#deep sky module

[miku-module-showdown]

Deep Sky (left) VS Powder (right)

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The sun shines on you once again, the past stretching behind you like a shadow. You escape one madman just to begin a search for another.

Tw: Homophobia

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [14]  [16]

15 * Better If You Don't [5.2k]

"I feel it now,

The ghosts,

Of people who still exist but shouldn't."

Down the Drain - Sewerslvt

        "There's nothing here." He said.

        "But he said-" Tracksuit patted the walls, looking for a cartoon trapdoor on the slick cave walls. They were at a dead end miles and miles away from the central cavern. Every other path they tried re-looped back on themselves or were also dead ends. Maskless knew there couldn't be anything, he had mapped the area himself but was so hopeful, so hungry, he went along with Tracksuit, feeling fruitlessly in the dark. 

        And now he was going to die. Because it was a set-up, Phantom luring them away so he could have his way with you. He was expecting to find the fire dead and the main cavern empty. He couldn't have predicted what he walked into.

        "Jesus Christ." Tracksuit nudged Phantom's bruised ribs with his foot. "Is he alive?"

        The central cave was a wreck, the cots scattered, some floating in the water, others smoldering in the fire pit. But there was also structural damage, deep indents pressed to the floor, a Phantom shaped hole in the wall. 

        A rattling breath followed by a modulated cough told them Phantom was very much still alive. Maskless wasted no time, "What happened?"

        ***

        The cave air grew heavier every time the story was told and re-told to every Mark who turned up. Omni immediately left to scour the wastes for Scars and Lensless. Mohawk and Gray weren't far behind. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit alone with Phantom who'd dragged himself onto a cot. He'd live, would be walking again in a few weeks. Viltrumite bone could knit itself together without medicine. Still, Maskless did his best to set the bone right and wrap it. He'd prefer Gray do the deed, but he was gone so fast there was no chance to ask. 

        Phantom was insistent, desperate, that they leave. Go look for (Y/n). But Tracksuit and Maskless didn't care enough, didn't need you to survive. If anything, the disappearance was a good thing, one less mouth to feed. Tracksuit would miss staring at your ass but it's not like he could change things. You were definitely kidnapped by those freaks and definitely dead. No more suffering, you were better off dead anyways. You got the easy way out while he had to live- one friend down because that's what you were. He pushed the feelings that thought evoked down.

        As dusk came, the trio returned, unsuccessful in finding the duo. So they laid in wait, hoping against reason they'd come to the fireside to gloat or show off your severed head. 

        "Did they also attack the ugly guy?" Tracksuit looked through the porthole, to the starless night sky. "Haven't seen him since earlier."

        Omni turned on Phantom who clutched his purple-ish chest. Never alone long enough to slip away. "Well?"

        "He-" Phantom suppressed a groan. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. But he had to sell the lie. "He tried to keep her away when they-"

        "What are we talking about?" Lensless touched down with a smile. Head swiveling, immediately noticing your disappearance. "Is she peeing?"

        Scars descended, landing beside him with a scoff, "Probably out pity fucking that ugly freak."

        The whole room seemed to go packed-gunpowder tight. Omni was in front of them both, hovering off the ground to be inches taller. "Where is she?"

        Lensless blinked. "What?"

        Omni had him by the throat. Veins popping on his forearm with the grip. "What have you done to my wife?" Lensless choked. Both hands coming up to pry his grip away. Gone before he could escape. Omni realized Lensless couldn't answer if he was dead. "Tell me, now."

        Lensless swallowed, cracked his neck, and grinned. He'd been joansing for a good fight out in the wastes and it looked like he was going to get one.

        Though he was curious, "What are you talking about?" He looked past Omni, to the others and their death glares. "Did he go apeshit while we were gone? Aw, wait, shit- did you miss us that much big guy?"

        He ducked under Omni's fist. Laughing as he threw his own punch to Omni's gut. Wondering in the moments before bloody impact, how his blood would look, how it would taste. 

        The blow was blocked by a yellow glove. "Stop, you idiot."

        Lensless looked to find Scars scowling. He considered turning the fight to him. Scars obviously thought he was the better, smarter of the two and Lensless agreed, he was sort of right, but also that he was a dick. A dick that liked the same things he did. Not quite a friend but definitely no enemy. He lowered his fist. 

        "What do you mean 'where is she'?" Scars words made Lensless remember. There was a mystery afoot. You were gone, apparently not out pissing.

        "Don't play dumb, shithead." Mohawk was by his side in a second. "You took (Y/n). Where is she?"

        The realization dawned on Scars. Something heavy and sharp twisted in his gut. A feral need pulsed behind his eyes to find your form but nowhere he looked housed you. Under the surface, he was boiling, yet he laughed in their faces. "You think I kidnapped her and came back to get my ass kicked?" He was sure he could take on most of them but Scars was no fool. He was clearly outnumbered, even with Lensless by his side.

        Mohawk hadn't considered this. It was a... good point but he wouldn't accept it, "You're trying to keep up the routine so no one suspects you or something stupid like that. Yeah?"        

        Lensless furrowed his brow. "We've literally talked about this like a billion times. We were gonna take her, hide out, use her as bait to lure you, kill you, and eat you one by one. We wouldn't be with you lames if we had her- we'd be balls deep in some hole right about now." 

        Scars glared but Lensless didn't see the point in hiding things. Clearly, their plan wasn't happening if you were gone.

        He was too busy grinning at Scars to see the fist coming for his throat. Lensless shot back, rammed into the wall. Broke through rock in a person-shaped hole foot after foot until he decided the pain was enough, it was his turn. He blasted out of the hole, teeth bared happily, fist raised. Omni waited for him but the fist was a feint. Lensless slipped behind the man and grabbed him by that stupid red cape that reminded him so much of dad. Laughed as he spun him round by the neck, stopping when he slung him into a wall. 

        Omni recovered quick, came back strong, "You-"

        "We can't get answers like this." Gray's voice stopped him. Inches away from smashing Lensless's head in. The deed would be done, once he had some answers. He didn't back down. "Our comrade saw you take (Y/n)," Gray gestured to Phantom.  "In the process you either maimed or killed the Viltrumite prisoner."

        Lensless and Scars noticed Phantom wasn't on his feet or in the air waiting to attack, but hadn't seen the sorry state he was in. Now they watched like predators, peering over Omni's broad shoulders. 

        "If I attacked that one, he'd be dead." Scars says. 

        "Well, he's not." Omni growled. "You failed in your assassination attempt."

        "Assassination what?" Lensless zipped around him, got close to Phantom as he could before Gray was in front of him. 

        "You've done enough damage," Gray says.

        Lensless tried to peek around him, but Gray kept moving in his line of sight. He only saw Phantom's condition through momentary glimpses. "Uhm, yeah, I didn't do that. Did you, dude?" 

        "No."

        Phantom rose off the cot, aching and groaning but managed to balance in the air above it.

        "Stop lying." He huffed, holding his pulsing ribs, "I heard your voices before you came up behind us. I saw you kill him and take her." He came forward, just behind Gray. Weak but needing to sell the act that he was willing to fight for revenge, for you, wrongfully taken. 

        A smile broke out across Scar's cheeks. Stretching that old wound he liked so much. "Yer lyin' through your teeth." He laughed, once, twice, before it was a full blown belly-clutching fit that infected Lensless. Phantom bristled but tried not to let it show, this was not the reaction he was expecting. 

        Not stopping until Omni asked, "What's so funny?"

        "You actually believe him?" Scars wheezed, shoulders still hitching. 

        "Has he threatened her the entire time we've been here?" Omni asked, though they all knew the answer.

        Which made Scars smile stretch impossibly more, though the eye behind the busted lens gleamed with no mirth. Only a boiling, soulless fury. "That's good, man, real smart. You're not a half-bad actor either. One lil critique though-" 

        He was fast. Faster than Gray could turn, could defend, faster than Omni could grab his cape. He had Phantom by the throat with one hand while the other tore off his mask. Showing off his pasty pretty boy face and long hair dad would hate.

         "Look me in the eyes and tell me it was me." Phantom's eyes- slate blue, Nolan blue- slid to Gray who'd come to his rescue, but paused when Scars didn't immediately rip Phantom's head off. Restraint wasn't something Gray (or any of them) associated with Scars. It gave their doubt merit.

        Scars hand squeezed around his throat with a growl. "Don't look at them, look at me." 

        He knew the punch was coming. Caught it easily. Phantom was slower than him, even slower with pain. Punishment was immediate, a flex of Scars' hand around Phantom's. The crack of thin bones. Phantom writhed, kicked, thrashed in his grip but Phantom was a limb down and weaker, way weaker than Scars. 

        "The longer you make me wait, the more of you I'm going to break." Scars said. He saw it then, the beady glint of truth in Phantom's eyes. That burning malice Scars wore on his sleeve, hidden behind Phantom's mask and silence.

        Phantom snarled, tried to headbutt him, but was again, too slow. The sound replaced with the wet snap of Phantoms forearm, bone jutting out through kevlar.

        "You-!" He caught a flash of the others, hovering behind Scars. Wondering. Untrusting. He knew he should've built better interpersonal relations. 

        "Aaannd that's time, onto your left." Scars grabbed his good arm, the one beating against his chest. Was poised to snap it clean off when a foot to his ribs send him careening off.

        Scars hit the wall while Phantom hit the ground, scrambling for his mask. To not be naked and under so many judging eyes. He could lie with the mask on, but without it he was unsure. Things were always so much easier through a barrier of fabric.

        It was about time the others realized, lying or not, Phantom was the last of them to see (Y/n) alive. 

        "Enough," Omni said over the two. "I don't care who did what. Where is my wife?"

        "I don't know." Scars and Phantom both said. Scars rose from the rubble, muscles flexing, properly pissed because hadn't these idiots figured it out by now? He wouldn't pussyfoot kidnapping (Y/n). He'd have fucked her on the cave floor and left their bloody, combined juices as a calling card. 

        "Wait." Lensless counted off on his fingers. He'd been separated from the camp for some time but he still had the chore rotation memorized. Always counting down to when he could be alone with you. "Wasn't it your turn to watch her today?" 

        Attention turned to Maskless who had already been considering fucking off before this got any worse. He wasn't scared per se, but blame could technically fall on him for Phantom getting jumped.

        Better him than me, he thought but said, "He told me he found food." Finger pointed to Tracksuit.

       Tracksuit burned his brain cells in a space-weed smoke stack daily when not trapped in a wasteland. He never finished school and when he was enrolled, he flunked almost everything. Even gym by pissing off to fuck and smoke behind the bleachers. Him having an intelligent thought was as rare as finding diamonds digging in cow shit. He felt like Einstein when he said, "Wait. Wait. The bald guy told me he found food." He pointed to the cave they'd been in, "So we went to look for food so you," one arm crossed over the other to point at Maskless, "left (Y/n) with him," his hand twisted again, pointing at Phantom, "and while we were out looking for food, all that stuff happened and like... We never found the food the bald guy said was there... So like... You know." 

        "You left!?" Mohawk barked. Ready to pounce at whoever moved first. Angry at everything. At nothing. At the fact that you weren't here. At the fact that you could be dead- again.

        "I left her with him!" Maskless gestured to Phantom. "It's not my fault they attacked!"

        "We didn't." Lensless said. 

        "And why should we believe you!?" Mohawk said.

        "I mean, you shouldn't, but I'm not lying." Lensless replied with a shrug. 

        "So he just beat the shit out of himself?" Mohawk gestured to Phantom, trying to gather himself on the ground.

        "He wasn't alone." Scars said looking to Lensless, "He had a partner. Pretty smart, trying to make it look real but," he cracked his neck, stretched out his arms, "I'd never leave a weakling like him breathing."

        He lunged.

        It was chaos from there. Scars slamming Phantom through layers of rock, breaking into and out of cave systems. Some they'd discovered some not. Omni and Gray raced after them while Lensless and Mohawk shredded the main room apart fighting each other. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit outside of the action and not particularly looking to be a part of it.

        They shared a look across the freshly bloomed hell, and an alliance was struck. Tracksuit grabbed the rest of the Emperor meat. Maskless grabbed basins and filled them with water. They were gone as Mohawk punched Lensless through the wall, as Scars battered Phantom around, avoiding Omni and Gray's pursuit, ripping apart the caves wall by wall until the whole thing collapsed. 

        Last they checked, days later, and found the ground above the caves had sunken miles down. Everything was gone, filled with dirt. Along with everyone. Leaving Tracksuit and Maskless alone in the desert, thinking it was over, thinking they'd have to kill one another for food once they ran out of Emperor and starting starving. 

        ***

        "That's it? They're all dead then?" You sat by the fire but didn't feel the warmth. 

          It'd been hours since Maskless pulled you out and you re-met with the sun. You were in and out of consciousness as the sun crossed the sky. Sweating for the first time in days while lying still in the sand, Maskless pulling together a makeshift splint. They'd dug themselves out a camp in the concrete ruins of what used to be a skyscraper. All the windows long since smashed out, all the paint peeled away. 

        When you woke up, really woke up, you tried to get them to take you back. Take you to Mark because he needed help. Maskless covered your mouth, let you beat at him while you screamed. You punched and punched and punched and bit and kicked until exhaustion and the truth caught up with you. He didn't have to tell you but you knew. Mark was gone.

        Only when he saw that dreading acceptance cross your face did he let you go. Truce shaky. Both of them were unsure if you'd lash out. You were unsure if you should or shouldn't lash out. You wanted to make them take you back despite the obvious truth you couldn't fully grasp. You didn't see the body. The wound. Whatever that bloody thing in his hand was. You knew you should fight, make them take you but part of you was too cowardly to go back to the cave. Terrified you'd be trapped all over again. So you stayed and listened while they filled you in on the happenings of the last two weeks. Thirteen days, actually, but when Tracksuit corrected you, you looked like you were going to bite his head off.

        The two glanced at one another. Haggard looking with longer hair and growing beards. Tracksuit kept his mask on but the hair poked out the sides. He'd complained of itchiness but made no move to remove it. 

        "Not exactly." Maskless conceded. "The others are around."

        "Yeah and batshit crazy," Tracksuit added. 

        "All of them?"

        "Yes." Maskless said.

        You nodded shallowly. Watched the bugs dig in and out of the sand around your legs. They had followed you up here. Showed up when you were still unconscious, digging up from the sand and chattering quietly. Maskless was confused when you mentioned the nursery. Apparently, there were no other caves except the main one, filling with sand. They'd collapsed, the queen-fed larvae crushed. You were the only thing left that smelled like the old queen's pheromone. The bugs around you now, were the last of the species, the last thing you had to hold onto, the last pieces of Mark. 

        Some of them were de-shelled and boiling in the basin now. At some point, Maskless left to fill the bowl which had been empty for days. The duo apparently took turns while you were out, eating bugs and drinking cave water. They didn't technically need to eat more tonight but they were both still hungry and you had practice making your little friends edible.

        They didn't bring up Mark. Not after your initial outburst. 

        "We split into groups after the big fight. Kinda unanimously decided it'd be better if we all fucked off, you know?" Tracksuit said. "We've been chillin' together. Wonder Boy and that stick-up-the-ass guy are rolling. We run into 'em sometimes, leave each other alone long as we give 'em updates on if we seen you or not. Mohawk dude's on his own but all three of 'em have been lookin' for the others. Wonder Boy said those two shitheads got away. And that other guy..."

        "You agree, right? He should've been here by now."

        Thirteen days in the dark. Thirteen days of isolation, re-traumatization, light deprivation.

        "He's leaving us down here on purpose."

        Phantom never came back. Left you to rot. Left Mark to regress. Left everything to fall apart because Mark was right. He was obsessed just like the others. He who snatched you up after you killed Psychopomp, who hid you away the first night in the desert, who wanted you all to himself with no competition in the way. He gave you a tracker and ignored the emergency alert because that meant Mark was cracking up, fucking up. 

        It was Phantom's fault things had ended up like this.

        "Where is he?" You barely recognize your own voice. It was hoarse, throat raw from earlier screaming. Eyes burned, all cried out. 

        Tracksuit surprised by the intensity, asked, "The School Shooter guy?" Mohawk would be glad the name stuck.

        But you were not calling him that, "Phantom."

        Tracksuit took a hissing breath, hand going to the back of his neck. "Well... Uhm..."

        "Tell m-" Your head bowed as if weighed down by the blood rolling down your nose. Your body telling you to quit while you were ahead. Mark soaked up your power like a bloody, bloody sponge. You still smelled him on you. His blood crusted your tank top brown, dried on your skin and made it itch. 

        You felt like you were trying to walk on a boat, though you were sitting. You leaned back on your palms, trying to retain a shred of dignity. "Tell me." You croaked as the blood ran over your lip.

        Tracksuit hesitated, a little more humane. Maskless didn't care, just wanted the conversation to be over faster. "For a day or two, we didn't know if anyone else was alive. Ended up running into Wonder Boy and his sidekick but not the others. They didn't know either. Wasn't long after that the screaming started."

        "The what?"

        "Ya'know, like... screams of torture?" Tracksuit said like it was nothing. "I'm surprised you didn't hear them." Maskless shot him a look. "Oh, right. It's usually pretty quiet out here but every once in a while this guy screams loud as fuck." 

        Since his partner didn't elaborate, Maskless did, "We think it's Phantom." He felt stupid saying the name but you seemed offended by the other one. 

        "Or he's dead and those goofballs are torturing each other to death?" Tracksuit added helpfully. 

        "The others haven't intervened?" You hope Phantom was still alive. Hoped, prayed to God. You were in dire, thirsting need for revenge.

        Tracksuit shrugged. "Dunno. Every time we see 'em they only ask about you 'n food. I'm sure they know where those two are 'n sometimes it's quiet. Quiet enough you think it's over, then boom another night of distant screaming."

        "What direction is it coming from?"

        Tracksuit spluttered, splayed out his hands. "You stupid? You don't go towards tortured screaming."

        "Mark is..." You can't say it. If you say it, it'll be real. "Everything that happened is his fault."

        "Everything that... Dude, you had it made in the shade! Fuck, if I was you, I wouldn't come back up here for nothin'. Speaking of, why aren't we kickin' it down there right now? Like, what even happened, dude?" He pointed to your wrists, raw from rebar, your cheeks, blooming with bruises, "And where's that bald guy?"

        Maskless elbowed him hard in the ribs. After he'd flown you out, he returned with Tracksuit to eat and drink. By then, the falling sand had buried him completely. He didn't bring up the corpse. Thought it wouldn't help things. Knew his counterpart would be stupid and tactless.

        Thirteen days worth of memories smack you in the face so hard they shake your tearducts into working again. You raised your head, snarling a smile, thin tears streaking your cheeks. "What happened? You want to know what happened?"

        "Uh yeah, that's what I asked." But he didn't sound so confident now. Tracksuit was strong, a killer, uncaring for human and alien life. Nothing scared him, but navigating other's emotions was not a strong suit. He hadn't seen you cry no matter what crazy shit went down, didn't know why you were now. Frankly, he was a little uncomfortable and off-put by the visual as your chest started to shake with hiccuping breaths. If this was your reaction he could only imagine what had happened. "It's just a question, jeez."

        "He fucked us, that's what happened. He knew what would happen. He knew." You were starting to sound like Mark. Days ago, you'd condemn the thought, be annoyed by it but now the anger was like a mother's swaddling comfort. "We were going to work together. Make it without you assholes and he-" You don't know if you were sobbing or laughing. Felt like both. Maybe it was. "Mark was good to me. I think I could've really loved him but I-" Tracksuit leaned forward, thinking oh, this is going to be good. Maskless pulled him back while you wiped your eyes. 

        You couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't go on. "Where is Mark?" You asked Maskless who'd taken you out, who had seen you laid beside him.

        "I buried him." He didn't need to tell you the sand did it for him. He was heartless but not cruel. 

        "That's nice of you man but like, shouldn't we eat him?" Tracksuit was ignored by you both.

        The tears came faster, hotter, running messy down your face, slipping down your nose, getting into your lips. "I want see him."

        "It's..." Maskless blinked and it was suddenly years ago. He was in front of his house, sweet and eighteen. William's car was pulled to the curb, Burger Mart for two waiting in a greasy bag in the passenger seat. Dashboard dinging, driver's side door open. Blood in the street. The neighbors screaming, running into their houses, they didn't know if wouldn't save them. 

        Dad held William by what was left of his narrow neck. The rest of him, mostly skin and some subcutaneous fat, was laid on the lawn. Mom stood in the window, hands over her mouth, tears on her cheeks. 

        "This is who you've been dating this whole time?" Nolan was planning on telling him about the murder of The Guardians soon. Pulling him to the side of Viltrum, but this expedited things. Mark wasn't supposed to be keeping secrets from him, not like this. 

        He knew Mark was a soft, funny boy by Viltrumite standards. He'd told him and Debbie months ago he thought he liked boys. Nolan could excuse it. On Viltrum, romance wasn't a thing. Unneeded. The only coupling that occurred was heterosexual for the sake of procreation. It was a foreign Earthly concept, but one he thought inconsequential. Debbie said it could be a phase, many teenagers went through them. Nolan thought he'd get a girlfriend eventually, settle down, and forget about that unproductive nonsense. Give him grandbabies that'd fight for the Viltrum Empire.

        But no. 

        He'd been dating that wispy, waste of oxygen for years behind Nolan's back. Today he'd come with flowers and a cheap drug store 'Happy Anniversary' card while Nolan was leaving the house. He was too slow to hide it, simple and human. He had tried to backtrack, lie and say it was for his girlfriend, but Nolan knew what William was. Still, Nolan beat the truth out of him. Then tore him in half for what he'd done to his son- for holding him back and making him soft even by human standards. 

        Mark threw himself at his father who let William's skinless, twitching body drop- splat- to the street. Dad won. Beat his face half in. He thought he was dead, the last thing on his mind William's puddle of a body. But his Viltrumite body wouldn't let that happen, he could come back from almost anything- as long as his heart was intact. Broken as his was. 

        In the time he was healing, the Earth was overtaken. Everything he'd known gone. Burnt and torn in the resistance. He was forced to join the empire, enforce Viltrum's rule on Earth. When Angstrom came along and offered him a way out he took it without question. 

        His eyes opened. William was dead. The planet was not cured of the Viltrum cancer. He was sitting across from some girl who was in his seventh grade science class and was crying about a bald, dead version of himself. And he thought God had a sick sense of humor.

        "...It's better if you don't." He finished.

        Your stomach churned. It was bad. Oh God, it was bad. It had hurt. He was dead and dying hurt the whole time. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to keep you safe in his twisted way and you made him do it. You killed him. Not just snap his neck or bite off his tongue but something so gruesome someone like Maskless was trying to hide it from you.

        Your hands pressed to your eyes so hard you saw stars. You couldn't stop crying.

        Tracksuit was very uncomfortable and wanted the sound to stop. He took a shot at comfort, overrated as he thought it was, "Hey, uhm. I'd kill his crazy ass if I was stuck in a cave with him too. I totally get it. You did the right thing."

        Maskless considered punching him in the throat. You only cried harder. There was no comfort or solace offered after that, but at least they let you grieve in silence.

        ***

        You don't know when you slept, only that you woke up to blistering heat even in the building's shade. Tracksuit leaned in the doorway to the desert, watching you stand and lean hard on one leg. "Took you long enough."

        You ignored him, sitting up and stretching on your own time. You saw Maskless not far behind him, also watching. Waiting for you as well. He walked over, reaching out to offer you a piece of rebar he bent to act as a crutch. 

        "The others will want to see you." He dropped the scrappy, stitched cave map at your side. They'd gone back to the main cave in the days after and found nothing but the map and stalactite stools. You'd been wearing the soldier pants and tank top when they found you, no sign of your armor or chest plate. "We might be flying awhile. You'll need to cover up from the sun."

        You didn't answer, took the cane and the fabric.

        "Wha- Hey, that's my hammock!" Tracksuit cried as you wrapped it around your head and shoulders. 

        "You'll live," Maskless said, gathering up some things before stepping out the pit and hovering above the dunes. "Come on."

        Tracksuit clicked his tongue. Wordlessly given the chore of carrying you along. He scooped you up, one bicep under your knees, the other supporting your back. You clung to him, numb and dry eyed. You could fight but you don't. Just let it happen, hot wind whipping at your face as you thought about Mark under the sand. Thought about revenge. Omni and Gray had information on Phantom, you didn't care about anything else. The trip felt short with your brooding, the wind slowing as Tracksuit lowered to the dunes. 

        You should've known it'd be a tent. Bigger than the first with more supports. Trash woven roof flattering in the sandy wind Tracksuit kicked up as he landed. "Knock, knock."

[cosmic-conqueror-diabelos]

An adventurer’s guide to the galaxy

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

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

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

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

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

One, two, three… eight steps.

Then nothing.

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

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

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

A split second later, everything went white.

And then—nothing.

Darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A what?” Sana whispered, still breathless.

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

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

Jihyo stepped forward, fists clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

The idols froze, eyes wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The idols hesitated.

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

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

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

Then—

Darkness again.

Light slowly bled into their consciousness.

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

They were no longer in the pods.

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

Actual words.

Words they understood.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence fell over the room like a thick curtain.

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

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

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

“Chosen,” Mina repeated flatly.

“Recruited,” Jihyo added bitterly.

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

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

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

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

That landed with force. The room went cold again.

“Why are you helping us?” Yeji asked.

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

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

The silence that followed wasn’t fear.

It was decision.

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

Under the ever-watchful eye of Rylor.

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

But Rylor was different.

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

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

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

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

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

Rylor summoned Jihyo to his private chambers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihyo said nothing. Just listened.

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

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sudden buzz sliced through the tension.

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

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

For a moment, the chamber was still.

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

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

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

Behind him, Jihyo remained silent—calculating.

Her moment might’ve just arrived.

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

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

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

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

“As you wish, Commander,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I gave a short nod. “I’ll find her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never finished the sentence.

Jihyo struck.

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

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

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

Rylor charged.

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

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

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

Just as he lunged again—

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

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

Jihyo blinked in surprise. “Who—?”

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

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

Wrong move.

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

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

Jihyo.

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

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

It was her presence.

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

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

The room filled with cheers and emotional gasps.

But I noticed something quieter amid the noise.

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

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

Samira turned and clapped her hands once.

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

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

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

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

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

I smiled slightly. “Anytime.”

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

Samira was smirking before I even turned around.

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

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

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

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

I composed myself quickly. Straightened my shoulders.

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

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

I didn’t answer.

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

She hadn’t looked back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dismissed.”

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

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

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

I told Samira I didn’t have a crush.

Maybe I was a liar.

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

It was her.

Jihyo.

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

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

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

She smirked. “Maybe just the handsome ones.”

That was… new.

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

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

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

“I studied Terran linguistics,” I offered.

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

I hesitated—then nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gio, huh?”

She shrugged. “It suits you.”

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

She didn’t.

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

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

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll walk with you,”

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she laughed.

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

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

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

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmured.

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

Her breathing slowed. Peaceful. Safe.

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

After a moment, she whispered something.

“Why?”

I turned slightly. “Why what?”

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

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

“Why not?” I finally said.

She didn’t respond. She was already asleep.

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

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

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

⸻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, she laughed.

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

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

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

“Could’ve fooled me,” she murmured.

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

Her breathing slowed. Peaceful. Safe.

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

After a moment, she whispered something.

“Why?”

I turned slightly. “Why what?”

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

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

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

She didn’t respond. She was already asleep.

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

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

Hours passed, but sleep never came.

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

I didn’t dare move.

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

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

But my mind was a storm.

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

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

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

A soft murmur broke my thoughts.

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

“I’m here,” I said quietly.

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

“You’re really warm.”

“You’re really asleep,” I chuckled.

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

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

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

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

“I’m not good at this,” I admitted.

She blinked sleepily. “Good at what?”

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

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

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

That hit deeper than I expected.

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

“…Gio?”

“Yeah?”

“I still think you’re my knight.”

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

“Then sleep well, Princess,” I murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A moment passed. Not heavy, just… human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the level loaded in, she glanced at him.

“You ever think about going back?”

“To Earth?” he asked.

“To normal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m listening.”

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

Giselle blinked. “He chose the wolf pack.”

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

“And you?” Giselle asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magnara grinned, sharp and gleaming.

“Then let’s see how loud you get.”

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

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

Sana was the first to feel it.

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

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

Sana caught it.

Eyes still closed.

The room went silent.

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

Kazuha was the next.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they began to see it more clearly now.

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

But Gio…

Gio had none.

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

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

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

Sakura nodded. “He scares even the wolves.”

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

Jihyo said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kazuha blinked. “That’s insane.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She paused, looking them over with a smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

She looked back once, voice lighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That got Dinozen’s attention.

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

Dinozen hesitated.

Then, quietly: “…Arcane study.”

“Magic?” Karina asked, incredulous.

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

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

Dinozen gave a tired nod.

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

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

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

Karina looked unsettled. “Can anyone learn that?”

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

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

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

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

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

Dinozen chuckled under his breath.

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

They all stared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when a furry hand gripped my shoulder.

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

I turned, tensing.

There she was.

Pulchra.

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

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

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

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

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

But then… I remembered Jihyo.

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

I stepped back.

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

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

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

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

I didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

“And I loved that man.”

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

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

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

My fire cooled.

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

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

I stepped away.

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

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

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

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

Maybe she was right.

But I was still walking away.

And that had to count for something.

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

The Malice.

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

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

Diabelos.

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

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

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

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

I nodded once. No use hiding it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

For now, I was still winning.

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

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

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

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

“Cinnamon,” they said in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihyo.

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

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

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

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

Magnara smiled. “Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What should I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magnara smirked. “She already is.”

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

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

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

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

Earth.

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

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

Less freedom. But more order.

And that… thought terrified me.

A knock broke the spiral.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Groggy, I blinked and turned my head.

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Infatuated. Completely.

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

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

I coughed. “I—what?”

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

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

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

I choked on a sip of water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

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

Not the war hero. Not the monster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t smile in combat!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Magnara raised a brow. “That was romantic.”

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

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

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

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

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

He whistled, impressed.

“You’re getting faster,” Gio said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that scared her.

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

She didn’t smile back.

He paused. “Everything okay?”

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

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

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

Giordano tilted his head. “Expect what?”

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

The words landed heavier than she meant them to.

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

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

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

She was gone before either of them could stop her.

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

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

Jihyo nodded slowly. “And I don’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled. “Only when I’m alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jihyo blinked. “Other stuff?”

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

Jihyo stared.

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

Wait, what?

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

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

It wasn’t attraction. It was recognition.

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

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

Jihyo started giggling.

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

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

Momo squinted. “Is that a compliment?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone burst into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And trip over things.”

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

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

Momo giggled. “Wait, speak for yourself.”

Everyone laughed again—except Jihyo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was one time!”

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

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

But her heart did.

And this time, there was no confusion about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.” Samira said without hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

A long pause. Then Jihyo nodded slowly.

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

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

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

And Earth kept turning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EPILOGUE: THE BATHHOUSE ON MUSTARIA

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

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

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

CLACK. The door slid open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d earned it.

[netexyy]

🫐 Boys getting curious about makeup stuff

Lo'ak, neteyam, spider x reader

Pure fluff

Word count ~ 2.k

Summary - Neteyam, Lo'ak, and Spider being adorably nosy and chaotic while you do your makeup.

---

You sat on your bed inside the lab module, an array of palettes and brushes scattered on a blanket in front of you like a chaotic artist’s kit. A small round mirror leaned against a stack of books, reflecting your face as you carefully applied shimmer to the inner corners of your eyes. No reason. No party. No date. No mission. Just because you felt like it. And maybe because it helped you feel like yourself in a world where everything was alien, even your own reflection sometimes.

Outside, the sky was dimming into dusk, the forest humming quietly. You were deep into blending some rosy blush onto your cheeks when you heard the hatch open with a familiar hiss.

Lo’ak’s voice rang out first, as loud and unfiltered as ever.

“Yo! Y/N, what’re you doing?”

You didn’t even flinch. “Contouring my face so I can feel better about my life choices.”

There was a beat of silence.

Spider’s face appeared in the doorway next, eyes widening. “Wait… are you putting on makeup? Like... makeup makeup?”

You gave them a quick look before turning back to the mirror. “Yes, Spider. Like, makeup makeup. Mascara, blush, highlighter. Do you want me to list ingredients too?”

“Damn,” Lo’ak muttered, ducking through the doorframe to join you. “That’s a lotta tiny stuff. Why are there so many brushes?”

Neteyam was the last to walk in, graceful and quiet as always, ducking his head just a little more than the others to enter. He said nothing at first, but his eyes locked on your face with open curiosity. Then his ears twitched, and he tilted his head like a confused ikran pup.

Lo’ak dropped onto the floor dramatically, crossing his arms behind his head as he stared at your stuff. “Wait, is this like… battle paint? Or more like war against boredom?”

You laughed under your breath. “More like war against bad vibes.”

Spider plopped down next to you, peering into one of your makeup compacts. “This one looks like crushed rocks.”

“Highlighter,” you said, taking it back. “It makes your skin glow.”

Neteyam crouched beside Lo’ak and gave you a long, observant look. “You already glow,” he said, matter-of-fact.

You blinked, momentarily pausing with the brush halfway to your cheek. “Thanks, I guess?”

Lo’ak made a dramatic gagging noise. “Bro, stop. That was so corny.”

Neteyam shrugged, amused. “I’m just saying facts.”

Spider nodded like he was taking notes for science. “So you’re doing all this just for yourself? Not for a party? Or like, a hologram call to Earth?”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yes. For me. Sometimes girls just do makeup because they want to. No audience needed.”

Lo’ak reached for one of your lip glosses. “Can I try this? What is this, slime?”

You slapped his hand gently. “That’s lip gloss. And no, you cannot put it on like war paint.”

Neteyam leaned in slightly, genuinely intrigued. “What does it do?”

“It makes your lips shiny,” you said, swiping some on to demonstrate. “See?”

The boys all leaned forward at once, blinking.

“Shiny,” Lo’ak repeated slowly. “That’s it? Shiny lips?”

“Bro, humans are weird,” Spider mumbled, even though he was human himself.

You gave him a look. “Says the boy who eats Pandoran fruit straight from the tree and hasn’t washed his hair in like, four days.”

Spider held up a finger. “That’s called being resourceful.”

Lo’ak grabbed one of your eyeshadow palettes and opened it upside down, causing a small cascade of sparkly powder to fall onto the blanket.

You gasped. “Lo’ak!”

“Oops,” he said, but didn’t look sorry.

Neteyam shook his head, amused. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Exactly!” you pointed at Neteyam like he was a prophet.

Spider, now entirely invested, picked up one of your blush brushes and tapped it against his hand. “So what’s this one for?”

“Blush. Makes you look cute and alive. Not like a tired swamp creature.”

“I’m offended,” he muttered, but handed it to you. “Show me.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You want blush?”

He nodded solemnly. “For science.”

Lo’ak snorted. “Oh, we’re doing this? Okay, okay. Y/N, give me shiny lips. Let me sparkle.”

You burst out laughing but obliged. “You asked for it.”

Soon, you had Spider with a subtle dusting of blush that actually made him look kind of endearing, and Lo’ak with a swipe of pink gloss on his bottom lip and some gold shimmer above his eyes. He kept puckering his lips and making kissy faces in the mirror.

“I am glamorous,” he declared dramatically. “No one talk to me unless it’s about fashion now.”

Neteyam sat back, arms crossed, watching it all unfold with that unreadable, faintly entertained expression of his. You caught him looking at you again as you added a soft wing to your eyeliner.

“What?” you asked.

He looked thoughtful. “You look… different.”

You smiled softly, this time really meeting his eyes. “In a good way or bad?”

Neteyam tilted his head again. “In a… Y/N way.”

Lo’ak made a retching noise again, but Spider elbowed him. “Dude, shut up. This is poetic.”

“Thank you,” Neteyam said, unbothered. Then, after a beat, “Can I try the… shiny powder?”

You blinked. “You? You want highlighter?”

He nodded once, serious.

Lo’ak made a big show of fainting. “He does have a soul!”

You reached for your favorite brush and gently applied a bit of champagne-colored shimmer to Neteyam’s cheekbones. His skin caught the light perfectly.

“Oh,” Spider said. “Oh, he’s glowing.”

“He’s always glowing,” you mumbled.

Neteyam gave you a look that said he’d definitely heard that. You coughed and focused on cleaning your brushes instead.

Lo’ak was still holding your lip gloss like it was sacred. “Wait, can we make this a thing? Like, makeup night?”

“Makeup night,” Spider echoed, nodding.

“I’m not doing this every day,” you warned.

“But it’s fun,” Neteyam said. “And… peaceful.”

You looked at him, surprised.

He gave a half-smile. “It feels like you. Like home.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest. You hadn’t realized until then how much you missed this—the casual normalcy of goofing off with friends, trying new things just because, sitting in a room where everyone made you feel safe just by being there.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But next time, we’re doing skincare masks too.”

Spider groaned. “What does that even mean?”

Lo’ak looked terrified. “You’re not putting goo on my face, are you?”

Neteyam just smiled quietly, his eyes never really leaving yours. “If it makes her smile, I’ll try it.”

And just like that, the room erupted in chaos again, Lo’ak trying to run, Spider shouting about cucumbers, and you laughing so hard you nearly dropped your mirror. The makeup was half-smeared, the brushes were out of order, but it didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Because this—this was better than perfect eyeliner or glitter lips. This was joy, unfiltered and bright, and you were glowing in the truest way possible.

---

[tateringss]

The Holy Vestments of Mornmaster Sergei von Zarovich

The nights in this valley are deep and treacherous, the darkness suffocating and choking out the very air that we breathe. My brothers-in-arms have fallen to those things from the woods. Every time their cries were smothered and their lights quickly extinguished, I thought I would surely perish the same. But that gold and white gleam splendidly in conjured daylight, the blue as vibrant as the noon sky. I never thought I would see red and not think of blood, but of fire. Warm and soothing. Mornmaster Sergei continues to keep us safe, and for as long as he holds the sun over this dark valley, I will hold my loyalty to him. -- Knight Tudorus of the Holy Office of Barovia, Ordo Solis

"Raven's Inquisition" is a Curse of Strahd prequel campaign I am currently playing in where we get to explore setting elements and character relations that otherwise could not have been explored in the canon module. The DM @emp-roar is constructing the campaign as an adaptation of the "I, Strahd" novel, where Barovia has yet been established, Strahd is still human, and the players are all inquisitors overtaking the Tsolenka Valley under the von Zarovich crest and the banner of the Morninglord.

I am personally interested in Sergei von Zarovich as a character due to his interactions with our party and my player character, Omen, specifically. I then decided to create a concise concept sheet displaying the various layers of his holy vestments.

Credit due to Aciduous' Paladin player that has created the rank insignias for the Morninglord Church!

Edit: how could I forget? SOL INVICTUS! ☼

[asaarii]

just some various works that will prob never get finished chars included (in order) aka you can see all of my phases

mark grayson (invincible) [1.3k]

heartseel kayn and phel w streamer (league) [1.8k]

sett (league) [1.7k]

zagreus (acc might finish lowk) (hades) [856]

genji shimada (overwatch) [1.5k]

iso (valorant) [1.1k]

yasuo (league) [1.5k]

Mark Grayson [1.3K]

If there was one benefit to the cowl, it would be being able to hide the look of confusion on your face when a familiar sonic boom thunders through the sky before crashing into buildings with little regard to the people within. The ground tremors from the sudden force, splintering at the apex of the collision into loose and jagged debris.

Your breath hitches when the first building falls, your legs moving faster than your mind as you leap from your post atop a building. Just barely, you manage to save a family from death’s waiting maw, screaming at the top of your lungs for everyone in the area to keep moving. Though your voice is altered significantly by the modulator, the evident urgency in your tone sends many running; clawing and crying for a chance at survival—one you’re not sure many will have.

You do your best to help, grappling between buildings to save who you could, and pushing down waves of regret whenever you were a few seconds too late.

It had been a normal patrol at the start, and you’d even considered turning in early due to the lack of activity. You rarely took patrols during the day as your powers were dampened significantly by the presence of the sun, but a few days ago Rex had requested you take his place while he helped Rae move into her new apartment.

(“Please,” he whines, gripping your shoulders, batting his lashes in a way that has you reeling back, shoving his face away with your hand. “I’ll get your favorite takeout whenever you want! Just do me this one solid, I swear.”

You turn to Mark, your boyfriend caught up in a conversation with Eve, unable to catch your pleading gaze. As if sensing your unease, he looks at you, eyes alight with curiosity as they flicker between you and Rex before he shrugs unhelpfully with a small smile.

Your eyes narrow as your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek while you weigh your options. Against your better judgment, you spare one last glance to his pathetic, pleading face before ultimately giving in. “Fine,” you groan out reluctantly, pushing him fully off you only for him to crush you in a hug to which you return stiffly.

He deserved his moment of happiness, you suppose. You all do after everything that’s happened.

Rex pulls away from you, playfully slapping Mark on his shoulder before running off to tell Rae the good news. “Dude, you’re girlfriend is the best!” 

“I know,” Mark says proudly as he comes up behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, his lips pressing a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head. “C’mon, mom made your favorite.”

“Mark…” Your quiet murmur is picked up easily by his enhanced senses, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of hesitation.

He raises a hand before you can protest, pinching your cheek lightly. “Surely the Moon Knight can take just one night off, right?” 

You really could never say no to this man, could you? 

You flick his nose playfully, your scowl bearing no real heat as Khonshu’s voice echoes in your brain, likely arguing against going with Mark. But, for the first time in a while, you ignore the god, opting instead for a rare occasion of putting yourself first.

That was the first time in weeks you’d spent the night together, sharing your feelings and fears beneath his protective comforter while your insomnia took its hold, keeping your mind awake late into the hours of the night.

Luckily Mark had a few other ways to tire you out.)

Your muscles throb dully beneath your plated super suit in exertion, the white plates now stained a deep scarlet hue. You push forward, hands catching onto a flying car before it can crash into yet another building. The force drags you forward, but you manage to plant your feet and stop it just before it collides into the building which you now recognize as your favorite café. 

A win amidst a sea of losses.

At least, that’s what you try to tell yourself, eyes flickering between the dilapidated buildings and the multitude of corpses left behind by the unknown threat. That’s when you see it. The figure that floats above it all, his familiar red cape flowing with ominous grandeur.

You know that suit.

But his face isn’t the same as you remember.

“Mark…?” His name leaves your lips a breathless question, confusion and doubt growing in the pit of your stomach with each cautious step you take toward your boyfriend.

Something’s wrong. 

You feel it in the way his eyes snap to you without an ounce of recognition, cold behind his trademark goggles. And you most certainly feel it when his hand tightens around your throat before throwing you face-first into the asphalt. You make a choked noise at the feeling of your shoulder dislocating, the ground fracturing beneath you as a result of his strength.

It’s only then that you realize that the man above you isn’t your Mark, but an echo of what could’ve been. His hold on you is tight as he holds you up by the cape, scrutinizing every concerningly steady beat of your heart.

He leans closer, taking in the small details of your mask and suit, confusion settling on his face for the briefest of seconds before it returns to clinical stoicism, and he drops you unceremoniously onto the jagged ground. He clicks his tongue as you gasp for breath, glaring down at you with his lips pressed into a tight line.

You take the opportunity to muster the ability to kick him away from you, momentarily stunning him with your strength as he crashes into the café you’d just saved. The strangely dressed Mark reappears from the rubble with furrowed brows, brushing off stray dust from his suit. 

You don’t give him a chance to recover, pinning him to a wall by the cape with an ahnk before popping your shoulder into place. You stalk closer, truncheons in hand as the sun disappears behind the horizon line. The Mark before you follows your movements closely like a predator waiting to pounce.

His jaw ticks as his hand closes around the ahnk, no doubt feeling the sting of Khonshu’s wrath as it burns through his glove and skin. Regardless, he pulls it free from the wall, throwing it at you with newly renewed conviction. “Who are you?” Though his tone is detached, you pick up on the smallest inklings of curiosity.

You hate the similarity he bears to your Invincible down to the very intonation of his question. But you can’t falter—you will not falter; not as a defender of Earth, nor as Khonshu’s sole avatar. Rubble crumbles above as the false Invincible before you holds your gaze both of you silent as a moment passes with rising tension.

He’s in front of you before you can blink, his fist pulled back before he punches you hard enough to level a whole city block.

You brace for impact, just barely finding time to raise your arms before you’re sent flying back. Had the sun still been up, you would’ve been nothing more than another stain on the concrete, even if only for a few moments, but all you feel is the blinding pain in your arms and back as you’re sent flying through a multitude of crumbled buildings.

It doesn’t take long for your bones to mend, but it takes even less time for the caped imposter to find you, appearing in a heartstopping gust of wind a few meters away from you.

“It’s rude to not answer when someone asks you something.” His arms remain crossed across his chest as he stares down at you from his place in the air. Next thing you know, glass shards dig into your back as he throws you by the ankle into another building.

So much for answering his question.

HEARTSTEEL with Streamer!Reader [1.8K]

kayn: 

always comes in at the most random times. which can lead to a mixed bag or reactions ranging from a victory kiss to a scream of terror from the depths of your soul

most likely does it on purpose too because he’s a bitch like that.

could not give any less of a fuck if people knew you were together or not

sure pr is always on his ass but blah balah ablaha 

you’re his partner and he’d be damned if he didn’t show you off to both your fans and his.

(he does reign himself in when yone steps in, though. holy shit that man is scary when he wants to be.)

Your headset sits heavy on your head, a sponsored brand you find yourself mentally critiquing as you focus on the game before you. A bead of sweat drips from your brow, a fruit of your concentration while your hands remain shaking and clammy on your controller.

The sound a heartbeat echoes distantly, though whether it’s your own or a game mechanic, you don’t quite know.You don’t notice a shadow shifting behind you or your chat trying to warn you, having muted it in order to focus solely on the game.

Arms curl around your chair as you turn down an infamous hallway, each creaking step of the rotting planks below your character sending a jolt of fear down your spine. Kayn watches behind your oblivious figure, trying to find the perfect moment to execute.

Unlike you, who wanted to go in completely blind, he’d watched numerous gameplays in order to pinpoint each jumpscare. Sure, he’d caught some flack from Yone during practices, but the thought of your reactions was too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

It doesn’t take long for a familiar door to come into view, followed shortly by a series of quick-time events. 

The ghost of his touch trails up your arm, yet you remain wholly unaware due to the stress of every new event. His hand removes one of your headphones, breath warming the cusp of your ear just as the final event appears on screen.

“Boo.”

Your sudden jolt causes you to hit the wrong button, successfully triggering a rather brutal jumpscare. As you jump back in pure fear, your controller flies from your hand, connecting squarely with your boyfriend’s nose.

The next few moments are pure chaos, with you screaming about an intruder in your house and Kayn keeled over in an attempt to stop the blood. 

When you finally come to your senses, you’re shocked to find that your so-called intruder is actually your boyfriend, finally home from an extensive tour around Valoran following the success of Heartsteel’s latest album: STORMSURGE.

“Shieda?!” You’re quick to make your way to his side, panic rising in place of your previous fear. Blood pools in his cupped palms as he rushes out of the room with you trailing close behind whilst you apologize profusely.

Your poor, poor viewers are left with a view of an empty chair and an open door on your facecam while the death screen lingers on your monitor. Though muffled, they can hear snippets of the interaction transpiring between you and the rockstar from down the hall.

“Tip your head—forward not back, dumbass!” 

“Fuck! Why’d you throw the controller so hard.”

“I was scared! And you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow…”

“Was s’posed to be a surprise.” There’s clear fondness in his tone despite the nasally sound of him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t even hear you open the door.” You’re rubbing his back in soothing, trying your best not to wince at the copious amount of blood staining your sink.

“Well you also didn’t hear me leaning on your chair.” There’s a pause as Kayn sighs before mumbling a low, “I shadow traveled anyway,” uncaught by your otherwise sensitive mic.

It gets really hard to stay annoyed by his little prank when he looks like a kicked puppy. Even from this angle, you can see the small jut in his lip as he pouts, scowling slightly from the pain of his injured nose.

“M’sorry,” he apologizes after you bandage his thankfully unbroken nose. You can only chuckle as you clean his face and hands free of any blood, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, leading the two of you back to your studio, “never apologize for feeling scared.”

Your chat rejoices at your return, half consoling Kayn and half making fun of him for being taken out in such a hilariously stupid way. He discreetly flips them a middle finger while you settle back in your seat, quickly closing the horror game in favor of a more lighthearted multiplayer. You miss the way he smiles when you respond to chat, though your perceptive viewers see the way his heterochromatic eyes shine in your dim lighting.

They see a downbad loverboy instead of the coldhearted rockstar face he offers the rest of the world.

yeah… sometimes he games with you, but he insisted to have his own controller and setup

if you look closely in the very right corner of your face cam, you can see the edge of his monitor peeking through; a candid shot of you the lockscreen

to tell the difference, he says

bullshit

sometimes he barges in without even knowing your streaming, already ranting about something that pissed him off

you always mute, ready to listen and offer advice on whatever he needs

he’s a mod when he’s not physically with you, banning any freaks who think they have a chance with you

he loves you and loves that you’re so confident in yourself, but your safety will always be your top priority

aphelios: 

he’s with you every step of the way

he was your first supporter, after all

usually, he sits just out of frame and if you listen closely, you can hear a few of his mixes in the background when you speak

or he’s your camera man whenever you’re filming something outside the comfort of your home

there are also times he appears as a figure in your door—an ominous shadow, standing there menacingly for moments at a time before disappearing down the hall

this has led to a multitude of conspiracies about your apartment being haunted by a tall, lanky ghost

he finds it funny

you do not—okay it’s a little funny trying to suppress your smile as you dismiss your viewer’s concerns

your chat has grown a bit suspicious of your odd behavior, but you always brush it off as them being paranoid

you both finally decide to introduce him properly after you reached a particularly big follower goal

The camera blinks a bright red as your stream comes to life, a slew of comments come flooding in your chat, congratulating you for finally reaching the goal you’d been striving for for quite a while. 

“Hey, guys! Welcome to my 500k follower special.” You wave at the camera, clapping your hands together while your eyes quickly scan the comments. “Thank you, ๑pinpinipi for the ten dollar dono! Yeah, as you guys can see, we’re gonna be baking today.”

๑getdiffed: we?? hmmmmm very very suspicious…

๑colon3: not rlly…but they’re doing the staring thing again

๑fardeded: IM SO EXCITED JBGJBONLNMK IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS STREABM FOREVERRRR

“Haha, I’m happy to see the enthusiasm, fard! Glad to know you’re still with us after all these years. Today, as many of you have guessed, I have a special little helper in the kitchen today—well, not exactly little, but you get the point.” You nod to the empty space beside you, encouraging the blue-haired male to join you in front of the camera. 

He steps closer hesitantly, but stands tall with a soft nudge of your shoulder. Anything to see you smile.

๑willMYseed: NO FUCKING WAY IS THAT APHELIOS

๑colon3: WHAT THE HELLL

๑getdiffed: I KNEW THEY WERE SEEING SOMEONE BUT HOLY SHIT I DIDNT THINKNIT WAS HIM

๑fardeded: its all making sense now. i KNEW the music in the bg of someof their streams was familiar I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS THE COMPOSITION FOR STORMSURGE

๑averagegodling: who in the world is aphelios

๑averagegodling: WAIT HE’S THAT GUY FROM HEARTSTEEL???? :[user]_wtf:

๑ily[user]: gn. ive lost. 

๑averagegodling: bros acting like they had a chance w [user] :skull:

You let out a boisterous laugh, leaning on your lover for support as your legs buckle beneath you. He holds you, smiling down at you gently as helps you back up.

“Sorry,” you wave a dismissive hand, “sorry, you guys are just too funny—fuck, what were we making again, Phel?”

He smirks as he whispers the dish in your ear, making sure to cover the mic clipped to your shirt to ensure that only you could hear his voice. His eyes stare dead into the camera, his hand lovingly stroking down your arm with the full intention to stake his claim.

“Right! Thanks, love,” you kiss his cheek absentmindedly before turning back to the camera, “we’re making yakgwa! It’s one of Phel’s favorites.”

๑willMYseed: WRITE THAT DOWN GUYS YAKGWA IS ONE OF APHELIOS’ FAVORITE FOODS

๑colon3: good googly moogly dID YOU SEE THAT SMIRK

๑fardeded: we get it king, they’re yours:[user]_sob]

Aphelios bends down, allowing you to pin his hair up with the gaudiest clip you could borrow from Alune without much protest, even allowing you to leave a lingering kiss on his freshly exposed forehead. With a roll of his eyes and a ruffle of your hair as payback, the two of you set to work in order to make the fried dessert.

It doesn’t take long to discern which of the two twins holds the culinary expertise. 

(Hint, it isn’t Aphelios.)

He’s squinting at the iPad placed between the two of you. There’s a cute furrow in his brows you’ve only seen when he was making music. It’s rare to see him so concentrated on something other than his craft.

What you didn’t know is that he’s only like this because it was you who asked. Had it been Sett, Ezreal, or, god forbid, Kayn asking him to do this, he would’ve rolled his eyes and pushed Alune their way and called it a day. But it isn’t. It’s you; the person he’d tear down the moon itself for if it meant seeing you smile one last time.

“…Phel?”

He turns to you, slit brow raised in silent question.

“Does this flour look off to you?” You tilt the bowl toward him and he leans closer only to blanch at the odd concoction stirred within the bowl.

Oh. Haha. He was wondering where he misplaced K’sante’s protein powder. Silly him. Without much thought, he takes the bowl, chucking it in the sink with a quick text to Alune to pick up some wheat flour.

Oops?

๑PrideOfNazumah has donated $15: hey :)) could you check if aphelios has some birthday cake flavored protein powder left :)) both sett and i seem to have run out :)) no pressure :))

Sett [1.7K]

The world was cruel, often uncaring of those it brought punishment upon. Mothers, children, fathers, and lovers; nobody was safe from the ever-winding threads that wove history together, creating an ugly amalgamation of wars, famine, and ruination.

Regardless, you do your best to create a safe place in the world for your son, even if it’s difficult for the two of you to see eye to eye on most occasions. He has his father’s stubbornness, bearing the same crinkle in his nose whenever he bears the fangs he had inherited from you right back at you. Though, perhaps the worst thing he’d gotten from his father was his venom-laced tongue which spewed poison that hurt your heart more than any blade.

You never once blamed him, though.

You were the reason papa wasn’t around anymore. You were the reason he had to move to the outskirts of Navori away from everything he grew up with. You were the reason he had nothing. You reason your child—your own flesh and blood—despised your very existence. 

Your fault.

Your fault!

It was all your fault!

Yet you took it all in stride. Still smiling and greeting him every morning with a gentle kiss to the forehead that he reels away from. Still tidying his uniform despite his protests, and still walking him to school even if he refuses to walk anywhere near you. It’s all worth seeing the smile that lights up his face when he catches sight of his friends in the schoolyard, completely disregarding the bidding of good luck you offer him.

Every day you smile to yourself as you turn your heel, breathing deeply in hopes of finding a job as funds are beginning to dwindle and the thought of selling your body sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d done it before, though, and ironically it was actually how you met your son’s father. The you of the past would have been quick to hop on the idea as it paid well and was relatively simple, but you could never make the mistake of falling in love with a client ever again.

Friends had warned you, truly they tried to help, but you didn’t heed their words. Their pleas for your well-being fell deaf in comparison to how your heart initially beat upon first forming a connection with the man. He was kind, gentle, and handsome to boot, but the flags—both green and red—were tinted by rose lenses as you found yourself falling a bit too hard too fast.

Maybe if you’d been a bit more preceptive you would have seen the glaring signs, like how his previously warm touches became cold, or how he smiled less when the two of you met up, or how his once soothing words began to make you doubt yourself and your worth little by little. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been so shocked by his venomous words when you’d told him about the pregnancy. 

You’ll never forget the look of raw anger and disgust that crossed his face as he clicked his tongue and stormed off with the excuse of cooling off. Your parents offered little support in the ordeal, ashamed of you for earning your keep in such an unkempt manner and getting pregnant so early on in life as a result of it. At least you had your friends to pour your burdens out to, or at least you used to, until you turned tail and fled the province, unable to look your parents in the eyes, or bear the scorn imposed upon you by your supposed lover.

Before you can delve too deep into the painful memories, you bring yourself back to reality, nodding kindly at your interviewer who gives you an unimpressed look in return.

She’s human, you note; her nails are trimmed short in comparison to your razor-sharp claws that fiddle restlessly in your lap, her ears are at the side of her head and bear skin unlike the fuzzy ones at the top of your head, and also unlike your own, hers don’t betray your emotions with a downward tilt. Her eyes travel between you and your resume, and you can’t help but feel scrutinized under her predatory stare.

Ironic, isn’t it? 

Vastaya are typically known to be far stronger than the average human, bearing magic that most could only dream to hold that’s usually bolstered by their animal-like attributes. Yet here you were, cowering before a human who bears not a flicker of magic trickling through her veins. You do your best to shrink into yourself, eyes flickering anywhere but on her as a result.

The gaze of your interviewer softens a near-unnoticeable amount as she gnaws the inside of her cheek and once more, she glances at your resume. “Look,” she starts, quiet and slow as if to not startle an already frightened animal, “I don’t believe our business is the best place for you.” She can’t help but wince when you deflate, forcing yourself to pull through despite the harsh sting of being rejected by yet another job.

“It’s just…” She struggles to find the words, “Our business deals primarily with business transport, and it says here that you’re a single parent, right?” You can only muster a weak nod in response, desperately attempting to hear her out through the torrent of thoughts in your mind. She grabs your hand from across the table, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with her thumb.

It’s far beyond the boundaries of a normal interview, but she can’t help but empathize with you and your clear anguish. “You wouldn’t want to leave your son alone, would you? Most in our line of work don’t return from the first job, and I don’t think you want to imagine your son without you. So please, if not for you, then for your son, find another place of work.”

Her words do little to comfort you, but you nod along anyway, simply wanting to leave the vicinity as quickly as possible. However, just as you think she’s finally finished with her long-winded rejection, she fishes into her loose-fitting hanfu, pulling out a small slip of paper resembling a talisman. 

“Here,” she states, pushing the paper into your hand. You come to realize that it’s a coupon for a free meal. As if feeling your confusion, your interviewer laughs lightly, a stark contrast to her cold persona mere moments prior. “For your troubles and a testament to your good luck in the future.”

You can’t help but stare at the coupon when you exit the building. It’s got a cute little design in the corner reminiscent of the badgers back in your home province and the black characters seemed to be hand-inked with love and care. You smile down at it, running your hand across the dried ink before pocketing the slip.

The sky is darkened slightly by the time you reach the entrance of the school. Towering whipwillow trees arch into a beautiful gate connected to an even larger tree that serves as the base of the school. It’s difficult not to admire such a work of art, cultivated through years of dedication to the act of magic. 

However, every beauty comes with its own mars.

Holes and burn marks litter the tree from the Noxian invasion a few years back. Though most had been repurposed into open classrooms, they still serve as a reminder of the past and a sign to all that all that was once broken can be crafted into something beautiful.

In your moment of admiration towards the school, you nearly miss your son scurry past you, eager to go home and hole himself away in his room away from you. Luckily, you’re quick to catch him, much to his disdain. He shakes your hand off his arm, and you smile lovingly at him despite the added weight to your already heavy heart.

“I heard you were doing well in your classes. Why don’t we celebrate with a meal? I know a place you may like.” That was wrong, you didn’t even know if the teahouse was safe to bring a child. Regardless, your proposition was met with nothing but cold silence, causing your smile to falter slightly. Swallowing your pain, you guide your son through the active streets of Navori, sticking to well-lit streets and occasionally asking stall owners for directions while simultaneously purchasing ingredients for later with the little money you have on you.

Eventually, you and your son find yourself in front of a quaint teahouse, the same little badger etched into the sign above the entrance. When you push open the flaps, you’re immediately welcomed by a warm aura and the scent of fresh food. 

A Vastayan woman is quick to greet you. Her ears seem naturally downcast, her lilac hair mostly held back by a band on her lower back, though a small portion is held together by twine next to her face.

“Welcome,” she greets, showing off her fanged smile that exudes the same homely aura as the rest of the establishment. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, are you new to Navori?” She guides both you and your son to the front, and it’s then you realize that the teahouse is practically empty. Guilt begins to seep in at the thought of catching this woman right before closing.

“Huh? Oh, yes, we just moved recently.” Your answer elicits a soft hum from the woman as she pours you and your son cups of tea.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself then.” After she places the cups down, she brings one of her clawed hands to her chest, “I am Ginora, owner of this little teahouse.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ginora. Ah, where are my manners? I’m [Name], and this is my son, Kuon.” You place your hand proudly on your son’s shoulder, only to have him shrug it off with a grumble. You’re quick to hide your wince with a strained smile as the two of you take the menus from the kind restaurant owner. 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she smiles before perking up when she sees you struggling to choose something. “Would you like some recommendations?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Ginora is kind; the type of woman you wish was your mother as well as the type of mother you hope you are to your son. She’s patient in the way she guides your son through the menu, who’s reluctantly polite to seemingly everyone but you.

“This is my son’s favorite.” She points to steamed pork buns on your son’s menu. Something in your brain clicks; it make sense that she’s a mother with her infinite patience and calming presence

Zagreus [856]

“What was he like?” Melinoë’s soft voice draws your attention away from the cauldron. It simmers quietly as you turn to look at her, the light of the eternal flame illuminating her already ethereal face.

You blink dumbly for a moment, trying to process her question ever so slowly. Hecate’s laugh rumbles a few meters away, and you cast your questioning glance to the elder witch. She merely raises her hands in defense, returning to the new scroll she’d scouted out along her many travels. Right.

“My brother,” she finally clarifies after a beat of silence and one-sided communication between you and the headmistress. “What was Zagreus like?”

This wasn’t the first she’s asked about your husband, but it’s the first time you actually feel ready to share his memory. 

“He’s…” you pause for a moment, “he’s exactly how the tales regale.” A fondness glitters in your eyes as you step away from the cauldron, beckoning the younger spawn of Hades towards a table at the lounge. The shades are happy to serve you, offering only the nicest nectar provided by none other than Charon himself.

You take a sip, savoring the soothing taste of the golden liquid. Melinoë does the same, her eyes never once straying from your content expression.

“Zagreus was—is the oddest man to ever grace the Underworld.” Your chuckle is melancholic as you meet your sister-in-law’s two-toned gaze. Her eyes are the same shade of forest green and vermillion, though switched on opposing eyes. Unlike her brother’s carefree ones, they’re heavy, weighed down by a burden that should never be held by one person alone. God or otherwise.

Yet, even then, she holds the same stubborn determination the rest of her family seems to have, and you’d be damned not to help her in her goal.

“Have I ever told you how we met?” A swig of nectar forces down the bitter loneliness built over the century without the presence of your husband.

The younger goddess shakes her head and you chuckle, downing the rest of your drink with a small smile.

“Well…”

—

Filling in for Hermes as a messenger was not often a responsibility placed on your shoulders, but when the speedy god pled to you to make this one, itty-bitty delivery, you couldn’t say no.

He leaves you in one of Elysium’s vast fields with a pouch of…something and instructions to do nothing but “wait until he appears”.

“Who?” You quirk a brow, unamused by your friend’s vagueness.

Hermes only grins with an equally ominous: “You’ll know when you see him.” He readies himself to part, only to turn back to you one final time. “Oh! And if he asks, tell ‘em I was busy running an errand for the big boss, he’ll understand. Now, I know this is sudden and I swear on my life I’ll pay you back later, but looks like I’ve got to run! Take care of him, yeah?” All you feel is a gust of wind and the grass billowing at your legs before no trace of the messenger god is left behind.

Blast these gods and their stupid mind games.

Would it have killed him to at least give you a name?

You grumble obscenities that would have the most profane god fainting, kicking at the soft grass as you continue to wait idly. A few spirits of notable figures cross your path. They bow respectfully as they pass by you, unable to withhold their awe at the sight of your ethereal form.

“Thank the gods. Finally, some peace! Now, where is it…” A sudden voice cuts through your conversation with one of the shades. The owner ambles closer, huffing out a breath of relief as he sheathes his sword. The scent of ash reaches you before he does, and your nose twitches. There was a reason why you rarely ever ventured to the lower depths.

The man—the godling—stares. And stares. And stares…His pretty, heterochromatic gaze blinking slowly in confusion while his hand finds its way back to the hilt of his sword once again.

“You’re not Hermes.” 

That much is obvious.

Burning grass follows every step he takes, and it doesn’t take long for the blade to be pressed against the column of your neck. “You’re another blasted witch,” he seethes, contempt clear in the way the blade pierces through your skin, drawing only the smallest inkling of divine blood. Again, another obvious point. Where in Olympus was he going with this line of thought?

Suddenly, all the pieces come together and you want to smite Hermes all the more. 

Before you was the Zagreus, the notorious spawn of Hades whose presence has rippled throughout Olympus’ upper echelon due to his persistent climb to the surface. You’d heard of him in passing, though never found much of an interest in Olympus’ latest gossip hub.

There’s an awkward beat of silence before you recall Hermes’ request. It’s difficult trying to locate the pouch in your bag with the prince’s sword still pressed into your neck, but you do eventually manage, holding out the brown pouch as a peace offering in place of your neck

Genji Shimada [1.5K]

One of the first things he felt when he opened his eyes was anger. A red-hot inferno that scorched his core from the inside out. Next came the numbness in his limbs that once seared with an incomprehensible pain as they were cut down by his brother’s blade.

His brother.

The thought alone was enough to send him into another fit of anger, though unable to move due to his current predicament. He settles for glaring at the blindingly stark white wall of the unfamiliar room. It hurts to breathe—hurts to think. He tries to close his eyes in an attempt to find a semblance of peace in the darkness behind his eyelids.

However, just as he does so, the door leading to the hallway slides open. 

“I see that you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

He opens his eyes slowly, glare landing on a blonde woman who merely tilts her head questioningly. He can barely process her words, his mind slowly translating it to his mother tongue. He never was the best at English.

The slow blinks he sends her are enough to have the doctor clicking her tongue as she taps away at the holographic computer. A file pops up between the two. It’s his. It lists his name, age, birthplace, and even what schools he went to. Yet, what perturbed him was the picture associated with his file.

In essence, yes, it was him, there was no doubt.

But, something felt off. Like it wasn’t really him anymore.

As if feeling his stare, the blonde woman tears her gaze away from the screen. Pushing up her glasses, she minimizes the holographic screen before making her way over to his side, a bottle of water in hand.

“You seem thirsty, please, drink up.” She slowly tilts the water bottle past his parted lips. He accepts greedily, allowing the soothing liquid to quench his thirst.

“Angela Ziegler,” she starts, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips while she caps the water bottle. His look of confusion causes her to let out a small chuckle. “My name,” she clarifies.

The woman, Angela, returns to her swivel chair across the room, tapping through the seemingly unending files before landing on one in particular. “You’ve caused quite some trouble, Mr. Shimada.” Her hand cups her chin gently, glasses reflecting the bright blue light from the monitor.

“You’re quite fortunate that one of our agents found you when she did. Had she not…well you can guess what would have happened.”

Of course he does. He wasn’t exactly expecting to wake up.

The door slides open once again, revealing an injured soldier clutching at her arm with a grimace tugging harshly on her lips.

“Speak of the devil,” Angela murmurs with an amused huff. The soldier—you—raises a questioning brow at your trusted friend. She merely shrugs her shoulders, tilting her head slightly to the injured man on the hospital bed.

“Shit…I didn’t know you moved him in here.” You sound embarrassed, unwanting to meet the ninja’s harsh glare. Angela makes her way over to you with an odd-looking staff and a medkit, her lips are pulled into a smile, but you can see the concern swimming in her deep gaze. Genji watches from his place on the bed.

The blonde takes your arm, uncaring of the blood that cakes her hand after. She tells you to raise it and you wince.

“What happened,” her once veiled concern is now bleeding through her tone. Your expression pinches further at her prodding.

“Operation went south and Reyes sent me to you.”

She hums in understanding, already inspecting the wound, “But you have Dr. O'Deorain on standby, no?”

You click your tongue, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head whilst she tightens the bandage. You hiss harshly, glare boring holes into Angela’s head, yet she remains unaffected. “I don’t trust her,” you snip curtly as if any mention of the redhead burns your tongue.

In a way, it did, that much Angela knew, which is why she never sends you away when you came to her.

“Oh, I have another reason for stopping by, too.”

This gets the doctor’s attention, causing her to look up from your arm with a raised brow.

“It’s a deal from Morrison and Reyes themselves regarding our little friend over there,” your chin jerks over to the bed-ridden Shimada. Your gaze is pitying as it drifts between his missing calves and arm. He does not take kindly to your blatant patronization, instead, his glare increases tenfold.

“Well, out with it.” Angela snaps your focus back onto her. Her foot taps rhythmically whilst she scrubs her hands clean at a nearby sink.

“They want him in Blackwatch. Says he’d be a good help for taking down the Shimada clan—”

“Have they seen him? Do they know he’s missing limbs? That he’s barely alive?” Her sudden outburst was to be expected, yet you remain unflinching under the scrutiny of her narrowed eyes. Her jaw is clenched, seemingly out of character in comparison to her usual persona.

With a clenched jaw, you attempt to move your arm, leaving her questions to hang tensely in the air. It hurts a lot, but you still continue to move it nonetheless. Angela grips your forearm harshly, stilling it, “Stop that, you’ll only hurt it more.”

The warning has you sighing, finally relieving your arm of its strain by allowing it to fall limply at your side.

“Cybernization.” Your voice was quiet and would have most likely been drowned out had the heart monitor been any louder. You knew Angela would disagree with this. Turning a man into a weapon wasn’t exactly humane, after all.

“What?”

“They want to turn him into a cyborg. Uh, with his consent, of course.” Your reassurance does little to placate her.

As you await her response, she lets out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one you need permission from.” Both of your gazes fall onto the silent man, who had yet to say a word since his awakening. Even while weakened and bed-bound, he still retains the ferocity and rage of a scorned man.

A stark contrast to the bleeding man you had found during the raid on the Shimada estate. You recall how his one remaining hand gripped tightly onto your uniform, his delirious gaze swirled with betrayal and rage as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Slowly, you shuffle over to him under Angela’s scrutiny. His eyes—the only part of his body he seems to be able to move freely—remain trained on you, judging each movement you make, from your careful steps to the nearly unnoticeable twitch of your fingers.

“Hello.” It felt like it had been years since you had last spoken Japanese when in reality it had only been a week.

He seems shocked to have his mother tongue fall from your lips, but that fleeting look leaves as quickly as it arrived. While he doesn’t ward you away, he isn’t accepting of your presence beside him.

You smile slightly as you introduce yourself, unbothered by his intense stare. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Shimada?”

He remains silent.

At this rate, your break would end before you’d be able to get any sort of reaction other than a glare. With thinning patience, you huff. First, the successful escape of Hanzo Shimada, and now the lack of response from his brother. 

This entire family truly was troublesome.

Always keep a calm head, your mentor’s words echo within your mind.

Breathe in.

“Mr. Shimada,” you start, the previous politeness you once held now replaced by the stern tone you used on duty. Angela clicks her tongue, rubbing her temple as she places her glasses on the desk.

“We,” you motion to yourself and the room around you, “are Overwatch. We want to help you, alright?”

With his anticipated lack of a response, you continue.

Breathe out.

“I’m sure you know of a man by the name of Shimada Hanzo, yes? The assumed head of the Shimada clan?”

This gets a rouse out of him. The withheld rage surfaces. Though unable to move much, his nostrils flare, his lips pulling into an animalistic snarl and nearly tears the delicate stitching done to his face.

“Where is he?” His voice is low, hoarse from lack of use and damaged vocal cords. Your hand clenches at your side under the heat of his feral glare. He sits impatiently, awaiting your response, akin to that of a ticking time bomb. Angela watches you from the corner of her eye, ready to step in should things go south.

“We don’t know,” you shake your head solemnly, “which is why we need your help locating him. Of course, your contributions won’t go unrequited. We will do everything in our power to accommodate to your… situation.”

At long last, his glare falters.

A dry, mirthless laugh falls from his cracked lips. “You speak as though I’ve already accepted your offer.” His head lolls back onto the crumpled sheets and flattened pillow of his hospital bed, defeat and fatigue etched into the creases of his frown. “But, I suppose I have no other choice.”

ISO [1.1K]

2XXX, FLORENCE, ITALY

“Grazie,” you smile kindly at the waiter who brings you your food, taking in the beautiful architecture of the city. It’s a shame that you can’t stay to enjoy the sights, so you do your best to enjoy what little downtime you have. 

After your light lunch, you find yourself wandering through the streets, occasionally stopping to window shop, partially to not rouse suspicion, and partially to gaze at the luxuries of the life you had lost long ago. With a shake of your head, you cast those thoughts away, focusing instead on the task at hand. 

A small, holographic map emerges from your bracer, marking your location with a white arrow, and the rendezvous point with a blinking red dot. Pushing through the throngs of people would have been a lot easier had you not been barred from using your abilities out in the open. Instead, you find yourself uncomfortably tucked into the corner of a bus with the smell of cigarettes emanating strongly from your seatmate.

Yeah, you’re definitely telling Brim that he can leave going undercover to someone else when you get back to HQ.

It doesn’t take long for your bus to reach your stop, or maybe you simply zoned out. Nevertheless, you quickly exit the bus, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the other passengers. The streets are long, winding, and confusing, but you manage to find yourself before where you need to be.

The Kingdom Corporation building stands out against its surroundings, its walls a sleek white in comparison to the dated and faded hues of the older buildings. 

You stare at it a moment, gaze furrowing into a sneer before you turn down a desolate alleyway. You loiter there for a while, swapping between the few selective apps you were allowed to have on your phone and messaging other agents with far more interesting assignments. Only when the sun completely sets and the streetlights flicker to life do you make your move. 

Under the cover of darkness, you scale up the wall’s shadow, perching on its tiled roof with practiced ease. The Kingdom building is, as expectedly, far brighter than its neighbors, proudly bolstering its prestige with the illuminated K on the front.

Scouring the building, your eyes land on its unguarded roof. With little effort, you find yourself on it in a blink, the only evidence of your presence being the persistent remnants of shadow that linger at your previous position.

“Get in, and get out. Simple enough,” you murmur to yourself, pulling your hands through the Kingdom labcoat you’d brought along and adjusting the collar.

“Che ci fai qui da solo?” Someone grips your shoulder tightly, spinning you around to face them. You’re met with a masked Kingdom guard who, despite the mask adorned on his face, is clearly irked by your presence. “Sai che non ti è permesso stare qui.” 

A moment passes in silence as he studies you. He reaches his hand up to alert his unit but is stopped by a hand gripping his wrist. The guard jolts at the sensation, turning to face the perpetrator only to find…you? 

There isn’t much time to think as a fist collides squarely in the center of his abdomen, no doubt at least bruising a few internal organs, and with a strangled cough, he falls limp in your arms. You prop him against a nearby ledge, feeling yourself scowl at the sight before disappearing beneath the crack of the roof’s door in a shadowy wisp. You briskly jump between shadows, painstakingly combing through the building’s floors in order to find the opening you need. Impatience simmers beneath your skin as you traverse yet another long hallway with no leads.

The building’s interior is similar to its exterior, just as bright and empty, if not more so, each hallway seemingly more monotonous than the last. Well, at least the upper levels were. The lower levels, on the other hand, were dark, hidden easily by the corporation’s blinding front. 

You reach into your labcoat’s pocket, pulling out a candid shot of your prime suspect–Isabella Romano, one of Kingdom’s up-and-coming scientists as well as one of the lead researchers for the ever-elusive Project Landfall. With a groan of frustration, you find yourself running a hand down your face. However, just as you were about to call it quits and report to Brimstone that the mission was a bust, a soft voice chimes down the hall.

“Bene, bene. Spero di risentirla di nuovo presto.”

Bingo.

Your gaze finds her easily in the group of grunts she’s chosen to surround herself with, blinking behind her and allowing yourself to fall into the group’s collective shadow before anyone could take note of your presence. The ride is silent as the elevator slowly descends, though it is soon broken by the scientist’s phone ringing. She takes a deep breath before picking up, but from your position behind her, it’s difficult to tell who she’s answering to.

“Hello? Yes, this is Isabella,” she replies in English. “Yes, Project Landfall has been progressing smoothly on our end, but our location is less than ideal, unfortunately. Yes, I am aware of the, ah, incident in Norway, but I promise that this will not end up the same. No, we’re still working on preparations, but I will update you as soon as we’re ready to commence opening the portal. Thank you for your time, ma’am, we’ll be sure not to disappoint.” The elevator doors slide open just as Isabella hangs up, revealing a linear metal corridor with almost nowhere for you to hide.

You cling to the shadow of every crevice, tailing the unsuspecting group silently. The corridor isn’t very long, luckily, stopping at another set of metal doors that slide open with a metallic whirr. The room itself is very spacious, with at least fifteen monitors lined neatly against the furthest wall, where a group of at least four people hover around, speaking in hushed whispers while observing something you couldn’t see.

You slip between them, becoming tangible for only  a moment and grabbing the first manila folder you could find as you duck behind a supply crate. Your fingers are quick to comb through the files, thumbing through the multitude of useless reports before stopping at a sealed-away section with nothing but the Kingdom logo printed on the front. Footsteps near your hiding place, each step echoing louder than the ringing in your ears. 

Then they’re gone. 

Fuck it, you decide after a moment’s hesitation. 

Tearing off the seal, you’re greeted by manuscripts of all languages pertaining to Project Landfall, just as you’d anticipated. Even the recent radivore encounter at the abandoned Norweigan facility had been documented.

You had to give it to them, these people were nothing if not punctual.

Yasuo [1.5K]

It’s quiet; way too quiet.

Something’s off, you can feel it, but your hand quivers around the handle of your blade, unable to unsheath it. You hear your own heartbeat pound in your ears–a daunting reminder that you’re alone, at least, you hope you are.

The bush nearby rustles–the wind, you reason. A twig snaps in the distance–wildlife, you bargain with your crumbling resolve. Footsteps echo through the underbrush of the forest, growing closer before stopping before you.

By now, your eyes are shut tight, blade long abandoned at your side in favor of protecting your head with your arms.

“A Vastaya?” You hear the person mumble to themself before sighing in what seems to be relief. The sheathing of a blade reaches your ears. Slowly, you gingerly open your tear-rimmed eyes to take a look at the stranger.

He’s looking away, mumbling to himself while he combs a hand through his long, tousled hair. You take the chance to examine his figure. He bares a shoulder pad that seems like it would be more of a hindrance than a help, and his cloak is ripped, exposing his scarred, yet admittedly toned midriff.

You force your gaze to his face, watching as he strokes his five-o’clock shadow between his thumb and forefinger with a pinched brow. There’s a scar across his nose, though it doesn’t make him any less attractive. You ponder on how he got it. A fight? An accident, maybe?

He meets your stare, offering a small grin while raising his hands in the air. “I won’t hurt you,” he starts quietly as if you’d run if he spoke any louder, “promise.” When you don’t flee, he slowly lowers one of his hands to point to himself, taking note of the way you tense, your eyes falling to his sheathed blade.

“I am Yasuo. I mean you no harm, truly.” Though his words seem genuine, you can’t seem to shake the wariness gnawing at your gut.

“Why are you here?” Your voice quivers, hand reaching down to the hilt of your blade. Only the clinking of steel clashing with steel is heard before you land pathetically on your back–vulnerable and unarmed. Your sword lands near Yasuo’s feet with a dramatic thud.

Silence stretches over the two of you. It’s a tense silence; one that leaves your mouth dry despite your constant swallowing. It’s only when Yasuo sheathes his sword do you allow yourself to breathe again.

“I take it you aren’t one for visitors?” His half-joke is met with no answer, even as he begins to awkwardly chuckle to himself. He sighs for what seems to be the nth time in the span of twenty minutes.

He parts his lips to speak, running his tongue along the chapped skin as he tries to find the right words. “Look,” he starts, “I just need a place to rest for a week at most. Then I’ll be out of your hair, I swear.”

“A week?” 

“A week.” 

Now it’s your turn to sigh, weighing to pros and cons of bringing a stranger–a human, no less–to your home. Your mind begins to spin tales of all the horrid things that could happen if you were to take him in, followed by even more outlandish solutions.

All the while, Yasuo patiently waits, watching how your inhuman ears twitch and fold with every new thought that pops into your mind. When it appears that you’ve finally come to a consensus, he stands a little straighter, forcing down that small bout of anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

“A week,” you say with a resolution that shocks even you, “but no more.”

He offers a grateful smile, handing you your fallen sword before mindlessly following behind you as you begin the trek home.

“I never did catch it. Your name, I mean.” He brushes away a touchy branch with a small scowl, eyes glancing up to meet your hesitant pout. You opt to give him your name–to make it easier for the both of you, you reason.

He says your name, the syllables falling from his silver tongue like a beautiful melody. It sounds nice–hearing your name from the lips of someone after all these years of solitude.

“Yasuo.” His name slips from your tongue before you even have the chance of thinking to stop it. The said man turns to look at you, tilting his head slightly in a silent question.

“Forgive me,” you look away bashfully, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

Yasuo hums, leaving the rest of the trek to bask in a silence far more comfortable to the one prior.

—

By no means would you describe your home as grand or lavish. It was a quaint cottage with all the essentials and a flourishing garden around the back. Your companion lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed with what you had to offer.

“...Only a week, right?”

He nods, not once looking in your direction in favor of taking in the view of your house, “Only a week.”

You usher him inside, that last thread of tethered hesitance dissipating when he places his blade by the door.

You breathe a sigh of relief, placing your own blade by his to ward off any of his suspicions. By the time you enter the foyer, he’s sitting stiffly on your couch, eyes unfocused whilst he tries to take up as little room as possible.

“You can relax.” You don’t wait to see his reaction, moving to busy yourself in the kitchen, though your ears do pick up on the small breath he lets out and the creaking of his muscles when he lets his shoulders sag. You wince at the sound. Just how tense was he?

You mindlessly drone through making dinner, taking extra care to make portions big enough for your impromptu guest. You call him into the dining room after setting the table, taking your usual seat while allowing Yasuo to choose his own seat.

He picks a seat across from your own. With one final glance at him, you begin eating your own food, filling the otherwise awkward silence with the scraping of utensils. 

Hesitation flickers briefly across the wanderer’s face, and it isn’t until you shoot him a questioning glance does he gingerly place the now-cold food on his tongue. He chews in bites so slow and meticulous that you’re left to wonder if he actually enjoys it or if he’s fighting the urge to spit it out.

“It’s good,” he finally concludes. Your heart feels lighter from the statement, for some odd reason or another.

—

After showering the day’s stress away, it’s safe to say you’re shocked when you find Yasuo laying against the hardwood floor with nothing but a pillow beneath his head and an old blanket draped over his form. His shoulder pad sits forgotten in the corner next to your swords, glinting menacingly beneath the moonlight that peaks through the blinds.

He looks at peace with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

“Why are you here?” Tucked into the corner of the couch, you peer over the edge to look at him, voice barely above an inaudible whisper. He hears you, though, because of course, he does.

“I thought we’ve established this already. I just need a place to rest for a bit.”

You sigh, “That’s not what I meant. Why are you here–in this forest? It isn’t exactly hospitable to, uh, humans.” You stumble over your own words, fumbling with the hem of your sleeping gown.

“I’m here because I’m looking for something,” his tone matches your own; hushed and hesitant as if he’s spilling a deep secret to a close friend.

“Looking for something?” You parrot with a curious tilt of your head. He sits up, allowing the blanket to fall and reveal his nude upper half. For the sake of modesty, you focus your gaze on a loose thread on your couch, your ears downturned unconsciously from the embarrassment.

Yasuo watches your movements questioningly, chalking it up to the same fear you had earlier as he stretches his arm behind his head.

“I was…” he trails off, jaw tightening whilst his arms fall limply to his side, landing on the hardwood floors with a dull thud, “I was looking for a way to restore my honor.” His voice cracks at the end of his whispered statement, revealing a sliver of the man beneath his cool and composed bravado.

You hear the self-resentment that seeps deep into his tone–one that you yourself have grown accustomed to. After seeing him in such as disheveled state, you choose not to pry, offering only a soft hum. The silence that befalls the two of you is different than the previous ones.

No awkwardness. No fear. Only serenity.

You fall asleep on the couch that night, feeling far safer than you have in a long time.

–

The first two days pass by without notice. You go about your normal routine, taking care not to take in yet another hopeless wanderer. Yasuo, on the other hand, remains stationed at your humble abode, offering to care for your fauna while you’re out and about. Reluctantly, you agree, handing him a list of dos and don’ts before leaving for the market.

©asarii 2024 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

[scrimplications]

@jedijune week one — survive

a padawan and a master share a final moment during the early hours of the jedi purge.

tw: brief suicidal ideation

unnamed moon

thabeska system

19BBY

The clearing stinks of burnt plastoid and death by the time Cheppi scrambles over the last ridge and tumbles down through the briars and scraggly pines to find her master, laid out like a king to be entombed beneath a rocky outcropping.

He stinks of death, too. The not-quite-there-yet kind.

Gasping, heaving, she hauls herself upright on trembling arms. The still air seems to war with the abject chaos in her mind, the silence dizzyingly oppressive where moments ago there was only heartbeats and blasterfire.

Her master is not moving. Kneeling like a mourner, getting to her feet seems an insurmountable task. She wants to cry. She wants to lie down with him and not exist. She wants to dig herself deep into the earth and disappear. She wants to fight. Scream. Run.

She crawls.

On bruised knees, she crawls as a supplicant witness to his side. Master Vokam’s slow, staccato breaths move his broad chest up and down and up and down when Cheppi throws herself over him, gripping at his tunics like a child.

“Master. Master, please.”

Her voice comes out all cracked and hoarse, broken by the sudden violence and the mad dash through the trees and the overwhelming sense of something ending, of everything ending. Right now. Today.

“Master. Get up. Please. They’re gonna-”

They. How quickly she turned them to faceless soldiers in her mind, white armor painted orange like sunsets and sand and amber, each pattern so familiar, her lightsaber carving through plastoid and flesh and bone like it was nothing—

Pressing her face against her master’s swiftly-failing body, Cheppi bites her tongue and lets chaos consume her mind for a single, breathless moment, and then; Exhale.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Master Vokam’s big, firm hand is heavy on her back, spanning the width of her shoulders with ease.

“Well done, Cheppi. Well done, padawan.”

Under each word, a slow wet gurgling sound. She's heard it before, holding the hands of dying troopers. It seems so loud in this empty, quiet clearing.

“Master. Please.”

She isn’t sure what it is she’s pleading for, but the burning in her chest is growing stronger and master Vokam’s eyes are unfocused when she lifts her head to see him properly.

“My lightsaber, Cheppi.”

“No, master, you can’t fight-”

A sigh. More of that awful gurgling.

“I'm not going to.”

Horrible understanding lances through her the moment she places the hilt in his palm, and the look in his eyes makes her breath hitch with a grief so massive she has to shove it far away to fight the temptation of turning her blade inward and leaving the galaxy at her master’s side. He senses her struggle, gentles his tone, shakes his head minutely.

“No, my girl. Not today.” Master Vokam struggles to lift his weapon, strain in every line of his old, wise face. “Not like this.”

“Yes, master,” she answers, because what other answer is there? What else could she ever say to him?

The blade, as blue as the winter sky over them, ignites above her shoulder. She does not flinch. She knows what comes next. I'm not ready, she wants to say. I can't. I'm not ready.

His answer seems to float into her mind; You’re going to have to be.

“By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force-”

Far away in the treeline, helmet-modulated voices. Her time is up. Her time will always be up, from this moment on.

When master Vokam grasps her braid and cuts it with one swift, labored motion, Cheppi hides her sob in the sound of the blade. Master Vokam must hear anyway, because when he looks at her for what they both know will be the final time, the urgency in his eyes mingles with love and pride and faith so strong it aches.

“Rise, Jedi Knight.”

She does not look back.

[xsister-serpent]

Whispers Of Power

Chapter II

Summary: Y/N reunites with Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, joining him as a trusted advisor despite skepticism from the First Order. In private, Kylo confides his distrust and past betrayals, revealing his vulnerability.

Warnings: Past Betrayals/ Eventually this is have smut but it will be tagged as so/ Slowburn/

Info: Words 2382 / Chapter I / Playlist / Author's Note at end/

He gestured with his head for you to walk with him. The two of you exited the building into a downpour of rain. You pulled up the hood of your black cloak. His footsteps were silent yet commanding. You glanced at the shuttle as a low roll of thunder rumbled across the cloudy sky. This was your place now, a silent ghost following the shadow of The Supreme Leader. Except this time, you could mold him—this Kylo Ren.

Kylo stepped onto his ship, gesturing with a hand for you to follow. Most of the troopers simply stopped to stare at you, a mix of apprehension and awe on their faces. You kept your eyes ahead, following Kylo’s lead.

“No one is to disturb us,” he ordered firmly. He glanced at a tall captain clad in brilliant chrome armor. “Notify me only when we reach the Finalizer.”

“Sir,” she nodded curtly.

Kylo gestured for you to follow him as he headed to his quarters. You silently braced yourself for the private meeting, mentally preparing. You couldn’t help but notice that the chrome captain was the only one he directly addressed. With a hiss, his quarters’ doors opened, and you followed him inside.

“You may rest here until we arrive at the Finalizer,” he said through his metallic voice modulator, standing by the large red window of the command shuttle.

You nodded, lowering your hood. He stayed quiet, his expression unreadable, yet you could feel his mind racing with thoughts. There it was again, that thrumming pulse through the Force, growing louder and making you stiffen slightly.

“May I speak?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

Kylo nodded silently.

“The Reverend Mother said you requested me specifically,” you noted, clasping your hands behind your back. “That you refused to see other members of my sisterhood.”

He turned to look at you, his gaze scanning you from head to toe. “Yes. What of it?”

You held his gaze firmly. Even with his blackened mask, you sensed his thoughts reeling, his heartbeat quickening slightly. “Why?”

“Why does every ruler need an advisor?” he said sharply.

You could almost sense his lips pressing into a thin line beneath the mask. “Everyone around me betrays me. They do nothing but betray me. They lie to me. They use me. I need to ensure loyalty within the Order. I cannot trust anyone from that side of the galaxy. That’s why I came here.”

There was something hidden in his tone, as though he wanted to say more but chose not to. It did not escape your notice. It was like reading a book—he was the book, and you were the reader. Kylo’s fist clenched tightly, sensing your mind probing his thoughts. His heartbeat pounded in your head, like a rapid drum in your skull.

“Enough,” he said sharply, making you pause.

His breathing quickened momentarily before he exhaled slowly, trying to calm his rage. Kylo stepped back, his hands reaching for his helmet. With a sharp hiss, he removed it. You gaped as your eyes took in Kylo’s unmasked face. Ben had aged—he was more of a man now. Whatever softness his features once held had hardened. His longer, darker waves framed his face, his aquiline nose and sharp jawline. His deep-set eyes, however, did not.

“You’ve changed,” you observed softly, stepping closer to him.

“So have you,” he said, placing his helmet on the table beside him. He looked down at you, his brown eyes examining you. “It’s been a while, yet I can feel the Force within you. I can feel how strong you’ve become.”

Seeing you after all these years had unsettled him. You met his gaze, a million thoughts swirling in your mind, but you lost yourself in him.

“Do they know who I am to you?” you asked quietly.

“No. No one knows,” he said, his eyes scanning your face again. “Y/N, you’re the only one I trust now. The only person I can confide in, knowing you will give me your true word.”

You nodded distantly, glancing at the door and then back at him. It was like seeing a ghost—a fleeting glimpse of the boy you once shared a bond with.

“You will be protected. My word is law. The First Order will learn to accept you,” he said, pausing as his gaze lingered on you.

There was no doubt in his voice. Kylo extended his gloved hand, a silent offer of trust. You met his gaze, using your abilities to detect any hint of deception.

“You swear it?” you asked.

“You have my word,” he whispered, his voice gentle but determined. He wouldn’t let any harm come to you—not when he needed you by his side.

You took his forearm in your hand, feeling his muscles tighten under your palm. It was a token of trust, a gesture you had shared before your exile. Kylo seemed to soften under your touch, and in a way, so did you.

“Supreme Leader, we have successfully docked,” said the familiar voice of the chrome captain from the other side of the door.

Reluctantly, Kylo pulled his arm away from your grasp. He replaced his helmet, issuing the command for the door to open.

“Let’s go.”

Kylo walked with you out of his quarters as the doors closed behind you, marching toward the unlatch door of the ship. There, you were greeted by a red-headed general and the chrome-clad captain.

“Supreme Leader,” General Hux addressed him, his gaze shifting to you with a veiled glare. Suspicion was written plainly across his face.

You had anticipated skepticism—if not outright hostility—from some of them. It was no surprise. They didn’t understand your role, your part to play. How could they?

Kylo stepped closer to Hux, narrowing his eyes at him slightly.

“This is my advisor, Y/N of Bene Gesserit,” Kylo said firmly. “She is under my protection, General, from this day forward.”

“As you command, Supreme Leader,” Hux replied, though reluctance laced his words.

Your eyes locked with the General’s briefly. He was an open book to you, his faults and insecurities laid bare. Reluctance was just one of his many flaws. Almost in cowardice, his blue eyes darted away from yours. Kylo on the other hand, gave him one last glare before walking past him. Quietly, you followed Kylo, taking in the cold, metallic corridors illuminated by sparse lights. This sector was a far cry from what you were accustomed to.

“You didn’t tell them about your new advisor?” you asked Kylo. “You’re already adding fuel to the fire.”

“I am aware,” Kylo said curtly, his strides calm but purposeful. “I don’t trust anyone—not even my knights.”

He stopped in front of his quarters, his hand hovering over the door’s control panel as he entered a code. With a soft swoosh, the doors opened, and he motioned for you to step inside. You walked in, your eyes scanning the dark, spacious room with its minimalist design. You removed your coat and hung it on a nearby rack, your gaze drifting to the room down the hall—his bedroom.

No. You are here as an advisor, not his concubine.

The sound of his helmet being removed drew your attention. But an unspoken tension lingered in the air—a personal matter between you and him. You had been exiled from Luke and had never reached out to Kylo through the force. Despite his maturity, Kylo’s grudges were like a garden he meticulously tended. His reticence was palpable as he watched you, his question blaring in his mind: Why didn’t you come back to him?

“I’ll have the troopers deliver your luggage to your bedroom down the right hallway. You’ll be staying here,” Kylo said, standing in one smooth motion. “My private room is off-limits, but you’re free to go anywhere else in this space.”

You nodded silently, glancing around at the large, well-appointed quarters. It was more luxurious than the shared room you had in the sisterhood, and for that, you were somewhat grateful. His tone was stern, a clear signal that he wouldn’t indulge in reopening old wounds. That part of him hadn’t changed—his unparalleled grudges and spite.

Kylo moved toward the door.

“Before you go, I need to know one thing,” you said, halting him in his tracks. “How did it feel? To see the light vanish from Snoke’s eyes…”

Your question hung in the air, and you could feel the storm of emotions it unleashed within him.

You sensed his dread, rage, shock, guilt—and most of all, satisfaction.

His body remained rigid, his back still turned to you.

“It felt…liberating,” he finally said, his voice low and steady.

“Good. You deserved your vengeance.”

The silence between you and him settled into something resolute—a quiet, almost relieved stillness. Kylo turned to face you again, his gaze lingering for a moment before he gave you a small nod.

“You should rest. I can sense your exhaustion,” Kylo said, his voice softer now.

A sense of resolution washed over you. You were just as powerful as he was now. You could only imagine what it would have been like to see him standing in the throne room, triumphant over his fallen master. Now, here you were, offering him your guidance—to be his whisper of power.

Kylo nodded once more, picked up his helmet, and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Your mind reeled with possibilities, strategies, and the weight of what was to come.

It was alleged night on the Finalizer, and you had prepared yourself for bed. Your belongings were still in the cargo hold, but that was the least of your concerns. What kept you awake was Kylo’s restlessness. Even from across the corridor, you could sense his turmoil—his mind roiling with unease as he tossed and turned, punctuated by frustrated grunts.

With a quiet exhale, you rose from your bed and slipped out of your room, making your way down the dim hallway toward his quarters. Trepidation gripped you as your hand hovered inches from the door. You hesitated, wondering whether you would be welcomed or turned away.

No, you reminded yourself. He is still your friend…your ally. And if things escalated, you were confident you could defend yourself. But you hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

As if in answer to your thoughts, the door opened silently. His bedroom was spacious and dimly lit, with a large bed at its center draped in black silken sheets. Your eyes adjusted to the low light, and you spotted Kylo. His back was to you, the pale expanse of his skin on full display, every muscle taut with tension.

“I could sense your unease,” you said softly.

“Of course you did,” he replied with a sigh, straightening himself in bed. “That’s why I opened the door.”

The weight of his uncertainty hung heavy in the room. His calm gaze didn’t match the chaotic storm of his thoughts. His eyes stayed fixed on you for what felt like an eternity, and you debated whether to step closer.

“It’s fine,” he said, rubbing his temples. The blanket slipped slightly, revealing the broad expanse of his scarred chest. “I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He gestured to the chair beside his bed, and you took a seat.

“You still sleep with a light on?” you teased, glancing at the small orb of light glowing faintly on the far side of the room.

“Not everyone can adapt to the dark as you can,” he retorted lightly, surprising you with the quip. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve smashed my shins on the bed corners.”

The unexpected humor caught you off guard, a glimpse of something uncharacteristic yet nostalgic. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it reminded you of Ben. Even in the dim light, he could see your features clearly. His gaze lingered, studying you intently—your lips, your nose, your eyes. Every part of you seemed to fascinate him, and the emotions fluttering in his chest were ones he didn’t entirely understand.

“I need you…for something,” he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

His brown eyes locked with yours, and your heart skipped a beat. Your gaze flicked to the scars on his chest, the deep pink lines a testament to the battles he’d endured. You remained silent, wary of what he might ask but willing to listen. He sensed your uncertainty through the Force, mirroring his own inner turmoil.  He took a moment to speak again.

“Could you…find a memory of mine to lull me to sleep?” he asked. “I know you have the ability. I just need one good memory…I’ve had enough nightmares.”

He turned his head slightly to look at you. He looked so vulnerable to you, and it hurt that you were ordered to expose his weakness. A pang of empathy washed over you. Despite everything, he was still your friend. But the look in his eyes held something deeper—something unspoken.

“I’ll offer you one of mine,” you said softly.

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his scarred cheek, then on the side of his temple. His mind was a storm of distress, thrashing like a tempest at sea. Kylo closed his eyes, and for a brief moment, you felt him savor the warmth of your touch.

You delved into his mind and offered him a memory—a peaceful one. In it, you were in the desert, surrounded by golden dunes under a warm, gentle breeze. Kylo wandered through the sandy landscape, his breathing calm and measured.  It was a tranquil moment, serene and untouched by fear. This was a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the nightmares that plagued him.

When you withdrew your touch, you noticed the tension in his face had melted away. His body relaxed, sinking into the black silk sheets. His muscles eased, and he looked almost at peace. You brushed your fingers lightly over the scar on his face one last time before stepping away.

Tomorrow, you would be sworn back into the First Order. Tomorrow, you would step fully back into Kylo’s life.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed it. Tags still open if you want to be tagged in fic lmk.

Banners by @targaryen-dynasty , photos are not mine found on pinterest

Tag: @paristheonewhoreads, @my-simp-space, @ssnapsaurus, @lm-lg-4ever, @noonee333

[morellywrong]

Missing Out

Ethan Landry x afab reader (fem pronouns/nouns)

Warnings: stalking, obsession, Ethan's a pretty lil psycho, descriptions of murdering and torture, Ethan is actually fucked bro, reader is wearing a dress, Ethan is kinda neuro-divergent- coded (real), both Ethan and reader will be bi-coded because I said so, also some gross lil things in there for fun :)

Part 1 (?)

"Hey, y/n!" Ethan beams as he catches up to you, on your way to your morning class.

"Oh, hey Ethan...you sure are chipper this morning." You chuckle softly as he adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't know, I guess I slept pretty good- I had a productive evening." He beams softly, walking alongside you, matching his usually long strides to better fit yours.

"Oh yeah, get all your work done?"

Flashes of the previous evening washed over Ethan's mind, his grin only growing.

"Please! Please, I didn't do anything!!!" The boy sobs, his eye swollen, lips bleeding and a deep gash on the side of his neck hes desperately trying to keep pressure on with his broken hand.

"...that's where you're wrong...you got in the way." Ethan hisses, his voice modulator clipped into the inside of his signature Ghostface mask, wiping the blood slowly from his knife.

"Please...please..." The boy begs helplessly, tears running down his cheeks, snot bubbling under his nose as he backs away weakly, only for his back to be met with the wall.

"Please, please...." Ethan mocks him, stepping closer, his heavy boots thumping against the concrete of the warehouse he'd dragged his latest victim to.

"No one will hear you scream...no one will remember you...not even her...youre nothing..." The boy yelled out in anguish, choked sobs becoming more and more liquidated-

Ethan snaps back to reality as he turns towards you again, still smiling brightly.

"Yeah, it was....good, I got everything finished sooner than I thought."

"Wow...maybe I should get you to do my coursework sometime." You chuckle softly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow. Heat spreads across his face as he lets out a breathless laugh, looking away.

"Y...yeah, well, maybe..." He mumbles, his dimples showing as he glances back to you.

"Oh, are you going to the frat party later tonight? Tara, Mindy and Anika invited me....Chad'll be there too..." You hum, offering the idea with a small grin.

Ethan's heart hammers in his chest, feeling that type of love sickness his Dad used to talk about with his mother.

Well. Before Wade had all his children assist in killing their mother. Ethan tried not to think about it too much.

"I...I'd love too, y/n..." He whispers, his pupils dilated so much one would assume he'd taken something to help him focus more on his studies.

Or watch the sky melt.

"Cool....uh, wanna meet at the party? Quinn offered to drive us girls there and back, since she'd got a date tonight..." You giggle slightly, even though you're glad there'll be a designated driver.

"Sure, uh, I've, uh, never really been to many parties, though. I get a little nervous in crowds." He lies, brows creased together, portraying that awkward, shy boy you know him as.

"Don't worry. You can stick with me the entire night....I don't drink much anyways..." You beam softly as you stop outside your class.

"I'll see you after Econ?" He nodded quickly, propping up on the balls of his feet briefly to try and contain his excitement.

"See you. Meet for lunch?"

"Defintiely. I heard there's pretzels today." You smirk softly as he lets out another breathless laugh.

"Yeah...." He murmurs in a slight daze as you walk into the lecture hall, giving him a small wave before leaving his sight.

He leans back against the wall, holding onto the straps of his backpack as his cheeks heat up even more, biting the inside of his cheek with an uncontrollable beam plastered on his pale face.

You had spent lunch with Ethan, sat on the grass outside one of the lecture halls, laughing together about how crappy most of the lecturers are, and exchanging mild stories about how boring your days were. But soon enough you had your last classes of the day to attend, afterwards he walked you to your dorm building.

He always insisted on walking you all the way to your dorm room, claiming it was safer.

"There's a psycho on the news, haven't you heard??" He beams playfully at you as you playfully push at his arm. He's been mentioning it ever since the first disappearances.

"Please, I'm not important enough of a target, let alone being noticed by some killer." You roll you eyes as he watches you take your keys out of your bag pocket.

Keys that he definitely hasn't got like 4 copies of each key on there. He's pretty sure one of them is just for a small indoor window, and another is to your old locker key that you still have on your keychain for some reason- even though he defintely has a copy of your current locker key.

It's the stupid little things he likes in life, after all. And something about you not caring to throw the old key out just makes him love you more.

"Nah, maybe the killer is secretly targeting you...maybe he's watching you sleep-" He grins playfully, watching you send him an unimpressed look.

"Alright, get out of here, you're not supposed to be in this building anyway...I think we'll be at the frat party at like 9, ask Chad, I'm sure Tara's told him all the details." You smirk whilst tapping the side of your nose playfuly. He taps his in return, grinning. It was no secret those two were grossly infatuated with each other.

"I'll see you later. Text me if you need anything." He responds like clockwork, a usual closing response he offers to you out of the kidness of his heart. And definitely not obsession.

"I will." You insist with a chuckle, before closing your door and leaving him beaming by himself crazily once more, rolling onto the balls of his feet once, twice then three times before he catches himself, correcting his body language quickly.

"You look so fucking good!" Tara beams, a shot or two already in her system, deciding to pregame before the party as you got ready with the other three party-goers.

She stood behind you, admiring your body as you stand in front of her bedroom mirror.

"I don't know...it's a bit revealing..." You mumble sheepishly as you glance at your reflection, at the new dress you had bought the last time you were out with the girls.

"Shut up, no one will care, if anything, it's a good thing, dummy." Mindy beams from the couch, Anika fixing the back collar of her shirt, both also a little tipsy.

"Yeah, girls and guys are gonna be all over you."

"Chad'll keep an eye on us though, he always does." Tara smiles gently as she helps adjust the straps on your shoulders, her fingers leaving a small tingling feeling against your bare skin.

"More like he keeps an eye on you." Quinn smirks from the doorway, eyeing your outfit up and down with almost hungry eyes.

"Nice dress, y/n...hey, you guys ready?" She holds up her car keys with a small shake, the metal jingling in her hand.

"Yes! Let's fucking go, girls!" Mindy exclaims, standing up and grabbing her girlfriends hand.

"Let's go!!" Anika grins brightly.

"Let's go, cmon!" Tara grabs your own hand in her's, practically dragging you behind her.

When you arrive the party, it's pretty much already at full force. Drunken jocks, flashy cheerleaders, theatre kids talking loudly in the corner, math wizz's awkwardly stood in their small gaggles. It's refreshing, in a way, to see the students enjoying themselves and taking a break from studying.

"It's fucking loud..." You mumble, glancing over at the giant speakers in the corner and the 'DJ' set up the frat house had set up for the party. Your ears strained as you winced, before gasping.

"I feel like i'm inside the fucking speaker!" Chad beams, his voice making you and Tara jump as he places a hand on your shoulder, the other on Tara's shoulder. His head appeared between you, but he was grinning at Tara.

You glance behind him, beaming softly as you spot Ethan stood there. He looks like he's already spacing out, disassociating from the crowd once he realises how loud and chaotic it was.

In reality, Ethan's zeroing in on a girl staring at you. She's one of the cheerleaders. Bitchy, blonde, ditzy, pretty stereotypical but there she is. She's whispering to her friends, gesturing towards you and smiling as they all giggle.

He's trying to figure out if she's making fun of you or if she's into you. Either way, he's going to paint someone's walls with her blood by the end of the night.

"Ethan?" He glances down at you, a smile breaking onto his face beyond his control.

"Hey! Sorry, uh..."

"I get it. I space out at parties a lot. It's jut so overstimulating sometimes." You reassure him, nudging him softly with your shoulder.

"Y....yeah, that's it! Sorry, I tend to space out pretty often..." He plays it off, before his eyes snap to your outfit- the tight dress you'd decided to wear, before he forces himself to meet your eyes, respectfully. He needed to have patience, he didn't want to creep you out or scare you away from him- at least not /yet/.

You didn't need to know about the cameras hidden in your dorm room.

"Hey, wanna grab a drink? I'll stay with you, don't worry." You offer, speaking over the music.

Ethan grinned a little more sternly than he had intended to as you playfully link your arm with his, his cheeks lighting up- he was grateful for the dark lighting of the frat party. The only real light was LED lights that blessed the room with a purple and red glow.

He glances back over the cheeleader, she's glaring at him, her knuckles tense as she grips her plastic paper cup so tight it starts to crinkle and strain. He just sent her a dark look, before walking with you to the kitchen of the frat house- where the alcohol is.

[cipheramnesia]

Part 7: The Tower

a story by @rox-and-prose and @cipheramnesia

Dusk turned the Nevamil sky a flat aquamarine, and made visible the red lights blinking atop the Citadel. It was the tallest building in the capital city, Aureodar, even visible from the far off gridded streets of old houses converted into apartments. The last time Laika had seen it was a field trip for school.

The little blue Kirov was somewhere between the mountains and Genghis Khan and the most anonymous hopper port they'd been able to find in Aureodar. She worried about Sy, seemed ages past she'd been this physically far, though it was hardly more than weeks. Wires and talismans crossed over the streets, bikes and busses swooshed wet pavement, and linecars screeched overhead, all wrapped around her and her backpack and familiar unknown faces of the United Eastquad Block.

Ghosts gathered around her, whispering. You keep coming back here little wolf girl, you'll never get away from this place. Little wolf girl, you know you belong here. Freak. Queer. Sissy. Killer. Monster. You thought you were better than us, you never were. Laika let them needle and claw her. They were her ghosts, not the other way round. Every horrible word only built her up. Luna was with her in that way.

Most of the houses on K Street were mods, from early to late first century post-terraform. They were all retrofited from the original single family modules, but they were tough as nails, old construction built to weather thr storms of atmosphere generation. Number 1132 was where she was headed, lights were still on in the third floor windows.

Laika took a last look around on the front door's stoop. The poles for street lights and warden ropes all had at least three CCTV cameras and arrayed parabolic empathy receivers tuned into psychic conflict between morality and legality. She flashed a tight little smile at the familiar old glass eye of the state before pulling a short crowbar out of her bag and cracking the door open.

The third floor smelled of some sharp, fragrant allium along with sweet woody flavors and cooking meat, enough to rouse her stomach. Deep breath, ignore the ghosts, knock. A woman with her black hair in a bob cut, rolled up sleeves on her billowy dress, a little sweaty and confused, almost a quarter meter shorter than Laika. A wave of gaming sounds, net music, and oven warmth joined them both on the landing.

"Hey Tara," Laika said.

The other woman looked closer. "Laika? Oh tides, it is!" She wrapped Laika up in a big soft hug inside thick arms, crushing her stick body. "I thought you, I don't know, I thought you were dead! I mean, there were rumors?"

"Uff! Uh, hey. Sorry to be like, unannounced. Is it okay if I come in?" Laika hesitantly patted Tara's shoulders until the hug relaxed and her feet were back on the floor.

"You just have to, please. I'm sorry, when did you get back, why didn't you call?"

Unlacing her boots and slipping them off, she said, "I just got back today, um. I've been a bit off the net you know." She dipped her hand in the tiny basin by the door and thumbed a drop of water on the polished river stone at the altar. "But I wanted to see how you'd been, I guess. It just, well it's weird. That smells amazing."

She saw a couple kids blasting through uncreatively humanoid aliens, loudly and luridly across the living room screen, followed Tara into the kitchen and dinette area and watched her stir around sizzling veggies and meat in a wide dish. "Thanks," Tara said. "The spawn over there don't always appreciate it, but you know how... well, how kids can be..." Tara frowned awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh. Yeah." Laika rubbed the back of her neck. "So what all have you heard?"

Tara stuttered with a little embarassment. In the distance Laika could very faintly hear sirens, but she knew they weren't for her. The people who would come for her didn't use sirens or advertise their presence.

Half paying attention to Tara, she added, "Well, uh, some is true. But... you knew it was bad at home. Stuff happened. What about you though? Like, two kids? Wow!"

Tara probably was relieved at the change of topic, and Laika was glad to take a minute, but she couldn't focus all the way. She was waiting.

[ya-zz]

Hii! I've been waiting for quite a while to share this thought with you. A while ago, I shared with you my thoughts and it led to "Hacked" being written with Ramattra x Reader. I'd like to... maybe request a second part of that? I've been daydreaming about the possibilities of what's next for it. So, I'd like you to choose what happens:

A. Ramattra encountering Reader again in the battlefield and this time she has no time to hack through his system, and he finds her first. Keen into making her feel exactly how he felt back then.

B. Reader once again hacks into Ramattra's system, but this time she's braver, getting him while he's recharging (simply sneaking in his base to prove a point) and making him feel exactly what humans feel when they orgasm.

-Nia

We don't talk about how I did this within hours of the request coming through...

HI AGAIN!! IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU!! ♥ Thank you so much for requesting again, I love the ideas as always ^^

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1348 !! NSFW !!

The vessel rattles in the sky, currently moving over Toronto. The attacks below were never ending as Ramattra continued to repeat the broadcast. The gunfire and screams were louder than before as he watched on; one by one, humans fell and omnic civilians were secured. It was going exactly as he planned. 

Steering away from the capitol, he heads for his new location to oversee the destruction happening there. In the meantime, however, he was due a recharge. 

Taking a seat on the floor, back resting against the wall, he plugs himself in, wires connecting to his sides and back of the neck. He goes through his systems, setting up the necessary precautions just in case his vessel gets attacked and then the lights on his forehead dim, changing orange as he goes into standby. 

Everything fell silent, though Ramattra could still pick out the workings of his ship; the humming of the engine vibrating against the floor, the soft flickers of light that passed by the window on occasion. It was as if time had slowed down.

His optics shifted to where a noise could be heard, but due to being in standby, his vision was blurred to make his charging time quicker. Something had fallen so he left it be, the turbulence must've knocked it over.

Ramattra went back to his charging meditation, his body unmoving as it lay against the wall until a familiar feeling kicked in. 

It took his systems a moment to register what was going on but it was too late. The module he had locked away was open once again, his wires heating up slowly as he attempts to wake up. 

“It’s too late.” A familiar voice rang out. “Your systems can’t beat me this time.” 

Despite his vision being overrun with omnicode and errors, he tilts his head up to view you. His voice was a low rumble as he attempts to speak. 

“You- How-” 

“It’s simple, really.” You approach him, straddling his knees as you lower yourself onto him and dropping the holopad beside your leg. “Your guard is down, a foolish idea, really.” Your fingers stroke the wires that were placed into his sides. The Null Sector leader beneath you once again, unable to do anything, unable to fight back, what a pretty sight it was.

“Get out.” 

You tut, shaking your head with a smirk. “That is no way to treat a guest, Ramattra. Besides, I want to finish what we started the other week.” 

The omnic felt his wires flare up in heat, the module lighting up within his vision. His vocaliser cuts out as he speaks. “You-... serious.” He was weak, you truly had caught him when he least expected it.

A sly laugh escapes you as you trail your fingers on that same tubing over his hips. A gentle squeeze that sent a wave of euphoria over his body. He shudders at the contact. 

“How far can we take this?” Leaning over, you tap the holopad, pulling up the module that Ramattra had kept locked deep inside of his systems. From there, you had full access to his sex drive. “Oh, Ramattra. How long have you been like this?” 

His system fights back, or attempts to, but your software was stronger this time, he can barely move his hands or arms. 

With one tap, you send a wave of ecstasy throughout the omnic and his back arches involuntarily, a garbled, static moan escaping from his vocaliser. 

“Hm?” You smirk at him, letting the holopad go as you return your hands to his body, tracing the pads of your fingers against his metal bracing. You could feel him shake with each careful, calculated stroke. 

Ramattra can only glare at you, optics looking at your blurry features as he tries to adjust the settings. 

“Ah, ah. I don’t think so.” You override his attempts before moving closer to him, hands dipping between the braces as they move towards his back. The exposed cables there were begging to be touched and with one tap, a spark of electricity surges through Ramattra’s core. 

“S-Stop that-!” He demands, though his tone suggests that he does not mind the feeling. 

He doesn’t know what to do. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get rid of you from inside of his systems. He tries an alternative route but there was no success there either. Deep inside, however, he did like the feeling of being vulnerable, having someone touch him like the way you are doing. It felt pleasurable. 

Ramattra tries one more time, searching through any and all coding to find a weak spot and when he finally stumbles upon it does he take immediate action. His systems work hard to destroy your virus but the want to keep the touching going slows down the process. 

He needs you. 

He wants you.

He gives in.

The omnic sits there, allowing himself to be lost in the moment. The feeling of your hands exploring his body heightened his senses. His servos twitch before slowly making their way to your hips, holding you in place.

“Someone is enjoying this.” You smirk, dragging your fingers over the pistons on his neck. 

“Shut up.” His vocaliser betrays him once more, another static moan escaping him as his head tilts back against the wall. 

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” 

It took Ramattra a while to respond, but when he did, it confirmed everything you ever wondered. 

“Yes…” His grip on your hips tighten slightly, indicating that he didn’t want you to stop for any reason. 

He feels you grinding against his pelvic plate, possibly chasing your own high but the way you squeezed and teased him said otherwise. Then it clicks in his head. This was about him reaching his orgasm after several long years of nothingness. You knew how long it had been for him and how much he craved it.

Your one hand was tangled in his cabled hair as the other trails back down towards his hips. You feel him jerk, he wants the contact to last as you pull back, a familiar heat pooling in your stomach. 

“Ramattra…” 

“Seems like you cannot hold on for much long either.” He states with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

A flush appears on your cheeks as you squeeze his tubing once more, a little harder than last time. 

The omnic jerks his hips, pressing further into you as he moans out, vocaliser stuttering as he tries to keep it together.

“Such sweet noises… To think the Null Sector leader could sound like this…” Another tug at his cables causes him to moan loudly. 

You glance at the holopad whilst the omnics head was tilted backwards; his systems were lit up, errors appearing as you manhandle his wires, pinching and twisting them. It brought you joy, a satisfaction coursing through your veins as you realise how much power you truly hold over him in this moment. 

Another squeeze had the holopad flash black which causes you to look back at him. His vocaliser cuts mid moan, the lights on his forehead were off, fans were slowing down, yet his hold on your hips stayed. You had caused him to crash. 

Part of you panicked, but the moment the lights flickered on again, a soft orange before red, the panic was overridden with a sense of accomplishment.

His vocaliser clicks before he speaks. “No human should mess around with machinery too advanced than their mind and body can handle.” 

Your eyes widen as you realise that him rebooting meant that your virus was no longer in affect. His grip on your thighs gets tight, bruises already beginning to form under the skin. He pulls himself free from the wires connected to him, grabbing both of your wrists with one hand before pinning you down on the floor, one metal thigh pressed up against your sex. His other hand toys with the waistband of your pants as he speaks out in an intimidating tone.

“Perhaps it is time for me to teach you a lesson.”

—

KOFI

[miku-module-showdown]

Sakura (left) VS Deep Sky (right)

[cherllyio]

When The Sky went Quiet - Lego Monkie Kid Fanfic

This is a short fanfic idea i got from @then-be-a-warrior post (here)

TW: Death, Blood and Angst

Wukong didn’t know how he got to the small noodle shop.

All he knew was that he was about to tell a father something a parent should never hear.

And worse, something Wukong was at fault for.

The golden monkey walked inside, and the smell of food and fresh vegetables hit him, yet he didnt seem notice it.

“Wukong, what’cha doing here?”

Wukong wanted to get swallowed up by the ground. How was he supposed to tell him this?

The pig asked again, a little annoyed now.

“Are you just gonna stand there? You’re blocking the costumers- “

Pigsy stopped speaking when he noticed it.

“Where’s…. Where’s MK?”

Wukong tightened his hand around the red bandana, very aware of the warm blood that it was drenched in. He wanted to throw up.

“Wukong, Where. Is. MK”, it wasn’t a question anymore.

The tears that were quickly forming in his eyes were trying to get out, but Wukong couldn’t allow that.

Yet, Pigsy immediately became aware of what Wukong was so desperately trying to hold back. Call It a parental instinct or the love from a parent to their child, but somehow, Pigsy right then and there knew.

The god watched as a despairing realization slowly took over the father, till everything came crashing down.

Everything after that was blur.

Distant yells at Wukong from the heartbroken father, The Scholar overhearing the conversation, who was now sitting quietly, while his glasses were getting foggy with tears. The Dragon Girl, who had come over to the restaurant, to ask why her friend hadn’t come to meet with her like he had promised, and her distant scream shortly after.

Their words seemed to muffle into each other. To create conversations that Wukong only heard from a distance.

“How could you let this HAPPEN?!”, The dragon girl roared.

“My boy… My son…. “The Father said through a croaking voice.

“No… no… no…” The blue sand demon whispered under a quiet breath.

The King’s world was once again destroyed… Destroyed by himself… and for the once left to suffer too.

why … Why…. WHY?!

“We can get him back though… right?”

Wukong finally snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. It was The Scholar, still clearly shaking, but his glasses were cleaner:

“Yo-You broke out of The Underworld and you… You…. You managed to rewrite destiny and not di-die…”

“S-So….” Tang took a deep breath before talking again: “MK can do that too… righ- right?”

The whole room was quiet now. A million pairs of eyes were now on The King. A million pairs of eyes who were so desperate after an answer. A simple confirmation that there was hope… Just a single grand of hope….

But Wukong couldn’t even give them that… Because truly… He didn’t even know if that sort of hope was possible anymore…

__________

Why is everything so cold? It’s the middle of June.

MK was really confused. He had just been outside, fighting some random demon with The Monkey King when…

Ugh… Why is my memory so foggy?

A cold wind blew around him, sending a chill down his spine.

MK slowly, but surely, opened his eyes to a world that looked very different from what, for MK, was just a few seconds ago.

The world around him was dark and empty. Like he had closed his eyes and could never open them again.

Like he was… dead?

…

Ha! Don’t be silly, MK, you’re not dead!

In an instant the room was lit up by an almost familiar blue light, with the help of a million small cold flames, revealing the true size of the room, if it even could be called that. It felt like its own little pocket dimension if anything.

The ceiling seemed to be non-existent, and he could barely make out the door. A door?

An Exit?

The thought hit him swiftly, before a husky and modulated voice echoed between the walls.

“Welcome”

MK screamed in surprise, while he desperately tried to locate the voice(voices?)

And far, far above him, on gigantic pillars, that MK somehow hadn’t noticed, 10 hooded figures were observing him.

A pure, cold fear ran through the monkey.

“Welcome, Harbinger of Chaos”

________

I may or may not conitue this. Depends on if people want it

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 1.7K~ Summary: In which Steven opens up to Peridot a little about his anxieties surrounding his recent “pink episodes.” Peridot thinks she can help him determine the root cause of this problem, but Steven— marooned amidst age-old insecurities and his fears of hurting those he loves— still isn’t convinced he wants anyone’s help.

Finished up a lil' short fic I've had the dialogue sketched out for since 2020.

Enjoy, folks!

__

“So, have you always glowed pink in your sleep like that…?” Peridot asks out of nowhere later that morning, pulling his attention away from the sordid, pulpy mess of a Great Northern teen drama playing on the television set.

Thoroughly thrown off by this query, Steven serves her an awkward half-laugh, scratching at the wispy hairs at the nape of his neck. “Erm, I—”

“Because I don’t remember it happening on any of those nights you used to spend with us at the barn. And as a Gem, my memory should be perfect.”

“Nah, you’re right,” he says with a bit of a weary sigh. “This is new. I, uh- I don’t really know why it’s happening. In fact…” Inhaling deep, he tries to ignore the tittering background distraction of TV characters Jazmin and Rodrigo’s latest stupid conflict as he considers how best to describe his latest predicament. This isn’t exactly a conversation that’s well suited as an aside while watching a show, but he doesn’t want to make a huge deal out of it. “To be honest, it’s kinda become a bit of a problem, lately.”

She tilts her head. “A problem? In what way?”

“Um, I— I can’t exactly control it,” he admits. “Whenever I turn pink, I’m faster, I’m stronger, but… I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I don’t like the thought of even carrying this kind of strength. And unlike all my other powers, I don’t have a single clue what emotion triggers it or why it’s happening in the first place.”

He nibbles at the inside of his lower lip, considering this quandary. Everything about his powers has felt… different, since that encounter with Jasper in the woods a few months back. More unmanageable. More… volatile. For a time he assumed that life was done throwing him new extensions to his hybrid ability, but with every unimaginable feat he’s achieved lately— the capacity to hurl another Gem miles into the sky… a sprint so fast the surrounding world slows to a screeching halt around him… a scream so potent it can shatter the floor, leaving nothing but a wide crater in its wake— it becomes more and more clear that the diamond at his core has only just begun to reveal the true magnitude of its potential energy. 

And stars, that terrifies him. 

He’s not used to holding his power back, he’s not used to such a lack of control. He may have spent his entire childhood fighting to hone these abilities he inherited into something useful, yes, but he didn’t want this.

Peridot hums thoughtfully, her fingers perched upon her chin. “Well, maybe we can figure that out!”

His brow creases inwards. “Huh-? What are you—”

“Like you just said, all your other powers are modulated by your emotions,” she points out, throwing her arms into a casual shrug. “I’m incredibly knowledgeable about the composition and development of Gems, and you know about all the human feelings stuff! Your problem with this ability is clearly built upon the complex interactions between your Gem and organic makeup, so the most logical choice would be to build an experiment out of it. I bring the necessary genius and my tech,” she says with a beaming grin, her excitement growing more palpable with each and every word, “and you bring your experience! I’m sure if we work together we can learn something about this new power of yours.”

“I-I…” he stammers, shoulders seizing tight as the fullest intent of her idea finally washes over him. “No!”

Her face plummets in an instant, his blunt dismissal stripping the winds of enthusiasm right out of her sails.

“O-oh. I just thought… since you helped me try to fix CPH,” she gestures towards today’s entertainment of choice, still running, “maybe I could sorta… return the favor for you?”

Heart hammering in his ribcage, Steven grinds his fingers into fists at his side. 

“I don’t need to be fixed!” he insists, almost feeling sick to his stomach as that damned glowing pallor rises under his cheeks again anyways, a rote betrayal of all his futile claims. “Didn’t we just decide that’s the whole point of us hanging out now? That we don’t have to fix anything anymore?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“I’m fine, okay?” he snaps. “Really. I’m fine. I don’t need your help!”

Interrupting their long-forgotten entertainment, the television turns to static.

He gasps, tension wresting command of his every limb as he slams his hands over his mouth, wracked with embarrassment. H-he… oh geeze, he did it again, didn’t he? He raised his voice. He lost control, he snapped to pink. His breath hastens, rising to match the hurried, erratic tempo of all the excess energy currently surging through his hard-light veins like an untempered wildfire. 

“Steven—?” Peridot utters, her features twisting with undeserved concern. 

The white noise all but dominates his mind. Eyes growing glassy, his scattered perception hones in on the subtle threads of a second emotion evident within the Gem’s worried gaze, an emotion that strips the air straight from his lungs and makes him literally want to scream in his regret:  

Apprehension. 

Fear.

Considering all the horrid mistakes he’s made these past few weeks (graduation… his cactus… the mess he made of the Reef…), his lip trembles at the mere notion. 

His own friend, afraid of him.

Gosh, he could’ve… he almost—

“I-I…” he stammers, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Head buzzing with the oppressive specter of all manners of horrid what-ifs, he books it down the stairs and barricades himself inside the bathroom. Quivering hands fumble to lock the door. H-he… he just… he just needs to be alone when he gets like this, all tense and pink, every last sense locked on overdrive, his neural pathways swirling with a sense of terminal dread… his chest rising and falling so fast and heavy that there’s nothing else he can do— no quick salve to this panicked predicament— but sink to the floor like the shambling disaster he is and ride this wave out. It’s the only option he’s got. It’s the only way he can make this nauseating pallor recede back into the branching channels of the damned gem it came from. It’s the only thing he’s bodily capable of doing to guarantee he won’t unintentionally hurt someone like his own mother did.

(He’s assailed by an abrasive, neon pink as his shoulders scrunch inwards, all but powerless to stop that infernal barrier as it pinches ever smaller… his friends calling out, pleading for his help—)

Like he nearly did, too.

Slowly but surely… step by harrowing step… he’s almost beginning to grow afraid of himself.

A timid knock at the door blessedly interrupts his spiraling ruminations. Draws all that volatile energy back to his core as he breathes real slow, in and out, that eerie glow dissipating entirely.

It’s Peridot. 

Because of course it is. 

Because she’s too good a friend to not check up on him, even after such an unprompted expression of rudeness. 

“Just a minute,” he says with a bit of a crack in his voice, dragging himself back up to his feet and crossing to the sink to wash his hands as if to naïvely delude himself (and her, really— but he doubts there’s a single universe that exists where she’s gullible enough to fall for such a petty deceit) that he came here to use the restroom instead of the far more pathetic reality.

And sure enough, when he pushes the door open and shuffles out into the living area, her normally affable and carefree expression is streaked with palpable worry. Well, shucks. So much for attempting to downplay his embarrassing little freak out.

Sighing heavy, he gives up the chase. 

“I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. That wasn’t very kind of me, you were only trying to help. I just—” he pauses to dab away a stray tear threatening to leak from the very corner of his eyes— “gosh, I really don’t wanna feel like I’m burdening you with all of my personal nonsense.”

She frowns as she gazes up at him, shaking her head in blunt disagreement. “I don’t think you’re a burden.”

Steven shoves his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, his glance skirting away. “Thanks for the assurance, but… right now, it’s really hard for me to believe tha—”

Before he can so much as finish his sentence, his friend surges forwards. He genuinely can’t help the shaky little inhale he makes as her arms wrap tight around his torso, digits sinking in to the fabric of his shirt and her cheek pressed flush against his chest. 

“Steven?” she begins with a dash of timidity, her voice a bit muffled in the throes of their gentle embrace. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. Sometimes… I’m not okay either.”

“Peridot, I-I didn’t—”

“Even now, I… I’m still really insecure about my status as an Era 2 Gem,” she continues, the lingering ache of this admission more than evident within the subtle warble of her tone. “About my diminished height, mostly. And my lack of certain standard abilities. But now, I have so many friends to help me through those feelings. And so do you!” she blurts out before he can even dare to protest otherwise. “Y’know—? I… I’m sorry for pushing the matter earlier. If you’re not ready to talk about any of this, I understand. But if you ever are ready… I’m here.”

Steven exhales slow and shakily, forcing himself to glide past all those skewed, battered mental instincts— instincts that are screaming for him to reject her offered affections and simply bolt away— to sink into her offered hug. His own grip tightens around her petite form. He clears his throat, pushing past all those nauseating layers of shame to express his actual feelings. 

Daring to be brave. Daring to assert some of his genuine desires for once in his life, even if the only desires he can attach concrete meaning to at the moment are just an appeal for distraction, a craving for nothing but tiny, frivolous morsels of entertainment:

“Do you… maybe wanna finish that episode with me before you head back to Little Homeworld?���

“Hah!” she barks with laughter, her features lighting up like a bulb again. “You think you have to ask? Of course I still wanna watch more CPH! Go, go, go, go, go!” she chants, shooing him back up the stairs with a fervent wave of her arms. “Rodrigo can’t make fun of himself!”

[daftpatience]

Dm tips! I'm quite passionate about ttrpgs so I've been having a think about things that might help, I really hope this comes across more as helpful and fun rather than overwhelming!! tldr Have fun with creating a story together and don't put too much pressure on yourself to do everything

- Don't be afraid to ask for help from the table when keeping track of things! Sometimes it can be hard to keep everything in your head as one person, and there's nothing wrong with asking others to help keep track of initiative, jot down notes, look up how magic items and spells work, exc.

- If you haven't heard of them yet/used them before, I would recommend looking into 'lines and veils' and other safety tools for playing ttrpgs; even if you think your game won't get too dark, in a game where people can get deeply emotionally invested in the world and their characters, its good to set clear boundaries and safety nets for what people are comfortable exploring + to what depth.

- Have plans that allow the world to bring the story to the players; players can do the darnedest stuff sometimes, and if you have a set module or story in mind, it can be easy to start feeling out of depth as the players take actions that lead them further and further away from what you had in mind/planned. There are a few things that can help with this, some examples being:

a) be loosey goosey about where things are until the players travel there: if your players need to find a specific ancient sword in an abandoned, cursed town, but they travel in the opposite direction of where you had planned the town to be, just move it so it crosses their path. If you want them to be able to choose between a few different paths but still want them to find this sword no matter what, you can also change the aesthetic of the town but keep the quest details the same: for example, if they choose to go to bright Bloomshearth rather than Wroughtfield, the town they find mysteriously abandoned might be overgrown with mysterious, colourful flowers, the sky always lit in a golden afternoon glow, rather than deep, dark vines and howling winds... that way there's still an element of choice without putting in too much extra work.

b) Ask yourself 'if the players don't accomplish xyz, what are the in-world consequences?' If they fail a quest to defeat all of the slimes in a tavern cellar, does the tavern keeper throw them out? Does the building later become overwhelmed with the infestation and cause an even larger fight than before? Do the party gain a negative reputation in the area for a job poorly done? On a larger scale, if they fail to prevent a villain from collecting all the artefacts they need to start an apocalypse, do they kidnap a player/beloved NPC to complete the ritual? Do local kingdoms start preparing for war, with soldiers marching the streets? Are villages the players visit become empty as people flee, or destroyed by enemy forces? You don't need to have absolutely specific answers, but asking yourself these kinds of questions beforehand gives you more control over where the story goes and means you don't have to rely on players successfully completing tasks in order to keep the ball rolling: the players don't always need to succeed, and failure can actually lead to some fascinating paths! It also gives you a chance to set stakes and get the players more invested in their world by giving their actions tangible weight and consequence. Said consequences don't have to been super serious in order to be engaging either, especially if you're playing something lighter or more silly: fit the consequences to the type of story you want to tell.

c) If the players don't do xyz, are there any NPCs that might instead? Or any NPCs that might be competing to complete a task/grab an item before the players can? This can invite a sense or urgency and challenge that some players enjoy, or if the NPC is on the players' side it can allow certain necessary/fun story points to continue on even if the party don't quite make it. This can be combined with the previous point too: if the party do not accomplish an important task, does the NPC have to make any sacrifices to complete it on their behalf? And if they're challenging the players and win against them, what will they do with that accomplishment/item?

- Invite the players to describe things and help paint the world: things like 'how does your character feel about this?', 'What memory or emotion does this scent/sound/place/exc. bring your character?', and 'what is your character hoping to find/get out of this situation?' can be great ways to gain insight into what's important to that character (great to note for any future shenanigans) and also invites people to openly collaborate on storytelling. If a character rolls incredibly well (or sometimes if they fail spectacularly too) on a skill check or attack roll, it can be fun to hand over the reigns and ask them to describe how they succeed at the task at hand, you might be surprised + inspired by what they come up with.

- if you're confused by a player's actions, it's okay to ask them what they are hoping to accomplish with their actions: sometimes it's not always clear and people are often eager to clarify when given the chance to do so, you don't have to try and guess! This also helps avoid situations of disappointment when a player rolls well and the results in-world aren't what they wanted to happen

- Have fun! Don't be afraid to improvise things in the moment, have a laugh with friends, and try to remember how awesome it is you're putting in so much thought and effort into making a story together: it can be really easy to fall into the trap of not feeling good enough as a dm, especially if a session doesn't go as you expect, and if that's the case don't be afraid to reach out and ask for some positive vibes/feedback on the game. Even the best dms can feel low after a sesh sometimes, so don't feel bad if it happens, especially in the first few sessions whilst getting the hang of it! Giving each other small compliments on player actions and dm storytelling immediately after a session has ended is a great way to check in with everyone and leave the session on a positive note too, in my experience!

Hope this is okay to send, I hope you have a blast!! :D

thank you so much, this is all WONDERFUL advice!!!!! ♥♥♥ im noting it all down in my little dm bible ✍

[lady-djarin]

yes sir

din djarin x f!reader (drabble)

warnings: pure smut, semi-brat tamer din, outdoor sex, spanking, some degradation, teasing, p in v unprotected sex (wrap your willies!) 18+ minors dni GO CHILDREN GET OUT

word count: 1.8k

a/n: just a short drabble… tbh sometimes i hate writing the end of a smut story, i never know what to do lol. i just really wanted to write brat tamer shit with din, enjoy my lovelies!

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Three days. You had been hunting this quarry for three days, non-stop. you were tired, covered in sweat and dirt and not happy. The tropical landscape normally would have been your cup of tea, if you had a large cup of spotchka instead of chasing a madman through the forest. You and your Mandalorian companion were growing impatient with this hunt but the bounty was large enough to make it worth it. He was wanted for trying to blow up a government building on Coruscant and multiple accounts of aggravated assault; clearly a gnarly guy. You knew he was no match for the two of you.

You two worked like a well oiled machine, complimenting each other in perfect harmony. He was the big strong brute force and you were the sly and stealthy one. You were both smart that’s for sure and that’s why this case was particularly frustrating. On the third day, the sky decided to open up and pour down on you as if you didn’t have enough issues. You both groaned at the first droplet, knowing what was coming your way. Almost as soon as the first drop hit your head, the next thousand rained down all at once you both quickly ducked into a cave nearby, just deep enough to shelter both your bodies from the downpour.

“Dank Farik…” The large man slumped down on the wall of the cave, a small thunk from his helmet hitting the stone. You did the same on the opposite side, your legs touching in the small space. “We just can't catch a break.”

“Maybe if you stopped picking the hardest bounties we could actually get some of them done…,” you mumbled, only slightly to yourself.

“Me? You’re the one who suggested we follow behind and stay quiet instead of just jumping his ass in the first place!” You were both exhausted, and you knew it, but that didn't stop you both from getting in each other's faces. It's normally very civil between you both, some slight disagreements but nothing serious. You could recognise the anger bubbling up in your gut but didn't have the energy to stop yourself.

“Maker forbid I have any input! You're always the one deciding what we do and where we go next! Fuck, I’m so tired of it…” You got up and paced across the entrance to the cave, like a lothcat behind bars. Running your hands over your face you could tell the Mandalorian got up to meet you. He was on you in a second.

“If you’re complaining, I can leave you on this fucking planet for all I care!” Mando never curses, like ever. You knew he was pissed, especially the way his voice tore through the modulator and he was backing you against the stone wall.

“Maybe you should!” The air suddenly became wired, a tension running between you two. You were both breathing heavily, you could see it fogging his visor this close. The anger burned in your blood, so why was the only thing you could focus on the sudden need to have him touch you. Your body screamed for his hands to roam your skin, wishing his hand was around your neck. You were ashamed to say that this was actually turning you on.

“Don't try me, sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest. Just as he went to turn away from you, you shook your head as you sarcastically rolled your eyes.

“Yes sir.”

He paused, his heart stopping as he smirks under his helmet. Sir? Why did he like hearing that so much from you? You had always been a little bit of a smart mouth but ‘Sir’? He never thought he would love one word so much.

“What?” He stepped even closer, pressed up against you entirely. “What did you say?”

“I said… ‘yes sir’,” you knew exactly what you did, but didn’t know if it would actually work, until now. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilted his helmet at you, pinning you down with his gaze. You started to worry that he might have taken it the wrong way but when his hand grazed up your arm, you knew you read him right. You had a feeling he felt the same as you but didn’t know for sure until now. Before you could even think, his large hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your head spin. Finally, the tension was broken and you smiled against his helmet.

“You're such a brat, you know that,” you smiled wider, knowing what was coming. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson?” You felt your heart drum in your chest and your core clenched around nothing.

“Maybe…” The end of the word was strangled by his palm pressing on your vocal cords. The seams in the leather gloves were pressing deliciously into your delicate skin, somehow turning you on more.

Suddenly you were spun around, your hands flying out to keep you from colliding with the cave wall. His hands disappeared from your body for only a second before one returned to the back of your neck, and they were his bare hands.

“Unbutton your pants…now,” his voice was something you had never heard before, something almost scary. You did as he instructed, practically ripping the button and zipper off. Before you could push them down, Mando tore them down over your ass along with your underwear, the cold air causing you to jump. You thought that was as shocking as it would get but maker, were you wrong. Before your mind could register anything else, a loud crack split the air as his hand came down on your ass cheek. You shrieked in response, a sting left behind along with no doubt a large red mark in the shape of his hand. “You like that? Hmm? Like when I spank you for being a brat?”

Another slap. You were dripping, your slick coating your inner thighs as his hand came down on your ass another time. The hand around your neck was tightening with every spank. How could this man already read you like an open book, how could he know your every desire? Your brain was trying to think but all your body could focus on was the low grumble of his voice as he started to roam his hands over your soft skin, his fingers starting to trail up your inner thighs. Mando used his boot to kick open your legs, spreading them without having to ask. You moaned softly as he pushed on your upper back, bending you over as you were on full display for him.

“Mmm, look at you, so easy for me.” You were almost ashamed of yourself at how easily you followed his command, considering how much you fought him in every other aspect of your partnership. You were putty in his hands now, and he knew it. He reveled in the feeling of you relinquishing control to him, knowing that you were completely his in this moment. “You're so pretty when you listen, so obedient.” You were trying hard not to mewl at every word he said but for a man of few words, you wish he never stopped talking.

His fingers were grazing every part of you except where you wanted him most. You tried to rock against his hand when he got close to your clit, but never close enough to build any friction. You grew frustrated after not receiving enough attention on your clit, your legs already beginning to shake.

“M-Mando, please, just to-touch me,” you were trying not to sound too pathetic but the way he was teasing you, that was becoming harder.

“I like you begging for me.” Another loud smack on your ass earning a squeak from you. When all that came from you was a moan, his hand came down on your reddening skin again. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Maker, please just– please, I need more,” you begged, begged for just one touch. Like magic, his fingers found your dripping center and circled your bundle of nerves. Your whole body sagged at the releaf, pleasure spreading in your veins like fire. He moaned, moaned, at seeing you respond to him and your slick on his bare fingers. He could tell that he was going to lose control soon, getting lost in the feeling of you. “Mmm, Man-Mando, more… I need more,” you whined again, hoping to get him to relent.

“Fuck– I can’t wait to be inside you,” you heard the sound of his zipper being opened and your whole body burned with excitement. You felt the large man shift behind you, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. “You want me so bad? Fine, I’ll give you what you want, but I want you to scream my name.”

“Yes Mando please, wha-whatever you want,” you were a stuttering mess, the only thing on your mind was finally feeling him inside you.

“No,” he stopped himself for a moment with his tip lined up with your entrance. “Din. My name is Din.”

His name. He gave you his name, his real name. You felt your head swim and your heart ache. Not only was he giving you your deepest desire but he was giving you a part of him.

“Din,” you liked the taste of his name. “I need you.”

A low grunt escaped his chest as he thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. You both froze, the feeling so incredible and new, it felt like your world was turning on its axis. You had waited so long to know what he felt like, what he would fuck like. He was certainly not small, he was filling you up like you had never felt before. Once he adjusted to the feeling, he started moving his hips slowly before snapping them into your ass. The metal covering his thighs hit the back of yours and the cold bite of the feeling brought to your attention that he was still fully clothed and a helmet on his head. It felt almost wrong how much you loved it all; his roughness, the contrast in clothing and this all happening basically out in the open.

Your hands were barely holding you upright against the cave wall as he pounded into you. His length hit that perfect spot inside you every time he moved, causing the coil in your lower stomach to tighten again. Your knees began to shake, almost buckling under the pleasure of Din’s motions. As you started to slide down the wall, Din wrapped his arms around your body holding you tight to his chest, never ceasing to hammer into you.

“All this time… this is what you needed? Huh? This is all it took to get rid of that attitude? You fucking brat.”

You couldn’t even respond, you were done for.

“Use your words…”

“Y—yes…yes sir.”

You were sure that if anyone was in those woods, they heard both of your screams.