#like of course the one thing people have to brush off. dismiss. DISAGREE on. in that video was YOUTUBE'S RACISM

[sserpente]

A/N: That Hyundai ad hit different. *chuckles*

Words: 3097 Warnings: kidnapping, hostage

New York smelled pretty bad, come to think of it. You had almost forgotten the hustle and bustle of this huge city that never slept and if there was one thing you had not been missing at all after spending a few months in Morocco for work, it was the constant traffic jams.

It was hot, unbearably so. You’d been a sweating mess ever since your cab driver had picked you up at the airport and the fact that the air conditioning in the cab was broken didn’t exactly help with that. Your thighs stuck to the leather of the backseat, your forehead glistening and your make-up… well, it used to be make-up.

The cab driver seemed nice, at least and since the long snake made entirely of cars had not moved for at least an hour now, he had offered to park on the side of the road and get you both a bottle of water. Ironically, you were only a few yards away from Stark Tower.

Perhaps you shouldn’t complain about the traffic jam. Half of the city was a mess after the atrocious battle you had been fortunate enough only to have witnessed on the news on the plane. You could only hope that your tiny studio flat was still intact and quite frankly, it was short of a miracle that a cab service had actually agreed on picking you up so shortly after an almost-war—not to mention that the plane had actually landed.

You sighed, brushing a strand of hair sticking to your cheek out of your face. You were unbelievably tired—even more so knowing that you had dodged a catastrophe that would go down in history all thanks to work. Your eyes fell shut and you leaned against the car window when suddenly, the driver’s door was all but yanked open and someone who certainly did not resemble your cab driver, started the car and clutched at the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

Your lips parted. Shackles and a muzzle, along with a blue glowing cube landed on the passenger seat with a loud clatter, followed by an annoyed groan. It was him. The man who had attempted to take over the entire planet only moments ago, he was here in this car and he was currently kidnapping you with it.

A scream escaped your lips, a mixture of shock and fear spreading in your body and fuelling the rising amount of adrenaline. It was only then the God of Mischief glanced at the rear-view mirror and spotted you there panicking—but by then, he had already stirred the car back on the road, straight towards the traffic jam.

“You… you are… Let me out! Let me out at once!” You screeched, the heat around you—along with your miserable appearance—all but forgotten. Loki rolled his eyes. Great. Another mortal.

“I am not stopping this car,” was all he said. Your eyes widened in utter shock.

“Then don’t! Fuck!” Danger was radiating off of this man like heat from an active volcano; so if necessary, you would jump out of the moving car as well. Biting your lower lip and wondering if you should go through with this risky stunt at the speed he was going, the wheels squeaking over the asphalt with every abrupt turn he took, or if that would be a suicide mission. It was probably the latter, and when you reached for the handle of the back door, it took the God of Mischief only a mere second to lock it, trapping you inside.

“Let me out! Let me out!”

“You’ll kill yourself.” Loki spat. You did not miss the patronising tone in his voice—stupid. He believed you stupid.

“And if I stay in here with you I won’t?” You retorted hysterically. And it was justified, really—for when your gaze drifted back to the road ahead of you, you could see him racing straight towards a long line of cars waiting for the traffic to clear up.

“Watch out! The other cars, watch out! Oh my God…” You screamed, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your face with your arms but the imminent crash never came. When you opened your eyes again, Loki had all but moved through the other cars as if by magic. God, what was this, Harry Potter?

With your heart in your mouth, you brought your trembling hands to your thighs and pressed down on them in a desperate attempt to fight off the panic attack rising within you like the forthcoming eruption of a volcano.

But even when you reached the suburbs, ironically moved closer to your home, and the car finally slowed down to a reasonable speed, making you wonder how a god from another realm knew how to drive a car in the first place, your dread kept growing steadily. What would happen once Loki decided he had reached his destination? What would he do with you? Would you end up as another casualty? You’d know where he was, after all, and only God knew how he had managed to escape after the Avengers reported his capture—not to mention that he was in the possession of that mysterious blue cube you were certain bore even more chaos and destruction in the wrong hands.

“I take it this vehicle is supposed to be a means of transport in exchange for payment?” He suddenly said.

“What?” You gaped at him, swallowing. “Yes! I mean, yes, it’s a taxi. That’s… I was…”

“Where do you live?”

“Excuse me? What, are you going to drop me off and expect me to tip you?”

Loki smirked. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but he did like your feistiness. “I need a place to hide.”

“What… no! No! I am not giving shelter to a criminal!” You snarled, swallowing your fear of him—and then you made the mistake of peeking at the navigation system the taxi driver had set up next to the steering wheel, with your address on bright display to show Loki exactly where he’d have to go.

The God of Mischief tilted his head. “You don’t have much choice in the matter, my dear.”

You took a deep shaky breath, digging your nails into the backseat. If your lower lip was trembling, you didn’t notice. “P-please… please just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where you are or where you went. Please.”

“I am not going to kill you if that is what you are worried about.” He replied after a long pause. When you said nothing, too stunned and scared to come up with another snarky comment, silence spread in the car like wildfire.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you closed your eyes, hoping that this was a bad joke, a terrible nightmare and any moment now, you would wake up safely on the plane, yet to land in half-destroyed New York City—but the end of slumber never came. You were wide awake; even more so when, after what felt like hours, Loki finally stopped the car. Of course, you had not noticed him observing you repeatedly through the rear-view mirror, almost as if to check if you were still alive.

Your eyes met and then, finally, he unlocked the doors. Only now, you did not move an inch. You had no idea what to expect if you stepped out of this car.

Naturally, Loki disagreed with your cautious decision. He yanked the car door open when he saw you frozen in place, grabbing your upper arm so fast you didn’t even have a chance to react, and all of a sudden, seeing the entrance door of the apartment building you lived in did not at all look as appealing as it had at the airport anymore.

His grip around your arm was firm but when you whined in pain, the God of Mischief actually softened it—if only a little, barely noticeable.

“Unlock the door, my dear, will you?” He inquired, smiling sweetly at you. Right beneath the surface, you could hear that there would be dire consequences if you failed to comply.

Surely at this point, he could hear your rapid heartbeat. Shaking, you fumbled for the keys in your bag until they were jingling in your palms all the while Loki watched you like a hawk. You had dismissed calling the police on your phone in the car already—for now.

Fuck, you had been kidnapped. You were about to be held hostage in your own flat, or… or… was he just going to enter and kick you out? Had he been lying about not killing you? Would he fling a dagger at you any moment now like you had seen him do on TV?

Loki followed you when you approached the door and unlocked it clumsily. One floor up and to the left. For just a brief moment, you wondered what would happen if you started screaming bloody murder, alerting your neighbours but even when you opened your mouth to attempt it, not a single sound would escape your lips.

Even a little further out and farther away from the centre of New York City, rent prices were horrendous. Your salary was not bad but your apartment was no more than a small studio equipped with a humble kitchen, a separate bathroom with a tiny shower and lastly, your double bed in the centre of the room, posing as your sofa during the day.

Loki looked around unimpressed when he entered. “Well… it will do.”

“N-now what?” You choked out.

Loki raised his eyebrows, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Right—because that was going to be so easy. He sighed and rolled his eyes when you only stared at him in horror.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“W-would you? You tried to subjugate our planet like ten minutes ago!”

“And for good reason too. This realm is lawless, your people slaughter each other day in and out and you feel threatened by me? I would have given you a new purpose.”

He had a point… but… “And what is that so-called purpose? Slavery?” Loki’s expression darkened, making you flinch back.

“S-sorry… I’ll… I’ll be i-in the bathroom taking a shower. Please just… I mean… whatever.” Would he stop you? Hesitating, you made your way to the bathroom, waiting for him to yank you back, press you against the wall and threaten you? Threaten you with what, exactly? Could you trust that he wouldn’t kill you? Loki felt like a ticking time bomb in your flat.

But a painful yank never came and when you locked the bathroom door behind you, you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, trying to process the fact you had a war criminal in your home.

Once you had gathered enough energy to do what you had come to the bathroom for and, an hour later, returned to the main room, Loki was sitting on your bed cross-legged, the Tesseract right before him, glowing away.

“I roamed your ‘kitchen’”, he said without glancing up to meet your eyes, “Do you have anything edible at all?”

“I was away for a whole month.” You argued. “I haven’t done any shopping yet because I was kidnapped by a space Viking.”

Loki smirked. Amused, he finally looked up. “Well, perhaps I should take you back to Asgard with me then. I could use a diligent little servant.”

Your reaction did not disappoint him. Chuckling to himself, he slid off the bed more elegantly than you could ever muster, the Tesseract disappearing into nothingness.

“What I am trying to say is that even gods need to eat and I am, quite frankly, starving.”

“That sounds like a you-problem.” You grumbled. And then, as if on cue, your stomach growled. Damn it.

“Fine. I’ll order some pizza.”

-

Loki had all but watched you like a hawk upon calling the local pizza place. Everything inside of you had screamed to let them know about your predicament, to beg them to call the police and send them to you instead of the pizza.

But as soon as the food was delivered, the mood in your apartment changed so rapidly it left you wondering if the only reason for Loki’s world domination attempt had been his hunger. The man devoured a family-sized pizza in but what felt like two minutes and, upon realising you were done with yours, leaving three pieces in the box, he devoured those as well. And never before had you seen someone eat pizza so gracefully.

It didn’t exactly make it feel like you had been kidnapped anymore. Perhaps… perhaps he hadn’t been lying about not wanting to kill you after all. Perhaps he wasn’t as evil as you… no, stop. He had literally just tried to take over the planet!

“What are you pondering on, little mortal?”

You shivered, the nickname affecting you in a way it truly shouldn’t, especially after he had lost his armour and magically exchanged it for more casual clothes—they still looked like they were from a different time period altogether but it wasn’t nearly as intimidating as before.

“W-why did you really do it?” You found yourself asking. It was a risk—but you were feeling braver now that your stomach was full even though part of you was surprised you had managed to eat at all.

“What?”

“Why did you really try to take over the planet? Did you… do you really want to enslave us all?”

“A lack of freedom does not equal slavery. It offers protection from failure and bad choices.” He said. You frowned.

“You truly believe that?”

“You fight wars over opinions, religions and race among your own species. Your choices are suffocating the whole of Midgard. I would have changed that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

You looked down, reaching for the sweet treat that had come with your pizza to stop your fingers from trembling.

“What is that?”

“Oh, uh… those are marshmallows. This pizza place always packs them with your order, don’t ask me why.”

“What’s that?” He repeated, frowning at the plastic wrapper.

“It’s candy…”

“Well, it doesn’t look very natural.”

Woah. How had this conversation just gone from “humans should not have freedom of choice” to “marshmallows look unhealthy”?

“They’re… I mean they’re not. They’re made of pure sugar and artificial flavouring.”

“Then why do you eat them?”

“Because… because they taste good?”

Loki gave you a taunting look. See? It said. This is what I meant.

But when you opened the package and handed it to him, he took one out nonetheless. It looked tiny between his long fingers—as tiny as you must have looked next to him.

You gulped when it disappeared between his lips. When you reached out to take the package back, he snatched it away from you.

“They are quite delicious, actually.” Your jaw dropped when he popped them all into his mouth at once, winking at you. Not quite sure how to react to this, you averted your gaze, taking a feigned interest in your digital alarm clock on the nightstand instead.

It was only 5 PM but you were positively ready to pass out. Where would you even sleep tonight? Where would he sleep? Would he even sleep?

“You are tired.” He suddenly stated as if on cue. He couldn’t read your mind… right? He did have that weird cube of his, after all.

“Well, yeah… I got kidnapped, experienced a live remake of ‘Fast and Furious’ and I have a criminal in my flat.”

“I only understood half of what you just said but I can ensure you that I will not harm you when you sleep.” There it was again, that frown that almost made it look like he was offended. As if the very circumstance of him hurting an innocent for no reason other than malice insulted him.

“So by all means, retire to bed.” He went on, gesturing to the bed and eventually, standing up to make space for you. The pizza boxes disappeared in but a green shimmer of light and you watched Loki, albeit still suspicious, heading over to the small kitchen table. To be quite frank, it was the last thing you remembered.

-

Loki was gone, no trace of him left. It was as if he had never even been here. It was already past noon—the exhaustion from your flight as well as the racy car drive and last but not least, your shining time as a hostage had worn you out to the point you didn’t even remember falling asleep anymore.

You only realised now that it was your doorbell that had woken you up. Jumping out of bed and moaning when your vision turned black for a moment, you headed over to your speaker and pressed the button. Perhaps it was Loki. Perhaps he had locked himself out but then again… would he not be able to magic himself back in? Why had he insisted on you unlocking the door yesterday in the first place? You shook your head.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is Henry, I’ve got your delivery.” A boyish voice responded.

“W-what delivery? I didn’t order anything.”

“You did, ma’am, would you come open the door, please?”

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll be down in a second.”

You had fallen asleep in your clothes from last night, so one quick glance in the mirror was all you had before you headed back down and opened the main entrance door.

The delivery boy was holding both your suitcase and a jumbo-size package of marshmallows in his hands. Big marshmallows—the bonfire kind, to be precise.

“Who…” But you knew. You knew the moment you made the connection and knew the moment you looked straight into Henry’s eyes and noticed them glowing unnaturally blue when he handed the items to you.

It had not been a dream then. Loki had really been here. You had been eating pizza with the God of Mischief and now… the gesture was almost sweet. Was that his way of saying thank you? For what? You hadn’t exactly done much except for trembling in fear.

“He instructed me to tell you that you will meet again soon.” Henry announced and then, before you even had a chance to respond, he turned on his heel, hopped back into the delivery van parked in front of the building and left. You only realised now that the Hyundai taxi was gone too.

[sockablock]

(TW for panic attacks and discussions about trauma)

— — —

The thing is, Beau's friends are shit fighters.

To be clear—she's not saying that they're bad at fighting, gods know Veth's a force of nature with her crossbow and all of the spell-slingers can kill with a word—it's just that when it comes to fighting, actual fighting, that down-and-dirty fist-on-flesh shit, her friends suck. Most of 'em just run, or they’d sweet-talk a surrender, or go back to slinging spells.

Beau would never admit she misses the Soul, but at least those people knew how to block. At least Dairon would make her work for it, wouldn't tell her to please, gods, Beau, stop punching me, I give!

Fjord's better these days, but not good enough.

Which is why, on their third morning back in Nicodranas, when Beau opens the door to see Yasha looking restless, she knows exactly what's up.

"Should I get my staff?"

Yasha shrugs. She usually does.

"I'll grab it. Down in five."

Beau considers grabbing some toast too, but she remembers how antsy Yasha seemed and figures she should try to avoid puking in Marion’s yard.

Yasha is stretching when she gets there. The gate swings behind her with a gentle clunk, and she kicks her shoes off, curls her toes in the grass. The sun is barely broken above rooftops and towers, and the first chime of church bells ring out overhead.

Beau yawns a little, but it’s just for flavor. Mind games. She’s not actually sleepy.

“We do not have to—” 

She quickly waves her hand. “It’ll wake me up. You know, get the blood pumping.”

Yasha smiles a little at that. It’s always such a small one, but it’s getting to be familiar.

“I got up early. I couldn’t sleep. Er...sorry.”

Beau doubles her effort to be dismissive. “Don’t apologize to me, Yasha. C’mon. You think I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to?”

This seems to be a winning argument. Yasha nods, like she can’t imagine Beau doing anything she doesn’t want.

Maybe it’s the crisp ocean breeze, maybe it’s the way they circle each other in the yard. Maybe it’s the fresh brush of gauze on her fists.

Beau wants to win.

She dives in, pulls low, uses her quick movement to catch Yasha off-guard and get in as closely as she can. Yasha’s tall, broad, strong as an ox, and even holding back, she could wind Beau with a punch. She presses even closer, limiting Yasha’s motions, sweeps out a leg and cuts up when Yasha moves. The two of them duck and weave and push, neither allowing the other an inch, fists flying, blows being blocked and sweat beginning to pour down their backs. Beau lands a hit that leaves Yasha grunting, then stumbles when a wild haymaker knocks her back. It’s clear that Yasha was never taught any form, just scraped it all together by surviving on the moors and her chaotic movement, high endurance, and reckless confidence just make her deadlier.

Beau tries to close in again, but a lucky kick forces her a pace too far. Her knuckles are bruising in that numb, seething way, and so she darts to the side, grabs her staff, vaults up and then arcs her foot to Yasha’s face—

The dance starts again, this time hardwood hitting forearms and on anyone else, Beau might even feel guilty about it. But Yasha barely seems to register the thwack, her teeth bared in a sideways grin, her eyes hard and excited and alive. Beau’s probably wearing the same expression. She hears herself laughing, and knows that she is. Up-swing, down-swing, slide left, throw a punch, block one, dart back, duck and then—

Yasha’s fist catches her right in the gut, sends Beau lurching flat into the dirt. She chokes her own breath, coughs up dust, barely gets an elbow up with Yasha leaning over her, blotting out the sun, raising Beau’s staff for a finishing strike—

Halts.

It’s like watching a tower fall. Yasha staggers back. She drops the staff. She lifts her hands and stares at her palms and Beau hears a mangled breath. Her knees give. She collapses on herself.

Beau scrambles up, aching limbs forgotten.

“Yasha?” she says. “Yasha? Are you—is—what’s wrong?”

Yasha sucks in more air, but that just seems to make things worse. Her shoulders tremble and her lungs sound ragged.

“Aw, shit,” says Beau, “I mean—fuck—uh—”

She half-runs, half-crawls, ‘til she’s at Yasha’s side. She wants to put her hand on Yasha’s arm, thinks better of it, panics a little more. She wishes she were Jester. She wishes she were Cad. They’d know what to do, they’d be better at this than her, anyone, hell, Marius would be better at this than her—

But it’s her, and everyone’s still in the house, so she shakes her head and stamps the fear down. 

“Yasha, I...aw, fuck, I’m—I’m here, it’s okay, nothing’s wrong—” clearly something is wrong, idiot, “—I mean, um, you’re safe here, okay? It’ll be alright. I’m here, and I’ll stay if that’s what you want, okay? I won’t go anywhere, if you don’t want. Uh...can you shake your head if you want me to go? Is that...possible, can you—”

A frantic shake.

“Oh good, okay, thank fuck, then I’m here. I’m right here, Yash. I’m not going anywhere.” She tries to pitch her voice calm, takes deep, long breaths, and continues to murmur as reassuringly as she can until after...seconds? Minutes? Yasha’s trembling slows. 

There’s a pause. Yasha inhales and lets it go. It’s shaky, but apparently good enough because finally, eventually, she turns and looks back at Beau.

“I’m...okay. I am okay.”

Beau sinks back into the grass. Then she lies down. “Oh, cool. I’m, uh, glad.”

“I’m so—”

She holds up a hand. “Nope. C’mon.” She pats the ground beside her.

“Er...what?”

She pats it again, emphatic. “Lie down. C’mon. I think we’ve earned a break.”

She stares up at the sky while Yasha shifts around, and eventually there’s a gentle thud as she lies down. Seagulls cry in the distance and clouds drift slowly past their heads.

Beau swears, but mentally. A private thing.

“So, uh...do we...want to talk about it, or...?”

Yasha is quiet for a moment. That’s not surprising. Then:

“It...reminded me of when I killed you.”

“What? Oh—” 

“Almost killed you,” Yasha amended. “Both times.”

“Right,” says Beau. “That’s...right.”

She thinks about saying—almost. You only almost killed me, so really it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. And you kill people all the time anyway, right?

She blinks. “Wait, you kill people all the time, Yasha. Is it always that bad? Shit, does it always...does it always make you feel like this? Only...I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...break like that...”

She regrets the words immediately. Stupid, Beau, that’s a stupid thing to say. 

But Yasha answers the question earnestly. “It’s usually different,” she says to the sky. “It usually...doesn’t matter. Er...no, not that it doesn’t matter, it just...”

“Doesn’t matter,” Beau sighs. “No, I...sort of get it. Man, that might be fucked up. Of us.”

Yasha shrugs, which rustles the grass. “It’s how it has always been for me. That is just what life is like.”

“I’m sure Jester would disagree.”

“Jester is...nice. I am not. I...have hurt a lot of people. And not just people who were fighting me, or trying to hurt me, but people who were innocent, who did not need not to be hurt, people who care about me, and, and people who I...”

She trails off. Beau can’t see her face, but right now, selfishly, she is glad for it. She feels anger bubbling up in her stomach.

“You were being controlled,” she says fiercely. “You didn’t do it. Someone made you do it.”

“But...part of that...part of it was still me. Since...since you all freed me, I...I remember parts of it. I remember doing it. Those were my hands.” 

Beau can practically hear Yasha’s fist tighten. She definitely feels it when Yasha hits the ground.

“If I was better, or if I was stronger, if I had broken free faster, none of that would have happened, I could have stopped him sooner—”

This time, Beau doesn’t hold back. They’re lying down, so it’s incredibly awkward, but the first thing she can think of is to grab Yasha’s hand.

She sits up, and waves it over Yasha’s face.

“But you didn’t,” she says, then falters, then wants to smack herself. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is...” Then she stops. “No, you know what? Fuck it. You didn’t break out faster. And that’s because it was a miracle you managed it in the first place. Yasha, you were being controlled by a devil. You were being controlled by the Chained Oblivion. The fact that you were even a person the first time we met—and you were a person, you were funny, you charged me money to, to, well, you charged me five gold, remember that?”

Yasha blinks. Her wrist is slack in Beau’s grip.

“I...do, yes, I remember that.”

“Right. The fact that you were a person then meant that they couldn’t keep their claws in you. Because you were strong. You were better. Better than everything they tried to make you. You kept breaking free.”

Yasha does not try to squirm away, only stays there.

“But...I needed help every time that I did escape. I never managed it on my own. First it was...it was Kord, and then you all—”

“Of course!” Beau throws her other arm into the air. “Who the fuck could do it on their own?! All that means is that when you had a chance, the second you had a chance, you were outta there. In your heart, you knew what was right. You knew it, and held onto it, even when I’m sure it would’ve been so easy to stay there, to stay in that hell and just go through the motions and lose yourself in...in grief, and loss and...and all that. But you didn’t. And now look at you.”

She cracks a goofy smile, all desperation to make what she’s trying to say heard.

“You’re an angel, Yasha. Remember?”

Yasha slowly sits up too. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, black turning white, with little blades of grass.

Beau is made painfully aware of the fact that she’s still holding Yasha’s hand. She lets go. Then she swears again, and hopes that Yasha doesn’t think it’s because of anything s—

“I am, aren’t I?”

Her gaze shoots up and Yasha's wearing a goofy smile too. Small, a bit nervous, but real and warm.

It’s getting to be familiar.

Beau snorts. She snorts so loud that it might dislodge something in her chest. She hits Yasha gently on the arm.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t, uh, don’t let it go to your head.”

She can see Yasha nodding in the corner of her eye.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Then, after a brief battle over whether or not to bring it up, “I don’t...I don’t...for the record, I’m not mad about you stabbing me. Or whatever.”

Yasha looks stricken, and Beau regrets it instantly. “Shit, should I not have reminded you of—”

“No,” Yasha sighs, and her face softens. “No. I am...glad that you are not mad at me.”

“Should we, like...go to a cleric about this?” Beau asks. “Is this going to be something that happens in, like...fights? Because if it does, it might put you in danger. Also, it’s...it probably sucks for you. Right?”

Fjord would probably have something to say about the way she’s handling this conversation. He’s not here now.

“I...don’t know,” Yasha says eventually. “It hasn’t happened before. It was only...just now. And...just with you. It...hurting you reminded me of being controlled. It...brought me back to all the times that my mind was not my own.”

“I’m sorry,” Beau says, because she’s not sure what else to say.

“No,” says Yasha. Beau looks up, surprised by the weight in her words. “If I am not allowed to be sorry to you, you cannot be sorry to me.”

“Ah,” says Beau. She feels a grin pulling. “In that case...I’m not sorry.”

Yasha nods, like this is sacred, and Beau can’t help but snort again. 

“C’mon,” she says. “We can...work this shit out later. Or start to. With a cleric if you want, or not, if you don’t. But I just got my ass kicked, and I’m thirsty. What do you say to some drinks? I think there’s juice. Do you like juice?”

She stands up, and sticks out a hand. 

Yasha takes it.

“Okay. I like juice.”

— — — 

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[headaching]

titanic au solely because the sheer prospect of that is making me go insane

this au lives in my head rent free. tw attempted suicide

Finally, Zuko reached the upper deck he visited earlier that day. Taken with the never ending sea, his frenetic movements slowed as he unlocked the final gate and descended the stairs. Deliberately, he approached the barrier between the ship and the ocean, his gaze fixed only on the waves.

Looking off the ledge, it might as well have been the edge of the universe. The water resembled a black hole, endless and final. Without breaking his gaze from the water, Zuko pulled himself onto the railing, with each foot on the lowest rung.

The wind was comforting against his back, and for a moment, Zuko closed his eyes to enjoy the breeze. His labored breaths stilled along with the steady stream of tears flowing down his cheeks.

Here, everything seemed so calm; this ship was a mechanism in which all parts worked together. He thought of his body and mind, breakable and disjointed in comparison. The ship felt nothing, and if he toppled over the edge, it would continue chugging along through the sea as if nothing happened.

The crushing anxiety of his present situation with his father clutched at his chest again, and Zuko opened his eyes to look down at the railing. In one steady motion, Zuko climbed over it completely and rested his legs against the front of the barrier. The engine of the ship was louder and admittedly more threatening from this new vantage point. Zuko watched the propellors cycle through the water over and over.

Zuko was entranced by the possibility of disappearing with one deliberate move no one would know was intentional. There would be a search party for him once they realized he had gone missing, which of course would turn up nothing, and the conclusion that Zuko simply fell over the edge on accident would appease them. Azula would be next in line for Fire Lord. Ozai would blame him for being so incompetent.

They would forget about him, and all Zuko had to do was let go.

“Don’t,” a gentle, but demanding voice said not far behind him. Zuko gripped the ledge tighter as he craned his neck to see who the voice belonged to. It was the beautiful man Zuko spotted earlier that day openly staring at him on this very deck. Zuko blinked rapidly as he attempted to make sense of how the stranger could have looked any better up close than he did from far away.

Not him, Zuko thought as he flinched his face away, Not now. Aloud, Zuko asked, “Don’t what?” tearfully, and immediately regretted it.

“Don’t jump,” he replied plainly. Zuko swallowed, though his mouth was dry.

“Maybe I will,” Zuko snarled at the complete stranger. Feeling vindictive, he added, “Don’t tell me what to do.” To his annoyance, the man laughed, a cheery and sarcastic sound.

“Buddy, I hate to break it to you,” he said as he made a couple strides toward Zuko, “but when you’re being talked off a ledge, you don’t get to make the rules.”

“You aren’t talking me off the ledge,” Zuko insisted, trying to focus back on the water. “You’re annoying me.” The mystery man laughed again, and Zuko pursed his lips.

“C’mon. Take my hand,” he instructed with another step toward Zuko and his arm outstretched. Zuko shook his head stubbornly.

“No,” he yelled over the incessant warble of moving water beneath him. The man shook his head and crossed his arms.

The stranger asked in contempt, “You expect me to believe you’re…what? Standing there for the view?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything; I expect you to mind your business,” Zuko replied through gritted teeth.

“This is my business.” Zuko looked over at him to find the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen watching his every move. The man shrugged. “I’m involved now.” Zuko groaned and shook his head. He couldn’t even die his own way.

The man began unlacing his boots, to Zuko’s bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

“If you actually do this—”

“I am doing this,” Zuko asserted.

“Then why haven’t you?” In the ensuing silence, the man took off his jacket, never taking his eyes off Zuko. “Seriously, if you really wanted to, why haven’t you jumped?”

“Because you won’t leave me alone,” Zuko answered eventually, though it didn’t sound as confident as he intended. The man shook his head.

“If you do jump, I’m gonna jump in after you,” the stranger replied matter-of-factly.

“What?” Zuko asked in shock. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d die.”

“I disagree.”

“You…disagree?” Zuko sputtered.

“I’m sure it would hurt like hell,” the stranger shrugged, “but I’m a good swimmer.” Zuko laughed shrilly. “The swimming isn’t what I’d be worried about, though; it’s the cold that really gets you.” Zuko inadvertently shivered with another glance at the water.

“Cold?” Zuko cursed himself for asking, and for the obvious fear in his voice. The man nodded gravely. “How cold, exactly?”

“Cold enough,” he replied solemnly. “I grew up in the Southern Water Tribe, and take it from me, you don��t want to find out exactly how cold it is.”

“The South Pole,” Zuko said, and the man nodded.

“Have you ever been?” Zuko shook his head. “One wrong move on ice too thin, and you’re a goner. I fell in once, and it felt like a thousand swords piercing every part of my body.” The stranger’s tone was grave, his face even more dire.

Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose. He stood a little straighter, held onto the railing a little tighter. The man approached Zuko’s side with his hands on his hips and continued, “That’s why I’m hoping you’ll spare me from having to jump in and save you.” Zuko glared at him.

“I don’t need saving,” Zuko griped. The stranger smiled, and Zuko ignored how perfect it seemed to be by staring back at the water.

The man leaned in and said softly, “With all due respect, sir, you’re hanging off the side of the boat.” Zuko fought the urge to meet the stranger’s eye contact, but failed when the man’s open palm skirted into view. He wiggled his fingers, and when Zuko turned his head, he found urgency in the man’s face.

“Please don’t do this,” the man whispered earnestly. “You jump, I jump.”

Zuko sighed, and with a singular nod, he accepted the man’s offer. His hand was warm, Zuko noted, and he swore he felt an encouraging squeeze. They were close together, with the stranger’s chest pressed against his back.

Slowly, Zuko turned around one foot at a time, until they were face to face. Zuko let out a shaky sigh as he held the man’s other hand, too. The stranger sighed in relief, and with another mystifying smile, he said, “I’m Sokka.”

Sokka.

A blush crept up Zuko’s neck as he internally recognized how beautiful the name was. Sokka eyed him with an odd expression. “Zuko,” he finally replied, and an uneasy warmth engulfed him when Sokka grinned.

“I know,” Sokka said quickly, then a flash of panic overtook his eyes, which glanced away from Zuko. He continued, “I mean, I know because you’re kind of a big deal around here.” For a reason he couldn’t place, Sokka’s sudden sheepishness made Zuko smile. “Not to me, I just heard about you from other people.”

“Sokka,” Zuko said bemusedly, daring to grip Sokka’s hands tighter. Sokka met his eyes, and he smiled too, closed-mouth and lopsided.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Let’s get you over.”

Zuko nodded in agreement. He lifted a foot to step onto the next rung of the railing, but just as he shifted his weight, his heart dropped with the rest of him. With one blink of an eye, Zuko was dangling off the ship, and the only thing tethering him to safety was Sokka’s hands gripping his wrist. Time crept on at a dangerous pace.

Zuko screamed, “Sokka! Help!” over and over as his legs swung beneath him. His vision blurred, but he could still make out Sokka above him, and the upper half of his body hanging off the side of the ship. His hair fell forward and framed his face, and when Zuko squinted, he saw horror overtaking Sokka’s wide eyes.

“Hold on!” Sokka instructed, his voice full of command. He yanked Zuko up enough so he could grab at the railing with his free hand, but when Zuko tried, he just slipped farther toward his imminent death. Zuko looked down, and the water didn’t seem so comforting.

Zuko gasped and screamed again. It seemed to fill the sky, discordant and loud. His dangling hand reached for the railing again, sweaty fingers searching for a grip, but steel only greeted him. A glance upward revealed Sokka, his body doubled over the barrier, his eyes closed in concentration, holding onto Zuko with all his might.

“Sokka,” Zuko yelled over the crashing water. Piercing blue eyes opened under a furrowed brow and stared straight through him. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Sokka dismissed defiantly. “I’m right here. I won’t let go,” he promised. “You have to pull yourself up.”

The words made sense to Zuko, but his arms felt useless. He peered down again against his better judgment, and only then did he realize he was crying. “You fall, I fall,” Sokka said almost too quietly to hear. An obnoxious thumping sound surrounded him, and numbly, Zuko recognized it as his rapid heartbeat.

Now or never, Zuko told himself. With all his strength, Zuko managed to anchor himself back onto the railing using Sokka’s firm grip. As soon as Zuko had a solid hold on the barrier, Sokka’s hands snaked around his waist, leaving Zuko’s arms to rest around his shoulders.

Finally, Zuko’s back slammed into the deck of the ship. Sokka’s strong arms remained locked around him, and he blushed when he noticed their hips were pressed together. They both breathed heavily, and Zuko’s arms trembled at his sides. Their faces were close, probably too close, Zuko thought, but Sokka stayed still. He brushed a few strands of hair away from Zuko’s face with gentle fingertips.

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked carefully. Zuko opened his mouth to reply, but his throat seized and only allowed whistles of breath to escape. He searched the sky like he might find his answer in the stars.

send me the title of a wip for an excerpt!

[sunsoothed]

hair(care)

remember this post? yes i wrote the fic. with some angst and backstory as a treat! family bonding time and people learning to love. the ao3 summary is "Yohan first learns affection through money, then oil." which i think is really really funny.

word count: 1696

read on ao3

apologies for any errors, and enjoy!

-

The first time Yohan tries, it is before everything. He’s allowed to err here and there, require an entire braid to be unwound and redone. He’s allowed to experiment with the clips and the ribbons and decide when the act is complete and present his art to his niece and his family. Elijah is rightfully fawned over, cheeks bright and smiles brighter, holding onto her uncle and hiding her face in his shoulder with glee.

That was, of course, before everything.

-

If Yohan has touched a hair on Elijah’s head since, it is only to make a promise or only in her sleep.

The doctors will take care of you, don’t worry. Samcheon is here. I won’t let them hurt you any more than you already have been.

Midnight, in that agonising few months of hospital rooms and the claustrophobic rehabilitation centre. When Elijah is able to perceive nothing but her breath, Yohan, hands reverent; soothing his own fears through comforting his niece. Things will be okay. We’ll be fine. A few grounding breaths are never enough, not after he learns what those monsters took from his niece.

And when Elijah cries. When she first asks after her mother and father, why they aren’t by her side, why is it just samcheon everyday? When Yohan’s tears ring before hers, for the first and last time. I’m sorry, so is declared. I’ll fix this, so is promised. He holds her as close as he can permit himself to, and vows to burn down this world if she asks him to.

-

Elijah, once, four years since, on her tenth birthday, asks him, “Can you help me?”

Yohan will pretend like he hasn’t been starved of hearing those words. He follows her to her room, honoured of her trip halfway across the house.

“The girls at school,” Elijah fumbles about, wringing her hands together, “that… they wear their…”

He stands in her doorway, somewhat uninvited, waits for her to finish.

“They wear their hair, kind of… like this,” Elijah mimics some variation of a hairstyle best she can, two locks of her hair held in her hands, the parting off. “I was just…”

Yohan, unfortunately, understands little. “Do you need a haircut?”

Elijah’s hands fall, as does the thin hope upon her features. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I only called you because ahjumma wasn’t in today. It’s fine.”

Yohan blinks. “I can help if —”

“It’s fine,” Elijah hisses. “I was mistaken.”

-

If there is any chance of that ever happening again, time will have to be reversed. Elijah turns twelve, and things change, and Yohan notes his laptop has been hacked.

He buys her a cake for her thirteenth birthday that finds itself smashed against a wall and a demand for no such recurrence.

Yohan will never disobey her. Not with things that she can control.

So he buys no cakes, but buys her a building and channels the affection he allows himself to feel once a month in an allowance that shocks Ms Ji despite the lifetime she’s spent in this family.

Once, there is a package of hair care products with their usual shipment of essentials, which Ms Ji makes a show of putting in Yohan’s way. When he relents, it only takes a tilt of head to the east of the house for her to get the hint. He never knows if Elijah uses them, but the list goes on to include some products out of the large batch he’d purchased, and Yohan considers buying another building.

-

On her sixteenth birthday, Yohan asks, “Do you want to have a birthday party?”

Elijah asks, “Who will we call?”

Yohan nods, for that is an apt answer.

-

When Kim Gaon comes, Elijah hates him more than usual. That, Yohan had expected. What he hadn’t was that this hatred would melt away faster than ice when met with fire.

The frist time Elijah sports a more delicate hairstyle than the usual ponytail, Yohan thinks it’s a trick of the light. But she turns her head when retrieving cereal, and her hair is still parted that way and a short braid runs from behind her ear into the clipped-back hair at the back of her head, and Yohan pauses to stare.

Instead of their noncommittal acknowledgement of each other each morning, he asks, “When did you…” and gestures to the back of his head.

Elijah shrugs, looking over at him impassively for a moment before pursuing her breakfast once again. Kim Gaon slides into view, grin perpetually etched into his face, asks, “Elijah, did it stay?”

To which Elijah smiles back, and now Yohan’s eyebrows remain shot up.

Kim Gaon continues to talk, “It’s experimental. We’ll try a different style tomorrow. Your hair’s long enough to make an intricate bun.”

Yohan ensures Elijah watches him conspicuously eye the both of them.

“Kim pansa,” he says, breaking the moment. “We need to go to work.”

-

The next day, and the day after that, Elijah wears her hair in different styles. Once it is a high bun with some small braids, once it is a different parting and a new set of clips. Yohan observes critically over breakfast as Elijah holds her head a certain way to ensure it doesn’t fall into her food, and thinks, how impractical.

She catches him looking, so she hoists a sour look, to which Yohan responds with an exaggerated tilt of his head, aiming to mimic her.

“Don’t make fun of her,” Kim Gaon’s imposing voice interrupts. “Elijah looks fantastic today.”

Elijah beams. Yohan is disarmed of a biting reply for he hasn’t seem her teeth take on anything but a stubborn baring of power in front of him. He spends the rest of the day replaying it.

-

When things so south and north again, when Elijah acknowledges, begrudgingly, that her uncle did not have it out for her father, Kim Gaon mediates harmoniously.

He spends an evening making them both chase the cat around the house.

It’s an inane idea, even Elijah hates it, but he tells them the reason Kkomi starts throwing things off their desks at four in the morning is because she’s understimulated, and that even a cat needs to exercise.

So it’s Elijah’s job to get her rilled up enough to run — in a cat’s terribly comic way — away from them, and Yohan’s to ensure she keeps running around.

He’s insane, is what Kim Gaon is. Elijah’s more than sure this borders on some ethical offense. Yohan sure seems to find some pleasure in making the cat scared for her life.

Gaon congratulates them both with a mid-evening coffee and snack break. Elijah actually, voluntarily, asks for Yohan to pass the plate of biscuits across, and thanks him — thanks him! — when he does.

Before they all retire to bed, after another shared meal, Elijah calls for him from down the hall.

“Yohan!”

He turns, maintaining what he thinks is a smile.

“Can you try and get some coconut oil?”

“What for?”

Elijah scrutinises him, gauging how he doesn’t understand something so obvious. “For my hair.”

Yohan nods, still not on the same page, but very much wanting to be. “I’ll get it,” he assures.

He doesn’t blink twice at the astronomical shipping price.

-

It’s a tall bottle, imported and primly packaged, that greets Elijah when she returns home from her weekly ice-cream run with Gaon.

She eyes it, suspicious, before their resident busybody stands in her doorway and says, “Oh, bujang-nim actually bought it for you.”

Elijah blinks at Gaon innocently. Yohan does listen to her sometimes.

“Material wealth,” Gaon seems to understand. “We’ll put it in your hair tomorrow, okay? Keep it in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Yohan voices, having just turned the corner, dressed as he usually is at home.

“What are you doing here,” Elijah mutters, shooting a scowl at Yohan as he stands in her doorway as well.

He scowls back, never one to back down from a challenge, as Gaon goes on about the benefits of oiling hair behind them.

-

“Don’t pull,” Elijah hisses.

“I’m not,” Yohan insists, but puts less force into his actions nonetheless.

Gaon and Ms Ji are monitoring them, mirroring each other with their arms crossed and leaning against opposite sides of the doorway.

Yohan sections Elijah’s hair into three parts after brushing through it, the fine-toothed comb surprisingly sparse of broken hair.

“Gaon has been helping me take care of it,” Elijah had explained, when he errantly asked. “What, did you think I’m some sort of wild animal?”

Yohan carefully collects some oil in his palms, completely foreign to this, eyes flickering up to Gaon for guidance. Gaon is absolutely no help.

So he trusts his instincts and starts at Elijah’s scalp, rubbing oil in, and ends with oil down his forearms and Elijah’s hair in a thick braid. She’s fast asleep.

“That means you did a good job,” Gaon whispers to him.

Yohan would smile, but such affection hardly suits his face. He pats Gaon’s face with an oily hand, leaves him spluttering, and grins to himself as he tries to wash the oil off.

-

It barely becomes a routine, because despite Gaon’s somewhat vast knowledge on hair care and what Elijah read online, washing oil out of your hair can be a nightmare. But Ms Ji and Gaon have observed their two sulking overlords interacting with an increasing frequency, even if it is sometimes just to disagree about an arrangement of clips or parting of hair.

Gaon had supposed, somewhat, that his bujang-nim had at least an understanding of style. In his discussions with his niece, though, when somehow colour schemes and draping becomes relevant, Gaon admits he’d underestimated Kang Yohan.

Later Elijah will decide she wants to dress for dinner as well, and Yohan will be the only one diligently obeying the formality. So much so that he will leave a guest in the company of the villainous home to attend to his niece’s requests. No one will ask about the pink bow in her hair, but it’s more than enough for Yohan to know that he tied it up.

[corinnesamuels]

Guarding the Gates, Chapter 10: A Question of Legacy

Cover art by the amazing @the-dream-team!

“I’m surprised you came.” Regulus says as he turns back to observe the ducks. 

“I am too.” Sirius replies. “Though, if you could get on with it, I do have things to do today.” Sirius hates how easily his voice slips back into the cadence his family had beaten into him growing up but sounding like a detached aristocrat was usually the best course of action for conversations like these. 

Regulus hums lightly. “Carrying out Dumbledore’s bidding, I presume?”

Sirius rolls his eyes in exasperation. “What is it you called me here for? It isn’t to kill me because we both know you don’t have the stomach for that. Did your master want to send a message, then?”

Regulus gives an incredulous laugh as he turns to face his brother fully. “You think you’re important enough to receive a message from the Dark Lord?”

“Surely, I’ve taken down enough of his followers to have caught his attention by now.” Sirius makes a show of idly scanning the crossword.

“Enough for him to wonder why you’re turning your back on the people of our birth and the legacy of our house, perhaps.” Regulus brushes an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “But no, I’m here on my own accord.”

“And the purpose is?”

“My purpose is to discover why you always insist on playing for the losing side.” Regulus says. It surprises Sirius to realize how well he still knows his brother. He recognized the slight hitch in his voice. Others may have thought Regulus was taunting him, but it isn’t a taunt in his voice. It’s concern.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me? Mother and father will be apoplectic when they find out.” 

“Yes, because you have shunned everything they wanted for you!” Regulus grips the back of the bench tightly before dropping his head in frustration.

“What they wanted for me? Pureblood fanaticism, inbreeding, and a penchant for dark magic? I’ll pass on that if you don’t mind.” Sirius tucks his newspaper into his jacket pocket and begins to stand. “Well, if that’s all—”

“Legacy, Sirius.” Regulus cuts in through bared teeth. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“What in our legacy do we have to be proud of, Regulus?” Sirius barks out. “The only things worth mentioning are things our parents despise. I only learned those things  because  they despised them.”

“Our parents wanted so much for you.” Regulus shakes his head in exasperation. “The named you after the brightest star in the night sky—”

“Here we go again with this bollocks—”

“They placed their hopes for our family’s legacy on you. And you have treated it with scorn since the very beginning.” Regulus says. “And spending all of your time with Potter has only made it worse.”

“I treated it with scorn because that’s what any decent person would have done, Regulus. I’d tell you to try it sometime, but you love taking up the mantle I left behind, don’t you?” Sirius says it sarcastically, but something clicks in his mind as soon as the words leave his mouth. He whips his head back to Regulus. “You don’t.” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Regulus says dismissively, but Sirius knows better.

“Mummy and Daddy’s expectations are weighing on you more than you’d care to admit.” Sirius says as he walks closer to his brother. “Their hopes and dreams suddenly feel like burdens to you, too, don’t they?”

Regulus doesn’t answer. He just stares across the park as a means of avoiding eye contact with Sirius. Sirius takes a deep breath and takes another step closer.

“You don’t have to fight for him just because they tell you to.” he says. 

“What, you want me to come to the losing side? You want me to believe that your friends will welcome a Death Eater into the ranks?” Regulus shakes his head and laughs in disbelief.

“Who said we’re losing?”

“The people that keep deciding the terms of the fighting.”

The two brothers stared at each other defiantly, though neither of them knew quite why. It was a posture they had adopted once Sirius had moved out at 16, one that made little sense then and made even less now.

“It seems as if we disagree on who is losing.” Sirius says before giving Regulus a questioning glance. “Is that the only reason you joined them, then? Self-preservation and our parents’ expectations?”

“I couldn’t care less about power, Sirius.” Regulus waves a hand dismissively at the thought. “What else is there besides self-preservation and our family’s legacy?”

“Deciding to do the right thing.”

“The concepts of right and wrong always were so black and white with you. Until the day you found yourself in the grey area.”

Sirius clenches his fist and just barely refrains from punching Regulus, though he desperately wants to. “We have a chance to make sure our family’s legacy includes being on the right side of this.” He says through gritted teeth before sighing and running a hand roughly over his mouth. “Look, Reg, come with me to Dumbledore. He can keep you protected, and you can see what life is like when you aren’t being forced into things you know are bollocks. You don’t have to keep doing our parents’ bidding.”

“You’re willing to die behind this…this folly?” Regulus asks quietly. 

“Yes.” Sirius says simply. For a moment, he thinks he may have won Regulus over. But then he sees his brother’s eyes glaze over into the aloof unbotheredness that was the Black family’s emotional default—when they weren’t deranged and sadistic like Bellatrix or Walburga. 

They stand there for a while in silence before Regulus takes a step backward.

“Be careful, Brother.” Regulus says. Sirius shakes his head and begins to stalk away when Regulus calls out to him. “I’m surprised you haven’t changed your last name to ‘Potter’ considering how much you’ve taken to acting like them.”

Sirius stops to turn to Regulus once more and laughs in spite of himself. “And miss out on the opportunity to piss off Mother and Father by dragging the family name through the mud? Never.”

   The War was becoming more tense by the day. There were more Death Eater attacks of muggle villages, more disappearances, more suspicions of Ministry officials being under the Imperius Curse. The Order of the Phoenix was often tired, and there had been several close calls, but their resolve remained. 

Despite the dark cloud hovering over the wizarding world, or maybe because of it, many young couples were cutting their engagements short, choosing to get married quickly because they saw every day just how short life could be. People the Marauders, Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, and Mary knew from school joined in the fray. Henry MacMillan and Aurora Gade married just two months after getting engaged. Penelope Parkin and Ian Abbot married after just two months of dating. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Alice and Frank announced after an Order meeting that they would be doing the same. They’d held hands while making the announcement, exchanging looks that were equal parts adoring, frightened, and resolved. It was new for many of the Order to see them like that. It was no secret that the two had been dating, and in the rare instances when they all gathered to let down their collective hair, the couple looked as smitten and loving any other young couple looked. But in Order meetings, they were fighters, Aurors on a secret mission flying below the Ministry’s radar. To see them this way was a rare glimpse of their private selves, the ones they reserved only for each other.

When Dorcas made a statement about it being swoon-worthy a little too casually, Lily knew her friend was refraining from letting her eyes drift over to Remus Lupin. Lily couldn’t really say for sure, though, because she had been too busy trying not to let hers drift over to the man standing next to him. Lily was happy for Frank and Alice, and she loved that they had found love in each other in ways that worked for them. A part of her wishes she felt that it was something she could have for herself, but how could she risk that now? As a muggle-born? As a member of a resistance group operating outside the confines of the law? As someone who had seen how love can be used to break people in ways that still haunt her nightmares?

Read the rest at ao3!

Start from the beginning

[joshuas]

that’s not even ramen

♫ pairing: yang jeongin x gender neutral reader

♫ genre: college/university student!au, slice-of-life, crack, fluff

♫ word count: 3.5k

♫ warnings: nil of note!

♫ summary: a bunch of chaotic misunderstandings, trot singing new years concerts that lead to lots of fluff at the end ^^

♫ tagging: @fluffyskzclub​

♫ a/n: happy april fools! my joke is... that i can’t do anything on time and post things that were supposed to be posted in january in april, so without further ado, i present the eighth addition to my seasonal drabbles! 

♫ skz seasonal drabbles: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

“I swear, this is the tenth time I’ve heard him sing tonight! If he’s going to continue to do this, he should at least sing a different song.” You sighed, exasperated as you tried to put your three-year-old sister to sleep. Her sleep, of course, being interrupted by your new next-door neighbour, Yang Jeongin. He had taken up trot singing over the last couple of weeks and decided only to practice his singing at 11 pm at night. Which, coincidentally, woke your baby sister up every time. And as if it wasn’t hard enough having sole custody over a sibling let alone having a teaching degree to attend to during the day. Your professors had been understanding of your... predicament after your parents moved out of the picture, but there was only so much patience they could hold. Of course, you couldn’t confront Jeongin about it — you were only acquaintances... barely even friends as you had only known each other through university... and now the thin wall that separated your living quarters. Well, it’d also be too awkward if you did (ugh, social confrontation), which is why you put up with it... Relief flooded through you when you heard the singing cease, sighing as your sister stopped fussing and fell back asleep. It’s not as though Jeongin was a bad singer. In fact, he was quite brilliant. But his singing was not appreciated at ungodly hours. The walls started to pulse as folk music blasted at a deafening volume, snapping you out of your reverie and forcing you to focus back on your crying sibling. You held back a scream, mentally cursing at Jeongin, I swear to God, the next time I see this boy—

“Mina put on your coat, it’s ridiculously cold out! It’s January, remember? And what season is it in Jan—“ You paused, observing the idiot that exited his apartment alongside you, “Oh! Hello, Jeongin—“ He walked away without a word, rushing down the stairs. Rude! First the singing and now he’s ignoring me? Does he have any human decency?

“Hello! Welcome — make sure you sign in your children before you leave!” Your eyes settled on Jeongin, who was beaming at the little kids that entered the daycare, holding out the sign-in sheet, Great and now he works at the only affordable day care. How... pleasant. Wiggling her hand out of your grasp, your sister waddle-ran over to Jeongin, giving him the biggest hug, for him to pick her up and spin her around. Ignoring the skip of your heart, you cooly approached the two of them, silently taking the sign in sheet and signing your name. “You must be Mina’s parent— I’m Jeongin, one of the part-timers here.” He held out his hand, Mina, still in his arms, blocking his view. You shook it, “Not her—“ You broke off as another kid ran to Jeongin, crying as he dragged him inside the daycare. Without turning around, Jeongin waved at you in dismissal. You scoffed, He won’t even acknowledge me at home but now that we’re in public and he’s literally being paid to be a decent human being, he’ll put on a face and pretend to be friendly? No thank you.

You rubbed at your temples, mentally snapping at yourself to focus. Tutorial time was probably the only time you had to yourself to study and get things done. But you know what? That wasn’t happening today. Why? Because of Yang Jeongin infiltrating your thoughts every five seconds. You grumbled to yourself, almost ready to pack up and leave, He should pay rent for how long he’s been living in my head. “Oh wait! Y/N, you’re leaving already?” A voice called out from behind a tower of books in their hands, not long before plonking them down on the table in front of you. You looked up, your gaze meeting Jeongin’s hopeful one. Why is he being so friendly? Especially since he flat out ignored me this morning... “Um... I was planning to. Not that it’s any of your business.” You said coldly, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion at his sudden friendliness. Really, Y/N? You’re being like this just because he snubbed you this morning? Okay, wait that’s pretty valid. Ignoring the little “no it’s not” in your head, you maintained your cold demeanour.  “Oh. Um. Sorry. I was just asking because I was hoping to study with you.” Jeongin rubbed his neck awkwardly. You looked at him doubtfully, ignoring the hopeful fluttering in your stomach, “Why would you want to hang out with me of all people?” “Well, you’re the top of the class—“ You scoffed disdainfully and he broke off, looking at you wide-eyed. Of course he only wanted to use me for personal gain. Whatever, Y/N. Just avoid him. Do not interact! “I’m definitely heading off now. Bye.” You grabbed your books, leaving the library and a slightly confused and shocked Jeongin behind. He’s not worth it, Y/N.

You buckled Mina in her little seat in the trolley, lightly humming as you pushed her along. After realising that you were out of ramen (a staple study food, fight me if you disagree), you had scrambled to pick up Mina from daycare before rushing over to the local grocery store, keen to get at least some ramen to fuel your study session after putting Mina to bed. That is if she’s able to sleep. Hopefully Jeongin won’t— You reached for the last pack of your favourite ramen, a hand brushing over yours to grab it with you. You whipped your head around, gaze meeting— yet again— Mr Yang Jeongin. How many times do I have to see him today??? This feels like a cruel joke. It’s not funny! You coughed, pointedly looking between Jeongin and his grip on the ramen you had so obviously grabbed before him. He sighed, pushing his specs up the bridge of his nose, pushing his hair back with the other hand, hand still fixated on the ramen packet, “Please, Y/N. I need this to study.” You inhaled sharply, trying not to be bothered by the impeccable College Boyfriend vibe he was exhibiting, dressed simply in a sweatshirt and track pants, “So. Do. I. In fact, I need it a lot more than you since your singing keeps up the whole neighbourhood. And no! I’m not calling you a bad singer, because on the contrary, you’re quite brilliant and I honestly don’t know why you didn’t decide to become a singer instead of a teacher. I mean, do you really want to waste your life away working at a daycare?” You rambled. Jeongin looked at you, stunned, loosening his grip on the ramen, and handing it to you, his cheeks lightly dusted with pink, “...You know what? You can have it. I’ll just buy... this one! Yep. This one.” He scurried away, leaving you stunned, “But that’s not even ramen!”You called out after him. “Doesn’t matter!”

“Mina, please. Isn’t your crying at least making you tired?” You rocked your sister, exhausted as you looked at the clock— thirty minutes she’s been crying. Jeongin had decided not to sing tonight for some reason. But your sister still had difficulty sleeping. Perhaps he is actually a decent human being... although, I can’t say that I don’t miss his singing... what? Yes, you can, Y/N. The guy literally kept you up til three because of his singing. Mina just felt so inspired by his vocals that she had to try herself... by crying. Ugh.  The walls started to vibrate as you sighed, Complimented him too soon. His melodic tone carrying through to the nursery, your sister’s not so melodic cries mixing in even louder than his singing. You steeled yourself, done with this nonsense. Putting on a coat, you stomped out of your apartment, knocking insistently on Jeongin’s door. The door opened to reveal a bewildered Jeongin as you thrusted your screaming sister into his arms, “You started this. You fix it.”

Jeongin held the door to his apartment with one hand, the other arm supporting your screaming sister. Allowing you into the apartment, you observed how spotless it was, giving it an appraising look. “Seungmin’s my roommate. Hence, why it’s so clean. It’s all he does when he gets home from the hospital.” Jeongin explained whilst trying to rock Mina to sleep. “I’m surprised he puts up with your singing.” You noted. “He works nights.” Jeongin deadpanned. You opened your mouth, closing it when you saw his attention turn towards Mina. Cooing at her, he slowly sunk himself into the cushions of the couch, lowly humming a melody familiar to the ones you had heard through the wall. However, it was more of a ballad version. A soft smile crept onto your face as you observed the two, your heart aching at the adorable sight. Mina slowly fluttered her eyes, slowly closing them as Jeongin hummed further, his chest vibrating comfortingly from his singing, the movement lulling her... to sleep! You looked amazingly at Jeongin, his triumphant gaze finding yours. You tried to take Mina off him as she fussed in her sleep, cuddling further into his chest, you sighed, putting your hands up in defeat — afraid to wake her. “So... care to explain why I had to do this?” Jeongin whispered, looking pointedly at you. “Well...you’ve been keeping her up with your trot singing that she’s been eventually falling asleep at almost 11 pm. The thing that I’m weirded out the most by is that she cried at the lack of your singing and when you sang a softer version of that folk song, she fell asleep straight away.” You explained. “Babies are weird like that. But why did you have to give her to me to calm down?” Jeongin asked, confused. “Well one, you’re studying teaching and working at a daycare. And two, you started this!” You numbered. “We’re in the same class and she’s your sister!” Jeongin pointed out, eyes wide. “Look. The main reason really is your singing. Why do you have to sing so late, anyways? It’s not like you’re preparing for any assignment... we don’t have to create a song for our assignment... right?” You asked, tone slightly laced with concern. “No, no.” He dismissed your concerns, sighing, “The real reason why I’m singing so late at night is actually because I’m preparing for something. I don’t really have time otherwise to prepare for it since I have uni and work.” “What are you preparing for?” You scrunched your eyebrows quizzically. “You have to promise not to laugh.” He looked at you pointedly. “I can’t promise that.” You scoffed. “Well then I can’t tell you.” He lifted his head, looking elsewhere. “Fine. Fine!” You whispered harshly. “Okay, well I’m doing this competition that’s basically a talent show for unusual talents. And mine is... trot singing. The whole point of this talent show, though, is to actually achieve your New Year goals and resolutions.” “And yours is... to win with your trot singing?” You looked at him bewilderingly. “No.” He lightly slapped his forehead, disappointed at your lack of piecing together what little information he provided you with. “My resolution is to perform on stage. However, my only formal singing training is in trot singing.” “Ah, I see.” “Yeah... you should come! Only if you can. Obviously. No pressure.” He asked quickly. “Oh! I’m surprised you want me there after everything that happened.” You said sheepishly. “What happened?” He widened his eyes in confusion. “Well— you were kind of a jerk to me all of today.” You noted. “I was? Oh—“ “You ignored me this morning, put on a face when I dropped Mina off at daycare, purely because you were at work and tried to talk to me in tutorial after that. Then you nearly stole my ramen!” You interrupted. “Oh wow, I really did all of that today? Anyway, let me explain. In the morning, yes I saw you and I could’ve yelled a hello, I admit it. But I was very stressed since Seungmin is normally the one to wake me up when he comes back from the hospital but I think he must’ve gone home with his partner or something because he didn’t come home last night, and I had no way to contact him because Jisung threw his phone in the bin.” He explained. “He what?” You recoiled in bewilderment at the last part. “Long story. Anyway, I actually just go straight to autopilot whenever I have to converse with the parents. And since it’s my first week, I wasn’t expecting to see someone I know, let alone you, so I just went straight to my Customer Service Polite Conversation Autopilot Mode... customer service is so hard. As for the tutorial thing, I wanted to study with you! Believe it or not, I actually do appreciate your company.” He said pointedly. You blushed, clearing your throat, “That doesn’t explain the ramen thing, though.” He sighed, “Ramen is my study food too, you know. But I figured you needed it a lot more than me... also your compliment caught me off guard.” He muttered the last part, you smirked slightly as you heard it. “Anyway, I would really appreciate it if you could come because... well, you- you’re one of my good friends.” He rubbed his neck tentatively. Your chest ached slightly, feelings of disappointment infiltrating your head, only to be met with confusion... and sudden realisation. Oh. No.

[00:37] (Jeongin) hey! you left all of a sudden, but I’ve emailed you the details to the comp. hope you can come :) [10:55] (Jeongin)...Y/N? Are you still alive? Actually, I know you are. But why are you avoiding me? It had been a couple of days since you realised your feelings for Jeongin. Trying to avoid him at any costs, you changed up your schedule — only taking morning tutorials, making sure you didn’t run into him wherever you went. It didn’t help that your lives were so intertwined. Mina had gotten particularly attached to him — you watched her from outside the daycare, her little legs wrapped around his, clinging onto him like a koala and reluctant to let him go when she saw you at the gate. That certainly did not help. But what could you do? In order to avoid hardship, you have to cut the relationship in the bud. Especially since he only sees you as a friend. You snapped your attention to the door, as a knock resounded through your apartment, redirecting your attention from your phone to... a very unkempt Seungmin, waiting behind the door. “Hey, Y/N! I was wondering if you could do me a favour?” He asked, words rushed. “That depends on what it is.” You crossed your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “I need you to go to Jeongin’s talent show for me.” He said. You shut the door immediately on him, “Y/N’s not here.” “I— what? Y/N, please. I need to go to the hospital today and he really wants you to go!” Seungmin pleaded from behind the door. “Why can’t you get any of his hyungs to attend? He has like six other ones.” You proposed. “He really wants you to come. He really likes you, Y/N.” Seungmin sighed. You opened the door slightly, peaking out from around the door, “Yeah. As a friend.” “What gave you that impression?” Seungmin looked at you confusedly. “He said it to my face?” You said, equally as confused. “Oh my god. He like likes you, okay? He didn’t tell anyone except us two about the contest. He told me because we live together but he told you because he has feelings for you!” Seungmin inhaled sharply, trying ridiculously hard not to roll his eyes in annoyance. “You’re not just telling me this so I would go?” You raised an eyebrow sceptically. “No. I have nothing to gain out of that because if you found out I was lying, I know you’ll hold a grudge against me forever, and as neighbours that really would not work out.” He said a matter of factly. “...alright. Fine. I’ll go. And you do realise we’re also friends? Friends generally shouldn’t lie to each other.” You looked at him pointedly. “Right. That.” He said shortly. “Anyway, you should hurry since you only have... twenty minutes til it starts.” He checked his watch. You gasped, “And you only thought to tell me now?” “Some of us have more important things to do than helping your love story progress. For example, saving lives. So, goodbye!” He waved, ushering you to close the door before sprinting down the hall. Time to sort this out... I guess.

You rushed to the venue after purchasing flowers and chocolate and organising for Jisung and his partner to come babysit... although you weren’t exactly trusting of them after hearing of their lawsuit rendezvous at the shopping centre. That was irrelevant right now, though. After sitting through more than fifteen of the most unusual acts at the talent show, you questioned how Jeongin even found out about it. It wasn’t until he entered on stage, lights dimming around him as he sang a slow, but emotive trot song— eyes searching over the crowd, only to lock onto yours as he belted his last note, the audience standing in applause as he stood back, catching his breath, eyes never leaving yours. “And there you have it folks! First of all, a big congratulations to all of you— you’ve successfully achieved at least one of your New Years resolutions!” The MC walked on stage, passing Jeongin on his way out, “But now, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for— the winner of this new year’s resolution talent contest is... Yang Jeongin!” A hearty applause echoed throughout the room, loud cheers erupting as Jeongin entered the stage again, you stood up, giving him an encouraging smile whilst cheering, “Okay, well first of all, thank you for the opportunity to do this. I don’t think I would’ve ever performed if it weren’t for making it a New Years resolution.” Low laughter hummed from the audience, “I guess— another person to thank is... well... someone that I really like and have for a while- Y/N. Even though our whole relationship basically consisted of a bunch of misunderstandings, you still came to this competition for me. At least, I hope it was for me. It’d be awkward if it wasn’t, since this is a sort of confession thing. Actually— do you think you could join me on stage?” The audience turned to you as you stared at him in shock. Shaking out of your reverie, you slowly stood up, making your way to the stage as he held out a hand, helping you up the stairs. You gave him a nervous but small smile, “Congratulations on your win!” You handed him the flowers, as he pulled you in for a quick hug. “Y/N, you’re probably the coolest person I’ve ever befriended. You’re incredibly driven, caring, and probably the person I respect most in my life. The way you’re achieving all your goals whilst managing the stress and struggles of raising your younger sibling astounds me, and honestly, that’s probably the feature that I find most admirable about you.” Jeongin spoke into his mic, gaze deepening into yours, the audience “aww”ing in response to him. “So, I guess where I’m trying to get at is— will you go out with me?” He asked as the audience cheered you on. You took the mic off him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I’d love to.” He pulled you into a tight embrace as the audience cheered loudly, whistling as well. As you exited the auditorium, entering the foyer, you intertwined your hands with Jeongin’s, “Where should we go for our first date?” You asked, quickly putting on your coat and a beanie, wearily eying the snowfall outside, “I don’t know, I was thinking karaoke?” Jeongin suggested. You scoffed, “No.” “Why not?” He asked, genuinely confused. “Because you’d absolutely crush me. That’s why. Also, I know you’re only saying that because they gave you yearly access to the karaoke club as your prize.” You rolled your eyes. “You wound me with your words, Y/N. Do you think I’d cheapskate on our date?” He placed his hand to his chest, faking a gasp. “Never.” You mimicked his gesture as you exited the foyer. “Yah! Y/N!” “I’m joking, I’m joking! Ahh— don’t tickle me-“ You gasped as his fingers found your sides, giggles unwillingly being emitted. “Only if you give me another kiss.” He tapped his lips, you sighed, leaning over to give him another kiss, as he lightly drew your neck closer to him, deepening the kiss. You pulled back, eyes sparkling with joy, “Well...Even though I know you’ll trash me at it...Race you to the karaoke club?” You proposed, stretching your muscles. “Really? We just had the most epic kiss and now all you’re concerned about is karaoke?!” He raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Last one to the karaoke place gets no kisses for the rest of the day!” “Oh, you’re on.”

Thank you for reading! Would you like to read more?

[themarvellouswriter]

TEAR YOU APART

DAMON SALVATORE X DARK HYBRID! FEM! READER

Summary: The reader is Niklaus Mikaelson’s full sister, an Original hybrid. Having known the older Salvatore brother in the 1920s, she finds herself erasing his memory of them together before disappearing with her siblings. Time skip to the present, she is back in Mystic Falls and eager to take back what was hers.

Genres: Smut, angst and overall darkness. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 21 AND/OR EASILY TRIGGERED.

Words: 6.1k

Notes: This is dark and talks about killing nearly the entire group of the Mystic Falls kids. Not going to lie, you will not like this fic if you like that gang. Set in S2 near the end. Major canon divergence. Also, not beta read.

Warnings: 21+ Dub Con. Non Con. Character Death. Swearing. Blood. Gore. A mildly toxic relationship. Death mentions. Murder. Lots of torture. Maiming. Possessiveness. Blood play. Ugly, ugly jealousy. Emotional manipulation. This is bad, traumatic stuff I’m warning you in advance.  

Present Day 

Y/N smirked to herself as she walked towards the Mystic Grill. Klaus and her plan to break the Moonstone curse was going along swimmingly. They had all the ingredients for the spell. A vampire, a werewolf and a doppelgänger. They needed two of each just to be on the safer side so she’d found another, Tom Avery, Stefan’s doppelgänger. Although it would be a shame to kill such a pretty face, this was for the greater good. It was much easier to find werewolves. Vampires could always be made so that was nothing to worry about.

She walked inside and took a seat at the bar, knowing it was about time that Damon would show up for their nightly sessions. She’d allowed herself a small victory in knowing that she had compelled him to forget about her as soon as their time was up. He would remember everything all in due time but for now she would reassure herself in the feeling of tearing everyone apart. For the greater good of course. All for the greater good.

She hears his familiar footsteps as he sits down next to her after ordering his drink. She gives him a smile, aware of all the prying eyes on them. “You look lovely as always, pretty one.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “I know, sweetheart. And you’re a nutcase. And this is coming from me.” She looks at him amused. “And what makes you say that?”  “You’ve been making and killing vampires for sport all week. How the hell do you expect me to look at you like you’re not the deranged psychopathic bitch you are?” She shrugs slightly, standing up. “Never denied it. Come on now, lover. Things to be done before daybreak.” He looks at her incredulously, sipping his drink. “You’re going to let a big bad vampire be alone with you?” “I keep forgetting nobody knows that I’m an Original. It’s adorable really.” She gives him a charming smile as she compels him. “Get up and follow me outside in a few.” She quickly leaves after paying her tab because she was nice that way. She found herself on the roofs, easily jumping here and there. Getting Damon alone was harder than you’d think. Always the centre of the crowd and enjoying the people around him. That was one of the first things that had drawn her to him in the first place.

Chicago, 1922

Leaving her siblings and their new friend Stefan Salvatore in a separate corner of their speakeasy, Y/N made her way to the dark, curly haired man sitting at the bar and flirting with the women flocking around him. He was extremely good looking, she’d give him that and the way he held everyone’s attention was fascinating.

She walked up to him, dismissing the other patrons with a wave of her hand and giving him a charming smile. “Y/N Mikaelson.” “Damon Salvatore.” He gave her a quick once over, noting that she was one of the three people who were drinking with his brother. Her eyes sparkle in delight. “I’m assuming that the handsome Ripper there is your brother?” He rolls his eyes. “It’s pretty obvious that I’m hotter one. And saner too, vampire. Not that its any of your business since you’re one of the people corrupting him.” She lets out a soft laugh. “You love the corruption otherwise you’d have done something about it by now.” She leaned in close to him, brushing her thumb over his sharp cheekbones and looking into his eyes. “Such a pretty thing. So fragile too.” She grins, moving away. “It’s late, isn’t it? Walk me back to my house please. It is quite unladylike to be wandering about the city alone.” He blinks, slightly taken aback by her behaviour, not used to being left speechless with such sudden change in one’s actions. “Right. I’m sure a vampire like you can take of yourself.” Her grin widens. “Of course. But I insist.” He finds himself getting to his feet and holding out an arm for her. The second she pressed herself into his side, letting him escort her back to the Mikaelsons’ residence, he felt a sudden surge of warmth and protectiveness as he looked at her. She was different and something told him that time with her would be unforgettable. Unusual but he didn’t feel like he minded. She stopped outside the door pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and promising that she would be seeing him again soon as she left him standing outside looking vaguely unsure about what had happened.

Present Day

Y/N turned around and grinned at Damon’s face as he approached her, his guard up. “You should remember everything now, lover.” She says once she’s sure that they’re alone. His eyes glaze over before zeroing in on her. She nearly tackled him, throwing herself into his arms. “I don’t like her touching you.” He buries his nose in her hair, sighing softly. “Me neither, Y/N. I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She looks at him sceptically. “I told you. I need to break the curse so I can take control of my full power.” He sighs again. “You’re perfect for me, I don’t want any of this. We could go run away together and never look back.” She shakes her head, growing irritated. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’m not in the mood to do it again. It’s for the greater good.” He rolls his eyes. “You and your greater good. I want you, not your wild agendas.” She hits his shoulder lightly. “You get all of me.” “I am painfully aware Y/N. This needs to be over fast.” “It will be done in a few weeks. I promise.” “And then I want you to tell me why you ran from me in Chicago and why you compelled me to forget you.” “All in due time lover. I sense that you’re being missed by the little Gilberts. You should leave now that they need their little baby sitter.” “When will I see you you again?” “When I break the curse of course. I won’t let you or Stefan be sacrificed. You’re too good for this world.” “I disagree. I’m a big, bad vampire who eats puppies for breakfast.” She snorts, cupping his face to kiss him deeply. “Cute. You’re mine. And I’m going to make sure everyone, including you, knows it. Now go and forget who I am to you.” She promises, her voice laced with bitterness as she puts the compulsion back in place. She gives him one last, slightly forced smile before disappearing into the night, leaving him alone wondering what he was doing there before heading back to the Salvatore Boarding House.

She finds him alone a few days later, cornering him in the woods as he fed from a poor soul. She smirked coldly as she saw him drop the half dead, withering human to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. “You always did look better with blood over you.” “Honestly Y/N it’s like you’re following me around.” Her mood sours at his words. “You’ve been kissing and declaring your love for the doppelgänger. I don’t like it so that’s why I’m keeping a close eye on you.” He doesn’t bat an eye. “I do love her. Elena is a beautiful soul once you get to know her.” She clenches her jaw, wrapping her fingers around his neck and slamming him into a tree. “You don’t. Because the only one you’re allowed to love is me.” He raises an eyebrow, not fighting back. “I love you too but with Elena it’s different. I’m never going to get her.” “That’s right. It’s different because you need to stay away from her. If I see you even look at her like you do all tenderly, you’re not going to like what I do to you.” “Ooh, kinky.” He manages to say. Her grip on his throat tightens as he tries to push her off of him in vain. She growls. “Stay the fuck away from her. You’re mine. Do I need to show you?” He feels his vision blur, if she went on like this she was going to end up killing him temporarily. “It has been decades since you showed me, hasn’t it?” She partially shifts, her fangs out as she glares at him, letting go of her grip on his neck and ripping off the front of his black shirt and shredding his jacket. “Fuck you, Damon Salvatore.” She snarls tossing the torn clothes aside and digging her fingers into his collarbones dragging them down to the waistband of his jeans, leaving thin trails of blood in their wake. He barely manages to control a soft moan at her actions. He enjoyed being used even though he would never admit it out loud but somehow she knew. She always knew what he wanted and what he didn’t and this was one of those times. “Y/N.” He whispered quietly. “Shut the hell up Salvatore.” She snapped back, getting on her knees and pulling down his jeans. “You need a reminder. You belong to me and I am not going take you pining over that daft bimbo of a doppelgänger like some sort of silent watcher.”

She traces a path up his thighs, marking his pale skin with her fangs, knowing they’d take a bit longer to heal because of her werewolf side. If he wanted to go out and flirt and kiss others in front of her, well she was going to make him regret everything. “I own you and you don’t have a say in anything I do to you.” Minus their safe-words of course. “Yes you do. And I love it when you get all demanding when I get around.” Her grip on his thigh tightens almost painfully, bruising his skin. “Did I or did I not tell you to shut up?” She hisses. “You might have mentioned it.” He says shrugging, trying not to get affected by the image of her kneeling in front of him, the moonlight hitting just right and making her glow in the darkness. Perfect features, sharp eyes, fangs dripping his blood and blood smeared fingers now wrapped around his length. “Are you going to shut up or do I need to remind you what happens when you don’t obey?” She hisses, slowly moving her hand up and down his hardening member and drawing out a long moan from him as he muttered profanities under his breath. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out rougher than he expected and her mouth twisted into a tight smile. “Beg. You know the drill don’t you, lover?” Her voice was sweet like she wouldn’t leave him all riled up and bleeding with no way to let out his tension. He nods, pulling her up to her feet and guiding her free hand to wrap around his neck and wrapping his arm around her waist his free hand sliding up her thigh. “I’m sorry that I did it. Nobody can ever replace you. You own me and I would do anything for you.” He looks at her in the eyes, meaning every word. She doesn’t say anything, silencing him with a sloppy kiss and licking the blood away from his mouth. She increased the pace of her ministrations bringing him closer and closer to the edge, the barely breathing human lying forgotten next to them. He moaned against her skin, her name falling like prayer from his lips as he finally came undone in her hand, chest heaving with the exertion and face flushed as he looked her.

She kissed him once again before stepping away. “Finish the blood bag will you. I don’t like moving food.” She says nonchalantly, licking her fingers. He stares at her, half indignant as he comes down from his high. “You’re seriously not going to let me fuck you?” She tuts disapprovingly. “After the ritual. And you still have to make up to me for messing around with the doppelgänger.” He sighs, pulling up the trembling body and ripping the head clean off and throwing it at her feet before licking off the blood dripping down the neck. She gives him a placating smile. “You would’ve had you not declared your undying love for her. And here we are. I will see you in three days under the full moon.” She says flatly, ignoring the hurt in his expression as she walked away, the compulsion falling back into place as she disappears from sight. He looks down at the body horrified and then at his shredded clothes and then the blood still pouring from the thin lines over his chest, unable to wrap his head around the fact that he’d somehow become a ripper and then forgotten all about it. He shakily made his way back to the Salvatore Boarding House in the early hours of the morning after burying the body. He was still shaking as he curled up in his bed, ignoring Stefan and Elena who were talking in hushed whispers about his odd behaviour. He was missing hours from his memory and he had no clue how it was possible, he’d made sure to stay away from all Originals but somehow it was affecting him and his sanity. His thoughts plagued him as he slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

The witch, Greta Martin, had started doing the spell. The two vampires, a freshly turned Jenna and Katherine, the two werewolves, Jules and Tyler, and the two doppelgängers, Elena and Tom. Y/N resisted the urge to laugh. They’d thought they needed one of each but they didn’t know that two curses were going to be broken tonight. Bonnie Bennett and the younger Gilbert, Jeremy or whatever his name was, along with a few measly humans, Matt and something or the other, and Caroline were working on a way to save everyone. But there was no saving anyone when the Mikaelsons had decided they were going to die.

Stefan Salvatore was such a noble soul, bless his little heart, wanting to replace Jenna with himself. Y/N and Niklaus exchanged amused smiles before compelling him to watch the ritual and see them shift into their wolf forms. They had just removed the hearts of the wolves and staked the vampires when a slightly pale faced Damon appeared, trying to call off the ritual. Feeling a sudden surge of anger at the hold the annoying doppelgänger had on the brothers, Y/N pulled her towards herself and sank her teeth into her neck, draining her of all her blood as the Salvatores watched her in a mix of rage and horror as she dropped her body to the ground, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking at them pointedly. Niklaus had killed Tom and was waiting for the rest of the spell to finish when Bonnie stepped in from the trees and Damon used her appearance to his advantage to snap the witch’s neck, ending the spell. The Mikaelsons let out a scream of barely controlled fury and pain as Bonnie used her magic to fling them both against the trees. The older Salvatore didn’t even look twice at Y/N, cradling Elena’s limp body as she stirred, Bonnie’s spell having resurrected her.

Y/N felt smug satisfaction as Bonnie’s strength waned after holding two Originals in place and performing an extremely powerful spell to swap lives. Ripping free from her spell she slowly got to her feet, resisting the urge to shift and run around like Niklaus had done. Now was her chance to make them suffer. And suffer they would. She marched up to a surprised Bonnie, pulling her heart out as she fell to the ground, immediately dead. She gave Stefan an icy glare before yanking Damon away from Elena who was staring up at him wide eyed and slack jawed. “God. How I hate your pathetic family. Your line has brought nothing but bad news for my brothers, always fighting over Tatia or Katerina and now your stupid ass.” She spits out before turning to face Damon. “You absolute dumbass, so many warnings I have to give to stay away from her and yet you follow her around like a puppy.” She grips his face, making him look into her eyes. “Stay and watch and I want to hear you scream while I show you what I do to people who I hate.” Her gaze flicks over to Stefan. “You too Stefan, my sister doesn’t take kindly to cheaters.”

Damon stands, unable to move as he watches Y/N practically lose it. “Stop all your crazy, woman. You lost.” She lets out a cold laugh, caressing his face and making him look at Elena’s terrified face. “You know I never lose, lover. You’ve seen me kill way too many people.” She murmurs in his ear, making sure everyone could hear her. She pulls Elena up to her feet, defiant till the last minute. “Go to hell, Y/N.” “Been there done that sweetheart, where do you think I came from?” She practically purrs, slowly almost lovingly, biting her neck again. “You’re so lucky we need your blood. I know so many ways to get all of it.” She says against her skin as the Salvatores watch her, revolted. She maintains eye contact with Damon as she drags the kicking and screaming doppelgänger to the altar and shoving her down on the ground, hearing a satisfying crack as her spine shattered at the force. Y/N looked at Damon, eyebrow raised. “She’s paralysed now. Still want this fragile, useless creature? Pathetic.” She crushes her left knee under her heel as Elena screams loudly. She looks at her irritated, compelling her to stay quiet. “Shut up. I want to hear my love scream as I break you. You’re not going to die yet. But you’ll wish you were dead I assure you.” She promises. She kicks her arms above her head as she breaks her shoulders. Damon feels tears come to his eyes as watches the scene unfold before him. The woman he loved get tortured by a deranged Mikaelson. Y/N looks at him inwardly delighted. “Crying so soon D? I haven’t even started yet. The human body has 206 bones. I’ve only broken about eight so far.” She says thoughtfully turning her attention back to Elena’s trembling form. “Stop. Please. I can’t watch anymore.” She pretends to think for a moment, playing with her fingers. “Hmm. I don’t think so.” She harshly breaks them, twisting them in odd angles as tears stream down the doppelgänger’s face.

Damon looks away before turning to glare at her, eyes blazing. “I’m going to kill you myself.” “Good luck sweetheart.” She says unbothered, breaking her elbow and bending it at an awkward angle. “Now all you have to do is wait for a few hours.” She says thoughtfully, pulling out her phone to text another witch to come and drain Elena of her blood in front of Damon. She stretches, pulling off her jacket and tossing it at him before turning to Stefan. “Sleep. You can wake up when I turn back.” Stefan falls to the ground, unmoving and limp. Damon seethes in his place, trying to force himself to break out of the compulsion and tear Y/N apart with his bare hands. Unfortunately, the affects of the werewolf bite were starting to get to him and with the pain, emotional trauma of watching Elena get tortured in front of him was too much. Y/N stripped down to nothing, walking over to him and running her hands down his chest as he let out a low, guttural growl at her actions, trying to back away. She laughs, blood dripping down her chin and running down her chest, distracting him from his previous thoughts. This was not supposed to be attractive! He was supposed to despise her and kill her for hurting the people he cared about, albeit grudging care. She noticed his gaze and smirked, slightly shaking her head. “Even compelled...” He tears his eyes from her body, turning the full force of his glare towards her. “I hate you.” He says bitterly. “No, you don’t, lover. As punishment for your idiocy, you have to watch her die in excruciating pain.” She says sweetly, as if offering him a treat. She ruffles his hair affectionately. “I am just anticipating the angry sex after this. Beautiful.” She takes a few steps away, falling to her hands and knees as the change begins. And then nothing as she tears off into the darkness leaving Damon to watch Elena slowly die as the new witch came to drain her, Stefan lying near him, unmoving.

He was shaking, livid and in so much pain. As much as he wanted to stop watching Elena slowly die in front of him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away, feeling his heart shatter as he started to hallucinate because of the bite, feeling his fangs come out against his will. The Sun had risen, Elena’s breathing laboured and her mouth forming words, reassurances but not a sound coming out. It would be so easy to just flip the switch. Not feel anything ever again. He tightly shut his eyes, trying to block everything out when he felt a warm palm pressed against his back. Y/N. He was so ready to kill her or die trying. She was standing beside him, chin resting against his shoulder as she watched Elena slowly ebb away. It was a downright miracle that she was still alive. “I admire your tenacity doppelgänger. But unfortunately, it’s not going to help you today.” She says, ruffling Damon’s hair who flinched from her touch.  “See, pretty one? This is what happens when you disobey.” She murmurs, cutting open her wrist and holding it to his mouth, forcing him to drink her blood, healing him. She hadn’t bothered getting dressed, kneeling beside Elena and feeding her some of her blood to prolong her life, feeling his angry gaze on her back as she snapped all the broken bones in place. She turned around to give him a soft smile. “Come on now, lover. Don’t you want to see what she feels like? Like you’ve been aching for her touch?”

He takes reluctant steps towards them, looking pleadingly at Elena who swayed on her feet. “Don’t move now doppelgänger. I’m not done yet.” Y/N’s voice comes out sharp and demanding as she compels her. “See, I’ve known the Salvatores since the 20s and the things we got up to would make your toes curl. And since they met you and your little Team Save Elena, they’ve grown soft and it’s revolting to see such uselessness from two of the most feared killers in history.” She continues, ignoring both of them as she examined her nails in the early morning light.  

“You know nothing about me.” Damon hisses, finally snapping having had enough of the Mikaelsons and their mind games. “Oh, but I do, lover. I know you want adventure, that’s why you’re still here in front of me. You like to rebel. You want mystery, passion, romance and a lot of danger.” She smiles easily, brushing away the blood from his lips. “If I thought you were a weakling, I would have let you die a hundred years ago.”

Chicago, 1922

Y/N and Damon were dancing together in the speakeasy, having grown close over the past few months. They twirled around in the room, unable to take their eyes off of each other. Rebekah, Niklaus and Stefan were drinking blood together in a hidden booth. Damon smiled affectionately at her. “You’re really something Y/N and you fascinate me like nobody else.” She laughs, giving him a cheeky kiss. “Do you think so, lover? I’ve been around a long time and you’re still so young.” He grins, shaking his head. “I don’t think you can say that after the little Ripper fest we enjoyed in the church last night. And you looked so pretty covered in blood and screaming my name as I fucked you in the confessional.” He murmurs against her skin, hands firmly resting on her hips, holding her tightly against him. “That was nice. The thing you did with the pastor after taking me on the altar was lovely. I was quite into that.” She agrees, letting out a dreamy sigh. “Sadly the cover-ups are a bit annoying.” He hums in response but before he can say anything the speakeasy erupts into fearful screams. Y/N watches the human and vampire patrons get staked around her, afraid for the first time in a long time. She pulls Damon to the floor beside her as panicked people try to escape, huddling together against the wall. When he meets her eyes, he sees barely controlled fear which surprises him greatly. “Y/N. Do you know the hunters?” “The hunter is an Original vampire. And my father.” She says quietly as bodies fall around them, the screams reaching a fever pitch. “You need to run. Be safe. I’ll find you I promise.” She murmurs, tightening her grip on him. “No. I’m not leaving you. I love you Y/N. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He cups her face before kissing her gently. She gives him a forced grin, “I know. I love you too. And I need you safe.” She looks into his eyes, her heart breaking as she compels him to forget her till she says he can remember her again. She presses a soft kiss to his forehead, standing up and escaping the building with her siblings. She’s the last one out, watching Damon from the shadows. She smiles to herself as he pulls out a wayward stake from his shoulder as he runs out, unknowingly in her direction. Knowing the stakes were poisoned with werewolf venom, she pulled him into the dark alcove she was hiding in and pressed her bleeding wrist to his mouth wordlessly, making sure he couldn’t see her face. “Run far away, pretty one. Stay safe till I find you again.” She whispers before disappearing into the night with her siblings.

Present Day

Elena stares at Y/N, terrified about what was she was going to do. As if reading her mind, a cold, cruel smile graced her features. “I’m not going to do anything to you doppelgänger. This one, the one you’ve been playing with all year, is going to be tearing you apart.” Her eyes widen in shock as she tries to speak. Damon vehemently shakes his head, “I’m not going to do ANYTHING you say.” She tuts. “You don’t have a choice, lover. Now, tell me what you like about her, wrong answer and our dear Elena loses an organ.” He grits his teeth trying to force the words back. “Her kindness and the love she has for everyone.” “Wrong. I think we should start with the kidneys. Take the left one out please.” He watches in horror as his hand rises of its own accord, sinking into her body and pulling out a bloody kidney. Elena doubles over at the loss before Y/N compels her to stand properly and not move at all. “Next. Continue.” “The way she thinks everyone can be saved.” “Wrong again. The small intestine should do nicely. Pull it out.” Dread had properly set in as he shut his eyes, pulling out the organ and dropping the long, snake like thing on the grass. “Hmm… I’m not enjoying this as much as I should.” She muses before brightening up. “You can scream now Elena, I don’t mind.” Looking just the faintest bit relieved, she lets out an ear piercing scream as her body begins to shut down to deal with the intense blood and organ loss. Damon lets out a barely audible whimper at the sound, hating Y/N more than he thought possible.

It goes on for what feels like hours as she makes him pull out all her organs one by one till the ground is just a pile of different bloody body parts and bones. Her heart lies on top of the pile, right above her crumpled form. Damon is shaking, body racked with pained sobs as he looks at the sight in front of him. Y/N presses herself against his back, playing with his belt loops and palming him gently through his jeans. “See, lover? Can you blame a girl for doing this to get her man to stay loyal to her?” “I am not your man. I will never be yours.” He says bitterly, rage fuelling him as numbness sets in. “I’d like you to remember everything that happened in the twenties. It is now time.” She says calmly, looking into his eyes.

He feels a sudden flood of memories come to him from a century ago, he drops to his knees overwhelmed by the intensity. He realises that whatever he had felt for Elena was nothing as compared to what he felt for Y/N. She was everything to him, his everything. If he had her, he didn’t need anything else. She was perfection personified and he loved her like nobody else. But the amount of emotional trauma she had inflicted on him was not going to be brushed off so easily. It was a weird dynamic they had but it worked well for them.

He gets to his feet, thoughts organized for what felt like the first time in forever and glared at her. She merely smiled in response. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, lover?” He snarls throwing her against a tree, ignoring the bodies around them, hearing a satisfying grinding sound as the tree cracked under her weight. She let out a soft groan, her back getting scratched up and her nose starting to drip blood. She gives him a feral smile, wiping the blood off. “There he is. Are you going to fuck me now for giving you so much crap? For playing with your emotions and making you cry over some stupid chick you don’t care about?” She says, taunting him with her words. He takes the bait, pining her against the tree, holding her wrists above her head and forcing apart her legs with his knee. “Do not fuck with me like this again or I will leave you.” He threatens. Feeling incredibly turned on, she nods. “I’m not letting you go ever again. You’re mine.” “And you have to stop strutting around naked all the time, it is incredibly distracting.” He murmurs, biting her neck and drinking her blood. “I was making a point.” She manages to say in between soft moans as he rubs his free hand right where she needed him. “Point made. None of that anymore or I’m going to tie you up and leave you in the basement alone and begging for me.” She nods vigorously. “Yes, yes of course. Now just stop talking and fuck me properly.” “You’re so lucky that I’ve missed holding you that I’m not going to take my time like I usually do. Later today, you’re going to show me what you’ve been doing all this time without me.” He says pulling off his clothes and throwing them away haphazardly. “Of course I will.” She promises, tugging him towards her and curling her fingers in his hair as she kisses him roughly. “Good girl.” He whispers appreciatively, digging his fingers into her hips, hoisting her up higher against the tree and pushing his entire length into her in one go. He doesn’t give her time to adjust before he ruthlessly begins to thrust into her, silencing her moans by kissing her again. She feels heady with desire, enjoying the feeling of him all around her after literal decades of waiting. “You feel so good, lover.” She murmurs against his skin. “Next time in the Fell’s church for old time’s sake?” “Maybe I’ll gag you then. You’ve started talking too much.” He muses, letting out a breathy moan of her name as she clenches her walls around him, close to the edge. “Then you won’t be able to hear me call your name as I climax, would you?” “I’d still be making you scream when I cut you up with those daggers of yours dipped in wolfsbane.” “I missed you and your sadism.” She gasps out after a particularly hard thrust, the bark tearing her back and waves of pain mixing with the pleasure he was providing her. And he felt so good as he pounded into her, leaving rapidly healing bites over her neck and chest and licking off her blood. She finally reaches her peak burying her head in the crook of his neck to stifle her broken moans. He doesn’t let up as he overstimulates her, feeling himself close to the edge. “Again. Come for me again.” He growls, gently nipping her ear lobe and kissing her jaw. She trembles in his arms not yet used to the heightened feelings that came with being a proper hybrid. She tightens her grip on his hair drawing out a pleased moan from him as he finally climaxes, her following shortly after. She slumps weakly in his arms as they exchange lazy kisses, recovering from their highs. She rests her head against his shoulder as her back heals itself.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N spots Caroline, Matt, Jeremy and Alaric staring at the bloody scene in front of them in a mix of fear, shock, repulsion and horror. She smirks, unlatching herself from Damon and speaking up for everyone to hear. “Well Damon, I think it’s time we send the rest where the others are?” He gives her a feral grin as he pulls on his underwear and runs a bloodstained hand through his hair. “For the greater good.” He agrees.

With that the duo launches themselves at the four taking them by surprise, tearing into them and killing them with relative ease. Y/N lets out an appreciative hum wiping the blood from her chin and kisses him again. “I enjoy it when we feed together. It’s a nice bonding activity.” “I enjoy our Ripper phases. Can’t believe I thought humans were worth keeping safe.” She gives him a smug smile. “Exactly my point. Now, back to the Mansion where you’re going to show me how much you love me and what all you’re willing to do for the greater good.” He laughs, picking her up bridal style before his gaze drifts to his brother. “Aren’t you going to wake Stef up?” “Yes, that. Rebekah should be here soon, she can take care of him.” She looks in the direction of the younger Salvatore. “Wake up and go to the Boarding House, Stefan dear.” She throws an arm around Damon’s neck before kissing him again. “The things we do for love.” “For love and for the greater good.” He gives her a soft smile, reserved only for her on rare occasions before kissing her softly. They quickly made their way to the Mansion where they spent the rest of the day in the throes of passion, marking each other as their one and only.

And what exactly what this greater good? Y/N’s happiness of course, no matter who came in the way or who got hurt in the process, her happiness was the most important.

Taglist:

@marvelnaturalock​

@multifandomdisorder​

[fayoftheforest]

After a lot of consideration, I my personal contribution to the "what should and shouldn't be written in fiction" debate is as such: If it happens in real life then it should not be barred from being discussed in art.

Please, hear me out before you jump to agree/disagree! Let's use underage drinking as an example.

Most countries have an age minimum for alcohol consumption. There are plenty of arguments against underage drinking - it has been shown to affect brain development, can have negative effects on mental health, etc. There are people whose adolescence was destroyed by alcoholism, and find the topic incredibly triggering. I think it would be unkind to tell those people to calm down, and that it's not a big deal. Their hurt and their trauma are valid concerns, and should not simply be dismissed.

But, the fact of the matter is that a lot of people engage in underage drinking. If an author is trying to write a story which captures an authentic teenage experience, then they may feel justified in including scenes where the characters get drunk. Moreover, many teenagers have genuinely positive experiences with drinking. They might see it as a relatively harmless social activity, something that gives them the chance to loosen up and have fun (and maybe make a drunken confession or two). Should we tell them they're not allowed to write about this experience, because alcohol has ruined so many young people's lives? I certainly don't feel entitled to do so. This is why we encourage including tagging and content warnings for fiction - one person's trigger may not bother another.

Of course, things get a lot trickier when it comes to topics like rape and sexual assault. Some argue that this issue is simply too sensitive, and thus should never be included in fiction. Others say that it's okay, as long as it's not romanticised or "titillating" or brushed over. But what constitutes something as such? Would the hurt/comfort trope be off the table, because it can trivialise the effects of sexual assault? What about having a character who briefly mentions that they're a survivor of sexual assault, because it does not take time to explicitly unpack how damaging it can be? Are all scenes depicting sexual assault bad, because they have an inherently voyeuristic element to them?

Some might argue that the best solution to this disagreement is to simply ban all reference to sexual assault in fiction. But by doing this, you're throwing your baby out with the bath water, because suddenly survivors of assault aren't permitted to work through and heal from their experiences through fiction. "You can only write about rape if you've been a victim of it" is a solution I've seen thrown around before, but this forces survivors into situations where they have to "prove" it to others before they're permitted to write. That ultimately hurts the communities that we're aiming to protect here.

TLDR: All these sensitive topics are complex, so of course one argument may not be applicable to another topic. But, at the end of the day, art is subjective. A story might make one person feel wonderfully seen and another feel terribly hurt. The best thing we can do is avoid no-nuance blanket statements, be conscious of the content we produce, and provide content warnings for your work.

[jihyuncompass]

RFA+V+Saeran Having a Fight with Their S/O

This came as a request from @sneksssss This is my first real angst headcanon I’ve written here. There is some angst in here but it does have a happy ending because I’m a sap who likes happy endings. 

Zen/Hyun

Arguments between the two of you weren’t common but when they did they absolutely sucked. 

Usually they all got sorted out pretty quickly but this one was different. 

It started when you told him that you didn’t like how he treated Jumin all the time. You explained that you understood why he didn’t like him and why Jumin made him angry but it had gotten to the point where Zen’s antagonism towards Jumin was starting to make other people uncomfortable. 

Of course Zen didn’t take that very well. 

He was stomping around the apartment grumbling under his breath. You had tried everything to calm him down but it wasn’t working Every attempt he made only seemed to make him angrier and eventually things reached a boiling point. 

“So what! Do you like that jerk more than me?” 

“Zen that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying-”

“If you like him so much, why don’t we just break up so you can be with him instead!” 

You both stopped. The second the words came out of his mouth Zen knew he regretted it. His heart dropped seeing the way tears welled up in your eyes. 

“You. You want to break up?” You stutter out, heart breaking with every word. Zen runs to you embracing you before you could even take a step back.

“No. I don’t want to break up, I never want to break up. I didn’t mean it I’m sorry!” Zen held you tight. You quickly wrapped your arms around him.

“I know that Jumin reminds you of your brother, and I know how much your family has hurt you. But Hyun, can you please just try and be more patient with him?” 

You can see how he was struggling but he sighed and nodded pulling you into another hug. 

“I’ll try. For you, I’ll try”. 

Yoosung

It was about his mental health, and by extension, about Rika. 

You knew how profound Rika’s loss had been on him. How much he missed her but now the effects were really starting to take a toll on him and you.

He was barely going to class anymore, he spent most of the day playing video games or sleeping. Getting him to eat anything other than junk food was practically impossible. 

After a while you finally decided it was time for an intervention. You hated seeing him suffering so much. 

When you finally mentioned to him that maybe he should see a therapist, or even just a doctor he got pretty upset. 

He kept insisting that he didn’t need to see a doctor, that he was just grieving. You tried telling him that there’s no shame in seeing a therapist. 

That didn’t do much in terms of convincing him though. In some ways it only seemed to upset him more. He continued to insist that he didn’t need help, he was just fine on his own. 

It got to the point that you were both crying, you didn’t want to fight with him about this but you felt this was too important and you didn’t want to give up. 

Finally it reached a breaking point where Yoosung broke down. You reached out to him slowly putting your arm around his shoulders. 

“I don’t want to let her go MC. She was my family, I can’t just forget her.” His voice was small, you leaned over and put your forehead against his back. 

“Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting her. Rika knows how much you love her, and even though I didn’t know her I can’t imagine Rika would want you to be so miserable. You can still live a full happy life without forgetting her.” 

He was quiet but by the way he took your hand in his, you knew he understood. 

Jaehee

Jaehee was a chronic workaholic. You knew this, everyone in the RFA knew this. 

That didn’t mean it was healthy, even after she started the cafe she still had a bad habit of working late into the night. She also wasn’t very good at sharing her work either. No matter how much you offered to take on some of her work you could never convince her. 

You found her working at the cafe long after closing, she was staring at a cake recipe she had been working on, you could see evidence of her multiple attempts on the counters. 

You asked her what she was still doing working and from there it escalated. 

It hardly looked like a fight, the two of you weren’t yelling but it was obvious that you were disagreeing. She kept brushing you off, insisting that it was fine and she wanted to get this all done before she finished for the day. 

You kept trying to convince her to call it a day. You both needed to be up early to open the cafe for the commuters and she wasn’t going to be able to get any sleep at this rate. Even if there wasn’t any yelling there was plenty of passive aggressive comments and dismissive looks. 

This went on until eventually you and Jaehee locked eyes. You could see how tight her shoulders were and how dark the circles under her eyes were. 

Slowly she put the pastry bag full of frosting down and sighed. You could see how all the fight went out of her. 

“Let’s go to bed Jaehee. We can talk about this in the morning.” 

The next day, somewhat rested and preparing the cafe to open you talked. You both talked about your concerns, you both listened to each other and agreed to work better as a team so Jaehee wouldn’t have to work so much. 

You are partners after all, you take care of each other. 

Jumin

Jumin Han doesn’t yell in fights. He’s trained to be calm under pressure. 

He’s the type to do that thing where he speaks in a completely monotone voice so everything he says sounds rational. 

Which by comparison makes you look hysterical, which makes you want to get angrier and yell louder. 

It all started when you went to a business event together. A party filled with many accomplished business men and women. It was a perfect way for Jumin to make some good connections. 

Trouble started when someone had approached you, you knew that he was someone important so you did everything you could to be polite. 

Jumin had overheard some of the conversation and had assumed the worst. He most of the night silent towards you, He hadn’t even said a word until you both got home. 

You knew that Jumin had a tendency to be a tad possessive over you but you had only had a conversation with the guy. But apparently that was more than enough for Jumin to feel jealous.

Jumin was watching you with his arms crossed over hie chest, his face completely blank. You were standing over him, trying to explain what had happened. 

“I wasn’t flirting” You insisted. 

“He was flirting, you just let him.” You covered your face. You had already been through this part of the conversation and nothing you said had convinced him. At your breaking point you finally admit the truth to him.

“Fine. I knew he was flirting, but I know that he’s important. I didn’t want to offend him and possibly make you lose a chance for work with him.” Jumin’s face softened. He seemed to realize your sincerity. The blank expression on his face disappeared, now there was only guilt. 

“I’m sorry.” Jumin said honestly. He rose from his chair and bowed his head. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst. Please forgive me.” 

You give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. 

“Oh Juju I’ve already forgiven you.” 

“And so you know. I would never do business with a man who would so shamelessly flirt with someone knowing they’re in a relationship. If something like that ever happens again do not be afraid to stand up for yourself.” You smiled, holding his hand. 

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Seven/Saeyoung

He was being distant again. 

Even though things had calmed down a lot Seven still struggled with his mental health. So sometimes he would pull away from you like he did before you got together. 

Usually it only lasted a day before he snapped out of it and apologized. But this time it was longer, and after three days he was still keeping away from you. 

When you decided to try and talk to him it lead to a fight. 

It’s what you would expect, telling you to stay away from him, that he isn’t worth it. It isn’t anything you hadn’t heard before, but something about this time made it way worse. 

“Saeyoung please, don’t push me out. If you need space I’ll give you space but you haven’t been eating or sleeping and I’m worried about you.” 

“I can take care of myself. Just go away.”

“I just want to help you.” 

“I don’t want your help!” 

Frustrated you left the bunker. You weren’t sure where you were going to go but you needed to get out. 

You made sure to stay where cameras could see you. Sure you were angry with him but you didn’t want him to panic. You chose a coffee shop to sit in for a little while so you could sort your thoughts. 

After finishing your drink you figured it was time to head back home. As you approached the bunker you felt a lump in your throat while your stomach churned. 

Taking a deep breath you get past the security system and open the door. You see Seven sitting on the couch, his gaze snaps up to you. He runs to you pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I was so worried.” 

“I stayed where cameras could see me.”

“I know, but I thought. I thought you might not come back.” You pull him closer. 

You close your eyes and hold him tight, until you both feel better. 

“You can’t just push me out Saeyoung, I know things can be difficult but you can’t just push me out when things get bad.” 

“I know, I’ll do better, I promise.”

V/Jihyun

Honestly I can’t imagine V truly fighting with anyone. 

He seems like the kind of person who would rather be wrong than in a fight. 

So here’s what I think would be more realistic for him.

Jihyun had grown a lot since you first met. The V you met was long a piece of history. But sometimes, especially when things got difficult you could see the V you used to know reemerge. 

It began when he started to talk down on himself more. You could see how much harsher he was on himself. How he kept apologizing for the smallest of things. Then you noticed how he stopped painting and drawing. 

Finally he stopped talking about he was feeling. He kept insisting he was okay, that you shouldn’t worry about him. 

After talking with Jumin you decided that it would be best to try and talk to him about it directly.  

You approached him after dinner one night, sitting next to him on the couch. You told him how he didn’t seem like himself, how he wasn’t talking to you about how he was feeling, and how you were getting worried. 

“I’m fine love, please don’t worry about me.”

“Jihyun, you know you can talk to me.” You put a hand on his shoulder, he tensed under your touch, you pulled your hand back watching him carefully. 

“I’m fine.” Jihyun stood up to walk into the other room but you couldn’t just let him go. You stood up. 

“Jihyun stop!” He froze in his place. “Look at me.” He turned around facing you. Before you could even think you embraced him, arms circled around his chest, face in his shoulder. Just like that first time after escaping Magenta. 

He was still as you held him. 

“I know you have a hard time telling people when you aren’t doing well. I know you’re scared of being a burden but you aren’t. And god it makes me so angry thinking that you don’t think you can be open and honest with me about how you’re feeling.” You said. “I love you, more than anything Jihyun.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, grasping your shirt to keep himself upright. You could feel how bad he was shaking as you held him. 

“Let’s talk okay? You don’t have to tell me everything right now, but I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Saeran

Fights did happen sometimes. Because of his trauma he sometimes would lash out in anger. 

This happened a lot whenever he felt trapped, or when he felt like he wasn’t in complete control. 

As time went on these episodes became less and less frequent but they still happened once in a while. 

This specific one started during a storm. 

He had planned on going outside and working on his garden but it was raining  and thundering so much that you didn’t think it would be a good idea to go out there. 

Saeran knew that too, he didn’t want to get soaked or sick because of the cold but he hated the idea of being trapped inside. It made him feel anxious and powerless. And then, angry. 

You tried to find other things for the two of you to do but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“Maybe we could do some baking? I know you mentioned there was a recipe you wanted to try out-”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Saeran yelled, his arms were crossed over his chest while he paced back and forth around your living room. 

“Saeran I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just thought maybe-”

“Well you are! God you’re so frustrating!” Saeran reached up and grabbed at his hair. You took a deep breath and fought back tears. You hated seeing him like this, so angry and scared. 

For the next hour you watched him, pacing, yelling, throwing insults. You stayed silent while you watched him. However eventually he started to run out of steam, sitting on the floor with his knees up to his chest. Now sobs racked his chest, guilt bubbling up. 

After seeing him calm down a little you stood up slowly making your way over to him. You sat down next to him, not touching him but making your presence clear. 

He didn’t look at you, he couldn’t bear to yet. But feeling your presence helped. You didn’t speak for a while but he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“I know Saeran. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not. But thank you for staying with me.” You smiled at him, he glanced over at you not able to force himself to smile just yet. 

“I’m not going to leave Saeran. I’m here for you, always.” 

Although it was challenging for him to believe, when you said it. Somehow he believed it. 

[aficwhore]

As I Lay Dying...(Part One)

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Team x Reader

Warnings: violence, language, near death experience, reader injury, slight fluff

Word Count: 2,655

Summary: After having a dry spell the team go on a case, the unsub is kidnapping and killing women around the reader’s age and appearance. As she goes undercover the plan falls through, will she survive? (slow burn, sort of?)

A/N: So I wrote the first half of this and it was super long, like way too long, so I decided to split this into parts! Please let me know if you liked it and if I should post the last parts as well! Feedback please!!!! <3

Reader POV:

My neck started to strain as I intensely stared at my computer screen. Deciding to take a break from my paperwork and reports, I shove my chair back with a huff.

“Anyone else need more coffee?” I asked as I made my way from the bullpen to our small kitchenette, earning a few no’s and hums from the team.

I rinsed my mug of my coffee leftovers. I reached to pull the fresh brewed coffee pot, pouring most of it into my cup and adding a small dash of creamer and sugar. as I leaned against the counter, sipping my caffeine, Penelope struts in, “Hey baby cakes!”

“Hey,” I smile sheepishly, taking another swig of my drink.

“What’s with the gloomy energy? Did something happen, love?” The blonde questioned sincerely.

I shrugged, “We haven’t had a case in a while, not that it’s a bad thing, but I’m sick of sitting and staring at a screen all day.” I explained as I pulled myself up onto the counter.

She laughed, “Darlin’ I do that everyday! But u know you’re not used to it, so i hope you get a case soon, wait, no-“

We both burst into giggles, knowing what she meant. “Woah what’s so funny in here?!” Emily inquired, while stepping into the room.

“Pen here just said how she HOPES we get a case soon.” I chuckled.

“Oh god, i hate to say it, but me - fucking - too.” Emily chimed in. She walked over, taking the last of coffee into her cup, leaving it black. “Y/n, you better get back to your desk before Mr. Boss Man sees you goofing around,” she smirked, leaving Penelope and I alone again.

I rolled my eyes as I slid off the countertop. “Well thanks for the horrible wish Garcia,” I snickered, nudging her side as I passed by, heading to my dreaded workspace. I walked by Spencer’s desk, he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up. I took the opportunity to smack the back of his head lightly earning a quiet yelp from the genius.

“What was that for?!” Boy wonder squealed. I shrugged hearing Morgan snicker. With a loud sigh, I threw myself in my rolling chair, causing it to spin me around. Already stricken with boredom I started bouncing my leg, leading to my chair to start squeaking. I ignored the noise, struggling to focus on my report I was supposed to be writing. Just when I began typing someone yanked my chair and I away from my desk.

“Baby girl, we get it, you’re bored, but damn you’re annoying,” Morgan spoke, his voice laced with laughter.

Blushing slightly, I complained, “I’m sorry! i can’t take another day of paperwork! I just can’t! how do you all manage it?!”

“We are just as irritated Y/n, we'll get a case soon, ask Hotch to take a break and go walk around or something. Just please stop the noise.” Derek said, patting my shoulder. When I stood up, Hotch rushed into the room.

“Conference room in 5, we got a case.” Aaron huffed.

I excitedly jump up, “YES! FINALLY!” Earning stifled giggles from Emily, Spencer, and Derek.

We all rushed to the conference room, files and pens in hand, eager to get out of the bullpen for a little while. “Okay, so we have a case in Arlington, Texas. Three women were found dead in several construction sites, gagged and tied with burn marks across their chest. Two other women were reported missing two days ago, possibly taken by our unsub.” Rossi explains with a hardened look making its way to his face. 

“Okay team, wheels up in 30.” Aaron chimes in, breaking up our silence. 

As a whole we head to the desks and grab our to-go bags., tidying up our workspaces, to be ready for our reports when we get back. “Y/n, can you sit with me on the jet, I want to sleep and you’re the only one who really lets me sleep on their shoulder and keeps me warm.” Spencer asks with a quiet voice. 

“Of course pretty boy, anytime for you,” I answer with a smile. The both of us walk to the jet side by side, hand brushing against each other, his skin soft and cold compared to my warm one. We stayed quiet the whole time, until we made it into the jet, situating our bags and settling in. Spencer takes a window seat at one of the tables, I sit next to him as Hotch makes his way across from us. 

Once everyone is settled and ready to go, the jet starts us on our journey. Soon after Spencer begins to snore while his head lay on my shoulder. “What book are you reading now, Y/n?” Hotch questioned, nodding his head towards the novel in my hands. 

Lifting it to reveal the title, “Full Dark, No Stars, by Stephen King.” He raised his brow in examination. “It’s a novel composed of four different stories. They’re about murder, love affairs, such and such.” I slightly giggled.

Aaron chuckled, “Don’t you get enough of that stuff everyday? On the job?”

“The writing fascinates me, I don’t know why, maybe the same way romance novels entice ‘normal’ people.” I claim as I shake my head, shrugging a little.

“You’re something else,” the dark haired man added, going back to the newspaper in front of him. I turn my attention back to my book, getting lost in the pages. Spencer shifted in his sleep, laying down in my lap, tucking one of his arms underneath my legs, pulling me closer. Just like instinct, I used my free hand to play with his beautiful long hair. He began to softly hum from relaxation.  It seemed like hours, with Spencer contently asleep on my thighs and my hand tracing shapes on his chest. 

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, “Pretty boy still asleep?” Morgan examined from the couch next to us on the other side of the aircraft. I nodded. “Good, because we need to discuss the issue at hand.” I slowly closed my book with a confused look, placing it gently on the table. “The unsub is after women like you, about the same age, same height, same hair color. We don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything but-” 

“I’ll do it,” I cut Derek off. I looked at Aaron who was now listening.

He cleared his throat, “Are you sure? We knew Spencer would disagree if we asked while he was awake. If you are comfortable with this, we can brief you on our plan.”

I bowed my head in agreement. “Can we just keep it from this one?” motioning to the doctor snoring in my lap. Both men nodded, leaving the conversation at that. The jet filling with silence again as everyone, but us three, slept.

A bell rang above us, letting us know that we’d be landing in a few. I mildly shook Reid awake. His darting his eyes open and making eye contact with me.“Are we there?” he asked groggily. 

“Yea, sleep good babe?” The nickname causing him to blush, the nickname was platonic, or used to be until recently, now you called him it because you began to fall for the young man, hoping he would pick up what you were putting down. Though you made several attempts to make your flirting noticeable, Spencer seemed to dismiss them, or maybe not pay attention to them. 

“Y-yeah, I slept good, I was warm the whole time, thank you.” He spoke, patting you on your leg where he slept previously. 

Emily stood up and stretched with a yawn. “Damn my back hurts, JJ took up most of the couch.” she grumbled. 

“Okay? You kept twitching in your sleep!” JJ countered with a groan. The two girls gather their things. Rossi remained quiet, putting his papers into his satchel and packing up. 

“Alright, we’ll head to the hotel, get a few hours of sleep and get to work first thing in the morning.” Hotch explained as he exited the aircraft, Spencer and I trailing behind. The short ride to the hotel was very quiet, everyone was already half asleep. As we arrived, Hotch spoke sleepily “Okay same as usual, double up, the rooms should have two beds, so Morgan and I, JJ and Emily, Spencer and Y/n.” He handed us our keys and made his way to his room.

JJ stretched and yawned out “Yep, definitely headed straight to bed.” Emily giggled and nodded, the two of them leaving us behind with a ‘goodnight’.

“I’m not tired so I think I’m going to head to the bar for a little bit,” Derek shrugged, picking up his go bag and waving at us as he left the lobby.

“Looks like it’s just you and me Boy Wonder,” I gleamed.

All Spencer responded with was a warm smile and leading the way to our shared room. We didn’t talk the whole walk, it was a comfortable silence. Once we reached the door, Spencer stepped back to let me use my key on the lock. With a content sigh I threw the door open to reveal a single bed and a tiny bathroom. No words were spoken as we settled in, each getting into our pajamas, and doing our nightly routines. He was the first to finish and dive underneath the covers of the squeaky bed without hesitation. We had shared a bed tons of times, but only for me recently, it made me a little nervous.

“Spence, can you maybe scoot over more?” I ask quietly.

“I’m on my half, there's plenty enough room for you still.” The genius spoke into the darkness of the room.

“Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure we both had space.” I lied, queasy at the fact that I was going to sleep close to my best friend who I was in love with. Walking over and slightly pulling the cover back, I slid into the sheets, careful to avoid Spence.

“If you’re cold, you can come closer, I know how you like to sleep warm.” He suggested, lightly turning to his side for you to cuddle up to him.

Clearing my throat, “N-no, I’m okay. Thanks though, goodnight.”

He stayed hushed for a second, he seemed to be taken back by my response. “Oh...Okay.” He then rolled over, facing his back to me.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't, especially with my current situation. I didn’t want him to know that I love him, well I did, but I was afraid of what he would think. Does he love me back? Is this all just in my head? What should I do- and just like that, my rambling had put me to sleep.

The next morning I awoke to a light breath fanning across my face. Confused, I open my eyes to reveal a sleeping Spencer, pulling me tight against his chest, with my head in the crook of his neck. It was nice and serene. But it came to an end when I finally realized that I was cuddling him. I got up as quickly and as quietly as possible, careful not to wake the doctor. I rushed to the bathroom to get dressed and get the hell out of there.

But as soon as I attempted a run for the door, “Y/n? What time is it? Are we late?” Reid asks groggily.

“Nope! I just promised the girls I’d meet them downstairs for coffee!” I mislead, hurrying out the door and towards JJ and Emily’s room. Banging on the door I pleaded, “Please tell me you’re awake! I need you to open the door!”

The door swung open, “Woah woah! Slow down? What happened?!” Em questioned as you stepped inside to see that both her and JJ were up and ready.

“I don’t want to talk about it, can we just go get coffee or breakfast? Please?” I panicked.

The girls exchanged a look but nodded and followed me down to the small cafe the hotel had.

The walk down was quick, no one spoke. That was until we sat at a small table after ordering our coffees.

“So, you want to tell us what that was about?” JJ raises an eyebrow at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forced a smile.

“Oh you mean the fact that she’s in love with a pretty boy and has been trying to avoid her feelings?” Emily questions, knowingly, causing me to choke on my coffee.

Trying to dab the spilled coffee off my blouse I ask, “How do you know that?! I mean- what?”

The two girls giggle at me. “Just a hunch,” the brunette quirks. “Relax, it’s obvious he feels the same. He’s absolutely crass about you. Someone can barely say your name and the boy blushes.”

JJ nods in agreement as she sips her mocha. “You can’t avoid it forever Y/n, what's the worst that can happen?”

“Yea, I guess you’re right, I just don’t want things to change between us.” I explain.

“The only reason why they have right now, is because you’ve been making it weird! Stop that!” Emily states while waving her hand in the air to make her point stick.

“Okay okay. I’ll stop.” I lauroll my eyes with amusement. “But today, I have to focus on going undercover. Especially behind Spencer’s back for the most part.” I spoke, furrowing my eyebrows in worry.

“Y/n, it will be okay. All you have to do is dress up, walk a few street corners, and we’ll get the unsub. It’ll be done and over with and Spencer would have nothing to worry about. You’re a strong woman who can fend for herself.” JJ told me, in hopes to alleviate my stress.

I nodded, trying to ignore the growing pit of nervousness in my stomach.

“Hey pretty ladies, nice to know you didn’t give us the option of coffee and gossip this morning.” Derek claims as he makes his way to the table with Hotch and Spencer following shortly behind him.

Spencer caught my eye. He seems pissed off, a mean look splayed across his face. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

In shock I look at the faces which surrounded me at the table, “Um yea, let’s go out into the lobby.”

Spencer quickly left me behind as I timidly arose from my seat and chased him.

“When were you going to tell me?!” He forcefully asked.

“Tell you what?” I attempted to answer.

“That you were going undercover! That you were going to put yourself in harm's way?!” He slightly shouted.

This angered me, “I didn’t realize that I had to run my OWN decisions by YOU! Last time I checked, I was a grown woman. This is for the better, to stop this murderer! You are NOT my father, you are NOT my owner, and last time i checked, you are NOT my boyfriend!” I exclaimed back.

Spencer seemed taken back, his face showed shock and dismay. He was speechless, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“What? NOW you don’t say something? Unbelievable Spencer.” I exaggerate, turning on my heel and leaving him to himself in the hotel lobby.

To Be Continued...

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: WHAT’S UP? Got chapter five ready to go! More info is always on AO3, as well as better formatting.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Odessa and OCs, feat Entrapta and Hordak

Pairing: Entrapdak

Read on AO3.

                                                         Inicos

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 1

Today marks the start of our journey! I have brought the essentials for potential excavation of bodies or relics, as well as the brain from the Prime clone aboard the Velvet Glove. It may be needed to see if there are differences in the formation, even if they’re genetically similar. But, admittedly, it’s more to keep it someplace out of the way. I am not sure what we may uncover, but this is bound to be illuminating.

                                                              -

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 7

I’ve been informed by my father that Mermista was none too pleased to hear that Tristan had come along on this expedition. He and my mother assured her that he was perfectly safe. Seahawk made the error of agreeing with them, however, which led to Tristan having a long, long argument with his mother over it. I don’t find any problem in him wanting to explore space, but not every parent is the same. I suppose she merely wants to look after him. But if she really wanted to, a week is a significant amount of time before deciding to check if he was at his father’s.

                                                             -

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 36

There hasn’t been much occurring outside of the ship. As we have been supplied with enough rations and crystals to charge Celeste, we have no need to dock onto any planet to replenish. However, Hydrangea asked if we could stop on occasion to see some planets. I told her that she could ask me any time if she felt a desire to explore nearby galaxies. We have opted to land on— Whoafuckshit! Asteroids… Oh! Maybe I can document it as it happens—

Annnnnd one made a large dent. Never mind. Guess we’re landing for sure.

                                                            -

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 273

I contacted my parents earlier today. They asked how everyone was faring, and I informed them that it’s been rather standard. No fits of madness or lucidity. My mother sighed with disappointment, but I told her that if it changed, she’d be the first to know. My father told me that Adora wishes me well, again. She’s a sweet woman—has been since my infancy. How she got four terrors for children, I’ll never understand. Well, that’s from Catra, but that’s neither here nor there. She and my father share equal blame for the damage to Etheria, and she has made an effort to right her wrongs. Yet she’s more… forgiven is not the proper word. Perhaps, excused? I don’t resent her for this. It’s easier to blame what continues to be unfamiliar. However, it’s an interesting observation, isn’t it?

                                                            -

Time in space is a bizarre thing. It ceases to be linear. It curves. Warps. Molds around one’s cells—living, breathing matter and energy, and it performs relative to that.

Odessa feels like it’s no time at all to be traveling through space with her friends.

But she was used to this since she was born. Tristan and Hydrangea experienced a little bit of an odd hiccup when it came to living without the concept of time as it was on Etheria. Hydrangea took to meditating quite often to keep a semblance of consistency, while Tristan took to exercising in an unorthodox training room. Hordak was thorough in ensuring that physical prowess was kept up while traveling through space, so it was one of the first things she pointed out.

Tristan could sleep as often as he wanted, and he never put up a fuss, but Hydrangea became rather irritable when she realized the lack of sunlight meant her circadian rhythm would be thrown off. Odessa decided to create a fake sun in Hydrangea’s sleep quarters that gave the feeling of waking up to gentle sunlight, replacing the atomic clock with one marked by Etherian time. It helped a bit for her to feel normal, and, she knew, Hydrangea was missing her parents.

“It’s too late to take you back,” Odessa said during breakfast. “But I hope you’re not disappointed with the direction of this mission so far.”

Hydrangea smiled gently, brushing haggard feelings aside, “Don’t worry. I’ll eventually get used to it. You know I’m here for you!”

Odessa is glad to have company that didn’t mind a little change. She and her family revel in constant traveling, but it can be hard for people who don’t go through it as much.

Walking through the halls, Odessa knocks on Tristan’s door, “Hey, are you up?”

A tired groan reaches her ears.

“When you’re ready, come to the dining hall. We should go over some things.”

A grunt of understanding is given, so Odessa takes her leave. She can’t help but shake her hands in excitement, tempted to skip down the hall.

She looks down at her communicator when it beeps. Turning it on, she answers, “Hey, Mom!”

“Hi, cupcake! How are you?”

“Doing fine. We’ve been making good time. We should be arriving soon.”

Hordak pops into view, “Are all your vitals still in excellent condition?”

“Yes, I’ve been monitoring all of us.”

“Good work, Odessa,” he praises.

“You know me, I’m not into screwing around,” Odessa replies, tossing her hair.

Entrapta grins wide, “We know you’re not, my little brownie bite!”

“Yeesh, Mom,” Odessa says, blushing, though she can’t help but smile.

“Okay, honey, we’ll let you go,” Entrapta tells her. “Tell your friends we said hi! Message us when you’re set!”

“You bet,” she tells them, giving a thumbs up.

“Byyyyeee!” Entrapta sing-songs, as Hordak waves.

“Byyyyeee!” Odessa mimics, waving back.

With a beep, the communicator goes quiet. She wants this mission to come to fruition. Odessa knows their journey has just barely begun—it has so much potential for failure as much as it does for success. If she could find enough information about her people, she might be able to learn more about them as a species. It’s a longshot, but she needs to make an attempt.

She is relieved that her father hasn’t asked her anything deeper than the common query of wellness. He is attentive to health above all else. And she wants to know if that’s intrinsic to their nature, or if it has to do with his… former debilitation. It has to be on some level, or it could be due to personality. If she could learn the true ways of their race, she might be able to find out how to give them their best opportunity to live.

Her hair wraps around her recorder, bringing it to her face. She clicks it on:

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 550

It’s been a long time since we left Etheria, but we’re finally near our destination! I have informed my uncle, Kreed, of our imminent arrival. He told me that everything has long been prepared for us, and he’s looking forward to seeing me again. I’ve been jotting down, as you know, what I hope to ask and, perhaps, what he may answer.

Odessa turns when she hears footfalls. Clicking off her recorder, she looks up at her friend, “Hi, sleepyhead! I didn’t think you’d ever get up.”

Yawning, Tristan stretches toward the ceiling, fingers spreading out. “Hey, the universe doesn’t chastise the well-rested. Were those your parents?”

“Yes, they say hello.”

“Aw, I would’ve liked to say hi back,” Tristan says.

“Should’ve woken up sooner,” Odessa teases. She pats his arm. “But we’re not too far from Inicos—so you’ll be talking to them eventually again.”

“How far?”

“About several hours,” she explains. “It has changed a little since I’ve been there, so I’m excited how it looks now!”

Tristan gives another stretch of his arms, swiping them up then down as he yawns once more. Trying to get something to pop. “Glad we’ll be landing soon. I know it’s been a while, but I worry about Gea going a little stir-crazy again.”

“I adjusted everything in her room, but I don’t disagree,” Odessa admits. “Although, she’s been fine since then and she hasn’t come to me for it.”

Tristan shrugs, not bothering to say he thinks otherwise. Odessa understands the needs for physical accommodation, but Hydrangea’s emotional and spiritual needs are depleted in the never-ending darkness of space. Hydrangea always acts like she’s put together, and much of the time it’s true; but she refrains from voicing her negative opinions when she’s trying to be a team-player.

Hydrangea is already in the dining hall when they arrived, drinking tea. She smiles at them, “Hey, you two!”

“Hey,” Tristan says. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, why?” she asks.

“No reason,” Tristan replies. Best not to pursue the issue. If she’s faking ease, let her.

Hydrangea simply smiles at him, appreciating the question. She turns to Odessa, “So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is that we’re going to be entering Inicos’ orbit in the next few hours, that’s our plan!”

Hydrangea claps her hands, “How exciting!”

Tristan shakes his head, putting a hand over his face, “It just occurred to me you could’ve woken me up when we’re closer.”

Odessa pulls him to her side, giving him a light shake, “I’m pumped! Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Tristan says, rolling his eyes and smiling. “But that can’t be it, right?”

“No,” she replies, releasing him to look between her friends. “Celeste has lasted this long on fuel, but when we land, we’re going to have to use signals to find where they are, and wait for them to get us.”

“Why?”

Odessa’s grin widens, thrilled.

                                                             -

Water stretches far out beyond their sight. A dark, vast blue that envelops the entire planet. Celeste skims the top, spraying brilliant white foam against its shining surface. Slowly, Odessa commands the ship to lower until it has settled onto the ocean.

Hydrangea stares out the window. The sunlight from above is a welcome vision. Pressing up against the window, her claws clicking gently on the glass, she takes it all in. Turning to Tristan, she says, “You should feel right at home here.”

“Eh, you see one ocean, you’ve seen them all,” Tristan shrugs, inspecting his fingernails.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss this one,” Odessa tells him. She touches her communicator, and the screen begins to beep. Within minutes, they watch water churning away from them, the waves causing the ship to move in rhythm with the slight push. Breaking the surface is a large glass dome, rising high in the air. Celeste bobs back and forth, and the distant hemisphere reveals equally tall buildings within its spacious grounds, supplanted deep within mortar and bedrock.

Tristan and Hydrangea gape up. Tristan laughs in disbelief, “Okay, well, you never mentioned this.”

Odessa smiles, “And ruin the fun if you ever came here with me?”

Beneath the glass is the foundation of metal, holding it aloft; from which, a slab slides away from the bottom of the dome. From this opening, a bridge elongates towards them. Odessa steadies Celeste as the spaceship is jostled carefully onto its ramp, pulling them back into the entrance. As it approaches, they note the flashing lights within.

Moments after coming inside, a siren blares a monotone tune. Celeste gives a slight shake, and they feel gravity tug them upward.

The sun gleams brightly above, before that same pull of gravity shifts the dome downward, water sloshing beside the glass until it is submerged in a torrent of bubbles.

Hydrangea sighs. It was nice while it lasted.

Once the dome settles, Celeste opens up. The trio walk down the bridge, and Odessa smiles at the people waiting in front of them, “Hi everyone!”

“Odessa!” comes the barrage of greetings.

Odessa waves to the clone standing directly in front of her. Eyes a remarkable amber, Kreed waits with his arms held behind him. Bedecked in gentle beige, his tunic ends an inch above the floor, a golden sash with cerulean trimming at the edges tied around his waist. His feet are sandaled, which they found to be better suited for an environment that’s nothing but water outside. An older clone than the rest, he shows signs of aging that aren't too commonplace among the rest of her relatives. She long surmised that the majority of them were young by contrast. She attributes part of that to his firm but mellower personality, a patriarchal figure where there are none. “Hey, Kreed!”

Her uncle holds her tight to her chest, pulling back to look at her, “Was your trip uneventful?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

He laughs, before addressing the rest of the trio, “Hydrangea! Tristan! So good to finally meet you both! Physically, I mean.”

Hydrangea shakes his hand, “Hi, Kreed! It’s nice to be here at last.”

“Come, come, we have prepared a feast for your arrival!”

“Nice,” Tristan says, eager to get settled in.

Hydrangea looks around, morose.

Tristan touches her shoulder, “How are you, Gea?”

“I’m alright,” Hydrangea says, giving a reassuring smile.

Tristan stares at her, slowing his strides.

Hydrangea glances at his feet, and mimics his pace, allowing their friend and her family to continue forward on their own. She looks up at Tristan, “I really am okay.”

“Yeah, now,” Tristan tells her.

“Odessa did so much for me already, I don’t want to disappoint her,” she replies.

“Odessa doesn’t get offended over crap like that,” Tristan reminds her.

“I know but still…”

“Gea, if you have problems, Des is here to help out,” he says.

Hydrangea knows that he’s right. The last year and a half have been hard on her, being away from her mothers, her people, her home. She is here to aid Odessa in anything that she needs. She wants to be a good friend, and she figured that this wouldn’t be much to handle. She’ll admit, she didn’t prepare herself very well for it, even with Odessa’s assistance.

“I understand that she’s meant to help out—and she did do a lot for me already,” Hydrangea answers. “But it felt a little redundant to even bring it up time after time.”

“I think it would offend her more if you didn’t inform her that she was unable to give you what you needed.”

Hydrangea gives a soft chuckle, “That’s true.”

“Look,” Tristan says, touching her shoulder, fingers moving around the spikes. “It’s not like it matters anymore right now, because we’re here. But if she asks us to go on a trip again, you should think about being more open about what you need to be comfortable.”

“I know,” she sighs. Then she pats his hand with hers, a small, gracious smile on her lips. “Thank you. I’ll do better.”

Tristan returns the smile, and affectionately pats her shoulder.

Resuming their walk, they note that Odessa and Kreed had halted their own steps to wait for them. Their apologies are dismissed, as Kreed and Odessa didn’t mind the two conversing amongst themselves.

The dome continues to descend, and Odessa looks to the left, watching a school of fish swim by the glass, “You’ve expanded.”

Kreed smiles, “Yes, we did! It took a couple of years, but the results have been magnificent. We’re creating more habitable spaces throughout the planet.”

“That’s exciting to hear. Has the alternative plant source been beneficial?”

“Most certainly, my dear niece,” Kreed replies. “We have been able to move forward with our latest projects using the natural resources of this planet as fuel to power everything.”

Odessa listens in rapt attention as Kreed explains each aspect of their home in impressive detail. From the large dome that blocks out harmful UV rays, to the plumbing system, sewage plant, recreational and education centers, they have made this place their home without interfering with the natives of the planet.

Arriving at their destination, opulent doors, wreathed with marine imagery, akin to Salineas, open for them. But there’s a monstrous look to it—with towering statues made of silver metal, the Delphican people’s greatest warriors of legend and history are highlighted the best way they know how: long, powerful arms ending with webbed hands, clawing the air. Their naked bodies are streamlined and muscular, hairless scalps gleaming when light shines on them. Their eyes are black, forward-facing but protruding ever so slightly enough to make it noticeable they’re different from the other humanoids that occupy their world. Their mouths are open in preparation for battle, ferocious teeth bared at their enemies.

Tristan stands to admire the artwork, giving a nod of approval. “Damn, that’s pretty hot.”

Hydrangea turns to him, narrowing her eyes and pursing her mouth, “You do know they’re attacking something, right?”

“Yes,” Tristan answers, forefinger pointed up. “And that’s what makes it hot. Oooh, do you think they do commissions?”

Hydrangea lets out a short, breathy laugh, “And what would they do for you?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious, Gea,” Tristan says. “I want them to make a statue of me . Just as naked and just as cool.”

Hydrangea laughs as he poses, and Tristan gives an inward sigh of relief.

A large table stretches out across the room, a sea-green and white carpet laid beneath its legs. Marbled walls rise high above them, ending with a cathedral ceiling, painted with creatures that remind Odessa of what Tristan would show her on deep-sea cameras on Etheria, none of them friendly, which is how she enjoys it. On the wall itself, oval windows take up half of its height, revealing a trimmed yard behind it, showing off a scape laden with roses, daffodils and several prospering fruit trees.

Hydrangea perks up, “Oh, a garden!”

Kreed smiles at her, “We make it a priority to have plants here. It helps the air.”

Hydrangea stares out the window, with Tristan joining her. She remarks, “There are a couple species I don’t recognize.”

“Yes,” Kreed says. “We have acquired new types from either Odessa or some of my brothers from different planets.”

“Amazing! I’d love to see more of your collection. Is all the soil the same?”

“In this area, yes,” Kreed replies, ears twitching up with interest, walking toward her. “For the time you’re here, you’re welcome to explore our gardens.”

Hydrangea, pleased, launches into a discussion about the caretaking, which Kreed entertains with aplomb. Odessa is suddenly tackled from behind, and she reaches around to grab the offender with both arms, raising up a young boy of 14, grinning down at her.

“Hi, Dessie!”

Her annoyed expression fades, beaming, “Nano! You’re lucky I didn’t break you in two.”

Placing him down, Nano jumps at her waist, excited, “I couldn’t help myself! I missed you!”

Odessa hugs the boy close, patting his head, “It’s good to see you again. I brought my friends this time.”

Nano, eyes an unusual bright shade of orange, turns to Tristan and Hydrangea with equal enthusiasm, “Hey! Welcome to my home! It’s about time you two came by.”

Hydrangea smiles at him, “Thank you, we’re happy to be here.”

Nano turns to Tristan, sizing him up. Then he grins, “I’m going to have so much fun kicking your butt!”

Tristan laughs, arms akimbo and smirking, “Are you?”

“You bet! I’ve wanted to race you foreeeever! Can we do it now?”

“You may have your contest after dinner,” Kreed interrupts.

“‘Kaaaaay,” Nano replies, though his grin doesn’t leave, giggling.

Various seafood has been placed on the table a few moments later, arranged to show the best of freshly caught fish and crustacean. Odessa and Tristan, used to being adventurous eaters, have no qualm with any part of the meal. Hydrangea, though she can eat it, looks for plant-based dishes, which, thankfully, they accommodated for her.

Nano plops next to Odessa, kicking his legs, scales reaching down to his feet. He’s one of the more interesting cousins in terms of appearance, having the agility, speed and strength of a clone, but the exterior switches from skin to scales, with webbed fingers and toes at the ends of his limbs, all bluish-green; his face has paler shades of color compared to the rest of his body, and his gills are closed on his neck for now. He hums to himself as he piles food onto his plate. She had checked on him last time she was here, monitoring his vitals for irregularities in either his gills or lungs. The main difference seems to be that he has to moisturize more than the average cousin, and he doesn’t seem capable of growing hair on his scalp or face like his clone half, but he doesn’t seem to have any new problems.

Opening his mouth, revealing sharp canines lined along the gums, Nano chews a large chunk of meat. He turns to Odessa, cheeks puffed out from food, smiling with his lips and eyes closed.

A surge of sisterly affection tugs at her heartstrings, and she chuckles, “Be careful there, don’t choke.”

Swallowing, Nano wipes his mouth, giving a wide grin, “I don’t choke!”

“You did earlier this week,” Kreed says, cutting his food with a knife and fork. “Mindfulness is important.”

Nano gives a quick nod, before turning to Tristan, “Hey, hey, hey, are we going to race?”

“After dinner, sure,” Tristan says, then yawns. “Or, you know, maybe after sleep.”

“Aaaww, you said after dinner,” Nano whines.

“If our guests are exhausted, they’re free to sleep,” Kreed chastises.

Odessa smiles at her uncle, “Don’t worry about it. Tris slept all day, he can go for it!”

Tristan gives her a mild glare, “Of course, Des. Why wouldn’t I?”

She sticks out her tongue, satisfied.

                                                             -

Nano was more than excited to race. He was jumping up and down along the dome, feet light in the ground. Tristan, despite genuinely feeling like he could sleep more, wasn’t going to crush his expectations, nor did he have the intention to.

Hydrangea stares up at the artificial sunlight coming from above, “Do you think it could be warmer?”

“I feel fine,” Odessa says, glancing up. “But I could ask Kreed for you later.”

“I don’t want to impose on anyone—”

Odessa waves her hand, “Oh, Gea! They don’t mind, really! And if you didn’t dislike it, you wouldn’t say anything.”

Hydrangea sighs, “You’re right, I know.”

“‘Course I know!”

Approaching a smoothed pearl-colored tower, Nano yells at the people located at its top, “Hi!”

A clone peers down at them, waving, then pointing to the dome’s glass.

Nano gives a thumbs-up from the ground, and he turns to the trio, “Alright, they’ll open it for us!”

Hydrangea holds up her hand to her face, “Are we rising to the surface or…?”

“Nope! There’s a tube that runs through the bottom that launches people out. We needed to bring you guys the other way because of your ship.”

“Ah, so we’re racing underwater,” Tristan remarks.

“Yeah! Is that okay?”

“Fine by me,” Tristan answers, beginning his stretches.

Nano copies his stretches, wanting to be professional.

An opening in the ground forms, and the faint sound of suction movements comes from below. Nano beams at the three of them before jumping in feet first, form perfectly straight. Tristan salutes his friends before hopping in as well. Hydrangea and Odessa jog over to the glass, and a burst of bubbles shoot out when they emerge somewhere below them.

Nano swims up to the glass, tapping it then his wrist.

Odessa nods, then signs to Tristan: Are you going to keep that form?

Tristan doesn’t often have a smug appearance, but at the question, a smirk tilts the corner of his mouth. Behind his lips, his teeth sharpen, as well as his skin, darkening to ashen grey, reaching up toward the sides of his neck, where the flesh opens, water gushing out. His legs morph together as water circulates around them, dissipating with a flourished motion, revealing a long shark tail.

Hair floating away from his face, Tristan’s eyes are wholly black, and he grins at Nano’s shocked expression.

Nano turns to Odessa, signing with excited movements: You never told me your friend could do this!

It’s not something Tristan makes known to everyone, his penchant for taking a shark shape as he swims. It’s a trait inherited only by royals, should they so choose, and the last to use this disposition was his grandfather, the former King Selachus.

Hydrangea signs to them all: Alright everyone, play fair!

Or don’t, Odessa chimes in.

Flicking Odessa on the shoulder, Hydrangea signs: Who is going to signal?

Nano signs back: The guards know what we’re doing. They’ll be watching.

As Odessa beckons Hydrangea to follow her up to the towers, where they can get a better view, Nano and Tristan line up against the dome, staring ahead. Nano raises his arm up, waving before placing it back to his side.

Odessa takes in the tower, simple and clean walls, with weapons stacked in a corner, near a chest and a small writing desk for messages. Its purpose is clearly to observe anything from below, and she and Hydrangea can see both Nano and Tristan. The guards standing inside don’t do much but give nods in regard to their being here, and continue to stand.

Suddenly, there’s a loud noise resonating out of the dome. An object shoots out above them, a fair-sized dart torpedoing ten kilometers away. Nano holds out his hand to keep Tristan in place, signing: We have to wait for it to stop. Then they’ll let us know to go.

The object, which flashes a slow red in the distance, finally stops. A split second after there’s a blast—

The boys shoot off, even faster than the measuring pod, a blur of white froth and dark shapes. Odessa and Hydrangea peer closely at their retreating forms. The water is clear, so they don’t lose sight of them, and the height helps keep track of their movements underwater. They could’ve swam on the surface, but Nano prefers being under the waves, and Tristan is flexible about location. However, from the look of it, despite Nano being smaller and more spry, Tristan’s strength is also an advantage, keeping an impressive pace.

Hydrangea turns to a guard, “You don’t happen to have binoculars, do you?”

He raises a brow before opening a chest nearby and handing her a pair.

She smiles, “Oh, thank you!”

Odessa doesn’t ask for any herself, as she has no trouble following their forms. Tristan’s frame is notable, even intimidating, much of the time, and in this form, he stands out. Nano continues to be faster, and she has to commend that he isn’t wavering.

They notice that the pod is moving, darting toward the surface. Tristan and Nano don’t break their speed, immediately changing to chase after it. They crash through the surface—a whirlwind of bubbles torrenting from the intensity, and again as they return. Hydrangea gives an excited ‘ooh!’ and Odessa grins, enjoying the competition. If the boys were holding back, they certainly weren’t anymore. The pod keeps up with them, continuing its languid red flashing. Tristan and Nano tear through the water, fast approaching the dome’s end. Nano kicks in rapid succession, gaining some momentum.

Then Tristan jets further out, having saved some energy to push at the last possible moment.

Tristan touches the glass first, faster by 60 seconds. He grins with pride, turning to Nano with a thumbs-up.

Nano, pouting, crosses his arms.

Tristan gives the boy a gentle pat on the back, causing Nano to crack a smile.

The pod settles slowly between them, and Nano takes it with him as he swims back to the entrance.

Odessa and Hydrangea watch the two pop up from the ground, landing on their feet. Hydrangea thanks the guard for lending the binoculars, and walks down the stairs with Odessa.

“You both did amazing!” Hydrangea cheers, applauding.

“Thanks, Gea,” Tristan replies, blushing a little. “But I don’t know if it’s really that big of a deal when my opponent is a little kid.”

“Actually, it is,” Odessa clarifies. “Nano is really fast, even for his age. Delphicans, even young, are quicker than even the fastest Salinean, so consider it a true win!”

“Really?” Tristan asks, surprised.

“Yep!” Nano exclaims.

Odessa waved a hand, “I didn’t mention it before because I wanted to see what would happen.” Tristan tends to hold himself back, especially if he feels there’s no point in giving it a chance. To see him go all out was a treat.

Nano is full on smiling now, shaking his head, “Well, I thought I could beat you but you really got me! I’ve never lost before.”

Odessa smirks, “You had to learn to lose someday.”

Nano places his hands on his elbows, “Yeah, I guess…”

Was he not as good as he thought? He’s been used to being the fastest, especially among his peers. It’s a little odd...

Tristan flips his hair back, slicking it away. With an encouraging smile, he replies, “You did great too! Give yourself credit.”

A spark of admiration takes over Nano’s eyes. Hero worship at its finest.

                                                             -

“Hey, Mom!” Odessa says.

“Odessa! There you are! Did you make it to Inicos okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was meeting up with Kreed, had dinner, and then Nano wanted to race Tristan.”

“Ooohh, you were already so busy!” Entrapta says. She turns to her right, “Hordak! Say hi to our baby!”

Hordak sits beside Entrapta, smiling at her, “Hello, Odessa.”

“Hi, Dad,” Odessa replies. “How’re things at Etheria?”

“Work has been progressing smoothly,” Hordak says. “We’ve begun new construction on both Beast Island and New Chelicerata.”

“That’s awesome,” she tells them. She glances to her left, motioning her friends over. “Gea, you hear that?”

“I did!” Hydrangea answers, looking at Hordak and Entrapta. “How are my moms? Is everything okay at Plumeria too?”

“Never better!” Entrapta shouts. “We’ve been keeping occupied since you all left. Scorpia has been helping us a lot! She says she loves and misses you!”

“And Perfuma,” Hordak adds.

“Right! And Perfuma too!”

At that, Hydrangea smiles, more than happy.

Hordak looks at Odessa, “Has your uncle shown you the portal yet?”

“I’m sure he will soon,” Odessa replies. “There’s a lot to see!”

“That is good to hear,” Hordak says. He turns to his right, “Imp, don’t play with that!”

He leaves to go handle whatever her brother is doing, and Entrapta leans in to the communicator, “Your father misses you.”

Odessa gives a warm smile, “I miss him too. Both of you.”

“Have you asked Kreed anything about the clones?”

“No, that hasn’t occurred yet either. I intend to do it very soon.”

Hordak returns, holding Imp in his arms, “What else has transpired on your journey?”

They regale them with details of the rest of the day, finding that they’ve needed to talk to each other more than they believed. Hydrangea interjects during appropriate moments to inquire about her parents further, where Tristan does not.

Eventually, they bid goodbye, and head to bed after a tiring day, excited for tomorrow’s venture, and everything afterward.

                                                              -

Hydrangea and Tristan were impressed with the ingenuity of the dome. Their rooms have been modified for their needs and wants, giving them individual freedom as guests of Inicos. Everything was incredible: from the water systems that converted salt water to fresh through advanced hydraulics, the use of the planet’s natural gifts to aid in creating everything they saw from their furniture to their food to landscapes and buildings, and occasionally being sent what they could not make here through a portal.

But what they couldn’t help except be amazed by were Nano’s aquatic brethren.

Standing at nine feet tall, his mother, Esynad, greets them this morning outside of the dome, swimming lazily past the glass, before hopping inside from the tube. She is misted with a special chemical concoction of the clones’ design, allowing natives of Inicos to partake of the dome’s atmosphere without trouble.

Possessing scales that glisten in the sun, highlighting flashes of purple when she moves, she is considered to be a stunner among even her kind. Though, to Hydrangea and Tristan, she was beautiful to them as well and could see why anyone would’ve considered being her partner. But here, on Inicos, the ‘women’ choose who to mate with. All begin life with total androgyny, with no true way to separate them outwardly. Yet at maturity, a select group of Delphicans become large enough to be considered the females of their kind, and use the female reproductive organs each one holds. Afterward, they were asked to choose who to mate with by overlooking battles of strength and cunning between those who are ‘male’. It couldn’t be simply anyone—the males had to be near equal to the stature and power of the females and granted permission by whomever they pursue.

Esynad had received hundreds of suitors, all which failed her expectations. Fickle with her hand and undeterred by their pleas, she ignored them. Years had gone by and she continued to reject everyone who attempted to court her. Those who dared to fight one another in her presence, without her blessing, were punished swiftly. Esynad had no qualm being ruthless with those who displeased her.

When the clones arrived, the Delphicans were reluctant to share their space, but once they proved they had no interest in doing much of anything except stay above the surface, and remained neutral in territory disputes between separate pods, the Delphicans were accepting of their occupancy.

Eventually, they realized there was a higher benefit to working together and coexisting harmoniously. Esynad, being a de facto leader, made it her business to cooperate with their newfound friends. This led to her meeting Kreed, who took it upon himself to help his brethren and the people of Inicos. Not a few months later, she announced that he would be her permanent husband.

Kreed had been an unorthodox decision, both from being another species and that she refused to have him battle with anyone, saying that it was unnecessary, for she would have him alone. However, being customary, Kreed abided by their rules and triumphed over every single challenger. With that completed, they were given freedom to be together, and it eventually became part of their culture that clones could participate in the rituals of Delphican folk.

In time, due to the existence of hybrid children, it became apparent that it was important to adopt aspects of the clones as well. As they had no way of going about it on their own, they called on Hordak to inform them of his own child-rearing process. There was less fighting amongst each other for mates, and it became a community for raising offspring, however they were born. If bloodlust suited anyone, on either side, they were allowed to do battle; but the parents of said hybrid children were off limits for coupling, forming into monogamous pairs.

Esynad was still no one to trifle with, but being part of a partnership mellowed her a fair degree. She turns to the trio, a gentle smile on her features, dark eyes reflecting the kindness.

Odessa comes up to her, “Esynad! You’re looking spectacular as usual.”

Esynad lightly taps Odessa’s shoulder, “You’re so sweet, young one.”

Nano rushes to his mother, hugging her leg, “Are we showing them to the portal?”

“Yes,” Esynad replies, giving a slow wave of her hand. “Please, follow us.”

Kreed and Esynad both decided to take the liberty of escorting them, the six of them walking through the halls.

Kreed looks over his shoulder, “Odessa, I understand that you arrived in Inicos with some intended purpose. Is it too early to ask you to illuminate the subject?”

“No, it is not,” Odessa begins, glancing between her relatives. “I wanted to ask about Horde Prime.”

This gives her aunt and uncle pause, turning to appraise her, mildly bewildered.

Understanding her niece prefers forthright conversation, Esynad asks first, “Why would you want to know about that?”

“I’ve asked my father and have gotten no answer. I’m simply curious about what we are.”

“We…” Kreed trails off, thinking. He resumes his pace toward the portal. “We are clones of Horde Prime. No longer soldiers or invaders. But we continue to be—and always will be—clones of Horde Prime.”

Odessa walks alongside him, “But there must have been something before Prime? A way of life and culture that he may have passed onto you all?”

Kreed frowns, keeping silent. Giving him time to think on it, Odessa opts to glance around at the vicinity. The hallways have narrowed down to a singular direction, and the doors slide open, showcasing a portal in the center of the room. Wires, pipes and insulated cables align themselves upon the walls, or on the floor out of the way of roaming bodies. But they all hook up to the portal, or are connected to machines that deal with energy.

Eyes slightly wide, Hydrangea remarks, “That is a larger portal than the rest of them.”

Esynad looks at her, “Yes, we receive gifts from our family throughout the galaxies. Oftentimes, they are normal-sized, but on occasion, we do receive something that is larger or numerous in number. To accommodate, we’ve made a portal bigger than the normal scale. It’s why we couldn’t bring you three right away, but this will allow you all to traverse back easier.”

Kreed nods, “Indeed. We have made necessary preparations for when that time comes, whenever it may be. Until then, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.” He looks at Odessa. “Did you really travel all the way here to ask about our once-leader?”

“No one on Etheria could provide an answer,” explains Odessa, readying her recorder in her hair. “They suggested here to start.”

Exhaling through his nose, Kreed motions for her to come with him, as her friends discuss other things with her relations.

“Your determination is not without merit, Odessa,” Kreed says. “However, this is not a question that is worth exploring.”

Odessa comes right up to him, unafraid to be invasive, “Is it because you have no information to offer me, or that you are unwilling to divulge it?”

“Judging by the sound of your tone, my niece, you would be wise to consider the ramifications of your query,” Kreed replies, hands behind his back.

Odessa turns lightly on her heel, holding out her hands, “I have considered it. I’ve considered that this is something that we need to understand.” She spins on her foot, meeting his eyes. “There’s so much about us that we don’t know, even with all the technology and magic in the universe, there is no viable method out there that can explore deep memories.”

Kreed is one of the oldest clones that she is aware of. Talon’s age is astonishing as is when compared to other lifeforms, but Kreed is a grand total of 150. And still going.

There are slight changes in his appearance to the rest of the clones, where he is beginning to show signs of age. But the differences are so minute, the wrinkles visible when one strains the eyes to catch them, as they are fine lines, that they matter very little. His strength and agility is not remotely impaired by the fact. His physicality, unmarred by time, continues to put him above many species she’s encountered, as well as Inicosans, and especially Etherians. How old can their species become? If there were hundreds of him hanging above her head on the flagship, how long had he terrorized the universe? If he could conceivably live over a century, what else could he do?

“I conducted a study back on Etheria about your brothers,” Odessa tells him. “Everything about it suggests promising brain activity, and I want to test my hypothesis further. But to do so, I must have more information about us.”

Kreed glances at Esynad as she approaches, holding Nano in her arms, “This information… if given, what do you intend to do with it?”

Everything.

She wants to do everything with it.

She has to know what they are capable of, beyond a past of destruction and a present of rectifying mistakes. There’s a future for them that is complete. Hopeful.

“I simply want to learn more about us.”

Kreed closes his eyes, inhaling. Slow and easy. He is more than aware that Odessa is a personality that pushes toward the truth. A scientist and inventor like her parents both, she inherited their tenacity, and, for better or worse, their tunnel vision. She has shown incredible potential. What she lacks in social tact, she more than makes up for with her ability to observe and act on those observations.

Since she was young, he has been keeping track of her as well. The moment she asked for blood samples of her relatives at the age of five, he knew that she was different. She has spent countless hours of her youth being encompassed by superior science and keen minds. Trained and nurtured to ask questions, find answers, and adapt based on the result. Being a hybrid had nothing to do with it. What set her apart from all the children of clones was Odessa’s desire. A desire for what, he may never know. But she yearns for more. She longs. Until it’s found.

He has lived a long time, and he doesn’t know a clone similar to him. But he knows age isn’t the thing to contest. What the wise seek in peace, the eager seek in tumults, and how long someone has been alive doesn’t matter there. It’s all about who a person is. However, if anyone can withstand such a journey, it would be her.

Tristan and Hydrangea come together to stand at either side of Odessa. Friends that he has seen grown up over communicators, and their loyalty to her is impressive. Hordak wouldn’t allow anyone to be around his child that may be a threat to her safety, physically or emotionally. He wouldn’t either. So he looks at each one for a moment, exhaling.

“I, like your father, and my brothers, know nothing else except Prime.” Kreed says, voice measured. “He is part of us, forever, even as we build our lives on things besides him. You know that.”

Odessa nods, eye contact not wavering.

“There is… space…”

“Space?”

“Space. In our heads.” Kreed explains. He puts a gently closed fist against his chin. “Did you note that in your study?”

“No. My experiment involved photographic memory,” Odessa says, intrigued. She leans in, “What do you mean by ‘space?’”

“It’s… an expanse,” Kreed draws another breath, then out. “I’m unsure of whether it is due to being connected to the hivemind for so long, or if this is an aspect of ourselves as a species… but in my head, there’s a void. A void that contains the knowledge we possess, but it can be filled further. The mind cannot grasp all information in the universe. It would drive a person mad. However, my mind feels similar to a larger space—perhaps a deep cavern or pit, where it stretches outward past what individuals may expect it to end.”

“The brain is a powerful organ, though,” Odessa adds. “It can store a lot more data than we can ever hope to calculate.”

“That may be,” Kreed tells her. “And I do not doubt your research. We learn new information every day. But everything has its limits, including the mind and what it can withstand. What it can hold. All three of you can keep receiving new facts until the day you die, but learning new things weakens as you age. It stands to reason that the brain, then, is finite.”

“So, this void inside your mind, does it end?” Hydrangea asks.

“I believe it does,” Kreed replies. “You see, eventually, there’s a point where everything must stop. You can be a savant on many subjects at once, or dedicate your senses to partaking of a single subject and becoming an expert on that. The mind can learn and learn and learn all it wants, but once you hit that proverbial wall, you cannot go past it. It’d be too intense of a breakthrough. Yet, for us, I can only guess that we all have the similar proclivity to recollecting more information than most could even conceive because it’s a bigger space.”

Odessa breathes out. A mind that could hold more knowledge than ever thought possible… “Talon informed me that when you are all ‘born’ there’s a wall there, too. That you cannot remember anything before that point, and everything after that is what you keep. Is that a fair assessment?”

Kreed nods, “Yes, that’s correct. I cannot remember anything before being released. That is our starting point. Afterward, it's an endless space.”

“Although, as someone that’s been alive longer than the others, is it possible you have knowledge that they don’t?” Odessa says, tone a little more enthusiastic. “Can you remember anything else from your time with the Horde?”

“Aside from what you’d expect? No.”

“I see,” she says, glancing at her companions.

Esynad touches her husband’s shoulder, looking down at him, “Perhaps our niece would benefit from visiting Rulvam.”

Odessa’s eyes widen slightly, “Rulvam?”

Tristan raises a brow, “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned that before, Des.”

“I haven’t!” she says, louder from excitement. Turning back to Kreed, she asks, “What’s there? We have other family members living somewhere we didn’t know of?”

“Several of your uncles have gone on to other planets after settling on Inicos for a time,” Esynad explains to them, voice low and soothing. “Rulvam is a planet a fair distance from us, about the length that it took you to arrive here without a portal.”

Kreed adds, “The only difference between Rulvam and other planets we’ve made home, is that there is no portal in place.”

Hydrangea’s brows furrow together, “They don’t own a portal, or theirs isn’t working? Like yours had been?”

“The reason is unclear,” Kreed admits, glancing up at his wife. “Some time ago, we stopped receiving all communication from them. We sent out signals, to no avail; the last transmission we obtained was a positive one, telling us on Inicos that the planet was being changed for the better, and new projects were underway to bring out the best of Rulvam. Aside from Etheria, we don’t come into contact with any of our sister planets too often.”

Nano, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, speaks, “That had been four years ago now, right?”

“That’s correct,” Kreed says, smiling at his child.

Odessa is bewildered. A planet with relatives that she’s never been to before. That’s amazing! It’s another lead that, hopefully, will uncover more about their kind.

Tristan shifts his gaze at Odessa. She’s already thinking of something new. But if there’s anything that stays consistent, it’s her inquiring mind.

Hydrangea looks at her friends, aware that they’re all pondering the same question.

Why did Rulvam stop communication?

                                                              -

LINEAGE LOG: DAY 730

I spoke with my aunt and uncle today about the concept of memory! It proved to be an exciting trip. In a few days, we will be taking the portal back to Etheria, as it’s now completed, and save ourselves a healthy amount of time. They didn’t mind us being here, but I believe it’s time to return to Etheria. I never mind the constant travel through space, however, it will be profitable and convenient to visit my parents sooner than later. Then, we can begin planning our next journey!

[waitimcomingtoo]

hihihi i’m a new follower and i love your writing style! i have a request :) reader and peter parker are dating and she finds out that he doesn’t like tattoos but reader has always wanted a tattoo so she gets one on her thigh, outer thigh of course, and she’s a little paranoid because she doesn’t want peter to break up with her but one day he sees a little bit of it & when he sees the whole thing he thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Thanks for following 🥰 I liked writing this so I hope you liek reading it!

Ink

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: “I’m going to be honest with you.” Peter began. You hung on to his words, preparing yourself for the breakup. “Saying you were wearing a garter was more wishful thinking, because that’d be super hot. But this…” Peter brushed light fingertips over your tattoo, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “This is way hotter.”

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

“Bleh.” Peter shuddered as he set two coffee mugs down on the table. He had a displeased look on his usually bright eyed face.

“What’s wrong?” You asked as you shook a packet of sugar. “Did you accidentally use the soy milk again?”

“No. It wasn’t that. Never making that mistake again.” Peter laughed. He leaned across the table as if he was telling you a secret. “The barista had two full sleeves of tattoos.”

“Oh.” You said with fake shock, not seeing the problem. “Wow.”

“I know.” Peter shook is head. “I’m pretty sure he had them on his neck too.”

“Oh dear.” You chuckled. “Anything but his neck.”

“Alright.” Peter smiled as he stirred his coffee. “I know when I’m being teased.”

“I just didn’t know you had a problem with tattoos.” You took a sip of yours and wiggled your eyebrows.

“I just don’t understand the point.” Peter shrugged and lazily played with your fingers. “I mean, it hurts, it’s expensive, and people usually end up regretting them anyway. Plus, they sag.”

“Oh god.” You fake gasped. “Not sag!”

“I’m sorry, what’s your opinion on tattoos?” Peter asked sarcastically. “Pray tell, I’m dying to know.”

“Oh, you know.” You shrugged and stirred more sugar into your coffee. “I dig em.” You said nonchalantly.

“You dig them?” Peters draw dropped like he didn’t believe you.

“Yeah, I dig them.” You playfully challenged, meeting his eyes. He looked genuinely surprised.

“I love you, and so I respect your opinion, but why?” Peter asked, his mind seemingly blown. He had no idea of his girlfriends favorable opinion on something he felt such disdain for.

“Maybe because they rock.” You laughed. “They’re works of art that you can put on your actual body. How cool is that?” You gushed. “It’s liking carrying around the Mona Lisa in your pocket.”

“I doubt the Mona Lisa would fit in your pocket.” Peter sipped his drink with a smile. “Perhaps a nice tote bag.”

“You’re funny.” You said sarcastically. Peter pretended to brush hair over his shoulder in flattery. “And I’m being serious. I think tattoos are wicked.”

“What about that kid at school with asthma with the tattoo that said “it ain’t easy being wheezy?” Is that tattoo wicked?” Peter teased.

“Yes.” You stated. “Because it meant something to him. That’s why tattoos are so cool. You could get your favorite song lyric from when you were a teen, or a quote from the book that always makes you cry. Or, you could get something completely idiotic that you sober up and regret in the morning.” You shrugged as Peter listened carefully, trying to see things from your point of view. “The possibilities are endless. And that makes them wicked.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” Peter remarked. “Would you ever get one?”

“Would my darling boyfriends upset if I did?” You asked, bringing the flirty conversation back to serious. Your body was your body, but you loved Peter. You respected and valued his opinion more than anyone else’s, but his thoughts on tattoos came as a surprise to you. You’d always loved tattoos and had been saving up to get one for two years already. You never wanted to upset Peter, but you also didn’t want his disapproval to keep you from something you’d always wanted to do.

“Your darling boyfriend wouldn’t love it.” Peter said honestly, which you appreciated. “But your darling boyfriend knows he has no say in what you do with your body.”

“And that,” you held up your mug and clinked it with Peters, “is why I love my darling boyfriend.”

The topic didn’t come up again after that day. You and Peter had agreed to disagree. But three years later, you found yourself outside a tattoo parlor with a broken down car in the pouring rain. You tried to called a mechanic, but your phone decided that was the perfect time to die. You let out and angry breath and went inside the nearest building, which happened to be Kings and Queens Ink.

“Hi.” You said to the tattooed lady behind the front desk. “Could I please use your phone? My car broke down.”

“Sure thing, gorgeous.” The lady smirked. She had a pin-up look to her. Her cherry red hair was buzzed on one side, revealing an orchestra of studded piercings. If you were braver, you’d look just like her. You didn’t just love tattoos, you loved the whole New York biker style. You lived your dream every now and then in a leather jacket or some studded boots, but you usually kept your inner badassery on the inside, for Peters sake. He liked soft girls. Sure, he loved you no matter what you wore, but he had a special place in his heart for pink skirts and fuzzy sweaters.

The lady handed you a telephone and the number of a mechanic. You shot her a grateful smile and dialed the number.

“Three hours?” You whined into the phone. “Why would it take that long?”

“Listen lady, you’re not the only one with a broken down car in Queens today. Plus, it’s raining cats and dogs outside. Three hours. Final offer.” The mechanic grumbled.

“Alright.” You sighed. “I’ll see you in three hours.”

You hung up the phone and rubbed your temples. The girl at the desk was drumming her fingers on her desk.

“Looks like you’ll be here a while. We might as well get to know each other.” She said. “I’m Monica.”

“Y/n.” You told her. “Do you have anything I can do for the next three hours?” You laughed in annoyance. Monica shrugged.

“You ever wanted to get a tattoo?” She joked.

“Yes, actually.” You said surprised, as if she’d read your mind. “I’ve always wanted to get one.”

“What’s stopping you?” Monica leaned her head on her hands.

“It always seemed like it was just a dream of mine. Not meant to come true.” You told her. “Plus, my boyfriend doesn’t like them.”

“Don’t you listen to Alicia Keys? This is New York, baby. Where dreams are made of. I say, get that tattoo. It’s only permanent.” Monica quipped.

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. It was a big decision to make on an impulse.

“Do you have one in mind?” Monica pressed.

“Yeah.” You told her.

“Do you have the money?” She went on.

“Yeah.” You smiled, seeing where she was going with this.

“Then get your sexy ass in the chair.” She huffed.

And so, you got your sexy ass in the chair.

Three hours later, you stood in front of the full length mirror, admiring your new tattoo.

“Do you like it?” Monica asked you hopefully.

“Like it?” You asked incredulously. “Monica, I could kiss you right now.”

Monica laughed as you continued to gawk at your own body art.

“I’m serious. It’s exactly what I wanted.” You gushed. You turned to Monica with a glowing smile. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, doll face.” Monica said, pleased with her own work.

Once your car was fixed and you paid for your tattoo, you made your way back to your apartment. Your tattoo was wrapped snugly in cellophane. It stung slightly, but your adrenaline and excitement kept you from feeling the extent of the pain. Your excitement faded when an incoming call from Peter came in. You were suddenly reminded of his disdain for the permanent body art and feared for his reaction. On an impulse, you declined his call. He didn’t have to know just yet. Yes, it was your body, and Peter respected that. But you had to respect him too. And Peter hated tattoos.

You knew that.

You knew that and you got one anyway.

You felt guilt forming in a brick in your tummy. You felt like you betrayed your boyfriend. You turned into your apartment complex with a worried frown.

You spent the next two weeks avoiding telling Peter about your tattoo. You only wore pants around him, since the tattoo was on your outer thigh. You were careful not to let him touch your leg, in case he accidentally brushed it and caused you to wince, revealing your secret. As the weeks went on, you grew more and more paranoid. You felt yourself growing more guilty with each passing day. You became full blown terrified that Peter would break up with you on sight if he found out. When he wasn’t around, you flaunted it around with pride. But on days you spent together, you covered it like your life depended on it. You loved your tattoo. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of. But you loved Peter more. And you weren’t ready to tell him just yet.

A month later, your tattoo became old news. You’d almost completely forgotten about it one morning as you got ready for a date with Peter. You threw on his favorite pink skirt with a fuzzy white sweater. Peter came by shortly with your favorite candy and some popcorn.

“You ready to watch Only You?” Peter asked as he kissed you hello.

“It’s only my favorite movie.” You smiled.

“You just like it because you think the main actor is cute.” Peter rolled his pretty eyes, always the jealous type.

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved your hand dismissively and pulled Peter into your apartment by his shirt collar.

An hour into the movie, you cuddle into Peters side and swung your leg over his.

“What’s that?” Peter tilted his head to the side, catching sight of something black on your outer thigh. Your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of your tattoo peaking out from under your skirt. You took your leg off of Peters in a panic.

“What’s what?” You asked innocently. You scrambled to pull your skirt over your tattoo.

“That.” Peter pointed to your thigh, with a curious smile on his face. “On your leg.” He used his pinky to lift your skirt a little, catching another glimpse of black lines of your leg. “It’s something black.”

“Oh.” You said, dumbfounded. You’d been caught. You couldn’t play dumb anymore. “That’s my…garter.” You lied.

“You’re wearing a garter?” Peter asked, a pleased grin decorating his face.

“Yes.” You were committed to the lie now.

“Just the one?” Peter asked, blushing faintly. “Only one leg gets a party hat?”

“That leg was cold.” You continued.

“Like a bride?” Peter giggled as he tried to sneak a peak. You swatted his hand away, which made him come back with a vengeance.

“They’re highly fashionable.” You informed him, keeping a tight grip on your skirt.

“Y/n.” He whined. He picked up your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Come on pretty girl, let me see.”

“No.” You said shyly, moving his hand once more. You were fully sweating at this point, your secret being moments away from being revealed.

“As much as I wished it were true, I have a feeling you’re not wearing a garter.” Peter paused the movie and gave you his full attention. “Come on, baby. Tell me what’s up?”

“I have to tell you something.” You sighed. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth and chewed on it.

“You can tell me anything.” Peter said softly. “You know that.”

You looked at Peter and sighed. You didn’t know how to say it, so you didn’t use words at all. You lifted your skirt above your thigh, revealing your tattoo to Peter. It was fully healed now. The jet black ink stood out on your smooth skin. Peters eyes widened in surprise at the sizable tattoo. He wondered how he’d gone so long without seeing it. Right there on your outer thigh was a delicate, black spider hanging from a web. You’d had the image in your mind long before you met Peter, but finding out he was Spider-Man only made you want it more. You watched his face closely for a reaction. You searched for signs of disappointment or disgust, but there were none. Peter looked at your tattoo with an awestruck expression. His brown eyes were wide with delight, reminding you of a child.

“I’m going to be honest with you.” Peter began. You hung on to his words, preparing yourself for the breakup. “Saying you were wearing a garter was more wishful thinking, because that’d be super hot. But this…” Peter brushed light fingertips over your tattoo, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “This is way hotter.”

“What?” You asked, thoroughly shocked by his reaction. “Really? You think so.”

“Yes.” Peter laughed breathlessly. “That is the sexiest thing I ever laid eyes on.”

“For real?” You sat up in shock. “You like it?”

“I love it.” Peter traced the tattoo with his nails, trying to remember every detail of his girlfriends body. “I seriously love it.”

“Oh, thank God.” You let out a breath of relief. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”

“As if.” Peter laughed. “Are you gonna get more?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, smiling happily at his unexpected reaction. “I’d like too.”

“Could I come with you when you get the next one?” Peter asked excitedly, getting ahead of himself. “I could hold your hand if it hurts. Did this one hurt? I bet it did. God, you’re so cool.” Peter gushed over his badass girlfriend.

“I would love that.” You told him honestly, squeezing his hand in a appreciative manner.

“Me too.” Peter intertwined his fingers with yours. “I can’t wait. I’m gonna hold your hand so good.”

“I thought you hated tattoos.” You wondered with a content smile.

“That was before you had one.” Peter said simply. “And I can’t hate anything about my darling girlfriend.”

“And that”, you pressed a gentle kiss to Peters lips, “is why your darling girlfriend loves you.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona

Wanna be added? Just ask 💜

[king-paimon]

HnK Chapter 91 thoughts/opinions: Jade’s a good gem and you can’t change my mind

Man...what a chapter. And it came early! Definitely a nice surprise I needed. And we all, myself include, owe Jade an apology. I think the majority of us expected Jade to go down in just one page but NOPE. He actually held his own pretty dang well and caused a lot of damage, and without a weapon, too! Even though he knew he wasn’t going to win, he still fought hard and even though this chapter was short, it was amazing. This fight was so intense and brutal; a lot more so than Bort vs. Dia to be honest. I like the parallels in this chapter, with Jade’s gut punch being similar to when he had to do the same back in chapter 39 when Phos was having his mental breakdown. The main differences, of course, being the circumstances. My, how these characters have changed so much.

(This got a pretty long. Sorry in advance. May edit later. Also, I give my opinion on certain things near the end so I wanted to give an additional heads up. I hope I don’t upset anyone. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and view of the characters and even if we don’t agree, I believe all opinions are valid.)

I knew that I was going to like and be saddened by this chapter but it was honestly a treat. But do you know what made it better? Because Ms. Haruko Ichikawa showed us all how Jade was one of the better gems.

I repeat: Jade was one of the better gems

I said it a few times before in previous posts that Jade was one of my favorite gems. Not only because I thought his personality was entertaining but because  out of all of the Earth gems, as far as I saw, Jade was one of the ones that did the least bad to Phos. Even before his drastic change, I don’t remember too many instances were Jade actively put Phos down. When Phos got his new legs and didn’t remember Jade, I remember how devastated he was, even if it was just for comedy. Or when Jade had to shatter Phos during his mental breakdown, as mentioned above, Jade felt so guilty that he had to do that. So from my point of view, when it came interactions between Phos and Jade, they seemed very genuine and I believe Jade was one of the few gems that showed they cared about Phos, both before and after he started his transformation. And this chapter further cements how Jade was one of the better gems, from both the Earth and Moon factions, because he did one thing that none of the other gems at this point of the story ever did for Phos ever since they’ve gone to this point: Apologized.

Jade, so far, was the only one who truly apologized to Phos. Euclase never did that. Yes, Euclase was the one who tried to speak with Phos but he didn’t put much effort to do that or do anything of help to Phos. And even when he was at Phos’ mercy in the previous chapter, Euclase never attempted verbally acknowledge how he affected Phos. Jade, on the other hand, DID. 

Instead of damning Phos with his remaining strength, he recognized how his actions ultimately contributed to Phos’s current state and gave an honest and truthful apology for not understanding Phos. And I think that was one of the things that Phos, as well as many of us readers, wanted deep down. And maybe it’s just me, but from Phos’s expression on that page as Jade crumbled, I think those words got to him...even though Phos quickly dismissed it in the next page. But still, Jade did something that none of the other gems have done for Phos: actually said he was sorry for not trying harder to understand Phos.

Would it have been better if this was said long ago? Absolutely.  Does this excuse Jade’s, as well as the other Earth gem’s past behavior? No. Did Phos have to accept Jade’s apology? Of course not. But you know what? In my opinion, I still liked the fact that at least one of the gems recognize how badly they treated Phos, even it’s at the very end, and better late than never. It would’ve been better if the other gems did something like this but you take what you can get. And though it’s a shame that Phos ends up brushing Jade’s words off in the end, I can’t blame him. Also, on that note, DANG, some of you fans are so cut throat and dismissed Jade, too. I do get it though; Jade, along with the other Earth gems, left Phos for over 200 years, so I understand why some fans quickly dismiss his apology. And as mentioned above, it still doesn’t excuse what happened before. In my opinion though, considering everything that had happened before that incident, from the Earth gems’ point of view of Phos’s morally questionable actions, I can’t fully fault them for doing it. (I understand if you don’t agree with me.) And again, at least Jade still did something that the other gems never did. It may have been a small gesture that wouldn’t have changed Phos or the trajectory of the story, but the fact that Jade still said it and meant it speaks volumes, more so than anything Euclase or any of the Earth or Moon gems ever said to Phos in these recent chapters. For these reasons, those last pages were so heartbreaking in so many ways.

Also, I like the fact that Jade is connected to the heart chakra and represents acceptance and loving in Buddhism, which is very fitting to me. 

(Opinionated mini rant here. Sorry that it isn’t coherent.)

So, yeah. Jade is great. A definite contender for being one of the best Earth gems when it comes to his relations to Phos. Heck, he’s even better than most of the Moon gems combined. Come at me. You know I’m right. Did the other Moon gems ever acknowledge how they contributed to Phos’s fall and show any remorse?? Better yet, did they ever honestly apologize for being shitty to Phos when he actually needed their support? No. They didn’t. 

Dia never apologized for not helping Phos when he really needed it, or when Phos tried to be open with them and the other Moon gems after the first invasion plan failed; Dia just f-ed off and ignored him, and only went on this crusade when Phos threatened that he’d bring Bort. Alex showed very little remorse, too. Same with Benito, Ame, and Goshe; they were all having fun, doing their own thing when Phos was clearly needing some kind of support. Heck, I still remember the page when Phos was literally pouring his heart out and the other gems just go “Oh look! Goshe and Cairn’s on the TV. They look like they’re having fun!” Wow... okay guys. Thanks. Speaking of which, Cairn surely never apologized and probably never will at this point. I don’t know what to expect from this character anymore. I don’t hate them; I’m just disappointed. 

I’m giving Yellow leeway cuz he’s in therapy and never got the chance to see Phos, which is probably for the best. Padparadscha also gets a pass. I think those two are the only Moon gems who actually show remorse for Phos’ misery, even though they never verbally say it. The rest of Moon gems? Nothing. Yeah, Phos told them to not recover him if his third visit failed but those gems didn’t show any concern for Phos’s well being when he left nor when he came back with his murderous mindset. Of course the Earth gems showed little remorse too. Euclase recognized how his actions affected Phos but did nothing in the very end to show true remorse. Only Jade did. So Jade gets extra brownie points for being the only decent gem to verbally acknowledging that he didn’t do right by Phos and apologize.

(Sorry about that. I do get annoyed when people praise the Moon gems and hate the Earth gems when really, they weren’t too different when it came to how they treated Phos. One group may have shattered Phos, but both contributed to his fall. But again, everyone is entitled to feel how they feel about these characters and though I disagree with fans who view the gems this way, I don’t blame them for viewing them this way. All views are valid. I’ll most likely change a few things here later. Maybe.)

Next chapter woes

Anyways, now we wait for the next chapter which...oooh, it’ll be a doozy. As always, I’m excited and scared because this story can go in so many directs but that last sentence on the last page... OH BOY.  So many things are at stake. And the likeliness of Cinnabar becoming the 7th treasure continues to rise. Stay strong, Shinsha-stans. 

What’ll happen? Only Ms. Ichikawa knows, that clever, sadistic monster.  We’ll sadly have to wait very patiently and see. But I think we all know that whatever happens next is going to hurt so good.

And to add more sadness to the mix, from what I’m seeing in the tags, it looks like more and more people are starting to think the same thing as me about our dear, dear broken protagonist. 

Phos’s happy ending, whatever that may entail, is getting less and less likely to happen. And we all know it’ll be because of Aechmea somehow. And that continues to be the saddest truth of this story.

[gothamsnightmare]

Arkham (Preview)

Little preview of my currently longest fic that I'm working on, just to see if some people would actually find it interesting if I can actually manage to finish it.

In it, a fellow inmate at Arkham tried to kill Jerome's girlfriend Allison when he wasn't around, something she was easily able to prevent, but now she's trying to cover it up from him because she knows he would probably overreact.

It’s still written as a reader-insert, even though I've pretty much settled on the name Allison for my OC by now. Thing is just, I also had to realize I kinda like the name Allison Valeska as a name for Jerome and Jermiah’s sister, so now I’m still torn what to use the name for

(Note, since I haven’t managed to quite finish this segment yet, I’ve left out some parts for this post)

You took another close look at your hand, which was still bleeding rather strongly, trying to see how much damage really had been done. You came to the conclusion that it wasn’t too bad, and yet, something told you that Jerome would probably disagree with you. „Oh, he’s gonna hate that.“ You figured, so you decided to make sure to cover it up as good as possible so he wouldn’t immediately notice. „Hey! Hand me that water, come on!“ You instructed a young girl sitting at the next table that you noticed hadn’t been able to stop staring at you ever since you’d sat down, waving her over. She jumped up immediately even though you were clearly making her nervous, grabbing her glass of water to hand it over like you asked her.

When she had managed to set it down with a shaking hand, she remained were she was, just watching you, apparently aware that you expected her to keep helping you. „Well, find something else, come on, I don’t have time!“ You told her, making her jump. She looked around the room, spotted a guy who’s napkin she apparently figured she could steal, starting to run off. „Wait!“ You called her back, and when she turned back to you, you handed her the bloody knife. „Forceful!“ You told her when she had taken it from you. You watched how she marched over to the guy, shaking your head at her thinking she could intimidate a guy twice as big as her at her age without a weapon. „No wonder that guy thought he has it so easy with women.“ You thought to yourself. You almost had to laugh when you watched her, to her own surprise, take the napkin from the man with ease, which he handed over to her before she could even really threaten him with her knife, clearly very well aware that you were the one who actually wanted it.

„Wow, you really have to work on that, they’re gonna eat you in here!“ You informed her when she handed you the napkin. When she attempted to answer, you cut her off before she could even get any words out. „You know what, just leave!“ She hesitantly put the knife back on the table and intended to turn away from you, but you stopped her by her arm with a final warning. „You know that never happened, right? You know what he’ll do to you if he finds out you helped cover this up for me!“ You managed to scare her good enough that she actually rushed out of the room the moment you let go off her, making you first laugh, then let out an annoyed sigh. „Ugh, girls!“ You now held an end of the napkin into the glass to moisten it, cleaned your hand off with it as good as possible and made sure to remove any blood splatters off the table that you had left on it by now. „Here, throw that away!“ You tossed the bloody, wet napkin to a guard who just happened to walk past you when you were done, wiping the last remaining drops of blood of the table with your right sleeve, then tried to prevent your cut from continuing to bleed with your original cloth.

By the time Jerome joined you a couple of minutes later, your cut seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, so you finally put your hand down on the table and tossed the blood-soaked cloth aside. „Been on a killing spree?“ Jerome asked, when he caught sight of the cloth and the bloody knife on the table, making you laugh. „Like there’d be anyone left around here. No, was just some idiot.“ You waved off his question while he sat down on the other side of the table. He didn’t ask about it any further, cause since your hand was now facing down on the table, he hadn’t become aware of the cut on your hand yet. He reached across the table for your hand to give it a brief squeeze, but you made sure to only let him take a hold of some of your fingers in order to avoid him touching your cut so he wouldn’t notice.

...

While you were both still watching the other inmates, you randomly lifted up your hand off the table and felt a wetness when your fingers touched your palm. Looking at it, you inadvertently uttered a „Crap!“ when you saw that it was bleeding rather strong again, causing Jerome to turn his attention back to you. Unfortunately, he now managed to get a pretty good look at your cut while you were trying to locate where your cloth had landed on the floor. His hand shot across the table to grab your wrist so he could take a better look at your hand. „Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?“ He asked as you stopped looking for the cloth. „It’s just a cut!“ As expected, you felt like he was overreacting, but Jerome was obviously already aware that, based on your earlier conversation, this hadn’t just been an accident. „Who did that to you?“ There was a slight hint of anger in his voice now. „Ugh, it was just some idiot who thought he could kill me.“ You tried to brush it off. Jerome’s hand involuntarily tightened on yours as his anger immediately increased a tenfold. „Where is he?“ He demanded, making you roll your eyes. „Will you stop being so dramatic?“ You still felt like he was making a big deal out of nothing. „Where?“ He tried to emphasize his need for an answer by holding on to your hand even tighter when you tried to pull it out of his grip, but failed to impress you. „I told you, I already killed him!“ You tried to make it clear to him that he was blowing up for nothing.

„Actually, he’s still alive.“ An inmate sitting at the next table that had been watching you since Jerome’s little angry outburst suddenly piped up, causing you both to stop your argument and look over at him. „I’m sorry, what now?“ You thought you had misheard him. „They just took him to the infirmary. Saw it when I came in.“ He added. Now it was your turn to be outraged „Oh, I can’t believe I messed that one up!“ You said turning back to Jerome, who now looked absolutely thrilled. „Great, now I can finish it for you!“ - „Great? I screwed up something so simple!“ You exclaimed, inwardly kicking yourself at your own incompetence. „Oh come on, cheer up, let me do something nice for you!“ Jerome leaned across the table to take your face into his hands and give you a kiss in an attempt to make you feel better. „Fine, go nuts.“ You agreed, having a hard time acknowledging to yourself that he had actually managed to calm you down. With a very satisfied grin, he gave you another kiss, then got up to leave. „Wait, use this, that’s at least somewhat of a payback!“ You picked up the bloody knife with your left hand and offered it to him. „Thanks, I can use that!“

He took it from you, spun it once, and then proceeded to hold it against the throat of the guy that had just informed you of your would-be-assailants whereabouts. „I’m gonna need some of your shirt!“ He informed him. „What are you doing?“ You asked him when he tore off some fabric with the knife. „Well, I can’t have you bleed to death while I’m gone can I?“ Jerome said when he walked back over. You rolled your eyes in exasperation and just managed to stop short from face-palming yourself with your bloody hand. „You’re an absolute idiot!“ You stated when he handed you the torn piece of fabric. „Of course, that’s why I’m in here!“ He said as you took his face into your hands now. You smiled at him brightly before you kissed him twice, effectively leaving some blood on his face with your injured hand, which you both ignored. Jerome gave you one more kiss before he finally left, not without stabbing the eavesdropper while walking past him. „Be quick!“ You called after him. „Can’t promise anything!“ He dismissed you as he walked out the door. „… yeah, that’s gonna take a while.“ You said aloud to yourself.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 12

Part 11 here

Five in, Five out.

Rosie tried not to wring her hands together as she waited for her cab downtown, to her first art show. 

Her. First. Art. Show.

Well, technically not hers. Christie’s art-savvy Uncle had liked her piece and asked for two more to display in a section dedicated to new talent. Talent. He’d thought she had it.

“This could be it, Salami,” she murmured to the cat. Nerves and excitement and nausea had tailed her constantly for the days since she’d handed over her canvas to Christie. Her worries about Dylan being “Whiskers” had temporarily taken a backseat to her shredded anxiety about other people seeing her work.

Maybe buying her work. What did that mean? Would she need to paint more? Could she? Painting was just a hobby, wasn’t it? Or could it be more?

Her phone chirped, indicating her ride had arrived. She gave Salami a kiss on the top of his soft head, and the cat butted her cheek happily, purring.

Downstairs, she slid into the Uber after the driver confirmed her name. Ten scant minutes later, she thanked the driver and stood outside the small museum hosting the show, smoothing her hands down the dress she’d borrowed from a deli colleague. Rosie hardly owned anything suitable for this sort of event.

The doorman let her in, and she ducked into the bathroom, assessing her appearance, tucking a stray curl of her behind her ear, fussing at imaginary creases in her borrowed cheong-sam. The dress’ high, chinese-style neck was compensated by the thigh-high slit on the left side. The material then fell to her ankles, faux-demure.

She felt naked, the dress was so figure-hugging. She had face-timed Christie when trying it on, and her manager had wolf-whistled down the phone. Damn, girl. Every man in there’s gonna have his tongue out.

Shame she didn’t want just any man, and the only man she did have interest in probably not only viewed her as a “person of interest” in his investigation.

What a crock.

And then she opened the door of the bathroom, stepped out, and almost walked right into him.

“Walter.”

Those blue eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Rosie.”

He looked good enough to eat, those wide shoulders hugged by a grey suit, shirt slightly open at the collar, no tie. She wanted to smooth her tongue down that strip of skin, follow it to the arrow of joy that led-

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, moving aside to let another woman into the bathroom.

Marshall slid his hands into his suit pockets. “Captain was invited, but he had a diary conflict.”

Rosie swallowed back a laugh. “You mean, he’d rather eat razor blades.”

His throaty laugh did things to her stomach; set loose butterflies. “Let’s stick with the diary conflict, shall we? He offered it out to the bullpen, and I like art.”

She searched his face, looking into those blue, blue eyes and remembering the glide of his skin against hers, the scent of him between her sheets. “I’ve got some work on display here.”

“Seriously? That’s amazing, Rosie.”

His quiet but sincere praise made her heart turn over.

“Show me? I just arrived, so I haven’t seen anything yet,” he added in that swoon-worthy accent. Rosie wondered if Brits were just as enamoured of a Brooklyn twang.

“Sure.”

They followed the steady stream of guests into the museum’s main hall, where a buffet table of fancy nibbles and pre-filled glasses of fizz had been set up. Marshall snagged two glasses and passed one to Rosie.

“I’m sorry,” he began, but just as she turned to hear the rest, Anthony, Christie’s Uncle, swooped in.

“Rosie, my dear!” His thick Italian accent made her name sound musical. Stocky and sporting a thick moustache, he reminded Rosie, not unkindly, of Nintendo’s Mario. “You came. Christie said you might not.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied, accepting his cheek kiss.

“And you have one of New York’s finest on your arm, no less!” He boomed, thinking they’d arrived together. “How is our Captain, Detective?”

“Just fine, thank you, Sir.”

Rosie didn’t know whether to be confused or delighted that Marshall hadn’t dismissed or disagreed with Anthony’s assumption that they’d come to the show together. Her stomach clenched as her heart flipped.

“Come, come, both of you.” Anthony gently took Rosie’s elbow. “Let me show you where I have displayed your work.”

Rosie glanced at Marshall. He nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile she was beginning to get addicted to.

She let Anthony lead her. The museum wasn’t crammed, but enough of the great and good of New York had come that made her think that Anthony had quite the sway in the art world. She was so lucky.

They passed under an arch to a smaller, but still well-appointed room, where several canvases were displayed under the stylised title of New York’s New Talent. Rosie spotted her work right away, three canvases of stormy weather, arranged in a triangle which somehow managed to bring out the moody greys in each one.

“They look wonderful here. Thank you, Anthony.”

“Thank you, my dear,” he replied sincerely. “I must say - ah, I spy a friend. Forgive me, it would be rude of me not to greet them. Later, perhaps?”

“Definitely. Thank you again.”

Anthony set off at speed, leaving a whiff of strong cologne behind. Rosie took a deep drink of the fizz. “Wow.”

“You okay?” Marshall asked, ever observant.

“Of course. Just… not every day people get to see my work. In fact, not any day.”

“You don’t post on social media or anything?”

“I don’t have time, really. I work at the deli a lot, and by the time I get home, I just want some easy reading or some lazy TV. You know? Sorry,” she winced. “You’re the last person I should be talking to about being burned out.”

Marshall sipped his fizz contemplatively, a stray curl of chocolate hair brushing his eyebrow. “It’s all relative. Just because you’re not a police officer, doesn’t mean you can’t be tired.”

“Stop,” she muttered.

His lips curved a little. “Stop what?”

“Stop being so… unforgettable.” She heard herself and cursed silently. “Seems like the alcohol has loosened my tongue.”

His blue eyes darkened. “I can’t object.”

“What were you saying, before?” She moved infinitesimally closer. His scent, coffee, clean soap and cedarwood, wound into her senses, stirring want and need and hope and lust.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, maintaining eye contact. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, or stop by.”

Rosie’s nerves scattered. “Er - well, you said it yourself. Police work is hell on relationships.”

He moved closer, until she could make out a little patch of hazel in one of his irises. That stray curl flopped over again, and she unconsciously used her free hand to tuck it back into place. “Rosie, the thing is”-

“Excuse me, are you the artist?”

Rosie turned to see a well-dressed woman waiting to speak with her. She needed to get this right. She squeezed Marshall’s bicep. “Maybe… I’ll come find you later?”

“Do.” The word seemed loaded as he smiled, just for her, and moved back into the crowd.

Rosie turned back to the older woman, and picked up the conversation.

Thanks so much to my beta, @ly--canthrope !

Tagging: @mary-ann84​ @constip8merm8​ @dr-kayleigh-dh @wanderinglunarnights @brokenthelovely @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @peakygroupie @pinkzsugar @boiled-onionrings @captain-rogers-beard @the-jer-bear @rantsalon @omgkatinka @alyxkbrl @ravenpuff02 @ayamenimthiriel @manawhaat @screamingrennergasm @promptandpros @d-caryophyllus @xocali @littlefreya​

[detective-with-one-arm]

A Legacy of Vengeance

Thousands of years ago, a woman crawled into this cave. Thousands of years ago, clutching her only daughter, her eyes torn from her sockets and eaten whole. Thousands of years ago, when the white demon ruled this land and took glee in the subjugation of humans, a gorgon woman made this place her home.

All of that taken away by the white demon naga.

He took her eyes and ate them, the one safeguard against a gorgon’s petrification curse. And since this feat, he attempted to send his children to hunt her, the woman taking flight on her white feathered wings.

The serpents on the left of her face tried their best to heal her wounds, but to no avail.

The monster took her eyes, so she took his future.

Upon the land and its inhabitants, she laid a curse. A curse that transcended death and the power of the gods. For gorgons were feared by gods for a reason, and the white devil would regret forsaking this soon enough.

She stipulated this: Should the naga who took her eyes or his kin invite the scorn and spite of a mortal without fear of his kind through sleight and injustice separate their soul from their body through death, all the collective rage, pain and cries for retribution from all those wronged by that naga and his bloodline will permeate and coalesce within the spirit of that mortal. That soul will act as a host for the will of the curse and they will become the Harbinger of Vengeance, no matter whether that soul is consumed or not.

It will hunger for one thing and one thing alone and nothing will be able to stop it from achieving it: Exacting revenge on that naga. It will take everything from them. Innocent people - all of them - will be destroyed. Nothing will satiate it but the complete destruction of everything that naga values and has gained throughout their life. It will yearn for nothing but the complete destruction of their life and even their entire self.

Nothing will be left behind.

A gorgon’s curse is meant to be everlasting. Meant to withstand until the end of time itself. Once a gorgon’s curse is cast, there is nothing in this world or any other that can break it. It is eternally binding.

In that same cave, her only daughter, Hashladûn, slept. Her scales were as pale as the white demon who defiled and blinded her mother. Despite her upper body being as gorgon as her mother, with her hair made of white pythons with eyes as yellow as the sun and wings as pure and untainted as snow, her long serpentlike body was entirely naga. Though, if you asked her, she would not call herself as such. In her eyes, she was nothing like the chest-beating prideful brutes that the nagas were.

Within the hidden cave of the waterfall, she stirred, grumbling as the new patriarch of the jungle’s voice echoed throughout her dwelling. “What is that worm bellowing about now...?”

Slithering off of the spot she’d chosen to sleep, Hashladûn peeled her chest up and stretched her feathered wings, feeling the stiffness melt away despite the very rude awakening. The heads of her head of hair all came to greet her, their polished white heads and inquisitive tongues brushing against her face. One particular advantage of being a gorgon was the constant pleasant company. She always preferred the company of snakes to people, regardless. Though, perhaps her negative experiences with people both mortal and otherwise were not good references to go off of. After all, her poor experiences with people were forever immortalized in her secret cave, the stone statues in a perpetual state of inanimation until she had some need for them once again.

Though, in petrifying them, she gained all their memories. Despite her own personal experiences with people being very poor, she held no ill will towards humans. She did not particularly like them, but her overall feelings towards them were rather neutral.

Gently cupping the heads of her head full of snakes, the gorgon woman sighed contentedly. “Good morning, Molurus.” She purred towards one in particular, the snake reaching around to wrap around her head underneath all the others to come around and bind itself around her eyes. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was be careless with her power. One look was all it took to petrify others. While she could reverse the condition, she would rather not accumulate more memories than necessary.

Unless there is no other viable option, she would much rather not turn someone to stone.

With the naga’s bellowing above shaking the water from the stalactites up above, Hashladûn had only one destination. The Pool of Truth.

A late gift left behind by her mother, as her window into the world. To see the world as it was past, present, and future without exaggeration or embellishment. Though, it was a rather fickle thing. “Sir, please show me the naga known as Connor as he is currently.” She requested politely.

Before her, the reflection of the cave ceiling swirled until it showed the gorgon exactly what she needed to see. Like before, it was the dark sapphire naga yelling and berating the woman who had arrived not long ago. The outsider from the north. The investigator.

The Lightningbringer.

Her kindness, compassion, empathy, and generosity was absolutely wasted on the prideful spoiled serpent. Insistent and presumptuous, though she may be, was completely innocent in her motivations and actions. The vile and volatile deity was simply needlessly callous and bitter. She did not deserve this treatment. Perhaps a wave of dismissal or a simple rebuttal, perhaps. But not…this abuse.

Yet, she did not falter in his presence. No, she held no fear. This, the gorgon was certain. She was determined and unyielding. A trait that the woman would find remarkably admirable, were it not for the reality of whom she was dealing with.

She was dealing with a wrathful serpent who chose to devour his own heart. Metaphorically speaking, of course. This naga forsake his compassion when he emerged victorious over his wretched father. Hashladûn had hoped that the serpent who would defeat the white devil would be different. Would be better.

But she was disappointed to discover that over the years coming into his own, he was not. He simply traded his father’s overt subjugation with a more subtle and easily deceptive form of tyranny. Tyranny disguised as prosperity and freedom. Prosperity he could destroy along with all of their innocent lives at a whim. He had no respect for them. None whatsoever.

The people were content, but they did not know better. They were not to blame, of course. How could they be? It should not be their responsibility to appease such a volatile creature as Connor. They were mortal. They were powerless.

It was his responsibility to control his ire and temper his temperament. Not theirs to coddle him. It was unfair. It was wrong. He was the one with the power over them. The imbalance was surely not lost on him, and if it was, then he was an even bigger fool than the gorgon had taken him for.

But what he did not realize was that her mother’s curse applied to him as well. It was not his fault for not knowing it. She did not wish to know him and the people kept him content, all things considered. The only ire suffered by humans was that of outsiders, and it was strictly a relationship between trespasser and guardian. Though, she would hesitate to use such a term to describe the naga.

Continuing to observe the interaction, Hashladûn took note of the fact that the human – Rachel – displayed no such fear before Connor. Even as she left, she maintained her dignity. She would not have her worth defined by anyone else. Her worth was not up for debate by anyone else. She did not have to have anyone else’s approval to have worth. She was worthy simply by existing. Something gods all fail to truly understand.

But this did nothing to quiet the discontent within the gorgon. In fact, as she observed the woman, she only grew more anxious. While she had an incredible amount of restraint and control, and a moral integrity that while it bent a little ways, she held it rigid regardless. But that small amount of spite and scorn displayed for a moment in her lonesome was enough to make Hashladûn curl up and tense. Connor’s callousness towards her was personal. She wasn’t just an outsider hellbent on ripping everything away from him like the threats that lurked just outside his territory. She was an innocent woman.

An innocent woman who was just as stubborn as he was without the pride or ego to show for it.

A woman who would make the ideal host for the Harbinger of Vengeance if Connor continues to act this way.

Despite her mother’s reassurances that it was necessary, Hashladûn disagreed with her vengeance being extended to the innocent people of the village. They had done nothing to invoke her ire and they did not deserve to pay for Connor’s father’s transgressions, though valid her desire for retribution was. But the humans did not have to suffer for it. They did not deserve to pay for his crimes.

So, the gorgon’s life was dedicated to ensuring that this curse would not take hold. Preventing it was paramount to everything. Because once it was invoked…there would be nothing she or anyone could do to stop it.

So, she watched. She watched as the Chief gathered the village before the throne where blood had once been spilt. The Shaman had gone to quell Connor’s ire. But as the Shaman reached the naga, Hashladûn’s tail began to bristle, a hiss escaping her lips. “What is that fool doing?!” She hissed, her snakes hissing in unison with her. Lashing her tail, she leaned back from the Pool of Truth and raised her head high. “No. I have stayed idle in this cave for far too long, watching and waiting for threats to arrive. This time, I must act. I will not allow this childish whelp to bring doom upon and threaten everything I have sworn to protect.”

Turning away, the white scaled gorgon’s wings flared and two of the statues in her secret waterfall cave began to animate once more, their soulless empty stone eyes glowing yellow like hers.

Nagas. The attempts of Connor’s father before him to slay her and finish what he had started with her mother. A reminder that he was not above consequences. That he was not truly immortal.

That there were forces and powers that even gods feared.

“Follow me.” She commanded them, bringing her feathered wings up to try and prevent herself from getting wet as much as possible as she emerged from the cave. “You will stop Connor from sealing his fate and I will speak with the Chief and the Lightningbringer.”

Looking out and hearing the calls of the village from afar, Hashladûn had a reinvigorated sense of purpose.

“It’s time for the sins of the past to be cleansed once and for all.”