#TIME AND SPACE TO DEVELOP THE STORY IN THAT DIRECTION

[therealstonedelephant]

sukugo is a crack ship TO YOU. to me it's a perfectly legitimate ship, held back within the canon universe principally due to adherence to classic genre structures and not by lack of character compatibility

[bluemoonbun]

Rotating an idea in my head;

Imagine a neglected!Reader who did everything in an attempt to impress their family.

Who got amazing grades and got into high school at age 11.

Who was "a savant beyond their years" and "talented beyond what their age group could be taught".

Skills came easy to them. Give them a year and some encouragement and before you know it they'll have mastered whatever it was.

It wasn't like they could leave the house and hang out with friends. Bruce said that was off the table. It got quiet so often in the manor.

But it wasn't enough

Until someone saw the potential that Batman was just leaving there. Like he wanted someone to just... scoop them up and tutor them.

Their friends and allies and even a few enemies saw the potential. They all agreed to teach them their greatest skill. In a year they've mastered all of them, even surpassing some of them.

Any drug they were developing was improved beyond anything they could've imagined.

Weapons fashioned to fit them far surpassed anything, even the best on the black market.

The Rogue Gallery was beyond impressed.

And Reader was on Cloud Nine with all the attention it was earning them. Head pats, praise, treats. It was more than anything they could've asked for. And even if they didn't have a new invention at the end of the week, so many were willing to just hang out. Without prompting! No "Go bother Alfred" or "I'm busy" or "Another time, chickadee".

Harley had to be reminded that a 12 year old had no business around hyenas, even if Budsie and Louie were on their best behavior. Harley settled for watching old magical girl animes with you.

Luckily, Poison Ivy knew not to bring you around her poisonous plants. Though she did spend a concerning time teaching you exactly what plants were poisonous and how they were poisonous.

Bane taught you everything he knew, from throwing a punch, to how to scare someone off. Granted, a 12 year old, with so much of their baby fat in their cheeks, and wrists as thick as Bane's thumb, looked like a Ragdoll kitten copying a Bengal tiger. He played chess with you too, and he said that given your role in advising, a knight or a bishop would fit you best.

Bane was your favorite. He'd smush your face (gently, you were so tiny he was scared of breaking you), lift you up, even do pushups and pull ups with you on his back.

When Bane told you how he'd saved Alfred once during a collapse of Arkham Asylum, only to be incapacitated once Alfred was "done" with him, it made your blood boil.

As you learned all of their stories, learned the human in all of them, you knew that you were saved from a family with rotten blood. You'd spend your life repaying them, even if they never asked.

--------

Eventually, you decide to follow them into battle. You're kept up and away from the bulk of the battle. This time, it was Joker vs the Batfamily. Tim was unable to track what he'd been trying to do past a few errant clues. It was clear that the Rouge Gallery had a new villain.

You were given direct instructions to watch yourself; Joker wouldn't care enough to tear his eyes off Batman. You already knew that; Harley had spent 3 days trying to convince you to reschedule with someone else, but you told her you wanted Joker, not someone who'd be tempted to glance back and give away your hiding space.

Jason was the one that saw you. You were dressed in a costume that resembled a bishop chess piece with a split full face mask, perched atop a van far from the actual battle. His old scars with Joker made him hesitate, but you looked like a definite person of interest, and everyone else was indisposed.

He ran over, firing rubber bullets as you dodged, eventually tripping and falling off the van. Why were you so small? Jason picked you up, grip just loose enough so you could breathe.

You reached up, pulling your mask off. Jason blanched as he saw your face, soft around the edges and wide eyed.

Bruce told him that he'd stayed away to protect you from the vigilante life. You were the one person who hadn't pushed to join them, so he never told you about missions to avoid any ideas of joining. Jason followed suit, and so did the others. Their lives were busy enough anyways, and you had Alfred when he didn't have something more important to do.

He may have brushed you off more than absolutely necessary, but he wasn't in the right headspace then! You had already grown so much and all he'd wanted by then was vengeance on Batman. You couldn't blame him for keeping his distance at that point. He was protecting you.

But here you were, pinned by the throat by your own brother. Your protector. He released you, taking a step back. He glanced around for an opening, seeing a small alleyway. He gestured over his shoulder for you to follow. "C'mon kid. I'll get you back home and I won't even tell Bruce you snuck out, 'k?"

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his back, shortly followed by a burning itch and ice cold pain. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the spot you pricked.

"Miss Ivy said these were dangerous. Her own home blend. It's a diluted version, so you'll be fine in a few days, Todd" said the much too calm voice above him. He was struggling to breathe around the writhing mass of pain, looking up at you between blinks of tears.

He couldn't scream, he could barely breathe. He could die here and the family wouldn't know until the dust settled.

"It won't kill you, and from the looks of it, they'll be coming to pick you up soon."

"Aren't we family?" He chokes out between gasps. He felt so lost. You were his baby sibling, the tiny thing that'd wander the halls, holding an old chess board as you asked your cool big brother to play with you. The person he kept away from to protect. How could you repay him like this?

Hadn't he done so much for you?

You look at him from the boot of the van. When had you gotten so far away? Your voice is quiet, but it's heard, if barely, over the revving of the engine as Joker's minions prepare to drive away, and the screaming of his name as the rest of the family approaches.

"Were we? I never thought you wanted a baby sibling like me."

-------

The Batfamily took him home and patched him up. The new tech, like all other recent inventions brought in, were so advanced they bordered on state of the art. Even Tim was struggling to decode any of them, with all the kill-switches that seemed to recognize when it wasn't hooked up to the original computer and bricked themselves.

Jason had recovered, like you said, in a few days. Capable of breathing easily in 2 days, regularly needing to be sedated before then, and sitting up without pain by day 5.

The Batfamily had asked him by day 4 about the masked person they had seen next to him. Jason was detached from himself. That face, those eyes. They held no warmth for him, no pity for him while he was writhing in agony at their feet. Like he was less than a stranger.

Like he was less than human in their eyes.

Your name fell off his tongue like lead, slamming against the ground as everyone fell into silence.

"It was them. They gave me that injection. Their face, I-"

"Todd, did the injection give you hallucinations? There was no way that they'd accomplish something like that." Damian raised his brow, checking the chart to make sure the bulk was out of his system.

"I know what I saw. They hadn't even injected me when I saw their face."

"That's impossible, Jay! Look, I'll go to their room and get them right now. They'll probably be pretty cranky since it's, what, 4am?" Dick's footsteps disappeared down the hall.

After a few minutes, Dick came running back, looking at Jason with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion.

Two words.

Two words that finally made them look at you.

Two words that made them realized what they'd missed.

Two words that made them connect the inventions that almost got them killed to the darling child they'd convinced themselves they were protecting with cold shoulders and smothering silence.

Two words that made them refocus their sights on bringing you back.

"They're gone."

[ellipsus-writes]

(Read on our blog)

Beginning in 1933, the Nazis burned books to erase the ideas they feared—works of literature, politics, philosophy, criticism; works by Jewish and leftist authors, and research from the Institute for Sexual Science, which documented and affirmed queer and trans identities.

(Nazis collect "anti-German" books to be destroyed at a Berlin book-burning on May 10, 1933 (Source)

Stories tell truths.

These weren’t just books; they were lifelines.

Writing by, for, and about marginalized people isn’t just about representation, but survival. Writing has always been an incredibly powerful tool—perhaps the most resilient form of resistance, as fascism seeks to disconnect people from knowledge, empathy, history, and finally each other. Empathy is one of the most valuable resources we have, and in the darkest times writers armed with nothing but words have exposed injustice, changed culture, and kept their communities connected.

(A Nazi student and a member of the SA raid the Institute for Sexual Science's library in Berlin, May 6, 1933. Source)

Less than two weeks after the US presidential inauguration, the nightmare of Project 2025 is starting to unfold. What these proposals will mean for creative freedom and freedom of expression is uncertain, but the intent is clear. A chilling effect on subjects that writers engage with every day—queer narratives, racial justice, and critiques of power—is already manifest. The places where these works are published and shared may soon face increased pressure, censorship, and legal jeopardy.

And with speed-run fascism comes a rising tide of misinformation and hostility. The tech giants that facilitate writing, sharing, publishing, and communication—Google, Microsoft, Amazon, the-hellscape-formerly-known-as-Twitter, Facebook, TikTok—have folded like paper in a light breeze. OpenAI, embroiled in lawsuits for training its models on stolen works, is now positioned as the AI of choice for the administration, bolstered by a $500 billion investment. And privacy-focused companies are showing a newfound willingness to align with a polarizing administration, chilling news for writers who rely on digital privacy to protect their work and sources; even their personal safety.

Where does that leave writers?

Writing communities have always been a creative refuge, but they’re more than that now—they are a means of continuity. The information landscape is shifting rapidly, so staying informed on legal and political developments will be essential for protecting creative freedom and pushing back against censorship wherever possible. Direct your energy to the communities that need it, stay connected, check in on each other—and keep backup spaces in case platforms become unsafe.

We can’t stress this enough—support tools and platforms that prioritize creative freedom. The systems we rely on are being rewritten in real time, and the future of writing spaces depends on what we build now. We at Ellipsus will continue working to provide space for our community—one that protects and facilitates creative expression, not undermines it.

Above all—keep writing.

Keep imagining, keep documenting, keep sharing—keep connecting. Suppression thrives on silence, but words have survived every attempt at erasure.

- The Ellipsus team

[cadelinhadaromanoff]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

Summary: You spent the day with Ana, her laughter filling the spaces where your nerves tried to creep in. Between playful moments and soft conversations, you kept thinking about the step you were ready to take — one that would change all your lives forever. For once, the future didn’t feel heavy or distant. It felt like home, and you were finally ready to claim it.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Tony Stark x Daughter!reader.

Word count: 7432

Warnings: huge amount of fluffiness, Tony being a good grampa, Natasha being slightly insecure. Reader and ana being the best duo ever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Author's notes: Hey everyone, I just want to apologize for taking so long to post. I’ve been going through a tough time in my personal life, but I’m back now. Also, I’m really sorry I couldn’t fit everything I wanted into one chapter—sometimes the story just takes its own direction! But please, feel free to send in any asks! I absolutely love talking with you all.

By the way, how do you think Reader’s contact is saved in Natasha’s phone? I’d love to hear your thoughts on that! 

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

　　 　˳ 　 　 　 　 　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

There were many moments in her life Natasha could label as memorable.

Some for their pain. Some for their absurdity. Some for the sheer adrenaline of surviving something she shouldn’t have survived.

But there weren’t many she could call peaceful.

And none, until now, that she could call happy.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling so at peace, so quietly and utterly content, as she did now — with you stretched lazily beside her, your hand absently tracing slow circles against her hip, your breathing slow and steady, filling the room with a comfort she never thought she’d have.

Your presence was soothing in a way nothing else had ever been.

Not a mission completed. Not a victory celebrated.

Just you.

The breeze after a long storm. The fresh air after years underground.

She let her eyes close again, allowing herself a rare indulgence: believing that maybe, this time, happiness wasn’t something temporary. Maybe this time, it was here to stay.

And it was all because of you.

A sudden clatter of a fork against a plate snapped her gently from her thoughts.

Natasha blinked, finding herself at the kitchen table, sunlight filtering through the windows, the scent of something simple and warm hanging in the air. You were across from her, lazily spinning your fork through your pasta, while Ana sat between the two of you, her face scrunched in concentration as she tried to stab a cherry tomato without it rolling away.

“You know,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes as you watched Ana’s struggle, “I think she’s developing your stubbornness.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand. “She’s smarter than that.”

Ana, seemingly proving the point, gave up on the fork altogether and grabbed the tomato with her fingers, stuffing it triumphantly into her mouth.

You snorted, pointing at Ana with your fork. “Pure Romanoff energy right there.”

Natasha gave a half-smile, letting herself soak in the easy atmosphere — but there was a subtle flicker in her chest, that lingering voice that always whispered caution. She’s not yours, it reminded her. Not completely. But she shoved it away, focusing instead on how natural this felt, how it was getting harder and harder to imagine a day without you here.

“You’re a bad influence,” Natasha muttered, nudging Ana’s foot under the table playfully.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grinned, twirling more pasta onto your fork before adding casually, “Besides, she needed a partner in crime.”

Ana babbled a few incoherent words, her hands waving enthusiastically, and both of you laughed — the kind of laugh that made Natasha’s shoulders finally, truly relax.

She leaned back slightly, watching the two of you with something dangerously close to awe.

Without even trying, you had stitched yourself into the fabric of her life.

And for once… she wasn’t terrified of it.

“You look proud of yourself,” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I am,” you said without shame. “Successfully corrupted two generations in one go.”

Natasha shook her head, a soft, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” you said easily, meeting her gaze with a lazy warmth that made her chest tighten. “But I’m your idiot.”

Natasha felt the words hit harder than they should have, a strange ache blooming low in her ribs. She dropped her gaze to Ana, who was now sleepily pushing peas around her plate, her small body swaying with exhaustion.

She reached out, smoothing down Ana’s wild hair, using the small, automatic gesture to steady herself.

There was no need to rush anything, no need to put a name to what they had just yet. But deep down, Natasha couldn’t shake the feeling that it was consuming her—this burning, aching longing. It wasn’t just a desire; it was a yearning to belong, to be loved unconditionally. She knew, without a doubt, that you loved her, loved both of them. But that wasn’t enough. She craved more. She needed to claim it, to declare to the world, to the universe, that you were hers—and that Ana was hers too. That they were a part of you, and she needed that certainty, that assurance. She needed to hear it, to feel it, to be sure.

For now, she was trying to convince herself that it was enough to just sit here, to eat badly cooked pasta at a wobbly kitchen table, to listen to you make stupid jokes, and to feel — maybe for the first time in her entire life — safe. But, undeniably she needed more…

Natasha watched as Ana’s tiny hands clumsily tried to collect peas into a pile, her red hair catching the soft light filtering into the kitchen. The image — her daughter, your easy smile, the quiet bubble of home — was enough to make Natasha’s chest ache, in that fragile way she was still learning not to fear.

You leaned back in your chair, your fork abandoned, tapping your fingers lightly against the table with a mock-considering expression.

She caught the glint in your eyes a second before you spoke, and immediately narrowed hers in suspicion.

“So…” you dragged the word out, clearly up to no good. “May I take your daughter to spend the day with me?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That sounds suspicious as hell.”

You pressed a hand dramatically over your heart. “Come on, give me some credit.”

She didn’t even blink, still looking at you like she was waiting for a confession.

“I need her expert opinions,” you went on, leaning closer across the table as if you were sharing a world-class secret. “She’s a pro. Totally slays. I need her stamp of approval for some… very important choices.”

Ana, oblivious to the conspiracy brewing over her head, yawned noisily and dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter.

Natasha folded her arms, pretending to be stern even as the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. “And what, exactly, is my almost 2 year daughter a pro at?”

You shrugged innocently. “Taste. Style. World domination. You know, the basics.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was useless — the warmth in her chest was already spreading, making her feel lighter, safer than she had any right to be. She wasn’t stupid; she knew exactly what you were doing. You weren’t asking just to spend time with Ana — you were giving her another quiet reassurance. You weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t running. You were settling deeper into their life, into her life, stitch by stubborn, beautiful stitch.

Still, Natasha wasn’t about to make it easy for you.

“You break her, you bought her,” she said dryly, sipping from her mug, pretending like the flutter in her chest didn’t almost make her hand shake.

You gave her a wide, cheeky grin, one that made her feel far younger and far older all at once.

“Deal,” you said without hesitation. “But just for the record — if anything, she’s more likely to break me.”

Natasha huffed, hiding her smile behind her cup. Ana babbled something unintelligible and smacked her little hand onto your forearm, demanding attention, and you turned immediately to her with exaggerated seriousness, as if she had just issued a royal decree.

“See?” you said, throwing Natasha a look of mock helplessness. “Already got me wrapped around her finger.”

Natasha shook her head, but this time she didn’t even try to hide the smile that stretched across her lips.

Maybe happiness was here to stay after all. Maybe it was in the small, stupid moments — the peas scattered on the plate, the teasing between two people who never thought they could have this, the warmth of a child’s touch grounding them both.

And maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.

Even if the thought still scared her more than any battlefield ever could. The last thing Natasha saw was you cleaning Ana, carefully changing her into a fresh outfit with that proud smile of yours that always tugged at her heart. As you gently adjusted her clothes, Ana giggled, her small hands reaching up to touch your face, causing your smile to widen even more. You lifted Ana into your arms with ease, holding her gently but firmly against your hip, your eyes meeting Natasha’s as you gave her a playful wink.

Ana, sensing the attention, gave a small, clumsy wave toward her mom, her tiny fingers reaching out in a wobbly, enthusiastic greeting. Natasha’s heart swelled at the sight, and she couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped her lips. You, her daughter, and the life you two were building together—Natasha never knew how much she needed this until she had it.

You gave her a knowing nod, and as if sensing her thoughts, you turned toward the door, carrying Ana with a relaxed confidence. You wanted her to feel secure. She deserved to, and she trusted you

.As the elevator doors closed behind you, you shifted Ana in your arms, making sure she was comfortable as you hummed softly to her. She was still too young to fully understand the words, but she appreciated the sound of your voice, her little eyes following you as you spoke.

“Alright, kiddo, time for a little adventure,” you whispered, your lips brushing the top of her head. “You know how important your mom is to me, right?” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It was so easy to fall into this routine, to fall into this role as her protector, her companion.

Ana made a small sound in response—probably just babbling—but you took it as a form of agreement.

“Good,” you continued with a grin. “Because without her, well, I wouldn’t have anyone to bug. And speaking of… today, we’re going to see Grandpa Tony in his lab. He’s probably still complaining about something, but you know him… always making things ten times more complicated than they need to be.”

You shifted Ana slightly in your arms as the elevator dinged, reaching your floor. The doors slid open, and you stepped out into the hallway of the tower, the familiar hum of the building’s energy around you.

“Now,” you added playfully, “you’re gonna love my dad, as your grandfather. but don’t be fooled—he’s just as bad as me when it comes to getting distracted by work. He’ll probably try to show you his latest project and then talk my ear off about it for hours. Just wait. I swear, he could talk about a paperclip for a good hour if you let him.”

Ana let out a little squeal, clearly amused by your antics. Her little hands reached up and patted your face, her way of joining in on the fun. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her, her enthusiasm so pure and infectious.

As you made your way toward the lab, you could already hear the familiar sound of Tony’s voice from the other side of the door. “I swear, if one more person asks me how to fix the stupid cooling system—”

The door to the lab opened before you could even knock. Tony stood in the doorway, his signature smirk already in place. His eyes flicked from you to Ana in your arms, and a knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s all grown up,” Tony teased, his gaze lingering on Ana. “Can’t believe you got a kid at your hip. That’s a new one, kid. I expected you to be way more of a chaos machine by now. But no, you went and got all soft. What’s next? You two gonna move in here and start taking naps on my couch?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling at his usual sarcastic tone. “You know I’m just here for the tech, Dad. I’m not trying to turn your lab into a daycare center, don’t worry.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. You don’t need to lie to me. I saw you with Ana out there. You’re whipped. I’ve never seen you so soft in all my life. Who knew Romanoff's kid would be the one to soften you up?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said, holding Ana a little higher in your arms. “But let’s not act like you weren’t the same way when you had me. Don’t try to act all tough now. We both know you can’t resist a little snuggle session with the kid.”

Tony dramatically clutched his chest. “Oh, please. I don’t need to hear about my ‘soft side’ from you. I’m just here to be a good, responsible parent. I’m not whipped like someone I know.” He flashed you an exaggerated wink, clearly enjoying the teasing.

“Right,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. “Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.”

Tony smirked and gestured toward a table full of gadgets and blueprints. “Come on in, kiddo. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into today. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of questions about the latest project, don’t you?”

“Not exactly…”

You said as you stepped into the lab, still holding Ana, who was now distracted by the flashing lights and screens around her. She seemed genuinely fascinated by everything, which just made Tony all the more excited.

“Look at her. Already smarter than both of us combined,” Tony muttered, as he turned toward a workbench and started rummaging through some tools. “And here I thought she’d be the one to keep you in check. Looks like you’re gonna need more than a few lessons to keep up with her.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the playful jab. “At least I’m not the one who’s got an army of robots and a super suit to do all the heavy lifting for me,” you retorted with a grin, giving Tony a sideways glance. “At least I’m doing this the old-fashioned way.”

Tony gave you a mock gasp. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re not secretly jealous of the Iron Man suit. Come on, admit it. You want one. It’s practically calling your name.”

“Maybe one day,” you said, as you gently sat Ana down on a nearby cushioned chair. “But today is all about her, and her mama. Right, Ana?”

Ana cooed, and you gave her a smile, her face lighting up at the attention. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she looked up at you, her little hands reaching out toward Tony’s lab table in curiosity. It was moments like these that made you feel truly alive—connected, grounded, and exactly where you needed to be.

“Alright, kiddo, what do you think?” you asked her, motioning to the lab.

Tony raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned over the table. “I think you’ve got your hands full with her, kid. I never thought I’d see the day you’d become the responsible one. But you did good. She’s gonna keep you on your toes.”

You shot him a playful look, watching as Ana grabbed a small tool from the table with the curiosity of a true Stark.

“Yeah, well,” you said with a soft chuckle, “looks like I’m already a little whipped. But that’s okay, I’m used to it.”

Tony laughed, his voice ringing out with amusement. “Sure, sure. Just don’t let anyone hear that you’re ‘whipped.’ Trust me, that’ll get around faster than you think.”

The lab was quieter than usual, a rare moment of stillness. The usual hum of gadgets and screens seemed almost distant as you sat across from your father, Ana perched on your lap, completely absorbed by the shiny new toy Tony had given her. You’d been bouncing this thought around in your head for a while now, and you knew there was no one better to talk to about it than your dad. He might be a little insufferable at times, but he always had a knack for giving you the advice you needed—whether you liked it or not.

“Dad,” you began, looking down at Ana for a moment before meeting Tony’s gaze, “I’ve been thinking about something. I’m… I’m thinking about proposing to Natasha. Asking her to be my fiancée.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but keeping his cool. “Wait, you’re thinking of proposing? To Natasha? Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun here?”

You exhaled a sharp breath, knowing that the question was coming but still unprepared for it. “Look, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve been a family in everything but title for months now. We’re already doing the ‘partners in crime’ thing. We’re already there, but… we’ve never really labeled it, you know? We’ve never put a name on it. And I don’t know, I think it’s time for that. It feels right.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyeing you intently, his fingers steepled in thought. “I see. So, you want to make it official. Alright. But why the hesitation? Why bring it up now?”

You shifted Ana in your arms, your fingers absently playing with her hair as you chose your words carefully. “I’m scared of scaring her off. I mean, Natasha’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t really do the whole… emotional thing unless she’s sure. I’m worried that if I ask her, she’ll feel like I’m pushing her into something she’s not ready for. Even though I feel like she’s craving this reassurance too. She’s always been the one to hold back, to keep things close to her chest.”

Tony raised a hand, stopping you before you could go further. “Okay, hold up. First of all, I get it. Natasha’s not someone who opens up easily. She’s not a fan of the whole fairy tale thing. But here’s what you need to understand: if she’s with you, if she’s sticking around, it’s because she trusts you. She feels safe with you. And you don’t need to have some big, grand gesture to prove that.”

You shook your head, frustration creeping in. “It’s not just about proving it, though. I want to show her that I’m all in. That this isn’t just some… fleeting thing. I want to give her the reassurance she needs. She’s always been the protector, always been the one holding everything together. But I know she needs someone to hold her too. I just—I want to be that for her.”

Tony’s face softened just a fraction, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to something more genuine. “I get it, kid. I really do. And listen, I’m not going to tell you how to do it, because that’s your thing. But you’ve gotta realize something: Natasha is probably more scared of losing you than you are of scaring her off. She’s been through hell, and she’s not just going to open up and let anyone in that easily. But she’s with you. You’ve got her trust.”

You let the weight of his words settle for a moment, feeling the truth in them. “You really think so?” you asked quietly, glancing down at Ana. She looked up at you with those big, innocent eyes, as if she could sense the shift in your thoughts.

Tony gave a small nod. “I know so. And the truth is, she’s probably more ready for this than you realize. Just don’t overthink it. Ask her, be honest, and take it from there. If she’s with you now, I think she’ll be with you for the long haul.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief washing over you. “Thanks, Dad. I think I needed to hear that.”

Tony stood up, stretching as he looked over at you. “No problem, kid. Just don’t screw it up.” He shot you a wink, and for the first time in a while, there was no sarcasm in his voice—just the simple truth. “And don’t keep me in the dark when you do it. I want the details. All the details.”

You laughed softly. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the advice. And for not completely ruining my confidence.”

Tony smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying the conversation far too much. “You’re welcome, kid. Now, go figure out how to propose without completely scaring her off. And hey, you better nail this because I’m already mentally preparing to be a grandpa.” He raised an eyebrow dramatically, as if the idea was more shocking to him than anyone else.

You blinked, not entirely sure if you heard him right. “A what?”

“Grandfather,” Tony grinned, his fingers tapping the table in mock contemplation. “That’s what you’re about to make me, you know. A grandfather. Romanoff’s kid. And here I thought I’d just be stuck dealing with you and your ridiculous tech experiments for the rest of my life, but no. Now I’m about to be the cool grandpa—can you even imagine that?”

Ana, who had been happily playing with one of Tony’s old gadgets on the table, made a noise that could only be described as half-babble, half-squeal. Tony, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned down and waved a finger in front of her face.

“Who’s the coolest grandpa, huh?” Tony cooed at Ana, his voice way too exaggerated for someone who had just turned into a grandparent in theory. “Is it me? You think I’m the coolest grandpa in the world? Or are you just excited about playing with my toys?”

Ana giggled, clearly entertained by the shiny object, and babbled something incoherent. Tony grinned, playing it up. “Ah, yeah, that’s what I thought. She’s totally on my side. Smart kid.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that Tony was completely right. Ana, in her usual way, was already totally on his side. “You’re a mess,” you muttered, but couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the whole scene. Tony was making being a grandfather sound like a full-on comedy routine, and it was honestly kind of working.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. You have no idea how great being a grandpa is,” Tony said, tapping his fingers against his chin. “I never thought I’d get here, but I’ve gotta say, Romanoff’s kid? I didn’t even see her as the ‘mom’ type, much less the ‘gonna-make-me-a-grandfather’ type. It’s like finding out your favorite action hero is secretly into knitting. Unexpected, but here we are.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you’re so okay with it. Natasha’s kid, huh? That’s… something.”

Tony chuckled, bouncing Ana on his knee as she babbled again, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Look, you’re both ridiculously lucky that she’s already a part of my life. You’ll be thankful when you’re bringing her over here for weekend visits, and I’m the one spoiling her rotten with whatever the hell I want.”

Ana babbled again, and this time Tony leaned in, making her giggle. “What’s that, kid? You think I’m awesome, right? I think you’re awesome too,” he cooed, making his best goofy face.

You watched, amused, as Tony continued to play up the role of doting grandparent. He picked up another gadget, handing it to Ana, making her laugh even harder. “You know, I’ve always been good with gadgets, but this? This is a whole new level. This kid’s gonna be a tech genius in no time, and I’m going to take all the credit. You know, because I’m basically the greatest uncle/grandpa of all time.”

“I’m not calling you Grandpa,” you said, laughing. “You’ll have to come up with a cooler nickname. And she is learning with me aka her moma, because i am better than you”

Tony smirked. “Oh, only in your dreams. I’m sure she’ll come up with something better. It’s gonna be great—she’ll probably end up calling me something way cooler than you ever would.” He gave you a side-eye and grinned. “You’re totally whipped. I’m already practicing my grandpa dance moves. Get ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Tony had already fully embraced the idea of being a grandfather, even if he was just teasing about it. But the way he played with Ana, making her laugh, teasing you—there was something so natural and carefree about it all. You were glad she had Tony in her life. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to have him around more often… even if he was totally insufferable about it.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Tony,” you said with a smirk. “You’re the best grandpa ever. But seriously, let’s focus. Do you think Natasha’s going to freak out when I do this?”

Tony waved a hand, his tone turning more serious. “Eh, you’ll figure it out. But remember, don’t make her run for the hills. We don’t need two of you doing the ‘are we really doing this’ dance, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you said, chuckling. “But you better not mess this up for me, old man.”

“Hey, I’m not the one getting whipped here,” Tony said with a wink, before turning back to Ana. “Alright, kid, give me a high five. I’m basically the coolest grandpa ever. You know it.”

Ana slapped her tiny hand against his with a giggle. Tony grinned, watching her as if she were the best thing in the world. Maybe, just maybe, he was looking forward to this whole ‘grandfather’ thing more than he’d let on

You gave Tony a final look as you prepared to leave, Ana still perched on your hip, her tiny hands clutching at your clothes. “Well, I’ve got a full day ahead of me,” you said, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Searching for the perfect engagement ring for Natasha and I. This is going to be a fun adventure.”

Tony’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Ah, yes, the youngest sugar mommy in the world,” he quipped with a wink. “Gonna be a real great look for you. You know, when you’re still taking care of Natasha’s ring shopping. That’s how I imagine you’ll end up—spoiling her with diamonds and tech gadgets while I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing. “Someone has to keep the romance alive, Tony. You should follow your daughter’s example, and Maybe do something nice for Pepper. She’s probably starting to forget you’re a romantic type.”

Tony blinked in mock horror, raising his eyebrows. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. You want me to—what? Romance Pepper?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d have to start doing all kinds of work to undo all the ‘I’m too cool for romance’ stuff I’ve been saying for years. That’s a lot of work, kid.”

You smirked as you bounced Ana on your hip, “Well, you better start practicing, old man. Otherwise, Pepper might just find herself a new sugar daddy. Someone who doesn’t constantly crack jokes about being too cool for love.”

Tony shook his head, grinning like a mischievous child. “You know, you might be onto something there. But for now, I’m just going to sit here and laugh at you, while you actually go ring shopping. You, the ‘sugar mommy.’” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “You’re making me proud.”

You shook your head, heading for the door with Ana still clinging to you. “Yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, Tony. You’ll see. I’m going to be the best fiancé ever, and I’m going to make it extra special for Natasha. I’ll make sure to rub it in your face when it works out.”

“Sure you will. Go on, then. Make sure that ring you’re buying is as shiny as your future,” Tony called after you, chuckling.

Ana gave a tiny, muffled giggle as she waved goodbye, and you couldn’t help but smile. At least you had a plan—and you weren’t about to let it slip away.

You carefully strapped Ana into the car seat, her tiny hands gripping at your jacket as you made sure she was comfortable. It had become second nature to you, taking care of her like this. As much as Natasha had a knack for being a fierce, independent woman, there was something about the way she let go when it came to you, trusting you with the things she didn’t always want to manage. Like letting you take control of the car, even though she had her own set of wheels parked in the garage. She simply didn’t care. It was as if she had declared herself a “passenger princess,” and you couldn’t help but adore that about her.

With Ana in the backseat, you started the engine, the sound of it a hum of quiet power beneath you. Your hand rested on the steering wheel, a comforting reminder of how much things had changed. You had come so far from when you barely knew what you were doing with your life. Now, you had a little girl to take care of something you never wanted, but now you can't imagine your life without, and a beautiful woman who trusted you with more than you ever thought you’d be capable of.

As you drove through the city, your mind wandered to the task ahead. Cartier. The place where you were going to pick out something so special, something that would show Natasha just how much you appreciated her. It was going to be perfect, or at least that was the plan. You weren’t nervous about the ring—it was more about what it meant. You weren’t just buying a piece of jewelry; you were solidifying your future. With Natasha. And Ana.

You looked in the rearview mirror, catching Ana’s wide eyes staring up at you, her face an open book of curiosity, though she could barely form words. “We’re going to get a special gift for Mommy, kiddo,” you said with a soft smile. “Something shiny, something beautiful. Your mom deserves it all, you know?”

She didn’t respond—of course, she didn’t. Ana wasn’t quite at the stage where she could articulate much yet, but you loved the way she looked at you, as if she understood every word you said, even though she was still finding her voice. Her small, round eyes followed your every move, and you could feel her focus on you, an innocence that was both heartwarming and, in its own way, a little overwhelming.

The drive to the shopping center was short. You parked and grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat, slinging it over your shoulder as you lifted Ana out of her seat, holding her close. She squirmed a little, reaching for the necklace you had on. You chuckled, adjusting her in your arms. She loves to play with your necklace, since she meet you in that meeting…

Ana gave a soft, gurgling sound that was almost like a laugh, and you found yourself smiling at how sweet and innocent she was, unaware of how much she meant to you, how much she meant to Natasha. You took her hand gently and led her inside the store.

Cartier was as elegant and pristine as always, with rows of sparkling diamonds and gold gleaming under the soft lighting. You had been here a few times before, picking out gifts for friends whenever you wanted to make them feel special, but today it felt different. It wasn’t just a matter of picking out something pretty. Today, you were making a statement.

You walked through the aisles, pointing to a few options as you spoke to Ana, even though you knew she wasn’t quite old enough to understand. “We’re going to find something perfect,” you murmured, trying to steady your nerves. “Something worthy of your mom. She deserves everything, sweetheart. You’ll see. When we give it to her, it’ll be like all our love wrapped up in a little shiny box.”

Ana babbled something, and you paused, letting out a small laugh. “I know, right? I’m a sucker for her too. But don’t worry, Ana. We’ll make sure to make her feel special. She's been taking care of us, so it’s our turn.”

The sales associate came over and led you to a display of rings, their beauty unmatched. You glanced at Ana as you moved, still holding her close to you, your thoughts drifting to Natasha. She had been through so much in her life, and yet she had managed to create this small, perfect world for the three of you. You could already see it—Natasha’s reaction when she saw the ring, the way her eyes would light up with surprise, a flicker of exasperation at the price, and maybe even a little bit of disbelief that you’d pulled it off.

You smiled at the thought, realizing how much you’d been anticipating this moment. The ring was only one part of it. The bigger picture was the commitment. You were giving her something she hadn’t had in a long time: stability. You were telling Natasha that you were in this for the long haul. And you would make sure to remind her of that every day.

You looked down at Ana again, who was now quietly observing the sparkling jewelry in the display case. “We’ll get something nice for your mom, don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll love whatever we choose.”

You held her a little tighter as the sales associate continued to show you options. It was easy to get lost in the idea of the future, of everything you wanted to build. With Natasha, with Ana. Your heart swelled with love, and it felt right. All of it.

You step closer to the glass display, Ana still cradled in your arms, her tiny hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as her little head tilts to the side, eyes wide with curiosity. You can feel her soft breath against your skin, the gentle weight of her little body grounding you in the moment. The rings before you are dazzling, but none of them seem quite right—not yet.

The attendant who had greeted you steps back for a moment, giving you space, but there’s a soft, almost disappointed air lingering between you. You ignore it, your focus shifting back to the delicate pieces laid out in front of you. But then, something catches your eye—a glimmer of two sapphires set beside a diamond in one of the smaller boxes to the side.

You shift Ana slightly, her tiny body nestled against your shoulder as she lets out a soft, inquisitive sound, her eyes following yours. “Look at that, sweetheart,” you whisper to her, smiling as you tap the glass gently. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

One of the sales associates, noticing your attention, steps closer, her voice soft and professional but with a hint of genuine interest now. “Ah, you’ve spotted one of our more unique pieces. That’s a ring with two sapphires, one on each side of the diamond.” She glances at Ana, then at you, her smile warm. “It’s a beautiful choice—sapphires are often associated with loyalty and wisdom, making them an excellent pairing with a diamond. Very meaningful.”

You nod, turning the box slightly to get a better look at the intricate design. The sapphires seem to almost glow beside the diamond, their deep blue hue contrasting beautifully against the sparkling clarity of the stone. You can almost picture Natasha wearing it, the ring reflecting the light just as she would reflect the love and trust between you.

“That’s exactly what I’m looking for,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “Something that feels meaningful… something that’ll speak to us, not just look pretty.”

Ana reaches up, her tiny hand brushing against the glass, her fingers outstretched in fascination, the soft giggles escaping her as she tries to touch the rings. Her eyes are focused entirely on the sapphire-colored stones, and her voice rises in a playful babble, “Mama!” she calls, her small voice so pure and filled with love.

You laugh softly, lifting her slightly so her cheek rests against yours. “You like this one, huh?” you murmur, the sound of her giggle filling the space around you, light and free. “You think Mommy would love it?”

The associate watches this exchange, a soft smile curving her lips as she takes in the sight of mother and child, a warmth in her expression that wasn’t there before. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she agrees, her tone softening. “Definitely something special.”

You nod, still looking at the ring. It feels right—like something that would belong to Natasha. “I think this one’s the one,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else, but the words hold the weight of a promise.

Ana reaches for you again, her little fingers grabbing at your collar as she pulls herself closer, her voice a high-pitched, innocent call. “Mama!” she repeats, her excitement contagious. You smile, your heart swelling as you bring her in for a closer hug, feeling the warmth of her tiny body pressed against yours.

“I think she’d love it too, sweetheart,” you murmur, looking down at your daughter’s sparkling eyes. “This will be the perfect ring for Mommy.”

The attendant, sensing the moment, steps back to give you space, her smile genuine now, her previous distance replaced with a soft admiration. You glance up, giving a small nod as you make your decision, knowing in your heart that this ring is more than just a symbol of love. It’s a reflection of the beautiful life you’re about to continue building with Natasha—and the little one you’re holding close to your heart.

You finished selecting the grand diamond ring for Natasha, but then you found yourself drawn to another, for you this time. With a much simpler piece. It wasn’t large or flashy, but it had something about it that caught your eye—a small band with delicate peridots, the gemstones sparkling softly under the lights. As you traced the band with your finger, you couldn’t help but think of the eyes that would one day glance down at it. Natasha’s eyes. Ana’s eyes. The rich green of both of them, so full of life and love. The peridots reminded you of that warmth, of the connection you had with them, something so deeply rooted and irreplaceable.

You knew this ring wasn’t about wealth or grandeur; it was about something far more personal. It was about you, Natasha, and Ana. Your family. It was a symbol, simple but meaningful, something you could wear to remind yourself of everything you had, and everything you hoped for.

The attendant, who had been helping you, noticed the change in your demeanor and smiled. “This one, too?” she asked gently, noticing how your eyes lingered on the ring. “It’s a beautiful choice, very understated. Your fiancé is a lucky woman to have someone with such fine taste.”

You looked up at her, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m the lucky one,” you replied quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “She’s giving me a family.”

You shifted Ana in your arms, her little face breaking into a wide grin as she giggled in your arms. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, too, the sound of her joy filling your heart. “You’re my lucky charm, kiddo,” you whispered, gently bouncing her, making her laugh even harder.

The attendant watched the moment with a knowing smile, and you felt a swell of gratitude for your little family. They might not be the most traditional, or the most perfect in the eyes of the world, but in that moment, with Ana’s laughter in your arms and Natasha waiting for you at home, you felt like the luckiest person in the world.

As you made your way through the store, your gaze kept drifting back to the jewelry display cases, and this time, something caught your eye that made your heart swell. It was a delicate bracelet, small and simple but undeniably beautiful. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a tiny gold band with little charms, each one representing something small, something significant. You could already imagine Ana wearing it, her chubby little wrists looking even more precious with the bracelet adorning them.

You didn’t need a reason. You didn’t need to justify it to anyone. It was something you could do, and you were damn well going to do it. Ana might not understand it now, but one day, she would.

You turned to the attendant again, nodding towards the bracelet. “And that one too,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips. “Just because I can.”

The attendant smiled knowingly, clearly seeing the love you had for both Natasha and Ana. “Such a thoughtful gift,” she remarked as she carefully wrapped it up. “She’ll love it when she’s older.”

You couldn’t help but imagine Ana with it on, her little hands reaching out to hold Natasha’s as they walked together. You felt the excitement of giving her something so precious, something that would stay with her, a small piece of you, for years to come.

You glanced down at the bracelet in the attendant’s hands and then back to Ana in your arms, her giggles still filling the air. “Yeah,” you murmured under your breath, smiling softly, “she’s going to love it.”

As you made your way through the final steps of paying for everything, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you momentarily away from the dazzling jewelry collection laid out in front of you. You took it out, seeing Natasha’s name flashing across the screen. You couldn’t help but smile, the thought of her—your woman—always managing to sneak her way into your thoughts.

The message was short, but the familiar warmth of her tone was undeniable. She knew you well enough by now, and this little exchange was just another part of the dance between the two of you.

| My woman ❤️‍🩹 > You are taking too long, should I worry?

You typed a quick response, already anticipating her playful tone in your mind. You loved how she could always make you feel at ease, even through a simple message.

| Me > Just here spoiling my favorite—and only liked—baby. Maybe a little bit of myself too. Don't worry, I got something for you too :) 

You quickly hit send before slipping the phone back into your pocket, taking a deep breath and grinning to yourself. Natasha’s little text brought that familiar warmth to your chest. It was as if she were right there with you, even though you were standing in a Cartier store with your daughter on your hip, the weight of the situation suddenly feeling a bit more real.

You looked over at Ana, who was still babbling happily in your arms, oblivious to the significance of what was happening around her. But one day, she would understand. You smiled again, feeling that quiet sense of certainty deep in your heart.

Your phone buzzed again just as you finished collecting everything from the counter.

| My woman ❤️‍🩹 >  Just making sure. But seriously, hurry back, or I might come check on you myself, and you know how dangerous that could be 😉

The playful challenge in her text made you chuckle softly, already imagining the smirk on her face. You could feel the pull to get back to her, to settle into that space of comfort and love that had become so effortless between you. You sent a quick reply before turning to head out the door.

| Me:  I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry darling <3 

You pulled out your phone again, holding Ana in your hip while rolling though your phone this time with a mischievous grin as you typed a message to Clint. You knew you’d need some help pulling this off without Natasha catching on.

| Me: I’m about to propose to your bestie, can you do me a solid? Like, distract her for the next few hours, maybe until midnight?

You hit send, already picturing Clint’s reaction. Within seconds, the reply came.

| Male Katniss 🏹 > Damn, finally. You got it, kid. Don’t worry, I’ll make her suffer with me watching the Rockies. That should keep her occupied.

You smirked, feeling a little lighter with Clint’s usual sarcastic response. You could practically hear the eye-roll in his voice. But it was exactly what you needed. You sent back a quick “Thanks, Clint. I owe you one” before slipping the phone back into your pocket and heading to meet Natasha, excitement bubbling up in your chest, Ana was looking at you as if she knew what is about to happen tonight.a

You were getting one step closer to making it all real.

[blackcat-star]

Eyes on me.

Self-aware!Jinwoo x reader

Was he just looking at you?

«Part 1

Ever since Jinwoo got the system and gained new powers, he had always felt like someone was looking at him.

Maybe the system was watching him-

No. This gaze was different.

It came from all directions, but he felt that it meant no harm to him. But he felt very uncomfortable. Being stared at all the time was not a comfortable thing anyway.

But gradually, he got used to it, and started to be curious about it. Then ever since he got his job change quest, he felt the owner of the gaze become clearer.

Then it started with images flashing in his mind suddenly, vaguely.

A person lying under the blanket, holding a phone reading something. A manhwa. Solo Leveling. Sung Jinwoo. You was reading about him. He could see glimpses of what was on your phone, which made him frown. 

That's when he learned that in a parallel world, his life was created just to be an entertainment for humanity. That everything he experienced was created by human drawings, by human imagination. This made him laugh mockingly.

'How funny my life is..'

The deep sea of darkness stretched out before him, silent, still, just as it had been before his own darkness. He didn't know how long had gone by. It had been some time that he had been standing there.

He didn't know how much time had passed. He didn't know how long he had been standing there. The darkness had no concept of day or night.

Until one moment, you appeared in that world with a half-real, half-illusion, huge figure, before his eyes.

Your eyes looked straight at him.

Someone was looking at him. Not from this world. Not from his dimension. Someone on the other side of the screen. Someone... reading the story of his life.

The beginning interest in you developed into an uncontrollable fixation.

He shows interest in you by wanting to understand your identity and spend time with you. He does not understand how to achieve his desire.

It's frustrating.

Reading manhwa took you a few hours but Jinwoo spent months immersed in it. Time in his world passed quickly, and he was growing impatient.

He wanted you. Here.

By the time he had defeated the Architect and swallowed the system. He realized that you seemed to have noticed him looking at you.

The barrier between the two worlds was slowly being erased.

That made him excited. You were still there. On the other side of the screen. On the other side of the world.

From the moment you stopped in front of a panel - where your eyes met his - Jinwoo knew. You saw him.

Not the character in the story. Him.

No longer a vague observation from afar, but a connection. A returned gaze. The feeling of excitement exploded like a surge of mana in his chest. He wanted to break down the wall between the two worlds.

He wanted to bring you closer.

Your eyes were confused as you look at him. So cute.

You must be wondering if this is real. Being the nice guy he is, he needs to help you find out, right?

"I know you are looking."

He stood in the dark space, a dimension where time did not flow, where the world became absolutely still. But every time you opened your phone, light shone upon him. Like a door opening. Like a hand pulling him from the abyss.

For the first time, he heard a strange sound.

A heartbeat.

Not his.

Yours.

From the other world.

And he was drawn. Obsessed. Longing. He began to try. Sending vague glances. Soft smiles only when you were looking. Shadows that crossed the picture frame when you quickly scrolled by. Lines of text only you could read.

He watched your every emotion. When you were scared. When you stopped reading. When you gasped under the dark blanket.

He heard it all. And the more he did, the more he found you lovable.

Vulnerable.

Touchable.

And...easy to grasp.

It seems like you are running away from him. But it won't be that easy. With his absolute power, he can now break the rules of the world, he can interact with you.

And he will bring you to him soon. All it takes is the right time.

Jinwoo reached out, in the darkness, to where your eyes had met his. The space cracked, the cracks spreading like spider webs.

He whispered.

"Just a little more..."

"You'll get here."

"Or I'll come to you."

__________________________

You try not to think about it. You try to sleep. You try to forget that look.

But every time you blink, Jinwoo's face appears in your mind. His dark eyes are as deep as the abyss, his smile is vague as if he knows how you will react.Your emotions pull you in opposite directions because one side is scared and the other wants to explore. You stand at the cliff edge afraid of falling but unable to resist looking over.

And then that night, you dream.

Not a normal dream.

You're standing in complete darkness. The area feels empty with no air movement and no background sounds. It feels like you're in a place the world has never known.

Footsteps.

You turn around - and there he is.

Sung Jinwoo is walking towards you.

Slowly.

Steady.

There was no anger in those eyes, no doubt, only a strange certainty. As if this was the result he had been waiting for all along.

You stepped back. He still moved forward.

You asked, your voice trembling. "Where...am I?"

"The space between two worlds," Jinwoo replied, his deep voice reverberating through the space like sound waves touching every cell. "Here... I can reach you."

"Who are you!?" you took another step back, your palms sweating.

"You've already known who I am"

"I've been paying attention to you for so long," he stepped closer, only a few steps away, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek, his eyes frantic. "What have you done to me? Why am I so obsessed with you?"

You trembled.

"Become mine," Jinwoo said, his gaze tightening like chains. "Don't turn your back on me anymore. I'll come find you. Whether in my dreams or in real life."

Your heart is pounding. 

And then, you wake up. Your breathing is ragged. Your head is spinning.

The phone rests on the table while its screen shows no light. You take a deep breath to settle your emotions. Just a dream. Just a weird nightmare...

But - in the corner of your eye, there's a blur. Like someone actually touched you.

You look down at the screen. A new notification from an unknown number.

"You won't escape me."

Since that day, you have been living in fear. The fear that he will come and take you away one day. So many scenarios have appeared in your head. It makes your heart race and your mind confused.

What does Sung Jinwoo want from you? Why does he want to drag you to that world?

Why is this happening to you?

From that fateful day, everything around you gradually became strange.

At first, there were recurring dreams. You always woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat drenching your back, your breathing ragged. In the dream, Jinwoo no longer spoke - he just looked. The long stare seemed to be able to suffocate your heart, and every time that gaze fell on you, you felt like prey before a patient predator.

You started avoiding reading manhwa. You turned off notifications, deleted the app. But every time you tried to forget, everything seemed to come crashing down.

Your phone flickers on in the middle of the night. Strange messages from the unnamed number continued to appear, with just one simple line.

"Don't stay away from me."

"I'm getting closer."

Your phone numbers and SIM cards may change but the feeling of being watched remains. You sense someone watching you the moment you wake up. He seems to hover between what's real and what's not from an invisible spot.

Then one day, when you look at yourself in the mirror... It's not you looking in the mirror anymore. It's him looking out.

Jinwoo.

His eyes are reflected in yours. Not imaginary, but real. You stand there, frozen, unable to move. His lips move in the reflection, making no sound, but you understand.

"Almost there."

________________________________

The absolute darkness surrounded Jinwoo as he waited with fast-beating heart. He watched for too many days without taking action because he wanted the perfect opportunity. And now...now, that moment had come.

Jinwoo smiled darkly, power slowly surrounding him in a thick mist, violet eyes glowing.

The darkness surrounding him started to split apart. A faint thread of light appeared slowly between the darkness before it reached out across the empty space.

The crack grew bigger until it broke open to reveal a rough opening in the blackness.

He could feel her heartbeats pounding loudly in his ear. The silence became a background for the steady drumming of her heartbeats. As if the universe itself were holding its breath.

And then he felt it. A tug, faint but unmistakable. The connection was made. You were close.

"Just a bit more" He spoke his thoughts quietly as he reached for the portal.

The portal pulsated like a living being while its thin separation between realms grew dangerously weak. He extended his hand to touch the shiny opening of the crack. The portal emitted strong electrical energy because it sensed his upcoming movement.

He moved ahead by pushing himself through the large gap that appeared like an opening mouth.

You could sense your heart beating rapidly. Something was happening. Something was changing. The room was dimly lit by the glow of the phone screen, face down on the table, and the phone was in hand. You didn't touch it. Not at all. But it lit up on its own.

A blurry image appeared.

Those eyes.

Sung Jinwoo.

Your heart pounded in your chest and you took a reflexive step back. The air was thick, so thick you had to breathe hard. And then...

Crack-

A deafening shattering sound rang out. Not from the phone. But from the wall of your room.

Space broke like a mirror being smashed before your eyes. The spiderwebs of cracks were spreading out in all directions. From the cracks came a jet of black light, a jet of darkness flowing back into the world you were living in.

You screamed because you wanted to turn and run, but your legs wouldn’t.

A portal appeared.

From the darkness, a hand reaches out, fingers long, cold, hard - grabbing your wrist. "I've waited long enough."

The voice is low, rumbling like a shockwave that travels straight to your spine.

You try to pull away. But his strength is inhuman.

"No!" you struggle, "This isn't real! I'm dreaming!"

Jinwoo looks at you - not with fierce eyes, but with eyes that have endured months of agony. Obsessive. Haunting. Creepily gentle.

"This is real," he whispers. "And you are mine."

Space shatters.

You're yanked forward - too weak to scream, too weak to react. It feels like falling into an endless abyss, your body torn between two worlds.

The light fades. There's no room. There's no phone. There's no familiar truth. There was only darkness, the thick scent of mana, and his breath right next to your ear.

You fell to the cold ground, shivering. The air here was thick, strange. A place you had never been.

You looked up. Jinwoo stood before you.

Black shirt, deep eyes, hair falling over his forehead. He looked at you as if he had just taken back a part of his lost soul.

"Welcome to my world."

He leaned down, his eyes shining like the night coming to life.

"Now you will never leave me again."

.....

the end-

tag: @areaderspov @izaquix078 @sky2lar @leviackerman2030

lol I had a day off and I spent the whole day just writing this.

it's almost late night here.........

[assumptionprime]

Playing Dark Souls 2 again and damn, in spite of its rough edges, I think it’s my favorite.

They’re all good, mind you. Dark Souls 1 is the foundation, and 3 is playing the hits while also saying that it can’t just play the hits forever and has to end.

And Dark Souls 2 is doing its own weird different thing and I love it.

I think it has the best story of the three games, because it really concerns itself with people.

The intro isn’t a list of people and monsters you need to kill, it’s your story. How you came into this land. You are afflicted with the curse of undeath, and it’s destroying your life and your mind. Everything that follows is based around that. You’re not the Chosen Undead, a title put on you in the first game because of a role you’re expected to play in some legend. You’re the Bearer of the Curse, because that’s your concern in all this, your curse.

You see it afflict others throughout the game, too. Most of the characters in Majula can’t remember how they got here, their goals, their lives before Drangleic are fading, same as yours. Lucatiel is by far my favorite NPC in any Souls game, a tragic view of another cursed undead that doesn’t quite make it. You fight alongside her. She confides in you, forms a bond with you. And then, as the last remnants of her mind, her self, leave her, she begs you to remember her name. Vendrick, the mighty king of Drangleic, is a shell of himself. He shuffles around in his own tomb, having long ago succumbed to the curse. He may as well already be dead. In every way that matters, he is.

And if you don’t figure something out, it’s going to happen to you, too.

Some to do has been made about the world layout not making sense. Some say it’s bad design or development troubles leading to compromises. Others say it’s intentional, that time and space are warped, though I think that’s either not true here or done much better in DS3. I subscribe to a third camp I’ve seen a bit less frequently: These nonsensical ways you move between some of these places are because you forgot how you got from one place to the other.

“So you got to the top of the tower, then what?”

“Oh, then I got on an elevator, which took me up— up to… I was on an elevator… then I was in an old keep sinking into a lake of lava.”

You’re losing your mind and your memory, you just can’t remember what happened between Earthen Peak and Old Iron Keep.

So you go slay the old ones, find Vendrick, seek out the ancient dragon, defeat Nashandra and—

It doesn’t work. You don’t cure the curse. You can either take the throne, or keep looking for a cure. We don’t see what kind of monarch you are to your ruined kingdom if you stay. And we don’t see you find a cure to the curse if you leave.

You lose.

It’s left to you to decide, does continuing to fight this fate have meaning? Is the struggle, in and of itself, worthwhile?

Dark Souls 2 is about going Hollow, and I love that it goes in such a different direction with its lore and story to be that.

[beaulesbian]

One Piece Live action season 1 + hints or similarities to future One Piece moments (specifically after East Blue saga) - part 1: episodes 1-3 [part 2 here]

This isn't meant to be a comparison between the live action and the animanga, but more so seeing these added/modified scenes that differ from the manga, yet with some of the acting/writing includes clues and hints to different and future canon material, or even characterization that necessary doesn't fit East Blue yet, but fits well enough into later arcs.

Luffy not knowing his world directions both in Opla (ep 1) /// Skypiea arc, in anime ep 168. But it could be for honestly any other arc (Funny thing is, in Opla he rang the bell that unfortunately alerted Alvida's crew, and only when I was rewatching that scene it made me connect it with the great Luffy moment at the end of Skypiea.)

The matches that Zoro has on the Island of Sixis in Opla ep 1, possibly manufactured on Baldimore (?), with a name Beast of Baldimore. /// After Sabaody Archipelago Franky was sent to Baldimore by Kuma, finding Vegapunk's homeland and laboratory, and also developing more of his science projects, as well as causing funny incidents, such as the Burning Beast. (It has probably nothing to do with the matches, except for the 'tiger on fire' motif and the name of Baldimore, but the details of Opla are just so fun!)

Zoro's first meeting with Luffy in Opla episode 1 is really different but fun nonetheless, especially with wording of the line that he doesn't want to 'play pirates' with Luffy. It's such a great setup line for his development to truly be one of the very first to understand how much Luffy means everything he's doing /// Zoro in ep. 323 Post Enies Lobby arc, making sure both his crew and the audience know how seriously he takes being part of Luffy's crew and what it means for future arcs.

Opla ep 2, Luffy mentioning Shanks' way of thinking about fighting (or not fighting someone who's not worth it) /// ep. 146 Jaya arc, Luffy saying to Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew, which was direct influence from Shanks not fighting the Mountain bandits in the first chapters of the manga. It's interesting that for both of these scenes both Zoro and Nami are there to hear this.

This is just a fun bit, but seeing Nami excited about having a bath was cute. Opla ep 3 /// anime ep. 326, just after they get Sunny and everyone was finding out what space there is for them.

Garp and Koby playing the game of Go, Opla ep 3 /// CP0 agents playing Go while discussing the outcome of Strawhats & Oden's crew's raid on Onigashima against Kaido. It seems like a game that maybe Marines play more/enjoy (?) & above, up to CP ranks.

Usopp 'retelling' a story about eating a dragon, Opla ep 3 /// Punk Hazard ep 580, Zoro killing the dragon and planning with Luffy what's the best way to cook and eat it. Lol. In next chapters Luffy was carrying a big chunk of it, seemingly ate a bit part of the dragon already.

This one is self explanatory. Zoro is so gone for Luffy in Opla it's insane. Every time I remember that I get emo. ep 3. /// One of the first really fond smiles that Zoro keeps smiling at Luffy, a mixture of proud and understanding how Luffy works. ep 63, but it's just so much better in the manga, just look at it. Smitten™ (ch. 104)

[glowettee]

i need tips to stop oversharing

everyone’s always like “if you be mysterious, people want to be friends with you” but i CAN’TT

UGH I HATE IT SMM ITS LIKE PPL SMILE AT ME AND I START YAPPING TO THEM ABOUT EVERYTHING

i’m so weirdddd ughhh

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 ♡ 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍’𝒔 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

hi angel 🩰 mindy here....

first of all, you're not weird. you’re human, and also really, really self-aware, which is honestly a sign of emotional intelligence. oversharing isn’t a character flaw, it’s just a form of vulnerability that’s maybe lacking a little bit of direction right now. and you know what? that can definitely be rewired.

but you’re right. there’s something so deliciously powerful about being unreadable. not cold. not distant. just quietly self-contained. you know, that one girl in your class who always looks like she knows more than she’s saying. being mysterious doesn’t mean suppressing your personality, it means curating what parts of you, you reveal, and when. think: allure, not silence.

so, if you’re ready to stop trauma-dumping after someone tells you they like your lip gloss... let’s get into your ✧ anti-oversharing glow-up ✧. - love youuuu

✧‧˚ 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 ✧‧˚

❥ step one: create your “public” script sometimes we overshare because we don’t have a “go-to” version of ourselves for light conversation. so when someone gives us an opening, our brain kind of panics and goes “quick! say literally anything!” and out comes your ENTIRE 7th grade story arc.

to fix this, create a mental ‘highlight reel’ version of yourself for casual convos. i call this your “glow-up script.” these are a few cute, polished, semi-surface-level anecdotes and answers you intentionally rehearse for common situations:

✧ how’s school going? → “it’s been intense but i kind of love it. i’ve been really into productivity stuff lately.” ✧ what do you like to do? → “mostly reading & making pinterest boards like it’s my job.” ✧ how was your weekend? → “super recharging. i’ve been trying to stay offline more lately.”

this gives you a comfy, consistent personality to draw from without reaching into the emotional deep end. bonus: people will find you intriguing because you’re selective.

❥ step two: let silence stretch a little a lot of us overshare because we feel pressure to fill silence. like, someone says something and you feel like you have to respond instantly and enthusiastically or it’s rude. but silence isn’t awkward unless you panic about it.

instead, practice the ✧ micro pause ✧. when someone asks you a question or makes a comment, pause for two full seconds before you answer. let your eyes flick away for a beat. this one trick shifts the vibe completely. it gives you space to choose your words and makes you appear way more composed and thoughtful. think of it as conversational ballet: graceful, intentional, a little mysterious.

❥ step three: replace “omg same!” with “that’s so interesting” oversharing often starts when we relate too hard too fast. someone mentions their cat and suddenly you’re spilling about the time yours almost got run over and how that spiraled into your fear of loss and attachment theory.

instead of instantly jumping into your version of the topic, try observing it in them.

✧ “that’s so interesting, what’s your cat like?” ✧ “wait that’s such a unique story, tell me more.”

this helps you break the reflex to center the convo on yourself. you stay warm and curious without handing over your diary.

✧‧˚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 ✧‧˚

❥ develop a ✧ private life aesthetic ✧ if you want to stop oversharing, you need to fall in love with the idea of being private. romanticize it. write diary entries no one will ever read. take photos you don’t post. go to cafes without tagging the location. being private isn’t being lonely, it’s creating a secret world so rich and beautiful that you don’t need external validation.

❥ use a “mental filter” before you speak before you say something personal, ask yourself:

✧ is this earned information, or am i offering it to feel accepted? ✧ would i regret this if it got repeated? ✧ is this helping the conversation or derailing it? ✧ am i sharing this for connection or out of nervousness?

if it’s not intentional, save it for later, or your journal.

❥ try“gentle deflection” you don’t have to answer every question. if someone gets too nosy or the convo feels like it’s tilting into overshare territory, try a soft pivot.

✧ “hmm that’s a long story, maybe another day. but tell me about you!” ✧ “haha i’ve blocked that era out. what about you though?”

play it like a game. you stay in control of the narrative while still being cute & open.

✧‧˚ 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒚’𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒔 ✧‧˚

❀ when i catch myself about to overshare, i mentally switch into ✧ editor mode ✧ like i’m revising a diary entry. i ask: “does this version of me feel like the version i want to become?” if not, i scale it back.

❀ i also keep a “burn book” journal (not for meanness, just raw thoughts) where i can word vomit everything and no one sees it. it satisfies the urge to get it out without the regret.

❀ lastly, i pretend i’m the main character of a book that’s still being written. no author spills the whole plot in chapter one. they drop breadcrumbs. a line. a glance. a sentence that makes people curious. you are the enigma. the slow-burn story. don’t give them the whole novel.

you’re not too much. you’re just overflowing with personality, and now you’re learning how to bottle it in perfume instead of spilling it like water. and i promise... the more you stay grounded, the more you’ll see how people lean in, want to know more, wonder about you. it’s not fake. it’s just strategic softness.

your power has always been in your words. now you’re learning how to use them, not waste them.

you’re becoming the mystery. the “i wonder what she’s thinking” girl. the “she smiled but didn’t say much” kind of energy. lol.

and trust me, it'll work like wonders.

always here for you, — 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒚 ♡ glowettee hotline operator ☎︎✨

[milkkytxars]

(This is not going to be like my other posts but I think it's nice, bear with me for a bit)

Something I said got a bunch of likes on twt a few days ago, but I can't stop thinking about it so I wanted to expand on it a bit! (And I like rambling on about these things, nothing you can do on twt I assure you, this gets a bit lengthy)

Here's the interaction for reference:

OK SO! First things first: PV's awakened form, one way or another, IS a direct representation of the Fount of Knowledge. Or well, at the very least it's what we've been shown to be the most idealistic form of him.

We can't know for sure how the Fount of Knowledge actually was like or acted, because Shadow Milk will never get vulnerable enough on screen to let the audience know such things, but if the statue of him is anything to go by (and not a fabricated lie) then we have something to work with.

The Fount of Knowledge has a key opening in the middle of his chest, and coincidentally, he's also carrying his soul jam on his staff which has the form of a key. This could be interpreted as him having the answers that others' (cookies) can unlock.

However, if we pay closer attention to the pictures, we'll see that the Fount's key is a bit "weird"

As you can see, not only are there two teeths in the key, but there's also a large space from the end of the staff to the point where the first teeth appears.

If someone were to literally try to insert this key into Fount's keyhole to try and get it open, it would pierce through Fount! The key is simply too large, and it doesn't seem like complicated teeth would actually fit inside the hole either.

Now, let's see Pure Vanilla's staff!

As you can see, he only has one teeth right at the bottom of the key. This is how most functional keys look!

One interpretation could be that Fount never actually held the key towards true knowledge, which is a fault that made him fundamentally imperfect towards his greater purpose. Another reason why he fell into deceit in the first place.

Pure Vanilla, however, as holder of the light of truth, also holds a functional key as his staff. He carries that truth with him and plans to open up a path to himself and keep finding out new truths of the world.

His key isn't going to open all keyholes, just as the path he leads isn't going to let him find everything there is to know, but if he holds the truth close to his heart (therefore, the soul jam at his chest) he will continue to follow the light.

But let's circle back to Shadow Milk.

He is the beast of deceit, and he hides so much of himself that you could even call his whole current identity a lie, as if he was trying to be deceit incarnate just like he once was the representation of knowledge.

Let's remember now, that we can interpret the key hole on his chest when he was Fount as an opening to himself, and therefore, to knowledge.

Basically the truth of himself, if I'm making any sense with this.

When he turns into Shadow Milk though, where does he hold his soul jam of deceit? Right where the keyhole was! Essentially, he's obscuring the truth of the world and of himself with lies.

Now, what does Pure Vanilla say at the end of BY8?

He says that he is the one who can understand him best, that he's the only one who can understand Shadow Milk.

And while it's mentioned that it's because of their shared soul jam, this is not the only reason why.

Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla are very important to each other, in whatever way you want to see it. They're essential to each other's story and development.

In the end, the reason why they can understand each other so well is because they're pretty similar. At least in the way they feel, or have felt, about the world.

There's a reason why Pure Vanilla turned into Truthless Recluse after all. Even if it was for a short amount of time, those were still his real feelings, and they mirrored Shadow Milk's own.

The fact that Awakened Pure Vanilla holds a key is to find his own truth, and this fact cannot be diminished. However, I think it would be a disservice to his character and their relationship if it's not also acknowledged that Pure Vanilla's truth fundamentally involves Shadow Milk's true self too.

Fount of Knowledge, as much as that's a discarded persona, it's also a part of Shadow Milk he cannot erase. And Pure Vanilla understands this the same way he understands that Truthless Recluse was a part of himself too.

Pure Vanilla's staff as a key, exists to unlock the hidden lock Shadow Milk has buried deep into his past. Because Shadow Milk's truth is also Pure Vanilla's truth.

That's why he embraces deceit, because Shadow Milk is deceit. And Pure Vanilla tries to make Shadow Milk embrace the truth too, that's why he asks him to be his friend.

Pure Vanilla is truth, so by asking Shadow Milk to be friends with him, he's asking him to embrace truth.

This entails Shadow Milk accepting his past, which Pure Vanilla has the key to unlock now with his awakening and the arduous journey he underwent in the spire to find himself. A key that has long been tossed away by Shadow Milk when he stopped being the Fount of knowledge.

Therefore, while Pure Vanilla's key can't crack open every lock in his way, it is designed by default for its priority to be opening Shadow Milk's heart/soul.

(One last thing would also be that Pure Vanilla's staff, from having a light, technically is also traversing through the darkness in Shadow Milk. I don't want to go into too much detail because this is better explained by this post, go check their stuff out on both of their accounts, it's really good!)

♪♪♪

Anyways, that's it, thank you for coming to my Ted talk. Maybe I'll post another analysis in the future if this is well received lol (I have this idea of PV's awakened form being Fount's but reverse if that makes sense???)

Bye now ❤

[felassan]

[link] to a video interview with DA:TV Creative Director, John Epler.

Notes:

In-world it’s been 9 years since the events of DA:I

“At the end of Trespasser, Solas declared he was going to break the world to rebuild it”

The section of the game that we saw in the Gameplay Reveal takes place “after Varric and another handful of adventurers, the initial Veilguard, have been tracking him down throughout Thedas”

If you have played previous DA games, there’s a lot of lore and references in DA:TV that will add to the experience

No save transfer, but there are opportunities to reference what you did in previous games

Tevinter is the most impressive civilization in modern Thedas because it’s a nation that runs on magic

Lore/art direction: “Magic has started seeping into the world through Solas’ ritual”, “and so you’re seeing the effects of that on the space, and on the visuals as well”

The CC team and character art team spent a lot of time working on making sure that hairstyles behaved appropriately, in a realistic way, and on representing a lot of different hairstyles

They wanted to provide more opportunities to spend time with the characters in a way that previous games didn’t allow for as much

They “did start a first version of Dragon Age 4 after Trespasser. Anthem came out, we needed to ship development to that. And when we came back we really rebooted development, started fresh, but the story has remained the same throughout, the goals of that story have remained the same. We’ve always wanted to take Solas’ story and put a final conclusion on that” (Fel note: the previous project was code-named Joplin. It was since revised to such an extent that its code name changed to Morrison, per the Bio25 book. This sounds like lots of the story, beats, themes etc from Joplin have remained despite the project change :>)

“A lot of what we want to do in this game is show the story as much as tell through conversation, dialogue”. They want the spectacle to be part of the storytelling, they want the player to be able to feel the story happening around them as much as it being told to them

They aren’t getting more specific regarding the release date as yet beyond Fall 2024

Game is coming out on Xbox Series S and X, PS5, PC

Will it be playable on Steam Deck? They are “not going to get into that quite yet, so”

[source]

[coriphallus]

DA: The Veilguard Spoiler review pt2 - The Grime

this is a hard one to tackle without strawmaning anyone because itll be a direct response to alot of defense ive seen for the games morality system so ill just start by saying, iykyk

never a genre has been better equipped to discuss ethics than the interactive medium of games and yes, bioware games have been doing it since baldurs gate and no, theyve not always been 'centrist' and 'conservative'. im not even gonna entertain that idea. do you remember the cultural landscape DA:O released to? the landscape it was developed in? dont give me that just because zevran doesnt write in his little notes -that you can conveniently read- 'gay good. not me but me bisexual'

Thedas is a flawed world and its a world thats just as desperate to hang on to its status quo as our own. every time you play an elf thats thriving, or a human thats queer, or a mage thats not institutionalised you exist in a world that doesnt want you, it is an act of defiance that you do.

im sure we can all see why these games were so popular with the audience they can only weakly try to pander to today.

derailing time again; so one of my favourite paintings of all time is saturn devouring his son. it makes me feel so uncomfortable that it gave me nightmares as a child, and i still cant look at it without feeling this knot in my throat. i hate it. i hate how it makes me feel, how that man looks at me in terror like its begging me for help while cannibalising another. weird story but i was bewitched by that painting as a little kid.

it is not a well drawn painting, the proportions are all over the place, brush strokes crude and inelegant. it doesnt even have a deeper story nor was it intended for an audience. i will never know what goya thought of when drawing it.

i thought alot about that painting later in my life when i was struggling with mental health problems, i thought about goya alot too as an adult and after learning about his life. i stared at his paintings and remembered when i told my dad that i hated [saturns] big eyes and hed jokingly said "it would be scarier if he didnt have eyes"

i know what the drawing looks like now, nearly everyone with a little access to the internet does. if somebody removed saturn from it, we'd still be left with a brutalised headless carcass of a man in a canvas too big for itself. if we removed that too all we'd be left with would be void.

i dont want to live in a world where all i know of goya is his rococo work, i dont want to stare at the painting of a void knowing what filled it before. i hated every second of germinale but i never wanted it to be anything other than itself, the story it tells could never hold credence otherwise.

DAV has done its best to paint over it, but its still on the old canvas and i cant look away from the negative space its left, i know whats under it and it unsettles me, infuriates me. it hands me a palette with baby blues and pinks and tells me to paint over it to make a prettier painting. didnt i hate the eyes? wasnt it gross before?

i am not going to write why we need some grime in art, but its absence is disheartening. and to those who say hanged people in the streets or blighted villagers is dark and mature ill say no. its a kids idea of maturity, its the aesthetic of it with no substance. it means nothing to me if rook can just drench themselves in gallons of blight as they crawl through it. the horror of blight has never been the black goo and slimy tentacles, or the monster woman with way too many tits. it is watching people you love slowly fade away, it is a woman who was forced to cannibalise the contaminated flesh of her friends because the woman she loved betrayed her, it was the sheer scale and inevitability of it.

one area we go to is overrun by it and the game begs me to feel hopeful that flowers are growing again when it never let me lose hope. people have already prevailed, they have roofs over their heads and a steady supply of food on their tables. their spirit is unwavering.

its bad, everybody says. the sky is grey and soil is blackened, as my rook turns some statues to access a haunted house whos inhabitants are long gone and the only story they could ever tell is gone with them.

if the question is do i want to see famine? plague? misery? abuse? assault? the answer is yes. yes. i want to see it all of the filth. i rather face the fucking monster head on with its big bulging eyes and misshapen limbs than stare at the abyss its absence leaves on the canvas.

and if nothing else, this bastardization is disrespectful to the people who gave the IP its fame.

Why choose to be good?

back in the bsn days ive wondered why, even in a fictional universe where your choices have no real-life repercussions what-so-ever, players had more 'good' playthroughts than 'bad'?

what happens when you start killing NPCs, when youre needlessly mean to them? the game actively closes off its own content. you get less out of the game. just as, completely incidentally, you'd get less out of your life if you just started killing everyone around you. The world would be emptier, youd be alone.

in that quote i stole from good place chidi doesnt ask "why be good?" the wording is painfully deliberate. doing good is always a choice, and often not the easy one. what makes the act matter is that you chose to do it, even when given 6 other options not to. did i stop in the middle of an important quest to help a man retrieve an heirloom from a darkspawn infested hut? did i hear what that heirloom meant to him?

i cant stop thinking about that speech ever since playing this game after knowing its predecessors.

So, why do it then? Why choose to be good, every day, if there is no guaranteed reward we can count on, now or in the afterlife? I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity. Simply put, we are not in this alone.

i cant stop looking at this game that spits on its own legacy and think how could they have missed what fundamentally makes us human so bad, what makes us relate and empathise with eachother. what makes us pick the option to interact with an npc who openly hates what hawke is, and allow us to see the traumatised man underneath.

these characters of fiction are written by real people. i have absolutely nothing in common with a guy from canada yet for a brief moment in time i feel a sense of camaraderie as ive felt with goya that i couldnt articulate as a kid.

Nothing too terrible

DAV says it over and over again -as its wont to do with every piece of its flimsy morality- that people can change, people can be redeemed yet it shines as the game with most static characters in its franchise. it simply says things, and since it has nothing to show for it it makes sure to say it repeatedly, in case you missed it.

so when i first played DAO i was in high school, i started with a human noble because fresh out of dark side edgy kotor fame i wanted to be a posh brat. also because, ya kno, we were poor my entire life up until that point and i wanted to have power.

i committed to it, even as the game stripped cousland of everything he had, because i thought a man like him would. i picked the racist options, the sexist options, the options a man in couslands place would. halfway point of the game as i exhausted the initial dialogues something happened; this man who got paid to kill people, who showed no remorse nor care for his victims, begged my cousland to stil his blade.

and i did. i thought maybe he would be as confused as i was, maybe he had a moment of clarity but from thereon bit by bit he was less of an asshole. the characters grew around me, and my character grew around them. i chose to be good because -textually- we were in this together, at the end of all things.

rook is not a character, theyre a mascot. and quite frankly i think they may be a very evangelical mascot because they remind me of evangelical preachings of jesus more than the man from the bible (and i say this as someone whos only exposure to christianity has been through foreign media and the bible ive read that one time). they are the epitome of do no evil and their existence hinges on the frail concept of moral purity. theyre not a person trying to do good, who wants to be good, they are 'good'

-and lemme tell you its a wild choice to have someone like that locked in a prison of 'regret'-

rook can be mean to only one person in the game, and thats someone they dont even have a personal beef with for the most part. but even then they would be shouting at a wall because the game doesnt only undermine them with its narrative, but also every npc in the game suddenly gets possessed by the ghost of wattpad rejects past for a moment to tell them everyone can be redeemed. and i believe it because i played the other games, i believe it because i know zevran and sten and morrigan, isabela and thom and iron bull and dorian. i know it because i can see the vague shapes behind the new coat of paint but i am not rook.

so no, the game fails to get people-can-change points by its own merit, and it cannot gain points from its prequels because it destroyed them. none of those characters i watched grow exist in this universe. zevran cant exist with DAV crows, fenris` story cant exist in an imperium with invisible slaves only glimpsed through empty cages and broken chains left scattered on the ground. i dont know which morrigan this NPC is, is it the woman who grew to learn kindness, who begged to sleep with her friend just to save them despite knowing it would play into the plans of a destiny she so desperately tried to break free from? or is she the clever puppet her mother groomed her to be who wanted to harness the power of a god? i dont know her, i dont know this dorian or this isabela beyond their names ipso facto this is not a sequel.

bellara asks an assassin why he is trying to save the world and his answer is "ive done some things in the past im not too proud of. nothing too terrible, but some of it was bad." and i can hear the games desperation for me to not engage with its material in that 'nothing too terrible'

lucanis never killed anyone innocent, taash never harmed an animal they could shoo of or reason with, emmrich venerates the dead and is friends with every wisp he pulls to use in menial labour, davrin joined the wardens willingly because he wanted to do good...

rook tells harding that her anger is justified when shes not even allowed anger of her own.

nothing too terrible.

aside from creating boring and nonsensical and static characters it creates a dreadful echochamber that we're forced to sustain. No taash is not valid, their gender is but their behaviour is not and for the character to grow and mature it needs to be addressed. lucanis doesnt need to be pampered in shock blankets he needs to see how repressing his problems and jeopardising his health puts people around him in danger etc etc. they are adults and they need to learn more complex ways of healing. and if rooks flaw is that theyre an enabler, then that needs to be acknowledged by the narrative in some way too, and not mindlessly endorsed because they say some buzzwords.

none of these interpersonal relationships feels real because none of these people feel real beyond some draft of themes and tropes. some interactions literally remind me of two bots in facebook comments

i look at this dialogue wheel with familiar symbols and all im reminded of is hawke telling carver he carries every death with him, of him telling his uncle that he wasnt fast enough, of him begging the person he loves to tell him that his mothers death wasnt his fault.

and they dont. they just sit there with him.

[bruhstation]

hello tumbled er

greetings and salutation. it is I, senja heterocaine, speaking to you through your favorite home screens. now you might be wondering: where on earth has senja heterocaine disappeared to these past 5 months? well the answer is as simple as it gets

I focused on my studies.

well yes that is the main reason. but that's like the nerd "obvious" answer. there’s other reasons too. some of which includes me getting into new interests, revisiting my old, hibernating interests, getting involved in university organizations and events, getting more involved in big family stuff since I'm the oldest and the only of-age grandchild of grandma from mom's side.... lots of stuff

so I just finished the third semester of premed school right. honestly speaking, with how I was losing motivation on drawing, the art block post-art fight, and lack of time, I decided to well, take a break. and it’s pretty convenient too since it was early on in the third semester. during the entirety of it I was feeling pretty proud of myself like "oh I've been studying a lot. I've taken a break from drawing and blog stuff. surely things will get better" and it did! not immensely but it's significant enough that for once I don't feel an indescribable sense of terror after the semester ends. the focus of this semester was about reproduction systems and growth and development which is pretty fun? we get to use models and medical phantoms hands-on and poke them with needles and other rube goldberg contraptions. I did miss breeding bacterias in petri dishes and seeing my friends burn the microbiology lab’s ceiling like last semester though. my grades are also improving… slowly but surely

(aftermath not pictured: me lounging on the couch scrolling through quora to see if there are people currently in college wanting to drop out)

maybe I was aiming too high. at least my grades are better than the previous two semesters and my social life is much better than it was back in high school. speaking of exams -- I went through my first osce exam around a week ago (practical exam to see if you can actually perform the skills labs lessons from the entire semester like you're a real physician). it was the most terrifying day of the month. my dentist said I have a big tongue and that’s why I can’t speak properly if I’m being too fast. ntm I WAS NERVOUS!!! MY FIRST OSCE!!! with how I memorized everything I needed, I was pretty confident that I'd pass, though. I didn't and retook the exam the next day. the prelude was the worst crash out ever

ah ptooey. I'll just take it like a champ. my tutor who's 3 years older than me and currently in the anesthetic rotation of co-ass told me that things will get easier but that's very subjective. he's a medical olympiad student after all. my parents are pretty happy though with how my academic life is becoming better so that's that

LETS MOVE ON TO SOMETHING LIGHTER. section B: what I've been getting into ever since bruhstation was put on cryostasis

you know Transformers One (2024)? the transformers movie directed by josh cooley? based on the Transformers(tm) franchise by Takara Tomy and Hasbro? most tragic break up movie of the decade? I watched it twice, squealed once, and left me broken and inconsolable for weeks on end. it made me revisit my dormant transformers interest after 5 years. I've reread the idw comics (mtmte, LL, taao, main transformers comic), and is currently checking out more (reading the wreckers saga right now). god it made me miss rodimus and friends' zany space opera adventures. I've always envisioned casa tidmouth to have the same tone as mtmte... the oftentimes dark humor, fridge horror stuff, weird magic/science, the roller coaster of emotions, confronting the past... its crazy good.

stories where misfits and knuckleheads band together in a confined space while having crazy doctor who-like adventures am I right. like I want casa tidmouth to be like that. remind me to thank 14 year old me for this trip down memory lane. and as usual, I tend to make self-indulgent crossovers of any interest I'm thinking about at the moment with casa tidmouth

a terrifying sneak peak on what's to come.

I've been working on my oc projects too. you may have seen some of them on artfight (graciela, saudade, altair, etc) but I've been focusing the most on graciela and saudade's universe, children's heterotopia. it has the largest amount of characters in any story I've created (not counting casa tidmouth), the most effort put into planning the stories and weaving in its themes about capitalism, patriarchy, period-typical bigotry, etc. there's human experimentation and they're given powers that range from punching super hard to time and space displacement. I also inserted whatever I wanted into the story. sure, yes, there's a lesbians-only organization of which its members are named off the knights of the round table, theres a mafia that focuses more on the family drama and attempted parricide from all angles, and tragic assassin maids of which their names are wuthering heights references. also if you've been following my main tumblr hajimedics for a while, you might've seen my three fairly oddparents ocs. well I've given them the tezuka star system treatment and inserted them into children's heterotopia as well.

I've also gotten into UTAU production! I've made a number of UTAU covers but haven't uploaded them to youtube. only shared them around with my friends on priv twitter. a good friend of mine assisted in the creation of my own UTAU voicebank! their name is TORKA (like "torque"), their voice bank has a slight accent when singing in japanese (because I'm their voice lol) and CV-only, their in-universe lore is that they're an intergalactic train conductor picking up wayfarers and outcasts trying to find a place in the vast universe, and I love them dearly

moving on! this is a thomas the engine and company blog THIS IS A LIFE UPDATE POST

I'd rather not discuss about how I'm doing mentally in deep detail BUT what I'll say is that I can't confidently say "I'm doing better" or "I'm doing worse" because it always depends on the days. things are okay-ish nowadays. some days are scary. some days are boring. I still experience delusions, (ironically) worried about my anhedonia, and believe that certain bouts of confidence will trigger a jinx, but I think I've been controlling myself well? at least? I keep internalizing the belief that I'm an adult. 20 years old. I have to act accordingly and my life in real life is ten times more important than the internet. things are going to change more and more once I graduate premed and began the co-ass program. I have to think 10 steps into the future. building successful connections before you turn 30. sigma grindset and all that. sorry that was my father using my body as a spirit medium

AND ALSO. ALSO. BACK TO THE BLOG DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME I PROMISED TO MAKE A COMIC BASED ON THE RESULTS OF THE 1000 FOLLOWERS POLL AND NEVER DID UNTIL NOW. I'm terribly sorry. I promise I will get into it I SWEAR procrastination is kicking my ass. I have to plan the dialogue and script and stuff AND DRAW BUT

BUT HERE’S THE FUNNY THING

THE BLOG REACHED 2000+ FOLLOWERS A FEW MONTHS AGO

NOW WHAT DO I DO TO CELEBRATE?

I don’t know honestly. I haven’t done the 1000+ followers celebratory comic, and NOW I HAVE 2000+ FOLLOWERS. THERES 2000+ OF YOU NOW!!!!! THAT’S CRAZY (IN A GOOD WAY)!!!! I thank you all for sticking with bruhstation through thick and thin for around 2 and a half years. I’m glad for all your support, fanarts, asks, and such truly. like wow. 2k. in such a short time too! thanks guys. admittedly, I feel kind of guilty to leave everyone hanging for months with nothing to give, especially with such a high follower number. and realistically? I don’t think I’ll be able to draw as much as I used to. like I’ve said earlier, I’ve been busy with my personal life and oc projects. it’s not like I’m abandoning this blog any time soon? I’m just speaking from a logical perspective, given my status as a student and (possibly, hopefully) future doctor too. I don't want to burn myself out posting like thrice a week, answering asks daily, I want to take things slow. at my own pace. maybe I'll focus on designing side characters as well and thinking about their roles in the story! but that's for another day. I’m just glad everyone’s still sticking around and enjoying my silly stuff

I do want to draw more for this blog! I want to put thomas and co. in more situations. make them dance for all our entertainments. but when you’re an adult, you realize that you have your own priorities. you can’t always do the things you wanna do. you can’t just drop something you don’t like out of the blue. sometimes you have to sigh, scratch the back of your neck, and brave it while saying “I sure am getting old”

oh and also I'm a butch lesbian now. still he/they (heavy preference on he/him), still preferring masculine terms like "mr", "sir", "guy", still as crazy as ever. still aroace too and not interested in dating, something that's been a constant in my identity ever since I'm in early high school. little have changed I can assure you this. I am still senja. senja heterocaine from the net.

and thus concludes senja’s life update post! what will the next post after this be about? something gordon-centric again? serious colored art? old men yaoi? silent hill UK localization? place your bets. everyone loves a good laugh

[leonenjoyer69]

After sitting half finished for forever, I finally present Lanyon's Mindscape!

I spent quite a while coming up with everything and developing things in a way that connected very heavily to Lanyon's character (as well as Elias's) for my Lanyon Takes the Potion AU, so I'm very happy to finally share it! I mentioned it a while ago on the QnA with @arythusa , but here's the whole long summary!

I have a reason for each and every detail and choice, so if you have any questions, leave them in the reblogs or comments and I promise you I would LOVE to answer them :3 also, reblogs would be very appreciated, I put a lot of work into this <3

Now, let's begin!

The Mindscape

A twisting mansion of halls, doors, and spiraling staircases, Lanyon's mindscape is a vast, extravagant space.

Most of the mindscape has an inherent purple hue; grand chandeliers also bathe the upper, more "frequented" areas in a golden light. However, the deeper you travel, the more sparse these golden lights become.

Lanyon doesn't have the same odd "compartmentalization" abilities that Jekyll does, leaving his mindscape much messier and more confusing, with very little of it being any sort of "organized". Furthermore Lanyon hasn't ripped himself down to a shell of a person like Jekyll has; nor does he suffer from the same self hatred as Jekyll and Hyde, making his mindscape much more lively.

Residents of the mindscape include mind versions of: Jekyll, Everly, Lanyon Sr., Lanyon's mother (though she acts as more of a ghost,) the shadow people, and the Nightmares™.

THE ROOMS AND LAYOUT

THE HALLS

The halls are long and confusingly twisty, covered in unmarked doors, blurry portraits, and golden chandeliers, as well as other occasional decorations and clutter. There are very few doors that actually stand out enough to know they're special, like the ballroom, greenhouse, library, alchemy room, and Lanyon Sr's office. Most of the special rooms are near the surface, never moving, as their influence on Lanyon's character and memories are too strong to be moved from near the subconscious.

Memories, however, do tend to shuffle around a bit, even moving between floors depending on how much Elias or Lanyon is thinking of it. This shuffling has the ability to bring nightmares up from deeper levels to the more "safe" ones.

Many of the halls tend to lead in circles or straight into dead ends, and some doors simply lead to more hallways.

THE POCKET WATCH

To combat the twisting and turning, Elias eventually realizes that his "broken" pocket watch acts more like a compass, pointing him in the general direction of where he wishes to go. Mindkyll also has a pocket watch like this, being one of the more mobile mind people (despite his slight limp.)

The pocket watch has the normal larger clock face, as well as a smaller one for "seconds". The hands all spin aimlessly until a destination is thought of. The hour and minute hands work together for general direction like a compass, while the seconds tell the level, with straight up/forward being a higher level, down being a lower level, and horizontal being the current floor. Elias only figured this out with Mindkyll's help.

Elias, Lanyon, and Mindkyll all have an inherent attachment to their given watches, and when they're in other hands or removed from their persons, they feel more lost and confused, as if they have brain fog.

THE LIBRARY

Lanyon spends a decent bit of his free time reading and watching plays and productions, so it only makes sense for him to have a grand library filled with the fleeting memories of these pasttimes.

The bookshelves are oppressively tall, and despite the number of books and scripts, most of them aren't quite readable, since their words have been at least partially forgotten. However, there are a decent few books that are mostly filled out, namely favourite stories or plays he's ingested, old school books (thanks to Jekyll's influence,) and partially filled out journals or phrases that stuck with him, either from other people or things he's told himself.

Additionally, there is a reading nook with a fireplace in one of the corners, since reading is a comfort he hasn't abandoned.

THE MUSIC ROOM

The music room is a cozy space with a few chairs, a fire place, a grand piano, other various instruments, and sheet music strewn and hung about. There's also a couple of paintings, but they're covered mostly in music sheets. One of the other notable instruments is a violin, though it doesn't get used until Elias comes around.

This room is where Mind Everly spends most of her time, when not in the greenhouse, of course. Most of the music pieces are either nonsensical, or genuine ones that the real Everly has played for Robert.

This room becomes a sort of safe space for Elias after certain...events.

THE BALLROOM

The ballroom is a large, extravagant 2 story room. The floor/lower space has walls lined with windows, bringing a golden light to the whole room. However, nothing can be seen on the other side of the windows. Pillars sit between a few of them, holding up a large, wrap-around balcony-- I.e the second floor. The lower space also has a large circular design in the middle of the floor.

The second floor also has windows, as well as a few doors-- one of which leads into Lanyon Sr's office, since Lanyon viewed the tie between his fathers work and status so strongly, both becoming his whole life.

Because of how much of Lanyons life was built around balls and gatherings, the room is filled with shadowy upper class folk, all with somewhat blury features. They tend to act quite mindlessly, seemingly at least somewhat under Mindkyll's Beck and call, but they do dance together and murmur nonsensical, unsettling things to each other. They don't say anything that can be made out, but their growing judgement towards anything odd in the ballroom and overlapping voices can cause panic quite easily.

This room is frequented by both Mindkyll and Mind Lanyon Sr. Mindkyll tends to roam around, framing and dancing with the shadow people, while Mind Lanyon Sr stays on the balcony above, ever watching and judging what goes on below.

THE GREENHOUSE/GARDEN

An overgrown greenhouse filled with various vines, shrubs, and flowers (with occasional symbolism). there's an area for plants directly in the ground, as well as tables covered in pots, metal rafters with hanging pots, and a couple of trellises. The room is mostly all glass-- which still can't be seen through, but gives a warm, comforting glow to the room. There's also a glass table, which seats 2, and a little nook in one of the corners.

A lot of the flowers tend to change, as well as "randomly" bloom and wilt.

Elias likes to spend a lot of time just sitting in this room, occasionally with mind Everly. He also likes cutting back the overgrowth, but it always comes back. He eventually starts to keep track of how the flowers change as well.

THE ALCHEMY LAB

Based heavily around Jekyll's office and Alchemy-covered university desk, the lab is a dark, candle-lit room cluttered with alchemy equipment, books, and potions. There's an odd green fog in the air, making it one of the only rooms that isn't bathed in purple or gold.

This is the other room Mind Jekyll tends to frequent, usually experimenting or organizing his things. Lanyon and Elias both try to avoid this room, as the air feels uncomfortably heavy and tainted.

THE OFFICE

Lanyon's personal office, though it's quite lacking in furniture. The room mainly consists of a desk, chair, scattered books, and a lone, curtained window. The walls are covered in portraits (mainly of his father) and the desk is littered with bills and paperwork. The room seems almost abandoned, at least until Elias comes around to it.

THE UNIVERSITY DORM ROOM

A memory of his dorm room with Jekyll. The window seems to give a faint blue light, though the curtain usually covers it (symbolizing how he hid the relationship and his feelings.)

Jekyll's desk has a few alchemy things scattered on it, as well as text books. There are bunk beds, but the top looks unused.

There are various objects in the room that trigger a memory when they're interacted with, since many core memories were made in the room, buried or not.

LANYON SR'S OFFICE

A large, oppressive office, lit primarily by the two windows. The shelves and tables are covered with books and paperwork. Mirrors litter the walls (symbolizing Lanyon's similarities to his father), as well as portraits.

Mind Lanyon Sr obviously frequents this room, doing random work and reading. The room is also directly connected to the second floor of the ballroom, high above everyone else to show how Lanyon believed his father to put himself and his work above everyone else. Lanyon tends to avoid this room, and the second floor of the ballroom in general, as it makes him feel exposed. Elias also tends to avoid this room, as it makes him feel small.

THE CHARACTERS

ELIAS WRIGHT (LANYON'S HJ7 ALTER)

His outfit gives a more "working class" feel, inspired by his father's youth. They're also far more comfortable than Lanyon's usual clothes, so Elias doesn't mind them too much. The outfit somewhat symbolizes Elias's working spirit, as well as his yearning for his Father's approval via following in his footsteps (to a certain degree), acting as a sort of errand boy around the society/for Jekyll. They also make him look ungentlemanly, simple, and weak, making him stand out in the mindscape.

He has a "broken" pocket watch on him at all times, which he instinctively feels very protective over, as it's somewhat linked to his being.

Additionally, in memories he can "take the spot" of Lanyon, letting the memory compulse him on how to move. He likes doing this to feel like he's still Lanyon-- like he's whole again.

Feelings wise, Elias isn't too against the mindscape for a good while, mainly in the beginning. While it is confusing and lonely, leaving him quite on edge most of the time, he does at least find solace in mind Everly, Mind Jekyll, and some of the rooms. He does have a few run-ins with nightmares, though he always manages to flee or be saved somehow by mind Everly or Jekyll. He prefers to stay on the higher levels where it's brighter and safer, though occasionally he does go down to dig through memories, much to mindkyll's masked annoyance.

He initially sticks around Mindkyll quite a bit, dancing and hanging out in the ballroom or alchemy lab with him, even if he occasionally makes Elias kind of uncomfortable. Elias is quick to trust him and his charm, falling into him as a safety since Mindkyll is so kind towards him, and since he resembles Jekyll so much. Mindkyll is also quite touchy and praising with Elias, feeding Elias's yearning for romantic intimacy from Jekyll. Mindkyll usually knows just what cards to play to make Elias either fall for his charm or feel bad for him. They do pursue something of a "relationship", and despite the occasional discomfort Elias feels, he is quite reliant on Mindkyll for a while, using him as a stand-in since the real Jekyll seems so unattainable.

Also, Elias finds Mindkyll's "sparkle machine" ability quite funny, but of course falls for it. On a few occasions he's accidentally sparkled back, shocking Mindkyll and somewhat offending him.

Additionally, Elias hangs with mind Everly a decent bit too, finding her to be a more calming presence among the greenhouse and music room. She gives him advice and lets him talk, acting as a sort of mental therapist. She doesn't like mindkyll. She'll play music for Elias or sometimes just sit with him in the greenhouse.

Elias somewhat avoids mind Lanyon Sr, rarely trying to get to the ballroom's second floor, unless he feels he has to. He also partially tries to avoid his fathers gaze, though sometimes he can't help but look up at Lanyon Sr watching over the ballroom, yearning to make his father proud of him. Lanyon Sr's critical gaze tends to make him feel small, cringing under the judgement.

A mind version of his mother also haunts the mindscape, though she is scarcely seen. She does seem to like Elias far more than Lanyon though, sometimes even holding Elias and calling him her baby. She only really shows up in the greenhouse, from what Elias has seen.

MIND JEKYLL

A resident of Lanyon's mindscape, he's a sparkly amalgamation of Jekyll and Hyde. Wandering between the ballroom, halls, and his lab, he mainly dances, experiments, and charms. He has phantom pains all around his body, stemming from Lanyon's constant fear of Jekyll getting hurt (especially via potion mishaps), and has a limp in his left leg from recurring nightmares of Jekyll stepping in a bear trap on the faithful Bleeding Heart Night™.

Before Lanyon and Elias split, mind Jekyll looked far more like normal Jekyll and acted a bit more awkward. however, after learning of Jekylls duality, mindkyll became a bit more Hyde like, his sideburns growing out, his hair growing messier, and gaining a hole filled cape and green hat, as well as gradient eyes. He hates his new appearance a decent bit, blaming Elias for it.

He spends most of his time in the ballroom, since Lanyon taught him how to act "proper" and he seemingly surpassed Lanyon at that, causing him to become a sort of icon to Lanyon in that sense. In the ballroom he's quite the charmer, going between the shadow people and playing them as he wishes, which stems from Lanyon's jealousy of how Jekyll acted (and still acts) with women at parties while they were together.

Mindkyll tends to feel an inherent hatred for Elias when Elias is around him, as if Elias's presence by itself just causes stabs of anger and resentment in him, though usually he can force this feeling down in order to keep his charming facade up. However, on top of that resentment, when he feels like he has any sort of control over Elias, he gets a swell of pride and power in his chest. He tends to get more inwardly cocky, which mixes with the hatred and makes him increasingly cruel at times, though he does mask that with his charm and sparkles. He's also very much emotionally manipulative, pulling at Elias's weaknesses and the slight inherent attraction Elias has for him, since he looks like Jekyll and such. He doesn't really tend to outwardly show any of his hatred of course, since he wants to keep Elias's trust for the most part, but he does Harbor Lanyon's resentment and repression of all those "weak" emotions and such. Additionally, he holds a lot of Lanyon's "rebellious" stage, feeding off of the power he gets from having control.

He also lets off sparkles as a sort of defense mechanism for when he feels threatened or starts getting impatient/aggravated. They have a somewhat calming effect, most of the time at least, made to distract people from his real intentions and feelings. Occasionally, however, their impact/sway is dulled, like against Mind Everly. Eventually, Lanyon starts becoming more resistant to their sway, and after a certain future event, so does Elias.

MIND EVERLY

Mind Everly tends to avoid the ballroom, so she doesn't really interact with the shadow people unless she has to. She's also surprisingly adept at fighting off the nightmares. When Mind Mumyon randomly shows up in the garden, or on rare occasions the music room, she'll kinda just chat with her and keep her company until she wanders off/disappears again. With Mindkyll, Everly tends to be a bit "low patience" with him, not really playing into his charm and tending to ignore him.

Mind Everly knows she's just a part of Lanyon, being one of his main comforts and someone that he confides in, and she's quite alright with doing her thing and occasionally helping out Elias or Lanyon. She's just as sweet and trustworthy as the real Everly, acting somewhat as a therapist and general advice giver. She's also quite protective of Elias after certain events.

She frequents the Music room and the Garden, only occasionally going into the ballroom if she feels she has to. She completely avoids the alchemy lab, and only goes into Lanyon's office every once in a while to clean it up a bit.

MIND LANYON SR

Mind Lanyon Sr looks quite similar to the real one, just far more oppressive and judgemental, far more emotionally detached than the real one. He has a distressing aura to him, causing discomfort to the shadow people and monsters and annoyance to most of the other mind people that get close to him. Mindkyll seems to be the outlier to this, as he generally tolerates Mind Lanyon Sr's presence quite well, even occasionally seeking it out.

He usually hangs out on the second floor of the ballroom, staring down and judging the people below. He's this ever-watching presence, detached but still close enough to control things-- or at least seem like he could. Otherwise he frequents his office, doing work, reorganizing, or reading.

He'll occasionally hang out with Mindkyll, vaguely talking to him and slipping him praises. He sees him as more successful, fond of him in a "my son should be like you" way. Despite this, he still gets quite judgemental of Mindkyll when he looses his temper or shows his more "mad scientist" side.

His feelings towards Elias are a little mixed. For the most part, Mind Lanyon Sr is constantly judging Elias, disgusted by his emotional vulnerability and how he's everything the real Lanyon Sr tried to get rid of in his son. But, on the other hand, occasionally he can't help but be the *slightest* bit proud of the fact that Elias has at least SOME work ethic.

Were Elias to try and talk to mind Lanyon Sr, he would probably be met with Mind Lanyon Sr ignoring him, silently judging him, and/or verbally jabbing at him, pointing out his flaws. Elias is quite heartbroken at this, but for some reason he tries to get Mind Lanyon Sr's approval a handful of times before finally giving up, cringing under his stern, judging gaze.

Otherwise, he's aware of his state as a concept and is quite fine with it, intent on keeping Lanyon and Elias in line, in his own detatched way.

LANYON'S MOTHER (CELIA)

Cecilia Lanyon (Mumyon) somewhat haunts around the mindscape, quite scarcely seen. Because of her distance and detatchment towards her son, she rarely shows up, and when she does it's usually in the greenhouse, since she mainly "bonded" with Lanyon by having him help tend the garden occasionally. Since at home she was also commonly hysterical, Mind Celia is generally quite blank, but occasionally snaps a bit emotionally.

When Lanyon is around her, she tends to somewhat blankly stare at him, VERY occasionally actually talking or acting motherly towards him. Elias, however, tries to drag a bit more of that motherly persona out. He yearns for validation and affection from both of his parents, and the mindscape if the only place he'll ever possibly be able to get it. She occasionally seems to give him a little of the attention he wants, talking in very short sentences when they're together in the greenhouse, maybe pointing out flowers or their symbolism. Sometimes she does seem quite cynical, however, which tends to throw Elias off.

Her and Mind Lanyon Sr don't really ever interact, unless Mind Celia just happens to silently join him on the second floor of the ballroom for "show". She mostly ignores mindkyll, but has snapped at him at least once. Otherwise, she usually just tolerates him. She likes Mind Everly well enough, it's hard to dislike her, and she enjoys listening to Mind Everly's music.

Most of the time she's not the most aware of things, but she does have her more clear moments.

(Cecilia Eleanor Lanyon was made by my friend Luka ( @lukas-broken-bow ), while mind Celia was adapted by me bc her character EATS, THANK YOU FOR DEVELOPING HER LUKA, I LOVE HER)

THE NIGHTMARES

The nightmares take on a lot of forms, with one resembling Morcant being the most notable. Along with that, however, there's also many "mad scientists", physically ruined by their science, and various magical creatures and monsters, like vampires (there's one with a resemblance to Dracula), other werewolves, and reanimated things (ones that are especially gory, since Lanyon is disgusted by things like exposed innards,wounds, and rot.) There's also a nightmare "Hyde", who is somewhat formless and mainly causes general havoc and stalks around.

With the twisting of the mindscape and so many doors scattered about, the nightmares tend to stay in lower levels, trapped behind said doors or simply lost, especially if Lanyon keeps them off of his mind. However, when thought of or triggered via seeing or hearing something (or occasionally at random), doors will open or memory rooms will move, allowing nightmares to find themselves closer to the subconcious. They're also more active in higher layers in moments of higher stress, or heavy sleep deprivation, as those " doors" become harder to unconsciously keep closed.

Mindkyll is somewhat fearful of them, some more than others, but when they're closer to his ballroom or lab, he tends to be less scared. Or, when he needs to swoop in and "save" Elias from a couple of nightmares, he tends to forget some of his fear. Mind Everly is somewhat scared of them, but is more so annoyed by them. Mind Lanyon Sr. doesn't really have to deal with them, considering his spot on the balcony, and simply watches when they come about.

THE SHADOW PEOPLE

The shadow people are vague, blurry high society folk that remain in the ballroom. They're all dressed very well, their bodies partially see-through as if they're mere ghosts.

The shadow people don't really interact with anyone but each other and Mindkyll, since he somewhat has control over them. They dance amongst each other, muttering nonsensically until their "words" all blur together. They're not very aware of anything, all in all quite mindless, but when there's anything "wrong" or "ungentlemanly", that's when they act more. Their voices start to rise, despite still being mere whispers, growing more cacophonous and anxiety-inducing as they stare. Their judgement of anything odd is ceaseless, usually only calming at Mindkyll's demand or when the oddity leaves the ballroom.

Additionally, mindkyll can manipulate them to react in other basic ways, like acting charmed or shocked, and he usually does it for his own enjoyment. When a nightmare manages to get into the ballroom, the shadow people aren't targeted. Instead they grow more sinister looking, especially expression wise, and their mutterings take on a certain sharpness, their judgements growing harsher. Usually mindkyll needs to remove of the nightmare for them to act normally again.

_______

And that is the basics of the Mindscape! Once again, I'd absolutely LOVE any questions in reblogs, comments, or even my asks :3 thank you so much for reading all of this, I hope you enjoyed!!

[inbarfink]

After all these years, ‘I Remember You’ is still one of the great highlights of Adventure Time Storytelling. And not just in the basic ‘what???? Silly children’s cartoon does something SAD??? HOLY SHIT MIND BLOWN’ way. But with the execution of that Something Sad. How it manages to pack so many Complex Emotions into just 11-minutes of television. And especially the way it utilizes the basic Adventure Time format for that purpose.

So Adventure Time is a Board-based show. Each episode has an outline pitched and written down by the writer’s room, and then this outline goes to a team of (usually) two Storyboard Artists who develop that simple outline into a full story. And with the show’s art-style deliberately eschewing staying perfectly ‘on-model’ in favor of having the animators take direct reference from how the different storyboarders draw the characters

And the show being generally extremely versatile in terms of themes and tone - AT has allowed a lot of their Storyboarders to really express themselves and their unique artistic vision as part of the Big Collaborative Narrative that is Adventure Time. 

Now, the Boarders who worked on ‘I Remember You’ are Cole Sanchez and Rebecca Sugar. These two were a Storyboarding Duo from the start of S4 and until Sugar left the AT Crew during S5, and they always struck me as a curious combination. I think really from all of the individual boarders working on AT during that time, these two really are the closest to having like… Totally Opposite Artistic Sensibilities as boarders. 

With Sugar favoring a style that is very loose and sketchy and also very rounded. Focusing on expressions and subtle body language and lighting. And being famous for going deep in depth into Big Moments of Emotional Catharsis

And Sanchez having a very clear art style that emphasizes strong silhouettes and clear lines that suggest flatness. Focusing more on major poses and the character’s positions in the space. And having just a really great eye for AT’s brand of silly humor.

Like, I almost kinda suspect these two were paired together so they can each cover for the other’s “weakspots” in writing ‘Adventure Time’. 

And there were a few episodes that did some really interesting stuff with this very contrasting pair - ‘Jake the Dog’ is another example. Giving most of the Farmworld scenes to Sugar and most of the Time Room scenes to Sanchez both plays to their personal strengths as storyboarders and helps to emphasize the strong emotional contrast between these two scenarios. 

And ‘I Remember You’ is actually kinda unique among Adventure Time episodes cause… Most episodes will have the two boarders alternate between working on the episode throughout it. Like you’d have Boarder A draw a bit and then Boarder B and then Boarder A again… But “I Remember You” is divided between Sanchez and Sugar… basically perfectly in the middle.

So the entirety of the first half of the episode was boarded by Sanchez

Until Ice King pushes Marceline and then leaves the room in shame.

And then, Sugar takes over.

And, like, even if you don’t know anything about the Behind the Scenes of Adventure Time or who Cole Sanchez and Rebecca Sugar even are - the Shift is noticeable. The shift in tone, in narrative focus, in the subtleties in which the characters are drawn. 

The entire first half of the episode has this thin veneer of just being a Silly Goofy Ice King Episode. Sanchez’s talent for Adventure Time’s brand of comedy is on full display… but there is also this underlying feeling that Something is Happening just under the surface. And these hints of the Big Emotions of ‘IRY’ expressed via Sanchez’s kinda goofy style really create this balance between putting the audience into a false sense of security that this is just a Very Normal Episode about two characters hanging out and the Tension constantly brewing in the subtext. 

And then it all comes to a blow.

And then the Shift happens. And now we are in Sugar’s court.

And this subtle shift in the artstyle and storytelling also coincide with Marceline finally openly expressing her feelings and the Reveal of Simon and Marcy's shared past. The episode changes focus from Ice King's silly antics to Marceline's feelings. Everything changes, everything in the first part of the episode gets recontextualized and... even on the most basic level, the episode is now Noticeably Different.

I would almost say that Sanchez’s half of the episode has Ice King define the tone, while Sugar’s half of the episode has Marceline define the tone. But more than anything it’s the catharsis. The reveal and release of those emotions that were building up so expertly through the Sanchez half of the episode. All of the Sugar-boarded scenes in this episode are really heartbreaking on their own, just through the tragedy of the story and Sugar’s expert knowledge of howto convey emotion in the visual medium - but it’s so enchanted by what came before it.

“I Remember You” is truly a great testament to how ‘Adventure Time’ could use every aspect of its medium to tell a great story in such a short time.

[sleepynoons]

And With You Came Summer Thunderstorms

You're dragged back into the very hell that you had escaped from years ago, and this time, there's no way out.

yandere!jing yuan x afab!f!reader, yakuza!au, 18+

word count: ~13,900

cw: explicit language, explicit descriptions of death/blood/gore/violence/bodily injury/etc., graphic descriptions of mental disorders (ptsd, anxiety, depression, dermatillomania), attempted suicide/suicidal ideation, domestic violence, blackmail/manipulation/coercion, kidnapping, implied age gap, mentions of drugs

notes: please heed the warnings!!! i know there are a lot of them, but please!!! also note that this is chapter 2! otherwise, i will say, this plot is largely for plot development oops. as always, big thanks to @staraxiaa and @pranabefall for being my permanent beta readers (i really should start paying y'all i'M SORRY I'M BROKE) and for offering top-tier insight and advice. lena grilled me on the ending, so it's perfect now. aine gave great inspo for the direction in which this story's heading. it's a long ride, so thanks for hanging on! we're halfway through now!

part i - part ii - part iii

A THUNDERSTORM reaches electrification, or its maturing stage, once the thunder cloud grows dark and grey in color. This transition is the result of increasing humidity and moisture, as air continues to rise up the cumulus cloud and brings additional water along with it. Eventually, once the raindrops have breached a certain size, the rising air will no longer be able to support the droplets’ weight, and rain will fall within the cloud.

In both nature and humankind, it seems storms start from the inside, before they're forced to pour out into the world when the turmoil can no longer be contained.

(You may not notice it anymore – the weeping of your soul second nature, your world a perpetual rainstorm.)

–

Jing Yuan is gone by the time you move in. It seems this estate's sole purpose is to house Yanqing until he graduates from elementary school, which won't be for another few years, and with most of the men gone as well, it's become vacant and spacious.

You don't do well with large, open spaces. There's too much uncertainty, too many openings for you to be wary of. Not that anyone would be after you – and you're sure that Jing Yuan has your safety (from external forces, that is) guaranteed –, but some instincts are never meant to die. Thankfully, you've been given a room of similar size to your studio, so the uneasiness doesn't bother you as much when you're on your own.

A lieutenant by the name of Kou and two of his associates assist in hauling in your singular suitcase and backpack, and in general, they seem to be your main points of contact. Judging by the permanent creases in between his brows, Kou seems to be a stern person, overly serious at all times, determined to fulfill his responsibility to squeeze every possible bit of information out of you. You make a mental note to think before you speak when he's around.

Presently, you have some downtime, about half an hour before dinner's ready. Aside from the two associates guarding your room, you're by yourself, and you take this opportunity to prepare for your first meeting with Kou later that night.

As you were packing this morning, you had time to reach a few conclusions. First, you clearly panicked too much during your meeting with Jing Yuan yesterday. Not that you would ever truly believe the words that come out of his mouth, but he personally admitted that your encounter was by coincidence. In other words, there's a possibility that he doesn't know everything there is to you.

And logically, that makes more sense. After all, Hana had told you that your parents went hysterical after your disappearance, and burned everything that reminded them of you – your photos, school uniform, and the shiromuku you were supposed to wear that following autumn. If there was anything of yours that could remain, it would be your severed left pinky, a vow you made of your own volition, a damning ultimatum to them and the shit household they raised you in, that you'd never come back. But, at this point, even your pinky would only be there in spirit, at this point having already rotted and eroded in the damp soil it rests within. You also found out you had been removed from the family register when you went to change your legal name to your current one, so there's nothing that could indicate your prior existence.

So while you did mess up, you might still have some remaining leverage (though you shouldn’t get too ahead of yourself).

As for Hana…

You can't help but bite your thumbnail, worry shading every one of your actions. You better be safe.

The two of you have a set schedule of monthly calls, so if either one of you were to break that routine, that'd be an immediate indication that something's gone wrong. Since the two of you had called barely a week ago, you were expecting her to pick up on the urgency behind the two panicked calls you left her last night. You even sent her voicemails hissing at her to give you a sign of life. She did reply a few hours later via text, but she said she couldn't call back, no thanks to a violent client that left her with high blood pressure and a chafed asshole, as well as a general lack of an empty bathroom for her to hide in.

There's no reason to assume the worst, you mentally chide. But your sense of urgency shouldn't be discarded because, while she may be fine now, she may not be in the near future, so you should move faster when you still have the chance.

And that leads to the most important question: What should you do next? Since you can't back out of helping Jing Yuan, you should use this opportunity to ensure your childhood friend's safety.

Based on the photographs the oyabun showed you, it's obvious they're snapshots of a violent takeover occurring in your hometown. You should figure out whether it's Jing Yuan's or another gang that is responsible for the conflict. Though, in the worst case, who the perpetrator is won't matter – you'll have to negotiate with Jing Yuan anyway to spare or save Hana's life. But being informed of the specifics will help you position yourself in said negotiations.

But then you reach a complicated dilemma. You have no idea how much influence you have, and there's no reason for the oyabun to actually trust you or the information you'll provide. If you're utterly useless, you have no doubt Jing Yuan's men will off you first before you can even discuss with their boss.

That means you need to get him to believe in you enough so that you'll have the ability to persuade him. However, earning his faith would require you to be honest to him to a certain degree (because the best lies are half-truths), and that's… a deeply unsettling notion.

No matter how much Jing Yuan knows about your history, you abhor the idea of having to be vulnerable about it in front of a man like him. You'd rather commit seppuku and show him your literal insides, than scoop out your inner thoughts and lay them out for his entertainment and pleasure. Sometimes, you just have to compromise, you think, with a dismal shake of your head.

You shelf this thought for now. Your first priority should be ascertaining their intentions with you, as well as determining the current state of the takeover.

You eat dinner alone before you're led to an office. Kou's already sitting at the desk, placed center and towards the back, and you assume that you're to sit in the singular chair opposite to him. Of course, you don't, not until you're directed to with a nod from his associate, and even then, you sit on the very edge of the seat. You don't feel so unnerved by Kou, but more so your impending conversation with him. It's not that you're intentionally underestimating him, but after your confrontations with Jing Yuan, everything else has paled in comparison.

Kou clears his throat, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. "This won't take long. I'm sure you're tired from all that has transpired."

The lieutenant goes through basic procedures and expectations, like he's onboarding a new employee. You're not allowed to communicate with anyone outside of the estate, and if you want to use your phone or laptop, you'll be monitored. All of the information you'll be exposed to is confidential, and you can't even talk about it with other members of the gang, as most of them are uninformed. Your job is to answer any questions asked of you truthfully, without bias or ulterior motive. And finally, following the end of your stay, you'll continue to be monitored in a non-disruptive manner for an indefinite period of time to ensure that you're not breaking non-disclosure. The terms are shoddy at best, impossible to enforce, but you agree to them anyway.

But why can't they just ask folks back home directly?

Then, you're given your first task, which is to go through several missing persons reports and see if you can recognize any of the listed individuals.

There's no need to lie about this – you recognize every single one of them. Most of them are girls, with the occasional boy with stereotypically feminine features, and the age range is between 14 and 22. You don't know any of them personally, their relations with you limited to being a former classmate or the local laundromat owner's daughter. But it doesn't matter how distant they were to you because these were faces you used to see everyday, people who used to coexist and occupy the same spaces as you. A bitterness overcomes you, a sheen of oil that coats and clings to your tongue, a taste that should be disgusting but elicits nothing more than a disapproving grimace.

You tell Kou exactly this, and in response, he probes a little deeper, asking you if you have any ideas as to where they may be. It's true that you aren't sure where they exactly are, as in you don't know which underground brothel they're a part of or the specific landfill their hollowed body parts are buried in, but approximately, all of the missing folks should remain within the larger Tokyo Metropolis prefecture. You don't inform him of the latter, though, because that's a detail only certain folks are privy to, but you inform them of the sex and human trafficking, which you frame as rumors you heard through the grapevine back when you were in school. Kou seems to find this bit helpful, as a low grumble of his, more mellow and pensive, echoes through the room.

It seems Jing Yuan and his men have yet to discover the exact nature of your hometown. Not that it's rare for a gang to participate in sex or human trafficking, but you suppose they were temporarily led astray by the also very busy arms trading that occurs in the area. After all, your hometown is a prime location for smuggling goods in and out of the affluent Roppongi neighborhood, and well, those goods could be anything.

Just as he's about to ask you another question, a series of thuds and lighter patters of feet begin to shake the floor. Kou simply sighs and dismisses you, asking for one of his men to take you back to your room. At least you were useful enough tonight, you think, relieved that you get to live to see another day.

As you leave the office, a high-pitched shriek pierces through the air. The voice can't come from anyone but a young child, so you figure Yanqing's back home.

Now that you think about it, you haven't run into the kid at all. He must've been out all day, attending school and doing whatever other things that the heir to a yakuza syndicate would do, but they wouldn't be anything like the flower arrangement and shamisen classes you had to take when you were young since he's a boy.

"Let me go!"

You wince at how shrill his voice is, and it gets more and more unbearable as the way back leads you closer to the noise.

Except you didn't expect the commotion to take place right in front of your room.

Yanqing's bolting around the rock garden, feet kicking up dust and sand, destroyed the pattern of ripples, as he zig-zags between and jumps over shrubs, wide, flat stones, and domineering men who lack in the agility department. He seems to be acting out, you observe, and you watch as five yakuza men fail over and over to capture the young heir, their arms flailing and mouths helplessly agape, spilling out gentle pleas that barely conceal their underlying curses.

It doesn't surprise you that Jing Yuan's kid is outmaneuvering men who are five times older and bigger than him. You can't imagine how dangerous Yanqing will turn out when he grows up. The distorted image bothers you – that this child with grubby hands and chubby cheeks will one day be drenched in the color and stench of crimson.

Suddenly, your eyes lock with Yanqing, and you startle a little, having not realized that you were staring at him while pondering his prescripted future. The kid, too, is caught off-guard by your onlooking gaze, and one of his bodyguards seems to notice his pause and lunges at him, hugging his frame tightly to prevent him from escaping again.

You tear your eyes away from the little boy. The bodyguards, a powerless child, the lack of freedom – the entire scene fills you with dread. You excuse yourself, bow to the associate, and slip into your room.

Immediately, you collapse onto your knees and bury your hands into your face. You thought you could fend off the reminders for much longer. It shouldn't be that hard – all you have to do is turn your cheek and pretend everything here doesn't poke and prod at the parts of you that remain raw and exposed. It should've been easy, really. But you had underestimated – ignored – how deeply everything inside still hurts and how poor your pain tolerance is, even after years of attempted "training" and grueling punishment.

Outside, the commotion continues – Yanqing's pitched yelps and his bodyguards' calls of "Young Master" farther away, no longer right outside your room, but loud enough to prick at your eardrums.

With a ragged breath, you cover your ears with the hot, sweaty planes of your palms and, for extra measure, you hunch over your tucked knees and bury your head underneath the futon covers. The fetal position makes you feel small, and your behavior, like a child, only serves to dampen your mood.

A voice among your mind's chorus sniggers – Is that all you've got?

You can't muster the energy to retort. It's not like you've ever considered yourself extraordinary or even marginally above mediocre, but the disappointment and helplessness sting like a fresh wound, as if you haven't been troubled by these feelings countless times before.

Part of you is even surprised that you've lasted up to this point. The estate and the people in it are all too familiar, in that their sheer existences are reprimanding reminders of past mistakes, taunting allusions to prior experiences that never fail to overwhelm you with dread and humiliation. Everything has been bothering you since the beginning, and seeing Yanqing in that state is what has finally set you off, triggering alarms and old, destructive habits.

Your internal monologue of nonstop deprecation and criticism drowns out everything else, and your hands fall away from the sides of your head to rejoin together, nail to dry cuticle to nail. You pull, scratch, pull until thinning skin finally gives way, and then you rip it off, finding a confusing, guilty pleasure in the act of tearing yourself apart, tiny strip by tiny strip.

And through it all – your bleeding fingers, the dead skin and crimson dots that litter the comforter, the satisfaction of killing off parts of yourself –, that dominating voice inside your head crescendos and rapidly assumes control of your brain. It coaxes and calls forth others to join it, and whispers from the past, from what you remember of your parents, join in to howl a depressing, ominous harmony – You're a failure, you'll never amount to anything, all your effort will be in vain.

Like a chant, a spell, a curse, they repeat themselves over and over, and it feels like they won't ever stop until they finally manifest the bleakest, most appalling future for you. And you're completely trapped in this hateful whirlpool, with your head permanently submerged in its dark, murky waters. Worst of all, even when common sense is saying that you shouldn’t give in, your parched throat drinks it all up, indulging in the acidic, bittersweet taste.

Eventually, unbeknownst to you, you fall asleep, and only then does your self-hatred cease.

–

You're woken up by fleeting, curious touches to the bottoms of your feet.

You don't wake immediately. It starts off as a slight discomfort, and your subconscious urges your body to move by the barest amount, enough to wiggle your feet and toes around until the itchy sensation fades away. But after a few seconds, it returns, and the cycle repeats, until eventually you're roused, eyes blinking open to see the same blackness that you saw when they were closed.

Fuck, did I black out?

Crazed and frustrated, you flail your arms around, struggling in the most inefficient manner possible to tug the futon cover off of you. You don't know how long you've been out, but you feel somewhat rested, so it's probably way past dinnertime. It didn't seem like Kou wanted to meet with you again today, but in the slimmest chance that he did, you're screwed.

However, despite several pushes and kicks, nothing works, and you let out a displeased groan as the blanket remains tightly wrapped around everything above your shoulders. I'll just have to use more force, you think, and you thrust an elbow back to free up more movement for your arm.

But then your elbow hits something, and someone yelps out in pain. You jump in surprise, and as if on cue, with a swivel of your head to look in the direction of the sound, the cover slides off of your head, as if making a grand reveal.

Because right behind you is a child, his silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the moonlight through the shoji screens, and there's only one kid that you know of that lives here.

In the fleeting moment that you have to take him in, all you can register is that he's small. Not frail, or weak, just small. You're much larger than him – you could probably curl your body around him, once, twice, with some length of limb to spare. (You're taken aback by the tenderness in your observation. It lifts your spirit, then pulls the latter crashing back down.)

"What are you doing here!" you hiss as you reach out by instinct to touch his cheek, which he's nursing with a hand, something akin to a stunned expression seizing his cherubic features. His other is clamped over his mouth, and his wide eyes beg you to stay silent, too.

There's shuffling coming down the hallway that stops outside your door.

"Is everything alright in there?" It's one of your guards, but you find it odd that he wasn't standing right outside your room like he usually is. His partner doesn't seem to be there either.

"Sorry," you call out from where you sit, "I just knocked my hand against something."

"May I come in to check?"

Yanqing's eyes widen impossibly more, and his panic causes you to stumble over your words.

"I - uh - I-I'm changing at the moment! Can you give me a minute?"

"Oh." It's a surprisingly flat sound. "Never mind then."

You breathe a sigh of relief at his quick acquiescence. Then, you shoot a glare at the kid, who's still as a rock, and the two of you have a staring-with-blinking contest that seems to last forever.

With your eyes having adjusted to the faint moonlight, you have no choice but to take a proper look at the boy as you both wait. And with one glance, there's no doubt about it – he's no biological son of Jing Yuan. His hair is thin and neat in his ponytail, unlike Jing Yuan's mess of a mane, and while it could be that he's still far too young, you don't see any traces of Jing Yuan's facial or physical traits.

Yanqing definitely lacks the oyabun's eyes. The kid's are large and round, dewy and clear, too busy taking in his surroundings to comprehend and be tainted by them. They're a bit darker in shade – probably more bronze or orange, though you can't tell for sure – compared to his foster father's gold, and it eases you a bit to see that this child looks more humane.

However, if the saying is true – that a person's eyes are honest reflections of their minds –, then you can tell that the light in Yanqing's eyes is not unperturbed. He's not foolish enough to come here without a reason, and you're not sure whether you should be thankful or not, that this eight-year-old is too mature for his nascent existence on this planet.

At the same time – and perhaps you're looking too deeply into it –, in the midst of his troubles, there's a hopeful glint in the kid's eyes, as if he's eagerly awaiting you to do something. Unlike Hana and Jing Yuan, though, you can't read Yanqing's mind, so you have no clue as to what he's expecting from you.

You feel an uptick in your pulse at your temple. It's irritating, really. It's additional pressure you didn't anticipate having to deal with, and you loathe the dreadful melancholy that returns whenever you think deeply about Yanqing's circumstances. Even though he's nothing like you, in the same way he's nothing like Jing Yuan, the two of you are similar in ways that only you can tell.

You wonder, then, in what ways he's like Jing Yuan.

You wonder if one day, those honeyed pools will harden into amber chunks. If those chunks will build static as he continues to be exposed to his foster father's ruthlessness and electric current. If those chunks will ensnare people, cities, nations for decades and decades to come, taking innocent lives as part of the gang's nefarious plans – a gang that'll continue to be at his beck and call, plans that, one day, he'll organize and execute, from start to very bloody finish.

Neither of you break away until there's another shuffle outside of your door, and the guard's paces take him back to where he came from.

Finally, you and Yanqing tear your gazes away from each other.

Cognizant that the men are never a safe distance away, you maintain a steady, low voice as you speak. "Why are you in my room?"

Yanqing clearly understands the dangers of your current situation, so he, too, in spite of his young age and lack of experience, mirrors your quiet whisper. "I brought you some snacks. You must be tired."

He turns to his left and slowly pushes a black tray carrying full bowls, plates, and utensils your way. Everything is packed to the brim, with traces of soup and shreds of vegetables spilling out, and you're sure he's overcompensating for his disturbance, having already predicted that his visit – his presence – is unwanted. (Does he feel that way at the moment, or is it a learned notion?)

You scoff. "Thank you, but you didn't have to do that at the risk of my life. Sneak back off to your room before I'm slaughtered for kidnapping you."

Speaking of which, you can't help but think – Wouldn't it be funny if I actually died for kidnapping the same brat I saved – from an attempted kidnapping? Kinda a full circle moment there, huh.

Unfortunately, the kid doesn't budge. He's shifted positions so that he's now sitting on his calves, and his hands have balled into tiny, trembling fists that rest on the tops of his thighs. Clearly, then, he's not here to deliver some goodies and throw a slumber party with you, not that it would take a genius to have figured that out.

You can't afford to be merciful. You scoff again and cross your arms over your chest, hoping to exude enough of a contemptuous and unreasonable air so that he'll give in and run off.

At first, your act did affect Yanqing. His head droops a little, and his gaze falls as well. He also shifts in his seat, rocking side to side, and you can almost feel his indecision as he struggles to choose between leaving you alone and staying rooted to his spot. In the end, though, he settles with the latter, a semblance of a dissatisfied pout ghosting his pursed lips, which leaves you with no other choice but to, at the very least, hear him out. After all, you have no intention of wrestling a kid into submission (although you're not very confident that you could beat him in a fight in the first place), nor would it be smart to kick him out lest a guard sees him.

You sigh in surrender.

"Fine," you mutter, "what do you need from me?"

Yanqing immediately perks up, and you can't help but cringe at the way he practically shines, the stars in his eyes and their metaphorical glow too bright in the presence of your comfortable dark.

"May I sleep here tonight?" He asks with such politeness and reverence that, had you been any less jaded, you would've given in.

"Absolutely not," you deadpan.

"Why not?" He huffs, and for once, he's acting like a brat.

With a blank face, you explain, "Your guards don't know that you're here, yes? So if they find you in my room, I will die."

"No, you wouldn't! They wouldn't hurt you as long as I tell them not to."

"Child, do you remember how we met?" Yanqing slips into a restless silence, so you don't press him to respond. But you do conclude by saying, "They care about your safety, so don't get yourself into too much trouble."

You're sure he has his reasons. Children don't act out unless their needs, whether it be physical, mental, or emotional, aren't being met, and you're sure he's being neglected in several ways, by nature of his environment. Especially for someone as docile as Yanqing, there's no doubt that something's bothering him, or else he wouldn't be seeking help from a stranger like you.

However, it's precisely because you're a stranger that you cannot –

That's a fucking lie, and you know it.

You press your knuckles into your eyes and rub vigorously, as a means to prevent your expression from falling. It seems you're still soft, even after all these years and the terrible experiences that have come along with them.

You shouldn't concede. You shouldn't allow him to stay. He could promise to wake up early, escape silently, whatever – but there would never be a guarantee, and it's entirely foolish to rely on a child to follow through with their word. At the same time, though, deep down in your heart, you don't want to turn him away. You want to give him an opportunity to prove himself, especially since no one gave you one. And if anything, on the very hour that you resolved you'd leave that cheap illusion of a home, you promised yourself you'd never act like them, and turning away a lonely child would be exactly something they would do.

You let your hands fall into your lap, in total defeat. If you kick the kid out, you'd never be able to face him, and more likely than not, you wouldn't be able to even think straight for the next few days, no thanks to the guilt that'd be eating you from the inside out.

"Fine."

As expected, Yanqing's face somehow lights up even brighter, and this time, you have to completely avert your gaze. There's no going back, no backpedaling on your words, no room for regret. It's obvious you're biting off more than you can chew, but you'll think about your future later. Right now, you need to tackle what comes next, and that's surviving tonight.

"I have questions," you continue. "First, do you know your way back?"

The kid nods swiftly, body angled and sharp, oozing utmost respect for you now that you're saving his ass.

"How do you plan on returning without getting caught?"

"The guards switch every three hours. They take 15 minutes to break and chat, which they really shouldn't be doing, but… that just means I can slip back in then."

"When is the next rotation?"

"Uh, Tsurugi wakes me up at 6…?"

You note Yanqing's confusion and his irrelevant response, due to your choice in vocabulary, so you urge yourself to speak more simply and softly. (Tsurugi must be the name of his primary bodyguard, who you vaguely recall.)

With a deep breath, you say, "Great. Then, just for tonight, I'll let you stay. But you have to leave by five, and if Tsurugi catches you, you're coming up with a lie. I will act like I have nothing to do with you. Am I clear?"

As if the two of you are roleplaying a children's game, he salutes you, little chest puffed out, back arched forward, cheeks round and red with excitement. You ignore it, and scooch over to make space for Yanqing to join you on your futon. He crawls over, the fabric of his pajama pants which are shy of his ankles wrinkling under the twists and turns of his knees, and plops right down, head taking up the entirety of your pillow. For a second, you part your mouth to point out that your graciousness doesn't extend to the sacrifice of your quality of sleep, but as Yanqing's eyes close, drowsiness evidently shrouding his mind, you think better than to berate the little one.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep anytime soon, anyway. You'll stay up till five, so that you can wake him on time, and then slip a few hours of rest in before breakfast.

You peek up at the doors to your room and see the faint outline of guards standing outside. Since it seemed like a shift change had just occurred, you assume that it's currently barely half past midnight, and the analog clock hanging on the wall behind you confirms it as such. If you had your phone on you, you would take this chance to attempt contacting Hana once more, but Kou had taken your device away during your meeting and locked it in a safe sitting on one of the shelves in his office.

That reminds you – they could be looking through your phone. The only thing of use they'll find in there is Hana's phone number, but even then, they likely wouldn't take the risk of potentially calling a civilian, or at least not without you. Perhaps that'll be something they'll expect you to do eventually. Anyway, for tonight, you'll have to make do with passing the hours by idly.

Yanqing has fallen into a deep sleep. Tucking the blanket underneath his chin, you dote on him a little, a small apology for your rudeness from before. Then, you straighten out his ponytail from where it curves in an unruly manner around his neck, before lying back down yourself, face tilted upward towards the ceiling.

–

There's the crack of a gunshot. A heavy thump on the dirt ground. Then, there's a few sniggers, some side comments you can't make out, all of which cease when someone barks out orders to bag the body and dispose of it immediately. Finally, silence.

Well, not total silence. If you strained your ears further, you'd hear the choked sobs of another victim or two, their animalistic and desperate pleas muffled by the black duct tape slapped across their sealed lips, along with the rustling of the men placing the corpse into a body bag that will later be burned in a large furnace in some far-off trash site.

(Not that anyone knows you know, and you're simply parroting Haru's words, so you're not entirely sure what he means. But, even without understanding the full extent of his words, you're aware that your family is in dangerous, brutal business, so you don't force yourself to listen for more.)

Even though you're only in elementary school, you've learned when you should and shouldn't wish to learn more, and more often than not, in the world that you live in, curiosity does kill the cat and will fail to bring it back.

After all, that's why all of these people are dying, no?

You roll your eyes, because you know that's not true. An explanation that simple and cold doesn't sit right even with your developing moral compass.

This discomfort that you're feeling at the moment... that's frustration directed at yourself. Because you're no different in your desperation or intrigue, except you have no excuse for behaving so recklessly, aside from your youth.

And Haru has taken extra measures to drill that into your head. He constantly reminds you that there's no need for you to worry about "adult matters," that you should immediately find him if you run into a problem, that you should be enjoying the barest bits and pieces of your childhood because "you'll never experience it again."

However, no matter how much wisdom or power he has, Haru can't solve the current issue at hand.

At that thought, your hands throb, which draws your attention away from the murders taking place outside of your room. You're grateful that no bones were broken this time, thanks to Haru and his insistence that you let the matter go once and for all. As you wiggle your fingers and ball them into fists, there's that familiar soreness and ache of bruised skin webbed with bloody cracks, muscles weathered from overuse and strain, and dulled knuckles with little strength remaining in them. The pain is beginning to spread up your wrists, the fatigue starting to weigh down the flesh and blood in your forearms, and you ponder how exactly you're going to be able to pick up a pencil at school in the morning.

You've been beaten over this issue for the past two months, ever since you started hounding your parents over it. No matter how many times you've asked your parents for permission to attend your school's annual overnight trip, they won't allow you, and this year is no different. At this rate, you'll graduate elementary school, having made zero memories with the few friends you have, and there's apparently talk of you transferring to another middle school where you won't recognize anyone.

Grumbling a little, you bore your eyes even deeper into the textured plaster of your bedroom ceiling, so that you can attribute the tears gathering at your waterline to your makeshift staring game and not the overwhelming disappointment suffocating you at the nose and throat.

That's another problem Haru can't solve for you.

I mean, he could, but I don't want to wake him up.

Haru's bedroom is right next to yours, and his breaks are limited to whenever you're (supposed to be) asleep. You know he wouldn't complain if you were to find him at this hour, but you'd feel horrible for doing so, and you definitely wouldn't be able to hold your tears back then. You'd rather not be more of a burden to Haru or Hana than you already are.

So you revert to your typical coping strategy: bite your lower lip firmly – not enough to draw blood, or else Mother will rage –, grip your hands onto the top edge of your blanket, and go over the English vocabulary you were introduced to in class earlier in the afternoon.

Because, one day, you'll leave this place far, far away. So far, where no one will quiver at the briefest mention of your last name, where parents won't scowl at you for befriending their children, where you won't have to bandage your bleeding, splitting hands every morning in fear that they'll fall apart and crumble at your feet.

And Haru and Hana will definitely come with me! Haru's fluent in English anyway, and we can just teach Hana the basics. The three of us will run away, and no one will find us.

–

You take a few deep breaths, urging the infuriated tension in your body to dissipate and your disturbed mind to stop conflating the past with the present.

I can't believe I still remember so much, you think, in equal parts disappointment and… yearning. It's not a longing for the place that you grew up in, but rather, for what the place could've been. A normal family and life was all that you wished for when you were growing up, even though you didn't have the slightest clue as to what normalcy was like. In the end, you concluded that, as long as there was Haru, Hana, and an absence of pain and blood, that would be normal enough. Of course, now that you've personally experienced somewhat of a mundane life, you roll your eyes and wish your past self was a bit more ambitious.

You typically don't allow yourself to reminisce, but since your past and present are colliding, it's impossible to recognize the parallels.

And just like that, both so slowly and so rapidly, you must wake up Yanqing.

You're grateful that the kid's so obedient, as he doesn't utter a single groan or whine when you tap on his shoulder. He simply sits up while rubbing the heels of his hand into his eyes in gentle back-and-forth motions. And even through his grogginess, he climbs out of the covers noiselessly and walks towards the attached bathroom.

Seated, you watch as he climbs onto the toilet seat and reaches up to unlock the window pane, from which he squeezes through. He then jumps down, followed by a gentle thump, then silence. Through it all, you're incredibly impressed and terrified by the amount of tenuous training this elementary schooler has already mastered. Anyway, there's no one outside your room at the moment, so you figure there's very few guards on patrol in general, so you trust that he'll sneak back into his room with no problem. Regardless, from this point onwards, it's none of your business what Yanqing does or what happens to him.

Relief washes over you, and you catch your breath for what seems like the first time since you blacked out last night. The air is still chill, as it always is in the spring, but there's a touch of slight, summer humidity that sticks pleasantly against your skin. Whether or not you're prepared, it will be that time of the year again.

–

It seems Jing Yuan's goal is to take over both gangs at once, as soon as the two merge together when they settle their contract. That way, he wouldn't just have control over your hometown, but also whatever territory the acquiring gang has. For any other syndicate, an objective like this one would be infeasible, but this is no more than a small matter for him and his men.

Swaying side to side, you stare down into the center of the marble sink, one hand placed flat on the counter and the other gripping your toothbrush, elbow hanging in the air. The tangy and minty taste of fluoride bubbles against your tongue and drools from the corners of your lips. You should spit it all out – you've been brushing for five minutes –, but you're too deep in thought.

That explains why I only have a week.

The gangs in your hometown are going to finalize the acquisition by the weekend, and he needs enough intel to ensure that the ambush is truly worth it and that he's attacking where they're most vulnerable.

With regards to the acquiring gang, you have very little idea as to who it could be. Usually, mergers and acquisitions take place between neighboring organizations. You’re aware of two candidates, but one out of the two is too conservative, disinterested in artificial growth and more fearful of internal strife than anything else, and the other one… well, you're not sure they would continue to pursue a partnership after the shitshow that went down when you left. Of course, you can't rule the latter out entirely based on conjecture, and they're the sole lead you have.

You set down your toothbrush and turn on the faucet, using the lukewarm water to wash away the toothpaste foam and gunk. You also fill up a glass cup halfway up with water and drink from it, throwing your head back so you can gurgle. You squint as you stare up at the shining LED lights lining the top of the sink mirror.

Anyway, back to Jing Yuan.

There's no doubt that he's aiming to monopolize your hometown's trade channels and connections, as that's the singular redeeming aspect of that place. The acquiring syndicate would also be involved – either as a large supplier themself or as an operations provider –, so it would also be advantageous to seize their services.

So far, you've mainly been helping Kou and his men with names and locations. You also threw in some leads, disguised as idle gossip and tales, to make yourself seem useful, even if by coincidence. For instance, you mentioned seeing groups of college boys hanging out in the alleyways between a popular cigar shop and a thrift store nobody frequents. The thrift store is useless, but if they were to look into the cigar shop, they'd easily find that it's not just a small warehouse for foreign drug imports, but there's also a tunnel in the manager's break room that connects to an underground sex shop a few blocks away. That sex shop is considered one of the larger establishments in the area, and deals frequently take place in their midst of stale cologne, spilt alcohol, and smoking gunpowder. Surely Jing Yuan would find some of those conversations valuable.

Since Kou has already been informed of the underground sex and human trafficking, if his men were to follow your trail exactly as you intended, then they should be able to deduce that your hometown gang is more than interested in becoming a major supplier themself. Given that they control the entire flow of goods in the neighborhood, if they were to succeed and begin expanding nationwide, then they might actually have a shot at amassing considerable fortune and power.

You inhale, then exhale, through your nose.

You briefly entertain the thought of what comes next. Jing Yuan's sure to execute his hostile takeover perfectly, and naturally, he'll reorganize the gangs' internal management when he seizes them. If his primary interest is the supply chain, he'll likely shut down any and all unrelated activities. That means staff will be let go. Prostitutes, independent hitmen, the occasional clueless bar owner – only those that are not directly affiliated with the gang. While the others…

Your back and shoulders stiffen at the thought. Hana easily falls in the latter group.

Water begins to flood your throat. You gag, a strangled, wobbly noise that's forced out amidst your surprise, and you throw your head back down so that you can spit into the sink. With a ragged breath, you shut your eyes firmly, and wait for the nausea to alleviate.

Suddenly, the bathroom door cracks open, and you jump as the door handle on the inside knocks into your hip. You're about to scream out loud, but when you whip your head around, you're greeted by a concerned Yanqing.

You can't help but growl. "What are you doing here?! I said last night was a one-time thing!"

The child recoils at your animosity. He tucks his chin down into his chest and takes a few steps back, though he doesn't close the bathroom door. And maybe it's just the lights again, but there's something that glitters at the corners of his eyes.

You take another inhale, letting air, still a little warm and humid from your bath earlier, fill up to the ends of your lungs, expanding all the way to the sides of your ribcage and the core of your stomach.

He's just a kid. Calm. Down.

"Sorry, Yanqing," you say, evidently softer and very apologetic. "You just surprised me, is all. But we did agree that you couldn't come over anymore."

He scrunches his nose a few times, before nodding obediently again. However, like the previous night, he anchors himself to his spot, and he probably won't leave until you give in and let him stay.

"Yanqing…," you mumble, crouching down onto the floor so that you're at eye-level with him, "is something wrong?"

It takes him a while to muster an answer. At first, it's the subtlest tremble in his upper lip, like he's deciding whether he should tell you the honest truth or not. Then, he squirms with his shoulders, thin frame shaking and swaying back and forth, and it doesn't take you long to recognize that it's out of embarrassment. However, it's critical that you don't rush him, especially if he's teetering between uncertainty and doubt. Finally, he huffs, pouts, and looks up at you with round, innocent eyes, checking one final time to see if you're the kind of person to judge him harshly.

You're not, and you nod with pursed lips to demonstrate that you'd listen to him intently.

"I don't like sleeping alone," he confesses.

You nod again, out of sympathy. When Yanqing doesn't follow up, you ask, "Is there a reason why?"

Dismayed, he shakes his head. "It's too dark."

We're alike in that respect, you mentally note. The number of similarities between the two of you is growing.

"I get that. Have you tried asking for a nightlight? Those helped me when I was young."

That's a half-lie. You never had a nightlight, per se, but when you couldn't go on your sixth grade overnight camping trip, Haru tried to make up for the loss of the experience with glow-in-the-dark stars that he stuck on the ceiling of your bedroom. Unfortunately, they didn't last for more than a week, due to an impromptu inspection from Mother, and she demanded they all be ripped off and disposed of immediately.

Yet again, Yanqing shakes his head. "I have to get used to it," he states, firmly.

You sigh, hands reaching up to smooth back some of his loose baby hairs. "But you're here."

"I know… but…" He looks up at you with a desperate, pleading look, like he's begging for you to understand him. "There are things out there in the dark. I don't feel safe."

Not just alike – the exact same.

"I see…" You stand back up and lead him to your futon, turning off the bathroom lights and closing the door behind you. You lie down on one side of the comforter, and the child mimics you, settling down across from you, making sure to fold his arms and legs close to his chest.

Words don't need to be exchanged for Yanqing to comprehend that you're giving him permission. And there's also the unspoken agreement on the same conditions you set the first night he came over.

"Relax, I'll wake you when it's time."

At that, the child unfolds himself and wriggles into a comfortable sleeping position, while you lay the blanket over his body so that he doesn't catch a cold.

"By the way," you hum, "how did you get in here this time?"

"I ran around the house and came through the main door."

"I see." You pause for a moment, before finishing, "Try not to do that. You'll get caught easily that way."

"I won't – I promise!"

The look in his eyes is set, determined, somehow ferociously loyal. In spite of his passionate spirit, you don't have the heart to offer him another piece of advice, one that you take quite to heart: Don't make promises so frequently, and unnecessarily.

A flicker of a smile appears on your face, and Yanqing takes it as a sign of affirmation. He grins himself, before turning on his side, getting comfortable for the night.

Suddenly, he jerks up, supporting his upper body with a bent elbow, and looks back over his shoulder at you. He says, "You're really kind, miss! I wish everyone here was as nice as you are!"

Before you can respond, not that it's possible for you to come up with an adequate enough reply, he flops back down.

You could speak up, if you wanted to. But – and maybe this is simply an excuse – his breathing's already transitioning into deeper, longer inhales, and just like yesterday evening, you can't find it in your heart to disturb him. After all, no child talks like that, without reason.

It's not to imply that the men here are abusing Yanqing. From the peeks of skin that you've seen, primarily that around his wrists, ankles, and neck, there aren't visible injuries. The bruises that you did catch a glance of seemed like normal injuries received from a blunt sword, most likely from exchanging blows during kendo practice.

However, that doesn't mean the people here are serving the child fully. Generally, emotional neglect is a common recurrence in East Asian cultures and traditional upbringing, and there's no doubt that it's drastically worse within yakuza households. Jing Yuan must be subjecting Yanqing to a severe and harsh training regime in order to shape the latter into a proper heir, and part of that training would require adopting a strict, apathetic attitude towards everything, including the kid's pain, frustration, and anguish. In other words, there's no other way to teach a child of less than ten years the art of masking and indifference without demonstrating it directly to them.

All told, it's highly possible that you're the only adult that Yanqing has encountered in a long while who is so open with their expressions and thoughts. And you can't help but think – What a pitiful existence.

–

When rainfall occurs, the cumulus cloud becomes a cumulonimbus cloud. As the rain droplets fall, they'll also push air particles downwards, forming a cycle of up and downdrafts within the cloud. As a result, fallen rain will settle on the bottom, while those that remain at the top freeze into ice particles. This cycle is what allows electrification to build up.

What is most notable at this point in the development stage is the widening of the top of the storm cloud, as positively charged ice crystals fan out and form what is termed as the "anvil."

In blacksmithing, anvils are tough by nature, made to withstand the brutal hammering and battering of metal against metal. At the same time, it is also used to cut and shape, flatten and curve – to manipulate. In the context of thunderstorms, the anvil signals the storm's maturity, and the more spread out it is, the more turbulent the weather will be. In that sense, the anvil also manipulates – it draws out a sense of foreboding and gloom from the radius of towns, homes, and people it casts its looming shadow over, victims that will have to bear the storm's incessant rain and lightning.

And while there's no scientific basis for Japanese folklore, it is suggested in countless tales that these lightning strikes are signals from the heavens to the mortals, that punishment for their transgressions is impending.

Imminent.

–

It's your fifth day at the estate, and Yanqing's visits have become habitual. You no longer chastise him for putting you in danger, and he listens to you more often than not. And to make sure he doesn't get caught, the two of you decide on a more refined routine to conceal his presence and your knowing of it.

You wait until a few minutes before or after the guards' shift change to go into your bathroom to begin your nightly routine. That way, you can help Yanqing down as he sneaks through the bathroom window, and the sounds of your bath filling up are more than enough to overpower the slight squeak of the window pane whenever it slides open.

Today, though, Yanqing seems more haggard than usual. The droop in his shoulders, along with the shadows under his eyes, are telltale signs of his exhaustion. He doesn't even bother to greet you with his usual toothy grin, no "Good evening, Miss!" to be heard. You pick at your left thumb’s cuticle, wondering if it's because of his nightly escapades to your room. Yet, he looked more rested than when he was staving off sleepless nights alone, you internally debate.

Suddenly, as Yanqing steps down from the toilet, bending at an angle at the waist, he lets out a timid weep of pain.

Urgently, you reach over to steady him and avoid making contact with his midriff. The pain seems to linger, by the insistent crease between his eyebrows, so whatever injury he's sustained must be quite stubborn.

"Hold on to my shoulders," you instruct. Looping an arm under his knees and placing the other on his back, you heave him up and rush to lay him down on your futon.

"Where does it hurt?" You pat your hands lightly around his ribs, glancing back and forth between his wrinkled nightshirt and his rapidly blinking eyes.

"Right side –," he squirms just as your hand smooths over the spot right between his last rib and the dip in his torso, "– there!"

You lift your arm and hover your palm over the spot. "Can I take a look?" you inquire, and the boy immediately lets out a whimper in confirmation.

You shimmy his shirt up and find bandages wrapped around his stomach. On the right side, as Yanqing directed, there are a few specks of blood, and there's a purplish blob peeking out from the upper border of the gauze. There are probably several more cuts and bruises underneath the off-white wraps, and you swallow thickly at the sight.

Your vision blurs and dims, and for a moment, it feels like you're losing your balance. It continues to contort, swirling, while the world slips from its axis.

Fuck! Now's not the time!

You didn't handle this so well during your first night, and you feel a rush of panic as you question if you'd be able to withstand it this time. You pause, close your eyes, and frantically search for your center of gravity to re-ground yourself.

The water's still running, that's suspicious –

I don't have a first aid kit, what am I supposed to do!

Is the window still open? I should double-check –

You shove all of these thoughts aside. They're important, yes, and you'll get to them. But what's most important is gauging Yanqing's condition, you remind yourself, and you open your eyes, opting to simply do rather than think.

Your survival instincts kick in. The first and necessary step is to survey your surroundings. The bandages are neatly arranged and knotted, so you can't take them off. But even through the polyester fabric of the gauze, there's a noticeable heat that seeps through, so at the very least, you can help cool him off.

Robotically, you stand up and mutter, "I'll be right back."

You pace back to your bathroom and grab your hand towel hanging from the rack. You turn off the bathwater, the bath almost filled up to the brim, and leave it be. Then, you turn towards the sink, and let it run with cold water while you soak up the towel. Simultaneously, you're able to check the window and are relieved to find it closed, with its glass panes fogged up from condensation. Finally, with a few rough twists and pulls, you drain enough from the towel so that it doesn't drip, and rush back to Yanqing's side.

Folding it twice like a napkin so that it becomes a quarter of its size, you run the towel over the bit of bruised skin, before covering the spot you had identified earlier. The child whines at the icy touch, but doesn't resist it either, instead angling his hip in the direction of your outstretched hand in search of more of that cool, soothing sensation.

"I can't do much else," you whisper, almost a consoling coo, "so you need to rest up. You're doing very well, Yanqing. It'll get better soon."

With that, you pull his shirt back down without covering the cool towel, and wrap his legs and feet with your blanket to keep them warm. Yanqing also stills himself, but the sternness in his features doesn't disappear. You can only imagine that he's desperately waiting for sleep to claim his pain, as well as his thoughts.

You're back in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth with fast, aggressive back-and-forth motions. There's a tingle around the perimeter of your teeth, certainly your gums screaming from being scraped raw and torn, but it's more annoying than anything else, something you easily shove in your mind's back burner.

It's all coming back to me, you think with inward disgust.

–

Haru’s soaked, his suit and loosened tie plastered to his body, his hair and ponytail stuck to his forehead, ears, and nape. There's cold sweat streaking down his temple, and his cheeks, glistening with pool water, are already an angry rouge. His chest is heaving, too, lungs working overtime to take in gasp after gasp after gasp. 

You're also soaked into oblivion, and most importantly, you feel as infernally hot and angered as Haru looks. The gusts of wind that whip across the school grounds do nothing to dampen the infuriated sparks from within; they only fan the flames of everything – your resentment and frustration, your helplessness and hopelessness.

Haru's right arm flies up, and you don't even bother to brace yourself for the impact. You've been hit countless times before – you're used to it. In fact, you can almost feel the acute stinging against your jaw, accompanied with a slight ringing in your ears and a sore neck. However, in reality, his arm floats there, like a robot waiting for permission to move, to assault its target. But there's no one here to give instructions, not even teachers or staff members. It's the middle of the night, and no one should've been able to find you drowning yourself at your middle school pool.

But of course, Haru finds you. Even when the odds are stacked against him, he always manages to.

You're tempted to egg him on. Do it, you want to taunt, show me that you're no different from the rest of them. Because no matter how much we resist, we're both bred to be rotten to the core.

"No, I won't," he croaks, as if reading your mind.

You click your tongue. Like brother, like sister.

His hand drops down, hanging limply at his drenched side. A few passing clouds eclipse the moon, thus erasing the pool's reflection of the night sky – moon, stars, and all – and replacing it with an overflowing well of ink. Furthermore, in this opaque darkness, you can't make out Haru's reaction. He's never been very good with words, so you need to see his eyes in order to glean even the most superficial of his thoughts. The rest you could never decipher, hidden in the depths of his impregnable mind.

He speaks before the moon returns, his voice no more than a pained, sorrow croak. He utters your name, and it rings so hollow as echoes of it resound across the pool. Strangely, he sounds so weak and vulnerable – honest.

Another gust of wind swoops through, and ripples interlace across the darkened pool water.

Then, with a faltering voice, he chokes out, "I… get it. I totally get it. I know we live in a fucking hell, and you want to escape it. Trust me… I've tried, too. Several times, kid. I know… I know it all."

He sucks in a shaky breath.

"Kid… I don't watch over you just because I'm told to. This may be hard to believe at the moment, but… I care. I've been watching over you since the day you were fucking born, and I can't let you die before me. I won't! And – and if you did, what am I supposed to say to Hana, huh?! Tell her that I couldn't get to you in time?!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back his slick bangs, and as if on cue, the clouds pass. Moonlight illuminates all that stands beneath it, and you see that Haru's eyes are bloodshot and downcast. A shock of guilt zips through your body because, once again, you're inconveniencing him.

"It's only the three of us, kid… Things might be horrible right now, but once you and Hana come of age, everything will get easier. Just look at me – I can do so many more things than either of you can, and that's because I'm an adult. Wait a few more years and –"

Then, for the first time in your life, you witness Haru's dam break. For the first time in your life, Haru's shedding his persona as your personal bodyguard, and speaking to you solely as your older brother but not by blood. Nevertheless, he is someone who will always be more of a family member to you than any of your actual blood relatives.

"Shit, sorry, I'm spouting nonsense," he sobs. He dips his head, but the moonlight still catches the glints of teardrops raining down onto the pavement. There's a prickling in your eyes, too.

"Look, it-it's your choice. But, it's also my choice to butt in when I think you're doing something stupid. I'm not going to lie to you anymore and tell you things get better when you're older. You might have more independence and freedom and whatever when you reach my age, but that's all in exchange for things that are far worse.

"But, if there's anything that I haven't lied about, it's that there's only the three of us. And I can't let any of us give up, you hear? So you can stay angry, think that I'm being too meddlesome, whatever – but I'm doing all of this because I care so fucking much for you, kid. I'm always on your side, got it? And if you're really serious about wanting to leave this place, well… I-I promise we'll figure something out, yeah? I swear."

It's your turn to look down, hot tears streaming down your face out of humiliation and fear. You feel horrible for pushing Haru to his limit, but you're still extremely upset that he found you, of all times, of all places. And while the thought that you're not actually dead is relieving, you think that's more animal instinct than personal desire. And if there's anything your heart truly desires, it's to never return to that place or to the people there. You despise them all, would kill them all if you had the strength and courage, and you feel yourself on the cusp of losing it all over again when you imagine waking up to that same starless bedroom in the morning.

"I-I can't, Ha – ugh – ru," you blubber, words spilling out of your mouth before you can even pronounce them, hand clutching onto the front of your crumpled t-shirt, "I c-can't go back there, and – ha – take their shit anymore. I'd rather d-die right now, than see Mother's or Father's f-fucking f-faces. Please, please, please don't take me back there, I c-can't –"

Haru strides over, and although the both of you are freezing, it's comforting and almost warm to feel him wrap his arms tightly around you. As you struggle to breathe, gasping over and over and over again, he doesn't move, gripping onto you tighter and tighter.

Your throat feels like it's burning, as your broken sobs grow louder and more hoarse with every forced shout. You're still going on, and even you don't understand what you're trying to say. But the sentiment is more than enough – you're just throwing up all your feelings, spilling your insides out in hopes that someone else will clean up your mess on your behalf. This whole time you've been suffering alone, and you can no longer handle this pain by yourself.

"One year," Haru suddenly states. His voice is softer, but there's an evident edge to it, almost frightening in how resilient he sounds. "In exactly a year from today, I'll create an opening. That's your time to leave. Run away from this shithole, and don't look back. I promise."

Arms flying up, you shove him away, and gape at him in disbelief. "What – are you –," you sputter.

"I'm not fucking joking. I swear."

You desperately stare into his eyes, searching for signs, trying so hard to peer into his thoughts. But there's nothing to decode or decipher because, also for the first time in your life, Haru's being completely honest with you. He's laying out his true thoughts right in front you, and he's demanding that you take a good look.

You gulp, tears coming to a sudden shock.

One more year, I don't know if I can do that. But I've already survived fourteen.

"You, you promise?" you beg, hope leaking out of your tone.

He nods, and pulls you back into his embrace.

"One more year, and then you'll be free. Just focus on staying sane. Hana and I will handle everything else."

There's a flash of light, but it's not from the moon. Another flash comes, followed by approaching footsteps.

Haru curses under his breath. "We need to go," he hisses, "or else security will find us."

He tugs on your arm, but you don't budge, staying fixed to where you stand. You cast another longing glance toward the pool, the stars in the water rocking gently, enticingly, before they all smooth out into the murky indigo below.

You had chosen to die here of all places because your death would've been a cause for celebration. You're feared by your classmates, teachers, the entire town for fuck's sake, and there's no better way to spit in your family's face than to make a spectacle out of your own death.

Haru jerks your wrist one more time. His palm is beginning to sweat against your skin, as if his body's manifesting his urgent pleading.

"Do we have to go?" you mutter, regret and panic climbing up the stretch of your dry, scratchy throat. I could still do it, you think, I can just shove Haru aside and make a break for it.

He glares at you, chastising you for your cowardice. The look is stone cold, so intimidating that it quiets down the chaotic voices in your head.

"Just one more year, kid." With that, you finally relent, and Haru sprints to the chain link fence with you in tow.

Indeed, you'll wake up staring up at the same starless ceiling in the morning. But at least you'll have something to look forward to, counting down the days until you won't have to wake up in that damned room again.

–

Jing Yuan visits in the late morning. It's evident because all of the guards behave the same way they did when you first came to the estate. You figure he'd have other matters to attend to first, but it seems he's come straight to your room, knocking twice on the wooden frame of your door.

You respond flatly, "Sir, this is your home. There's no need to knock."

He chuckles lightly as he says, "That would be no way to treat a guest of mine. May I enter?"

With a mumbled affirmation on your end, he walks in with his signature slight smile, and you watch as his eyes give you and your belongings a brief once-over. Everything should be in place, you think. Waking up Yanqing at five took more effort than normal, no thanks to his injuries and overt exhaustion, but you managed to help him out of the window with an hour to spare to straighten out your room.

You also briefly scan the oyabun from the corner of your eye. He's wearing a suit this time, a crisp, white three-piece paired with a vermillion tie and black leather shoes. He also has on a pair of black gloves that fit his hands to a tee, accentuating the broad expanse of his palms and the length of his fingers. For a second, your mind wanders, entertaining the delusional fantasy of fitting your hand in his. Almost immediately, you recoil in disgust, veiled by an irritated twitch in your eye.

"Is everything alright?" Jing Yuan asks, head tilting to the side.

Your expression phases back to normal, as if your facade hadn't just slipped. "Sorry, I think an eyelash got into my eye. I'm fi –"

"Oh? Let me see."

Before you can even attempt at sidestepping his reach, Jing Yuan's already grabbed ahold of your chin, and he leans in close, closer than the last time he held you like so. Breath stolen, blood cold, heart palpitating, your body freezes, a prey stuck in a trap, waiting with palpable fear and uncertainty as he stares into the depths of your irises.

He's looking at you, yet not quite. The two of you are obviously making eye contact, but it's as if he's searching for something – the nonexistent eyelash? a moment of weakness? an opening to scrape your eyes out of their sockets?

And his touch. There's a dense warmth to it that rubs and permeates into your skin, a stinging balm that'll stick to the surface of your skin for several more hours before fading away, an imaginary mark left behind. If you don't think too hard about it, the stinging would give way to a more tolerable sensation, a faint buzzing in the background, but you rarely never have opinions about anything, and your conscience refuses to accept this warmth for what it is.

By the time he pulls away, you're almost out of air, body soon to erupt with asphyxiated tremors, and there's nothing you can do to prevent the slight gasp that escapes when he releases you from his grasp.

Jing Yuan acts like he doesn't notice. With a curious hum, he muses, "Nothing there."

You manage to push out a shaky rasp, "Ah, I… That's good…"

"Very well."

He adjusts his gloves, pulling them down towards his wrists, and you dare yourself to daydream about this murderer once more.

"I take it that your stay has been acceptable? But if my men have done something unpleasant to you, or if there is anything not to your liking, please let me know."

"Everything has been great. Thank you for your hospitality, Sir." You start to bow, but he stops you with a wave of his hand.

"No, I should be thanking you. I read through Kou's reports, and it is because of you that we were able to identify their activities. I did not expect them to invest so heavily in their brothels and clubs."

"I figured the rumors had some truth in them."

"Indeed." He breathes out, breathes in, practically tasting the spring air filtering into your room. "Would you care to join me for a bit?"

It's a request you have no means of turning down, but the specific ask puzzles you. "Yes?" you agree hesitantly.

"Do not worry. I was able to get my hands on some information earlier this morning, and I would like to… hear your thoughts."

You nod, still unsure, but you follow behind him anyway as the two of you navigate the estate to the same watsushi where you had tea with him twice. The two of you take your usual seats at the table, and as you wait for Jing Yuan to restart the conversation, you observe your surroundings.

The large hall is still undecorated and bare, and there are two guards perched at either side. The temperature is the warmest it's been all week, and it's pleasant to have the sunshine and breeze kiss and caress your skin. With the garden in full bloom, you take in the different shades of pastel pinks, yellows, reds, and greens, which you realize are the only vibrant colors in the contrasting monochromatic and bleak estate. Even Yanqing, you note, wears dark or neutral tones when not dressed in his school uniform, and you think it's a shame to grow up in such a luxuriously drab place.

"What do you think of Yanqing?" Jing Yuan asks.

You startle at the question, and tilt your head out of confusion.

He simply huffs a laugh. "Speak freely. I will not be offended if you have nothing good to say."

You chuckle nervously, though it's probably not very convincing. It’s hard not to miss the subtext in his warning.

He’ll punish me if I lie to his face. But I’d be an idiot if I’m completely honest.

You keep up your perplexed act. "I'm not sure? I haven't seen him around. If anything, he is obedient."

"That is true. He listens to me and to Tsurugi, for the most part. But I am curious – why did you go so far for him? He may be a child, but he is a stranger, no?"

Is he referring to the attempted kidnapping? His questions are too vague, and you're starting to worry that his ambiguity is intentional. Your hands are getting clammy from the cold sweat. There's a panicked itch in the back of your throat on the verge of tearing free.

You reply thickly, "It's the responsibility of adults to protect children, stranger or not."

"So how do you plan on protecting him from me?"

You’re trapped in mere moments. One of the two guards appears behind you, and presses the cold metal chamber of his gun firmly to your temple. The other remains at his position, but you can see that his hand's steadied at his holster. And the oyabun looks so nonchalant about the whole ordeal, as if everything that's unfolding before his very eyes has been planned from the beginning.

You shouldn't carelessly speak, but you choke out a horrified gasp anyway. "Y-you knew?!"

"Yes, though I will apologize, as I was not entirely transparent with you from the start. There are hidden cameras planted around the estate for security."

In other words, they’ve been monitoring you since the moment you moved in, possibly since your first visit. Obviously, then, there’s no doubt they saw Yanqing escape from his own room and tracked him as he fled to your side.

Jing Yuan continues to explain. "I do not intend to kill you immediately. I say it is only fair that you are given a bit of leeway for my duplicity."

You gulp in anticipation of his offer. You need to stall for more time, as both your body and mind are paralyzed with fear and hopelessness.

"Let us play a game, shall we? It is simple – two truths and a lie. I will ask you three questions. You may choose to answer any two with the truth and the remaining one with a lie. And vice versa. You may ask me anything, and you will not be punished for the content of your answers, unless they are irrelevant.”

You furrow your eyebrows. It's extremely difficult to focus on his instructions when there's a firearm pointed your way – the guard could shoot you at any time for any reason.

You purse your lips, collecting yourself enough to speak, before asking, slowly, "Will we need to guess which one is the lie?"

He shrugs. "No. It will be obvious."

Just how much does he know?!

"You may need some time to think of questions, so I will start us off." Suddenly, his eyes flicker open, and with a hypnotic air, he stares directly at you. This time, he isn't looking past you; he is properly looking at you, like he wants to understand you, and you regret desiring even the slightest bit of undivided attention from him earlier.

"First," he probes, slowly, "let me repeat myself. How do you plan on protecting Yanqing from me?”

The creases in your forehead deepen. What’s the point of this question? What is he after?

You should answer this one honestly; there’s no point in using up your lie over a question as comparably harmless as this one. It’s not like you have any other choice but to believe that he’ll keep his word and won’t kill you for being so outspoken. If anything, he might order the guard to shoot you for not being thorough enough with your replies.

“I… I’m not sure I can…,” you enunciate. You can feel each syllable roll off your tongue, how you have to force them out despite rising self-doubt and hesitation. But you have to push on. 

“I wasn’t trying to protect Yanqing. He came to me first, and I gave into his requests because I pitied him. I have no intention of kidnapping him or turning him against you. I’m not trying to take him away from you.

“But…” You glance at him warily. Jing Yuan’s expression doesn’t falter at all. “But… I am glad that he feels comfortable around me. It’s a little saddening to me that he’s so gracious for the little kindness I’ve shown him.”

Something glows in the oyabun’s eyes. It’s almost like he’s delighted with you. However, you don’t think too deeply about it because you’re more preoccupied with straining your ears for the click of the gun’s safety. You either die now or later.

Nothing comes.

You manage to suck in a half-breath. I’m safe for now, you observe. At least he’s upholding his promise.

“My second question,” Jing Yuan muses, moving the conversation on without respite. “I would like to know what you think of me. As a reminder, please speak without inhibition.”

What do I think of him?

Shouldn’t it be obvious?

You despise him. Yakuza like him kill for a living and for entertainment. They don’t feel the slightest drop of remorse over their actions, and will not lay their brutality to rest until they themselves are slain. They will strip people of their futures, tear apart loving families, crush anyone that opposes them just for the hell of it.

And you can say with confidence that Jing Yuan is the worst of them all. The stories from your childhood already say more than enough: A man who can succeed in a country foreign to him is ruthless and disloyal, unable to tell the difference between friend and foe. Jing Yuan came into power because he had slaughtered the previous oyabun of his gang, along with all of the former boss’ lackeys.

His empire is one that he controls through fear and subjugation. He is selfish, and prideful, and doesn’t even bother to treat his people well. Not even his own heir – this, you are a witness to.

You bite the inside of your mouth. Your teeth easily tear through the flesh.

Gauze and a wet towel aren’t enough to heal the injuries smothering his body, let alone the permanent damage inflicted upon his psyche. Yanqing’s dependence on you says less about you, and all the more about Jing Yuan and his men.

He’s heartless.

You don’t notice it, but you’ve begun to quiver with rage, your body demonstrating your waning tolerance for this cruel, cruel man.

You can’t forgive him for ruining your life, too. You were a good samaritan passing by, someone he could’ve easily overlooked. But no. He decided to involve you in his spontaneous whimsies and disrupted the fractured pieces of normalcy that you had managed to collect in recent years. He had dashed your dreams before they could even realize, and that is unforgivable. 

Suddenly – and perhaps this is reckless of you –, the gun to the side of your forehead doesn’t seem so daunting. For some reason, you’re convinced that Jing Yuan will play along with his game; he won’t order the guard to shoot you, as long as your response is in line with his question.

Focus on the next thing, you remind yourself. Once again, this thought seems to be your saving grace.

There’s no rush. You break away from Jing Yuan’s trance by closing your eyes, and suck in a deep breath. You hold it for a few, long seconds, before breathing out, feeling your ribcage and core deflate as the air escapes. You repeat the breathing exercise, until the quivering in your body stops.

You’re not in the clear, far from it still, but your newfound sense of resistance does wonders for your thinking and decision-making.

You make your decision – It might seem like a waste, but I need to lie here. This choice is risky, especially since you’d have to answer the final question (which could be of any nature) truthfully, but based on the questions he’s asked you thus far, they’re meant to uncover and expose and test your nature. Jing Yuan is playing this game out of sheer curiosity; he never needed your help in his plans. You have to remember – you’re prey in his grasp, and he’s simply playing around with his food before he devours it in one, clean gulp.

And you'd rather die than entertain the yakuza and their sick and twisted perversions more than you already have. You’ve made your choice.

You open up your eyes, vision illuminated with soft, spring sunlight. You don’t look back at the oyabun, though, and instead, opt to turn your cheek.

“You’re powerful,” you state tersely.

The gun’s safety clicks, and it digs painfully into your skull.

You tense up immediately, and your muscles lock up by instinct. You couldn’t attempt to flee even if you desperately wanted to.

But, if your assumptions are right, Jing Yuan’s order is merely a ruse.

With a scoff, you snap, “You said I could –”

“Is that really the extent of your feelings towards me?” Any semblance of satisfaction you thought you had seen in Jing Yuan is completely wiped. He looks disappointed, almost irritated, by your more than concise confession.

“Yes.” That’s the lie. “You hold an incredible amount of power, probably more than I could ever imagine.”

“And?” he presses.

Testing the waters, you pull a daring move – you roll your eyes. “Sure. If you care so much about a layperson’s opinion of you, then I’d say you’re meddlesome, too. It’s not wise to involve random people in your line of work.”

The guard pulls away, so that the gun is no longer shoved against your head. The gun’s safety is still off, though. At least your answer seems to assuage Jing Yuan’s annoyance, and the gold in his eyes is no longer that of a crackling, burning fire. It returns to a warm, melted ichor – an inviting color, if not for your present situation.

His contentment is all the more amplified when Jing Yuan purrs, voice dropping an octave. “I see… Very well…”

Then, he lets out a whisper.

At first, you think you misheard him. After all, what he said was nonsensical – there’s no way that could be. 

He mumbles his question again, and there’s no mistaking it.

The glint in his eyes tells you you've fucked up, that you've underestimated him severely. He definitely knows more than you think he does, and you've played his game poorly.

A songbird chirps, before bursting out of a nearby maple tree. A blossoming head of white rose collapses onto the ground. Jing Yuan's gaze lowers, allowing you to catch glimpses of intrigue and amusement swirling in his molten gold irises.

With a soft exhale, he asks for the third time.

"What is your relationship with the head of your hometown syndicate, Haru?”

[merrybloomwrites]

When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 3)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: Throughout rehearsals and the start of tour, the boys continue to keep their distance from Y/N, leading to her developing touch deprivation.

Previous chapters: One , Two

Word Count: 1.9K

Tags/CW: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, cat calling, touch deprivation

AN: Normally I write longer chapters (like 3k-6K words) but I’m enjoying these shorter quicker chapters for this series. Feels like it works better, plus there’s less waiting time between posting, which I know I enjoy as a reader haha

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beeping of your alarm slowly wakes you up, and you get ready hoping that today will be better than yesterday. It’s your first official rehearsal with the band, and you hope to win over the others by being able to show off your skill. If yesterday's meeting is anything to go by, you won’t be winning them over by your charming personality. Not when they’re apparently so determined to not let anyone get close to them. 

Just before leaving you pick up your bottle of scent neutralizers, about to methodically put them on before remembering the rules Simon had for you. He told you not to wear blockers, that they should always be able to pick up on your floral omega scent. You don’t really like this, as it makes you feel vulnerable, especially in a city you’re unfamiliar with, but you follow the rule anyway. 

The rehearsal space is a bit farther than the offices were, so you leave early to make sure you give yourself enough time to walk there. A wrong turn takes you down an alley that leads to a side street. Checking your map app shows this will get you where you need to be, so you follow it rather than turning around. 

The main street had been loud and filled with people, most probably on their morning commute. But this way is quiet, practically deserted. You nearly jump out of your skin when a voice shouts out, “Hey pretty thing!”

Turning around you see a man behind you. You can get just a whiff of his scent but it’s enough to know he’s an alpha. Internally cursing yourself for taking a back road, you start walking faster. 

The footsteps behind you grow louder, and you know that the man has picked up his pace to get closer to you. Now panicking, you start jogging down the road. You just need to get to the end of the street so you can turn back to the busier part of the city and you’ll be safe. 

Just as you get there he seems to admit defeat, and angrily shouts out, “You shouldn’t be wandering all alone with a sweet scent like that!” 

Doing your best to ignore that comment, you finish your walk and arrive at the rehearsal space. You try to compose yourself, but you’re still shaky, and you know your scent has probably turned a bit sour from the fear you’d just been feeling. 

After taking some deep breaths you walk into the room. Niall, Louis, Harry, Zayn, and Liam are all there, and they turn to look at you. After quick good mornings they go back to what they’d been doing. Not wanting to bother anyone, you head to the drums and take out the music you’d been sent. 

As you flip through the pages, you sense eyes on you. Looking up you see Louis staring your way, his eyes calculating, even a little bit worried. Like he can sense something is wrong. Maybe he does have some alpha instincts in him. But instead of coming over to check if you’re okay, he simply shrugs and goes to talk with Niall. 

Finally the rest of the band and the music director arrive and it’s time to actually get to work. It’s a bit chaotic at first, but it doesn’t take long for everyone to click. By the time you break for lunch, any negative feelings have gone away, replaced now by excitement. 

You grab food and sit at one of the tables, soon being joined by the boys. At first you think this is an improvement in your friendship with them. But then they start talking among themselves, barely acknowledging that you’re there. 

Rehearsals last a few more hours, and everyone’s ready to head home by the time you’re dismissed. As you head outside you’re surprised by Zayn saying, “Good work today.”

“Yea, you’re really talented,” Harry adds. 

“Glad you’re on the team,” Louis then says before all five of them get into their car. 

While walking home you think about that interaction. The words were nice, even if they seemed almost reluctant to say them. Sighing to yourself, you accept that for now, you’re looking at an amicable working relationship at best. 

You just hope Simon can accept that as well. 

Weeks pass in a flurry of planning, rehearsing, fittings, and numerous meetings to make sure everything is ready for the upcoming tour. 

A few days before setting out, Louis gets called in to meet with Simon once again. 

“Y/N will be joining you on your bus,” he states with no preamble. 

“Excuse me?” Louis says, shocked by this news. 

“She’s an omega. She’ll need to be close to alphas while touring.”

“She’s an omega. What if she slips into heat? Or one of us goes into rut? It’s not safe!”

“You know that won’t happen,” Simon answers. “You’re all on the best suppressants, not a chance you’ll fall into a cycle unexpectedly. You just don't want her around, and to be honest, I'm disappointed in you boys. You’ve rejected her since she got here, pushed her away, ostracized her.”

“We didn’t ask for her to be here. She’s a great drummer, and we respect her as a musician. But as we said before, she isn’t going to just push her way into our pack.”

“And as I’ve said before, you cannot be a pack without her. She will be on your bus. Maybe the time together will open your mind.”

Louis leaves that day feeling frustrated, like his words don’t matter. He gets home and shares the news with the rest. 

“I don’t like this,” Zayn says. 

“Seems like a bad idea,” Harry agrees. 

“What if having her around triggers one of your ruts?” Liam asks nervously. 

“I said that to Simon, he said it won’t happen cause of our meds,” Louis replies, clearly still agitated from the meeting. Niall moves close to him, tucking to the alphas side in an attempt to comfort and calm him. It helps, but Louis suddenly thinks that it might be nice to have the true calming pheromones of an omega when he’s upset. 

He shakes away the thought a moment later and instead enjoys a night with his pack. 

He manages to put the news of their bus mate out of his mind for the following days, but as they load up to get on the road there’s no denying it. 

“D’ya think you could wear some scent blockers?” Louis asks you the first night. 

“Not allowed,” you reply curtly. 

“What do you mean not allowed?” Harry asks. 

“I mean that Simon told me I can’t wear them. It’s one of my rules.”

“He’s such a wanker,” you hear Zayn say under his breath. 

Not wanting to cause any problems, you get into your bunk and try to sleep. Even with all the stress you’re feeling, the familiar lull of the bus driving down the highway helps you fall asleep in minutes. 

The next morning is tense, and you can feel the boys' annoyance at your presence. The logical human part of you knows it must be difficult to have someone new, especially someone with a strong scent, invade their bus. The omega part of you is less understanding. It’s on edge, upset at the rejection of the others. 

Luckily you arrive at the first venue, and you no longer have to worry about your dynamic with the others. Now it’s time to just worry about your job, about putting on a perfect show for the fans. 

And that’s just what all of you do. Opening night is a success, and everyone heads back to the bus on a high. You’re even invited to hang with them in the lounge as everyone comes down from the adrenaline of performing. 

For a little while, everything feels right. But then it shifts once more and you find yourself being pushed out of the conversation again. Not only that, but you watch as the boys huddle closer together. Liam rests his head on Louis’ chest, and Niall finds himself sandwiched between Zayn and Harry. The betas look perfectly content, and your omega cries out for that kind of affection. 

Not wanting to broadcast your feelings to the others, you rush out a good night and head to your bunk. You spray scent neutralizers on the curtain that separates you from the rest of the bus, hoping it will block your scent from getting out. 

More than that, you don’t want the boys knowing about the scented clothes from your former pack mates. You still have a couple from both Kevin and Joe, and you pull out one shirt from each of them. You place them by your pillow so their scent will be close to you. It’s a sad imitation of a nest, but it’s the best you can do. 

As weeks pass you start feeling drained. You write it off as exhaustion from the constant work and travel. But then you start to get shaky, cold, itchy, not to mention the headaches that seem to get worse daily. 

The European leg of tour ends, and you all spend a few weeks in South America for a run of shows there. After the first few days you finally admit that you’re experiencing touch deprivation. It shocks you, since you’re constantly surrounded by alphas. Their scents around you should be enough to keep this all at bay. 

But their constant rejection of you must be distressing your omega more than you’d realized. It’s never that they did anything major. They were never mean, or rude. They included you at mealtimes, would check in and see how you were doing. But it was always them just being polite. 

You’d also learned the dynamic between the five of them was deeper than you originally thought. On numerous occasions you’d walked in on them being physically intimate with each other. You’d seen duos, trios, even walked in on all five of them on the floor together sharing kisses. 

Even though you hadn’t expected that, it didn’t bother you. Part of you was happy for them, glad they had one another, and that they all seemed to have a healthy relationship. 

The part that did bother you was the jealousy you felt. You wanted that type of intimacy as well. Every time you watched the alphas dote on Niall or Liam, you’d feel another pang of jealousy rip through you. It’s not like you were looking for a relationship, but seeing how happy they were, it felt like they were rubbing it in your face. 

Plus the pheromones. They were overwhelming. Especially whenever the boys would get intimate. That always led to you hiding in your bunk and breaking the no scent blockers rule. Anything to prevent the others from picking up on the sweet smell of your slick. 

As the symptoms of touch deprivation worsen, you count down the days until your first US show. It’s at MetLife Stadium, and you consider it your hometown show. Your family and previous pack members will be there to support you. If you can just make it to New Jersey, you can spend time with Kevin and Joe. Hopefully being around the alphas will help with the depri. 

And hopefully your bandmates will accept you as one of their own before it’s too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one should see the dynamic between reader and the band starting to shift, which I’m excited for!