afraid of change my beloved. also your little add-on to the analysis about how the song relates to osomatsu as a character made me want to jump for joy because you are so right about everything!!! this song is extremely him coded and it drives me insane. same with tenna, its shocking just how much the song fits him. also have you seen the broken green crayon and green balloon partially covering miku's face in some of the blink and you'll miss it shots? the potential sokudomatsu connections to be made there are very fun. your passion about this subject fuels my passion for it and it makes me happy to see you talk about it! have a good day or night, whatever time it is for you :D

awww welcome back anon!! i hope you do well on those projects! ^u^ i always love getting a chance to talk to other people about this stuff!!

but alas my yapping has been imprisoned to beneath the cut! for it became far too long

anyway YES!! one of the biggest things that stood out to me about tenna was how much his fear of being left behind due to redundancy & the heavy themes of nostalgia and "the good ol' days" reminded me of both "static" and osomatsu-san! (there's even a silvagunner remix about it!!!!!!)

i could probably write a separate post about how tenna by himself parallels iyami just cuz they both envoke that same theme of chronic nostalgia. characters who's personalities and identities are linked to their bygone heydays, both incapable and afraid of change, doomed to a fate of lonely irrelevance due to their "static" natures *wink* (could probably also say something about how both deltarune and osomatsu-san's identities revolve around nostalgia and meta commentary for their respective mediums but i am not eloquent enough for that lol)

to get back to The Point tho... yes, i've seen and adore the secret frames!!!! it seems like the color green just throws everything else out of balance, and it's definitely a factor that contributes to my reading of the song as a big s1ep24 reference. especially with how none of the other colors have the same individual importance as green and red do!

and if you really wanna read into it: you could say that the way the colors are representative of people, but are still exclusively shown as still objects or background images, reflects the main singer's mentality of refusing to let anyone grow or change and prioritizing keeping everyone stagnant but together over letting them grow away from her... like im sure it was mainly a way to make it a subtle but noticable reference but im always willing to make it deeper than it is ^_^

the fact that they're just objects also really highlights the feeling of loneliness throughout the entire song... like, they're actually all just stand-ins for the real thing because the people they represent aren't actually even there anymore, but she's still pretending they are. she's still trying to act as normal, unwilling to let go of her own balloon, to close her own book, to put down her own pen... the bouquet holding the flowers together is empty without them, ect.

tl;dr the secret frames make me go coo-coo crazy

to conclude my thoughts: i am like 99% sure that this song (or at the very least the pv) is an intentional ososan reference, but it's also juuust subtle enough that it's not truly a fansong and the references aren't visible to anyone else... so basically whenever i remember that people don't know it's an ososan reference i scream and cry pathetically on the floor then i explode and die. and it's permanent forever

ANYWAYYYY here's some more shitty crossover art i drew recently as a reward for reading this far ♡

[4uni0fficial]

RGR!!!! chapter 5

NOTE: I do not own neither games and will be using old lore for TRUD. Guest 666 wont be transfem and Builderman wont be related to Jane and John. This is a crack fic not to be taken seriously, do not harass me.

“Now with all the survivors done, it’s time for the killers turn! Remember, stay polite. I wont tolerate any attempt at attack on either side. Nor any in fighting. Now, who’s going to be first?”

The spotlight returned, now on the killer’s side of the theater. It moved aimlessly, intentionally trying to have everyone watching to keep guessing who’s next. Finally it stopped on the Trud table. Sawnoob averted his eyes from the bright light now on him. Looking down, he removed his gas mask, the Xploit drug hissed as it was released into the surrounding air instead of its usual containment of being fed into Sawnoob. The scar on his face curving into a smile on his mouth now visible to everyone, an injury he inflicted upon himself.

Just keep smiling while you do your job, and everything will be alright again. Was what he told himself a long time ago.

“My name is.. Sawnoob. Hope we dont have any troubles.” He greeted, his voice raspy and low. Quite a difference to Noob’s voice. His placed his mask back on, the gas filling up his lungs once more. It was essential to his survival after all. Noob stared at the other one in curiosity and fear. He looked so scary and the bloodstains on his body were definitely not helping. He just looked so..... everything that they werent. There were scars littering every inch of his body, not to mention the one surrounding their mouth. Noob shivered at the thought of it, what could have caused it in the first place? Oh, and the saw replacing his hand looked so sharp and ready for the kill. One thing was for certain. Sawnoob and the rest of his table were people who somehow was more terrifying than their own killers.

1x4 was next, his body glowing with code coloured in green. Both Shedletskys narrowed their eyes to observe him and how he would act. “I am 1x1x1x1, I expect you to tolerate me as much as I do you.” His voice deep and strained a bit, like he wasnt used to talking. T!Shedletsky almost scoffed at his introduction. 1x4.. he didnt expect him to grow so much in strength, but here they are. Having to run from him, past him would have found it hilarious now not so much. It aggravated him slightly, the whole situation. Now all he could do is run from the killers and help his teammates escape. Helping always take priority of course.

F!Shedletsky tried to discern how similar this one was to his own. First off, 1x4 was more.. quiet so to speak and the way he talked was also different compared to 1x. 1x4 was also more green in comparison to 1x. He didnt know how, but the guy looked way greener than his hatred. He would call it tacky but it fit together perfectly, so F!Shedletsky let it slide. (ITS CAUSE HE SMOKES WEED!! well Xploit but you get my drift.) 1x observed his counterpart in scrutiny, comparing themself to him. 1x4 seemed to be more calm and composed to it, as if he wasnt made with hatred at his core. Things were very different in their world after all.

The light hadnt moved on yet, still stuck on 1x4. Confusion can be felt throughout the room, mixed with a bit of boredom till 1x4 noticed he was still holding onto Drakobloxxer. Concluding the spotlight wanted for it to be introduced, he spoke again this time for another. “Ah, this one is Drakobloxxer. He shouldnt cause too much trouble today.” Holding it up so everyone can get a better view, the beast growled as his eyes swept over the room. Most of the Forsakeners knew what a Drakobloxxer was, though they hadnt expected it to be a killer. It was hard to believe the animal stuck in the headboard above the fireplace in the lobby could hunt them down especially since it seemed to be neutral. Maybe this Drakobloxxer was different from the rest?

The Watcher then moved the spotlight to c00lkidd. He grinned almost eager to introduce himself. “Im c00lkidd, but you already knew that. Hope this is as interesting as it looks!” He exclaimed, almost giddy at their situation. Well atleast someone is excited. He toyed with his knife lazily, sitting back down. When Drako tried to snap at him, he hit him again with one of his tentacles his eye narrowing in annoyance. “Stop it you dumb dog.”

007n7 froze up catching sight of Trudkidd on the other side. He looked like his son, but older and more.. harsh. The markings on his body and the tentacles were evidence of that along with his eye. 007n7 eyes softened when he noticed it. Who could have done that to him? It looked like it had been stabbed and now scarred over. Poor guy. Dumbly, 007n7 had mistaken Trudkidd as someone like his son, someone who didnt know better about what he was doing. Truly, how laughable.

Meanwhile his actual son was staring in awe at his older, other world version. He just looked so C00L!! His weird thingys on his back and how he spun that knife around was super duper awesome! He also seemed a bit smarter than him now but that was no surprise. He was older after all. F!c00lkidd hoped he could be like that guy one day!

John Doe’s turn had come around. The leader of the killers, the whole reason they existed in the first place. (oo scayr alpha john toe) He rose from his place, clown gleaming in the light, his corruption on his body buzzing. When he spoke, it sounded gruff and glitched out a bit, possibly from the effects of the Xploit on his body. “I am John Doe. Hope too much time is spent here.” His eyes sweeping the room, barely concealed anger when he sighted the Trud survivors.

The sight of her poor brother made Jane’s heart ache. She couldnt understand why he did all this. Why he hurt them like this. She knew there was a reason she just didnt know. ‘Or maybe she did but she didnt want to acknowledge it.’ A small part whispered. But still in the end, she knew he could confide in her about anything, thats what she thought about their relationship, that they would always help eachother no matter what. But its clear John didnt think the same. If he did, he wouldnt be threatening their lives and Robloxia right now. In fact, none of this would have happened at all.

The forsakeners however were intrigued. Did Jane Doe and John have some relation to eachother? They must have since Jane seemed so pained when it was John’s turn. Did a Jane exist in their world as well? If so they havent seen her around at all. Or maybe she wasnt Forsakened yet. Whatever it was they hoped slash not that they would meet her in their universe, maybe she had knowledge on how to deal with John or a way to escape.

The finale for the Trud killers was here, and it was Guest 666. The bastard himself. It stood up, long black hair shining in the spotlight. For a split second, it narrowed his eyes towards Guest at the survivors table before snapping back. When he spoke, it had a far more delayed and echoed type of voice, with a static sound faintly can be heard. “My name is Guest 666, but as like the other Guests, you can refer to me as 666. I hope our time together is.. pleasureable.” The Trud survivors seemed to shudder when he spoke, as if his entire being was unnatural to them.

As Noob looked at this version of Guest 666, he couldnt feel any sense of familiarity when they looked at it. This 666 was so far removed from their own, the guy was just reeking of malice which they hadnt thought was possible until now. 1x seemed palateable compared to that guy, atleast hatred was predictable and a well known emotion. This was something else entirely.

The Guest 666 from the Trud world caught the attention of the two guests from Forsaken. 1337 took note of its more Robloxian form compared to its counterpart in his world, and how the guys very existence seemed wrong. Something about it scared him but he didnt know what, and this was coming from the guy that wasnt afraid of the killers in his own world. Sixer meanwhile smelled something off about their counterpart but didnt know what. Like something had gone to rot for a long time and slowly the scent dissipated but was still everpresent, like a dead person gone to be buried and then dug up. One thing was for sure though. None of the Forsakeners enjoyed the existence of 666 but couldnt exactly pinpoint why.

“And now, moving onto the Forsaken killers! Ough, this is gonna be a doozy.” Their host announced while murmuring the last part. Seems they were getting closer to what the Watcher brought them all here for.

[yingren]

" please," but it wasn't a plead offered from the philosopher's lips, curiosity having attempted its assassination of feline-like creatures far too similar to the one who had wandered off from the secluded corners of the universe, him. the scholar, the sage, the all-knowing heretic whose very gaze fixated on the dark clad man he had come to encounter. curiosity belonged with the cat of course, even in death, and so he had found it reasonable to draw his weapon at the one before him, bottle in hand as there'd be a click.

indeed. curiosity had killed the cat, but few things had managed to get the better of professor anaxagoras; one could wonder why, surely not because he was a pest and a half, even with a foot dipping into his very grave. "as looming as you are, which i will acknowledge, i will take a moment to mention the endless array of students i have found myself teaching, some having held far darker auras than what seems to be attached to you. don't tell me that you, like them," and here bottle would slide into his gun, head canting with a new click.

"might have had a bad run-in with a previous mentor? if so, don't blame me for their unfulfilling practices," anaxagoras concluded sternly, attempting to make more out of the one before him. there was something different about him, something that made him naturally curious. was it the hair? no. clothes? no. the way it seemed to humor him that there'd be a gun offered to him? perhaps.

either way, he kept his small distance, shoulder shrugging slightly; "usually i tend to blame the students' lacking effort, so, which is it? defect mentor or disobedient student? do attempt to enlighten me, or allow me to introduce you to your maker."

do all scholars talk this much ? are they always this roundabout, dancing around their point like it’s some great secret meant to be unraveled rather than simply stated ? if there’s one thing ren knows about people like this — like the others he mentally lumps together with anaxagoras, despite not even knowing the man’s name yet — it’s that far too many of them are insufferable in this exact way. lacing words with riddles and unnecessary prose, as if every conversation is an opportunity to flaunt the so-called brilliance they earned from years of competing with others just like them. it reeks of a hierarchy ren has always wanted to dismantle, tear apart from its very foundation and grind into dust until the playing field is level. watching those who believe themselves ascended above the rest stumble when the very people beneath them refuse to provide support is a spectacle he never tires of.  

because in the end, everything circles back to that same familiar feeling. not of his own inadequacy — no, he has never truly believed himself to be lacking. rather, it is the weight of others’ perceptions, the knowledge that other people have long decided he isn’t enough. a ridiculous notion. ren knows, without hesitation, that he is more than that. a hypocrite fully realized, no longer in the making but wholly secure in his own arrogance, he listens without blinking, absorbing every word the other offers him — if only to pick apart whatever lies at his core.

❝ does the aura bother you, professor ? ❞ ren takes no pride in it, not that it would matter even if he did. an aura isn’t something that can be scrubbed away with the latest miracle concoction dreamed up by beauticians and alchemists across the universe, or else he would have rid himself of his own long ago. not out of shame nor guilt, those emotions have never quite fit him, but perhaps because he was always meant to be wrapped in the very same looming darkness anaxagoras speaks of. either way, it certainly does a fine job of giving people the wrong impression. then there’s the ever-present threat of meeting his maker, a phrase so overused it once amused him. this time proves no different. a bitter chuckle rises from his throat, the sound almost, almost, genuine. he then lingers in that fleeting moment of amusement before it inevitably burns to dust, clearing his throat as if to rid himself of it entirely. ❝ my apologies. jokes only get old because they’re good. ❞

manners. surely, he hasn’t lost them entirely, has he ? since anaxagoras went through the trouble of scrutinizing him so thoroughly, it’s only fair that ren repays the favor without hesitation. his gaze, which had never truly strayed from the man, sharpens with renewed interest as he takes a more deliberate look. he notes every detail, from the veiled eye to the glimmer of a universe sprawled across his chest, a striking feature that piques his curiosity for the briefest of moments. as if responding to an unspoken cue, ren inhales sharply, his shoulders rising ever so slightly. his own measured steps falter just short of closing the space between them, resisting the temptation to bridge the gap.

❝ you reek of death. tell me, when you were introduced to your own maker, did you escape without reprimands ? were you blessed or were you cursed ? ❞ crimson gaze falls to the gun, unimpressed with its lack of action thus far. ❝ show me how you intend to introduce me to my maker. it’ll be your final exam to fail. sounds promising, does it not ? ❞