#not depicted how many i got cause for some i have doubles

[basslinegrave]

my 2020 furby chart vs one i made now

teal - dreamies, light green - would like to have, grey check - have, red check - had at some point

[cy-cyborg]

I'm begging dragonage fans to do a tiny bit of research about arm amputees before loudly shouting their opinions on the inquisitor returning in the next game Please lol.

Apparently, it was confirmed that the inquisitor, your chatacter from the last game (who looses their arm in the final cutscene of the DLC), will return in Veilguard as a customisable character, similar to Hawke, and they will play an active roll in the story. This has caused a lot of people to start speculating on how they'll handle the inquisitor's missing hand, with most people agreeing they'll have to have a prosthetic to be an active part of the story. Which, while I do think this is the rought bioware will take, isn't true, and a part of me really hopes they leave the inquisitor without a prosthetic arm like in the end of Tresspasser

Partially because we already have a companion with a prosthetic (neve) and it would be nice to see some diversity in how amputation is depicted in such a mainstream game, but also because you dont need a prosthetic to fight as any of the main 3 classes from inquisition.

Mage:

mages just need a staff, the game shows them as 2 handed weapons but it's totally beleiveable that it would be usable 1-handed (Neve also uses a dagger-like weapon in the trailer, you can make a "staff" in inquisition that functions more like an energy sword, and the Mage in the chargers uses a staff resembling a bow, so I think it's more that they just need a focus, the shape doesn't matter as much). A knight enchanter may struggle more 1 handed, but I wouldn't write it off as an option with some modifications made to their main staff.

Warrior:

the easiest to justify, because there are several cases of arm amputees fighting with a sword and sheild in history, and while many did have prosthetics, most weren't functional (meaning they were mainly for aesthetic purposes and didn't actually aid the fighter in any way. There were exceptions, like Götz of the iron hand, who's prosthetic was functional, but most were not). The inquisitor looses their arm just above the wrist*, so they still have most of their forearm. Most sheilds strap to the forearm, so it wouldn't take much adjustment to make that work, and you can use the other hand for the weapon. Obviously, two-handed weapons will probably be off the table, though, lol.

*edit to say, as several people pointed out, i got that wrong, my bad 😅. The inquisitors arm is actually amputated through the elbow, the screenshots i was looking at just weren't very clear and it has been a while since i got to trespasser lol. It would still entirely possible to strap a shield to the upper arm though, with some pretty minor adjustments to the existing straps on standard (as in, those used by non-disabled warriors) tall shields, so the point still stands.

Rogue

this is the one people tend to be the loudest about and the one I understand the most. Obviously duel-weilding daggers won't work (unless you give them something like the hidden blades in assassin's creed on their stump side, I guess) but using a single dagger still would, and is a perfectly reasonable approach, given that's how most irl people used daggers. Archery, though, absolutely can work without a prosthetic, despite what people think. Dragonage has crossbows, not something like Bianca (rip) but a small, single-handed crossbow is an option. Even ignoring that though, amputee archery is a thing irl, and not every arm amputee uses prosthetics for it. The bows are modified to be held in one hand and drawn with the mouth using a kind of pully-system built into the bow that I could very easily see being modified into some dwarven-style contraption in game (some double arm amputees use their feet to draw regular bows, but I don't think that would be pheasable in combat).

Like I said, I think bioware will probably go with a prosthetic, but i hope that they don't. Or at the very least, show them with it sometimes and without it other times (the same goes for Neve, no one wears their prosthetic 24/7, I'd love to see them both take them off around the home base, even just occasionally). A lot of arm amputees in particular prefer to go without one, and arm prosthetics in media are some of the worst offenders of the "perfect prosthetic"/"miracle cure prosthetic" tropes. It doesn't count as "diversity" or disability representation if it doesn't actually change anything other than the look of the chatacter, and im really, really desperate for some actually decent amputee representation in games.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Quit for a Reason

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (ex-agent turned neurosurgeon)

Summary: When a suspect begins looking for you while you perform a surgery, Tim finds out why you quit your job in law enforcement.

Warnings: descriptive fight scene and injuries (stabbing), neurology terminology, depiction of brain surgery (not overly graphic), angst to fluff

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“I have to work a double shift today,” Tim complains, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he pulls you closer.

“How will I survive?” you ask playfully, turning to kiss his cheek.

“That’s what you miss most, right? The unpredictable hours, the sleepless nights. Paradise for a cop.”

“Yeah. That’s what I miss about being an agent,” you agree with a smile. “Definitely not all of the times I got to see you throughout the day.”

“Uncalled for. I’ll try to call if I get a chance.”

“I’ve got a couple surgeries today, so I may not answer. Nothing personal.”

“Feels personal.”

Your smile falls, and Tim immediately catches your shifting mood.

“How are you?” he asks. “I know it’s been a while since you switched careers, but making a change that big can’t be easy.”

“I- I’m still helping people, I know that. Just, some days it feels like I made a mistake.”

“You had your reasons.”

“Are you-“

“Mad that you haven’t talked about what happened? Not at all. It’s your life, your decision, and if or when you want to tell me, you already know you have my support. You were the best agent and now you’re the best neurosurgeon. I’m with you,” Tim answers, tapping your wedding ring as he says he’s with you.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

As you prepare for your first surgery of the day, you force any thoughts of Tim out of your mind, focusing entirely on the job at hand.

“Dr. Bradford,” a nurse calls, running down the hallway. “We’ve got a cop in the ER with a brain herniation. He needs emergency surgery.”

“Get Dr. Davidson to operate on the patient in OR 2,” you command. “I’ll perform the emergency. Have someone get the rest of my scheduled patients seen to!”

You run down the hall, praying and begging for it not to be Tim. You’ve operated on many cops, and you hate when any of them come into the hospital. When you don’t know who it is, though, you immediately worry about Tim.

“Dr. Bradford,” one of the ER nurses calls. “We’ve got the OR prepped.”

“Who’s the officer?” you ask, pushing a door open to sanitize and prepare for the surgery.

“Detective Caradine,” he answers. “The first opinion is a brain herniation.”

“What type?”

“Unknown.”

“Let Detectives Harper and Lopez know that he’s in surgery,” you say before securing your mask and entering the operating room.

As you begin operating, looking for the source of the problem, memories of your time as a law enforcement officer in one of these rooms threaten to break your focus.

“What caused the unconsciousness and loss of brainstem reflexes?” you ask one of the nurses.

“Head injury during an altercation with a suspect according to the officers who brought him in,” she answers.

“The officers brought him in? Not an ambulance?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The brain stem is compressed,” you deduce. “Upward transtentorial herniation. We need to get the pressure of his brain tissue to relax the posterior ventricles before it’s irreversible.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Detective Harper? Detective Lopez?” Celina calls. “A doctor at Shaw Memorial just called. Caradine is in emergency surgery.”

“What happened?” Nyla demands.

“He hit his head during a fight, I believe. Lost consciousness.”

“Who’s the surgeon?” Angela asks.

“Uh, Dr. Bradford,” Celina reads. “Wait-“

“Yeah, it’s Tim’s wife,” Nyla answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You move the scalpel away from a new incision just before a gunshot echoes. Closing your eyes briefly, you continue working, demanding one of the nurses to block the door.

“Someone is looking for him, I’d guess,” you say. “But I need all of you to stay calm and focused on this patient or get out of the way. I won’t hold it against you if you walk away and stay at the side.”

One of the nurses takes your offer, moving to the corner and sitting on the floor.

“The rest of you are with me?”

“Yes, doctor,” they answer.

You nod, looking for the brain tissue causing the brain stem compression.

“Nurse,” you call to the woman in the corner. “If you have your phone, call 911 and let them know.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sergeant Bradford,” Wade says. “We’ve got a situation that you may want to know about.”

“What is it?” Tim replies.

“Caradine’s in surgery at Shaw, and your wife is operating. But we’ve got armed suspects in the hospital. We assume they’re looking for him, but with her past I thought you’d want to know.”

“Her past?” Tim repeats. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Sergeant Grey, someone called the tip line,” Nolan interrupts. “With a threat against Caradine and Dr. Bradford.”

“What past?” Tim demands.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Uh, someone- one of the nurses in pediatrics just texted me,” the nurse alerts.

“And?” you press. “Never mind, save it. He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

“CSF drain is inserted, doctor. Beginning chest compressions.”

“I’m removing a skull fragment, unless anyone has an objection,” you alert.

“Do it,” one of the new residents agrees. “CSF is draining, but not fast enough. If there’s going to be a chance of his recovery, we need to keep that swelling away from his medulla, or he’ll lose breathing and blood flow, correct?”

“Correct, and well done. I’m starting the removal now.”

“Doctor Bradford,” the nurse in the corner repeats. 

“What?” you ask, your voice short as your attention is focused elsewhere.

 “There’s a man with a gun looking for you and the patient. Someone called the police but-“

“Nothing we can do now. Stay over there and stay quiet.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m not sure it’s my place to show you this,” Wade argues.

“Just press the button. My wife’s life is at stake and if there’s any chance this will help me save her, I’m watching it.”

Wade sighs as he presses play. A grainy security cam feed comes on, showing a warehouse. The date catches Tim’s attention: almost ten years ago.

You walk into the warehouse, responding to a noise complaint. Unable to hear a thing besides your footsteps, you call out, asking if anyone is inside. Pulling your radio from your hip, you tell dispatch it was a false alarm.

As you lower the radio, someone moves in the shadows, knocking the radio out of your hand and tackling you to the floor. A blade glints in the minimal light of the building, raised over your throat before you push it away, grunting in pain as you flip, your knees hitting the concrete beneath you.

Tim’s breath catches, unable to look away as he watches you fight for your life. He forgets that this video is a decade old, when you were still dating, and his worry for you builds as if you’re currently engaged in this fight.

You slip, falling forward as the man takes advantage, pushing you onto your back and kneeling against your legs. As you lean toward him, he plunges the knife into your torso. Your pained scream fills Wade’s office, and as the knife is removed and inserted again, your scream changes into an adrenaline-filled yell as you shove the man off of you, standing with the knife hanging from your stomach as you push him against the wall. After handcuffing him to a nearby post, you crawl across the floor and radio for an R/A before collapsing.

“How did I not know about this? We were dating!” Tim exclaims. “I should have done something, anything!”

“Clearly, she didn’t want you to know, didn’t want to talk about it at least. But now you have a chance to do something, Tim,” Wade replies. “Go help her out of this mess.”

✯✯✯✯✯

With the lights and sirens on, Tim races to the hospital as fast as he can. His mind plays through memories of you. The canceled dates around the time of the attack, followed by clinginess and a deep need to constantly be around Tim, begin to make sense. More than that, Tim can’t remember the last time he saw your stomach; what he mistook for insecurity or modesty was likely hiding scars. Alone in his shop, he knows he must remind you that he loves you, no matter your scars, career choice, or what you do and don’t share with him. He knows you had a reason to keep it to yourself, but he knows better than most how dangerous it can be to keep your pain, your scars, and your fear to yourself.

Silencing the sirens as he approaches the hospital entrance, Tim rushes past the barricade, his mind on protecting you and Caradine.

✯✯✯✯✯

“That’s all we can do for him,” you say. “How are his vitals?”

“They’re steady,” the anesthesiologist answers. “His BP’s a little low, but it’s steady.”

“Caradine! Bradford!” someone yells down the hall. “Your time of reckoning is here!”

“Move him,” you demand. “Wheel everything toward the wall, away from the window.”

While you wait beside Caradine’s head, out of sight as you check his vitals and the new stitches lining his scalp, you hope that the LAPD are working on catching the man yelling for you.

“We need to wake him up,” the resident says. “If we don’t do it now…”

“He may not wake up,” you finish. “Go ahead.”

While the anesthesiologist and the resident begin working on restoring his consciousness, you move toward the door. Something knocks against it as you approach.

“I’m coming in to finish it this time! Wasn’t expecting a two for one!” the man yells.

“Give me your phone,” you ask the nurse, quickly dialing a number you'll never forget. 

“Bradford,” Tim answers.

“Tim,” you say quietly. “Caradine knew his name. It’ll be in a file.”

“Yours?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll have Harper find it. I’m in the hospital; where are you?”

“Emergency OR 1. Tim, be careful.”

“I will. But you need to be careful, too. I love you.”

“I love you.”

The call ends, and you press yourself against the wall as you listen to the man who tried to kill you once get in to try again.

“LAPD, show me your hands!” an officer yells outside.

“Step away from the door!” Tim adds.

You sigh at the sound of his voice, but when someone yells “No!” you have an idea of what will happen.

“Everybody down!” you call, shielding Caradine as a few bullets rip through the door.

The noise in the hall dies nearly immediately. You take a shaky breath as you check yourself and Caradine for new injuries.

“Let me in,” Tim says at the door.

You nod at the nurse closest to the door. Tim rushes in, pressing a hand to your back.

“Get him to a room for observation,” you tell your operating team. “And then go home.”

Looking toward Tim as the room clears, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest to his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whisper. “But, a few years ago...”

“Hey,” Tim interrupts, his arms hooked around your waist. “Wade showed me the video. But you still don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you promise. “But can we go home first?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Propped against an obnoxiously large pile of pillows, you tell Tim about what happened in the warehouse. He listens to every word, stiffening when he hears something that wasn’t in the video or your comments that thinking about getting back to him gave you something to fight for. As you finish the story, Tim pinches the hem of your shirt between his fingers, looking up at you for permission.

“You can,” you whisper.

He gently pushes your shirt to your waist, keeping his eyes on the scars littering your torso. Running a gentle finger across the largest of them, Tim frowns as you suppress a shiver.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur sadly.

“Not you,” Tim insists. “I’m sorry that I didn’t know, that I wasn’t here for you.”

“You were.”

Tim furrows his brows, and you pull his left hand from your stomach, showing him his wedding ring. “You gave me something to fight for, something to live for. And even without knowing why I quit, you knew that I had to have a good reason, and you supported me every step of the way. You love me, Tim, and you made sure I knew.”

“You don’t have to do it alone. I do love you, and I know you love me, but that’s not a reason to protect me from whatever you’re dealing with.”

Tim ducks his head to kiss your stomach, and you laugh, which causes him to smile and push himself up, rolling to your side to kiss you, showing you that he means every word he says.

[tigergirltail]

Seeing a fair number of posts lately from transfems wishing they had known a trans person who would have told them when they were younger that they're trans, and it's been bothering me. First of all because it puts the onus of responsibility on this mysterious, cool, older, wiser transwoman to break the egg out of their shell, which I thought we agreed was a toxic ideal back when we called them Manic Pixie Dream Girls.

Second, and more importantly, because in the ideal scenario, in which the egg is very definitely a closeted transgirl, and the more open transwoman is genuinely just trying to help the egg find her true self, being forceful about it can set that discovery back years, even decades.

Source: It literally happened to me.

In my late teens, I played an MMORPG called City of Heroes, and my best friend in that game would later reveal to me that she is a transwoman. As I aged into my mid twenties, we got to meeting up IRL and going to anime conventions together, and she'd inevitably broach the topic of me trying more feminine presentation. Not even telling me she saw signs, just subtly trying to steer me in the right direction. She was particularly enthusiastic about seeing me in a skirt.

Every single time it happened, I'd get mad and shut down.

There's a psychological phenomenon in which, when someone holds a set of deeply held beliefs, and those beliefs are challenged by verifiable evidence, the cognitive dissonance causes the person to double down, and hold to those beliefs even harder. That's why right-wingers are Like That, but it applies just as much to all of us. I'll get back to this concept in a bit.

When I was around 15, an anime aired in Canada called Cardcaptor Sakura, or Cardcaptors as it was localized. Something about the exact stage of development I was, and seeing Sakura getting to set aside her mundane responsibilities to dress up in cute costumes and go out on magical adventures, it called to my closeted little girl heart. I have a vivid memory of staring in the mirror, holding my hair to look like Sakura's and imagining myself as her. As a girl. I have many more memories of looking at feminine characters and thinking "gods I wish I could look/dress like that", but Sakura was the first.

I kept it fully to myself, because I had grown up in the late 80s and 90s - before the word 'transgender' was commonly known, before media depicted us as anything but objects of mockery or horror. It was a deeply ingrained and societally reinforced belief that Boys Are Boys and Girls Are Girls, and never the two shall cross.

So when my best online friend tried to convince me to be more feminine, that cognitive dissonance would kick in and I'd shut down. Even though she was objectively correct that I was a closeted transgirl, it was her word against the word of my entire upbringing and societal viewpoint.

What actually helped, what actually put a dent in my egg, was the fact that she simply existed as a transwoman, she was visible and proud. That existence challenged my preconcieved notions in a way that could not be resisted.

From there, it was a matter of time and continued exposure.

Another friend who explained to me what 'cisgender' meant, and who eventually started leaning into transmasc presentation. A romantic partner who came out as genderqueer and helped me understand the concept of 'nonbinary'. Transgender content creators who posted about their experiences online - special shoutout to demilypyro and assumptionprime, two of the most influential voices for me while I was figuring this out, but far from the only ones.

The shields of my egg were down. It was primed for hatching.

On April 22, 2022, I was looking up some fanart of Hex Maniac from Pokemon X/Y, who I had cosplayed at a convention three years before, and thinking of how good it felt to wear that dress. How good it felt to look like her. How good it felt… to be a girl.

-CRACK-

…Later that day, I went to my old City of Heroes friend, practically begging her for help. How do I know if HRT is what I want? How do I know if I should transition? How do I know if I'm really a girl?

She knew. She always knew. She tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to listen. Not yet.

The point of all of this is that one transperson telling an egg they're trans is not a solution to the problem. The problem is that society has tried very hard to make us the outliers, to make us the weirdos, but society is losing that war. If you want to help the eggs of the world, be visible, be proud, and treat being trans as something normal and beautiful. Don't tell them unless they ask, just… be there.

Eggs hatch when they're ready, and not a moment sooner.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Oh, and by the way… She got her wish in the end. I wear skirts now.

[iamgodsoopsie]

Astarion Headcanons (that you probably won't like) Pt. 3:

Part 1 link

Part 2 link

More Astarion headcanons that are mostly me projecting onto a fictional character to help me process my own trauma!

BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.

Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.

[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]

Spoiler warning

Mental illness, SA, & SH (suicidal ideation) Trigger Warnings: More descriptive and potentially triggering than part 1, but about equal to part 2.

These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or wish.com Cazador.

Have things been going well for awhile? Is he reclaiming his sexuality at an exponential rate? Does he think he's practically conquered his trauma?

-> If you said 'Yes' to any of the questions above, then be ready for: A trigger he didn't know he had hitting him out of no where and setting his mental health on fire.

->-> If he's at a place in his healing journey that he is able to recognize what happening and use his healthy coping tools/ honest communication to process his unexpected emotional (maybe literal) flashback then it'll be a not fun time for him, but he'll get through it fairly quickly with minimal mental damage.

->->-> If this happens closer to the beginning of his healing journey then be ready for him to spiral and catastrophize. He'll insist that he'll never truly be free of Cazador, that he's broken, that he isn't allowed to be happy, etc. All you can really do during this time is be there for him. Reassure him that you love him and that you believe that he will get better.

->↑ This is a normal part of the healing process, it's shitty and God-awful- but it gets easier to manage and happens less frequently over time.

Even if he weren't an immortal vampire he's still a high-elf and will probably outlive you. And boy oh boy the pressure he's going to put himself under to hurry up and heal is going to be immense AND counterproductive!

-> Poor bby is terrified that he'll finally be happy only for it to be ripped away from him.

->-> Him rushing his healing will only make it harder for him to heal, and he knows this. But Gods damn it all he can't seem to shake the feeling that he's running out of time (okay Hamilton).

->->-> I gotta be honest, I have no fucking clue how to help him with this. I suppose that the only thing you can do is love him with the time ya'll have.

->->->-> TBH I can see him deciding that he'll KHS when you die. I know you have the best intentions, but asking him to live for you after your gone will (probably) be perceived as very manipulative.

->↑ I honestly don't think ya'll are going to come to an agreement on this if you're vehemently against the notion. It may be best to make your preference known and then leave the topic alone- as pressing it will only cause him to double down. (After 200 years of not being allowed to make any decisions for himself, he's not going to let anyone tell him how to 'live' or die).

Surviving "200 years of shit, PURE. SHIT!" had to have been exhausting. And healing from trauma is exhausting. All Astarion wants to do is rest but he feels that he can't truly rest until he heals from his trauma and he's so damn tired and has to keep dealing with this shit and he really wants to give up somedays but he'll be damned if he lets Cazador 'win'.

->↑ Healing is hard work. But it is so damn worth it.

I'll go back and edit any grammar and spelling mistakes later, but I'd really like to post this now.

[solarisstyles]

MS.HONEY: OPEN HOUSE

Pairing: Harry Styles x F!Reader Word Count: 2.4k+ Warnings: single parent struggles, stressful situations, fighting Summary: It takes a village to raise a special needs child. Gemma's son is growing up and starting kindergarten in the fall. Uncle Harry is struggling with not being able to spend all day, everyday, with his nephew who he's grown quite attached to. When he accompanies Gemma and Arlo on his first day of school, he meets Ms.Honey. Harry decides Kindergarten might not be so bad after all. A/N: For the sake of the story, Gemma and Harry live in the states. I know more about the school system in America than the UK so it just made sense! This story is not meant to be a 100% depiction of what a family of this dynamic is like. Harry and Gemma Styles are very real people and are only being used for fictional purposes!

*please like and reblog to help your local fic writers*

The first month of school was full of adjustments not only for Arlo but for Gemma as well. Waking up early was a struggle for both of them. Gemma hated how many fights it caused and how it would make Arlo clam up. “I need help.” Gemma finally admitted to Harry one night on the phone. She hated admitting it and desperately wanted to have everyone believe she could do this on her own. 

“How can I help?” Harry asked her, sensing his sister’s stress through the phone. 

“Could you get Arlo ready in the morning and take him to school? All he does is fight with me and I don’t know if I can do another morning like we had today” Gemma's voice cracking at the mention of what happened earlier that morning.

Harry felt his chest constrict, images of Gemma stressed and Arlo upset filtered through his mind. “Of course. How about I come get him and he can stay the night with me. It sounds like you both need a break from each other.” he offered, much to Gemma’s relief. 

“Yeah, I’d love that. I think he would too.” Gemma agreed, fiddling with the frayed edge of her shirt. 

“Cool, pack a bag for him and I’ll be there in ten.” Harry instructed, hanging up the phone.

Walking around his house really fast, he double checked that things were picked up that he didn’t want Arlo messing with. Needless to say it’s the quickest he’s ever child proofed his home. Satisfied with how things looked he grabbed his car keys off the hook by the door, driving down to Gemma’s house.

He could hear Arlo crying as he walked up to the door, sparking a wave of worry through him. Walking through the front door without knocking, he could hear Gemma’s voice blended in with Arlo’s cries, “Arlo, stop it you’ve got to put on your shoes!” she sternly said. 

Following the noise into the living room, Harry couldn’t hold back the sadness in his eyes. Gemma looked disheveled and exhausted, Arlo’s face was bright red with fat tears streaming down his face. He stood there for a moment watching Gemma take Arlo by the ankle and try to put his shoe on, only to be kicked and screamed at. Harry could see Gemma grow more frustrated the longer Arlo continued to struggle. Groaning loudly, she threw the shoe down in frustration, putting her head in her hands to try and not cry herself.

Harry quietly approached them, sitting down next to Gemma, “Go get a drink Gemma I’ll handle it okay?” he softly said, rubbing Gemmas back gently. Gemma looked at Harry with glossy, tired eyes, nodding and getting up without saying a word. 

Once Gemma left the room, Harry turned to Arlo who was still crying on the couch. “Hey Bub, do you want to come have a sleepover with me?” Harry gently asked, giving him a soft smile. 

Arlo’s sobs quietted some, nodding at Harry while he wiped his face with his shirt. 

Trying not to cringe, Harry gave him a small smile, “Okay, well to have a sleepover with me you’ve got to put your shoes on. Can you do that for me?” he watched Arlo carefully think about it till he nodded again. Harry beamed at him, “Excellent choice Bub.” he praised him, picking up the shoe Gemma had previously thrown, sliding it onto Arlo’s foot with no fighting. Sliding on his other shoe, he gently patted his foot, “Okay, now I need you to go grab your bag.” he instructed. 

Arlo nodded, sliding off the couch and heading to his room where Gemma had left his bag.

Gemma stood there on the other side of the living room, a sullen look on her face. 

Harry turned to her and gave her a sympathetic smile, patting the floor next to him for Gemma to sit with him. 

Returning to her spot next to Harry, Gemma took a long sip of her wine, setting the glass down on the rug they sat on. “I wish he would listen to me that easily.” Gemma said after a beat of silence. 

Harry snorted a laugh and looked over at her, “Mom said that about us as kids.” he pointed out. 

Gemma groaned, putting her head against her bent knees “This really is karma for me being such a crazy kid.” she sighed. 

Harry patted her shoulder “Bad days come with good days.” he reassured. 

Arlo came rushing back into the living room, bag in tow along with his blanket and the stuffed bee. 

“He’s slept with that every night since he got it.” Gemma said in reference to the stuffed animal. 

Harry smiled fondly at his nephew “I bet it's a great cuddle buddy.” he said, standing from his spot on the ground. 

“Tell your Mum bye Bub.” pushing Arlo towards Gemma a little, they both stared at each other. Gemma accepted that Arlo was still shutting her out since he refused to move and give her a hug. 

Giving her son a small smile instead, she looked back up at Harry, “His book bag is by the front door and his lunchbox is on the counter in the kitchen.”

Harry nodded, “I’ll grab them. And please, relax some and enjoy your time alone.” he encouraged, guiding Arlo to the door.

Gemma later texted Harry a long winded thank you for coming to her rescue, Harry sent her back a photo of Arlo asleep in his bed cuddled up to his bumble bee. Gemma would never admit it but she cried that evening, feeling like Harry had taken a giant boulder off her chest.

The next morning, Harry got up a little bit before Arlo, making him his breakfast then waking him up. “I got oatmeal ready for you Bub.” Harry softly whispered, rubbing Arlo’s back to wake him up. The thought of food quickly had Arlo sitting up and ready to get out of bed. 

He followed Harry to the table where they both sat and ate breakfast. Arlo was quick to finish his food, now wide awake and ready to start his day. Harry was pleased to see his mood was better than it was last night and hoped it would carry through the day and evening when Gemma had him again. 

Taking the last bite of his own food, he gathered their dishes and took them to the sink to worry about later. “Okay dude, let's get dressed and ready to go!” He said in an upbeat tone.

He was thankful Arlo was being so easy for him this morning, giving him no trouble about getting dressed, brushing his teeth, or brushing his hair. Once he had Arlo ready he sat him in front of the TV to watch some morning cartoons so he could get ready. And if he took a little longer to get ready in case he saw you, he’d never admit it.

The ride to school was just as easy. Harry didn’t have to get out to take Arlo in but he was lucky enough to see you walking to the building. “Good morning Ms.Honey!” he called out to you, waving his hand. Waving back at him and giving him a welcoming smile, you said hello back to him, softly giggling at his goofy smile. “Hope to see Gemma and You tonight at the open house!” you said, getting a nod from him. 

“Wouldn’t miss it.” he confidently said, making your smile bigger. 

“Have a good day Harry.” giving him a small departing wave, he returned it, “You too.” he called back.

Bringing Arlo’s stuff back to Gemma’s house, Harry let himself in, surprised to see Gemma already awake. “I thought you’d sleep in.” he said, setting the bag down on the couch. 

“I ended up going to bed after I texted you last night. I apparently needed to sleep more than I thought.” Gemma told him, pouring herself another cup of coffee. She looked a lot more rested and calm, easing Harry’s worry if things might be too much for her. 

“Well anytime you need help I’m always willing to take him.” Harry said, grabbing his own mug from the cabinet and making himself some coffee. “Oh! Arlo has an Open House tonight at his school.” Harry said, mixing in the sugar and cream to his coffee. 

“Fuck, I’m so glad you reminded me. I totally forgot.” Gemma said, pinching the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut. “I swear I’m losing it.” she mumbled. 

“We all do every now and then.” Harry reasoned. “Ms.Honey actually told me about it this morning. Said she hopes to see us there.” Harry was now facing Gemma, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Us huh?” Gemma said with a smug grin. 

Harry rolled his eyes, “I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.” he huffed in a pouty manner.  

Gemma chuckled, “Don’t pout like I just kicked you. You can come.” she assured. 

Later that evening Harry, Gemma, and Arlo headed back to the school. Harry was carrying two trays of cookies in a plastic grocery bag, much to the amusement of Gemma. 

“You know we didn’t have to bring anything right?” Gemma said, getting Arlo out of the car and walking towards the school entrance, Harry right behind them. 

He shrugged, “Somebody’s gotta be the teacher’s pet.” he said, making Gemma laugh.

“Welcome guys! Head over to Arlo’s desk and make sure you grab the packet I have there for you. And enjoy socializing with the other parents.” your cheery voice making butterflies swarm in Harry’s stomach. 

“I brought these for a snack if anyone wants them” Harry said, handing you the bag. 

Gently placing your hand over your heart, you couldn’t help but ‘awe’ vocally at him. “Aren’t you just the sweetest? I’ll set them out, thank you!” taking the bag from him, you set them out on an open desk. 

Gemma elbowed Harry to get his attention, giving him a thumbs up, making him roll his eyes despite the smile on his face and the soft blush on his cheeks. 

You floated around the classroom talking with other parents, letting them become more acquainted with you and answer any questions they may have. Harry watched you, mesmerized by how easily you talked with the parents and eased any worries they had about their kids. You were a natural at this and it was clear to him how strong your passion was for teaching your class.

Feeling someone looking at you, your eyes scanned the room till they locked with Harry’s. He quickly looked away, and tried to pretend he was in the conversation Gemma was having with another Mom. Shaking your head and giggling, you made your way over to Arlo’s desk. 

“It’s so nice to see you two again. How are things going so far with Arlo?” you asked, now having both Gemma and Harry’s attention. 

“Well, they’re going. Mornings are hard for him and I.” Gemma said, glancing from Arlo to you. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not much of a morning person either.” you sympathized. “You’re doing a great job though. He had some extra energy this morning so whatever you did differently made a big difference to his typically quiet attitude I see.” Harry puffed out his chest with pride while Gemma rolled her eyes. 

“That was all me.” Harry said proudly. 

You looked at him with an impressed expression, “Well bravo. I enjoyed his extra energy this morning. It was well needed to perk up the rest of the class. He had everyone ready to have fun today.” you praised. 

Harry’s heart swelled with pride, “Guess more sleepovers are in our future Bub.” Harry said to Arlo, making him bounce happily in his seat. 

You chuckled, moving your gaze from Arlo back to Harry and Gemma, “Did any of you have any questions for me?”. Gemma shook her head ‘no’ while you could sense Harry hesitating. 

“Um, would I be allowed to volunteer to help with field trips and school events?” he asked. 

You happily nodded, “Of course! We can always use more volunteers!” you exclaimed. “Whenever we have something planned there will always be a note sent home about it. Just reach out and let me know if you’re able to help.” you encouraged and he nodded. 

“I like those little honeycomb signs you have hanging by the board. I didn’t notice them last time.” Harry said, pointing to some of the encouraging phrases you had hung around the room in honeycomb clusters. 

The phrases he pointed to repeatedly gave examples of the power of the word ‘yet’. This doesn’t make sense YET. I do not understand this YET. I can’t do this YET. This does not work YET. I don’t know how YET. “Add the word yet to the end of your sentence and you can do anything you set your mind to.” Harry read aloud. 

You smiled, looking from the walk back to him, “I’m glad you like it. The way we speak to our kiddos can make a huge difference. A lot of the time it just takes a simple word to turn things around.” you said, not knowing how much that resonated with Harry and Gemma after the night they had with Arlo. You made it seem so effortless and easy to navigate. 

“Ms. Honey, you’re an answered prayer.” Gemma told you, trying to express how thankful she was without getting too personal. 

Looking down at the floor, you smiled bashfully before looking back up at them, “I’m always here to help if you need it.” you said, wanting to acknowledge the unspoken words between you both without directly saying anything. “It takes a village after all.” you pointed out, laughing as Harry threw his hands up. 

“See I told you!” he exclaimed to Gemma. 

“Shut up before I make you take him again tonight.” Gemma half threatened, smirking at Harry’s ruffle state. 

“Pft, fine. He likes my oatmeal better anyways. Ain’t that right Bub!” Harry said. 

Arlo nodded, giving a confident “Yes!” in response. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at the interaction “I don’t blame you Arlo. Oatmeal is an awesome breakfast choice when made by the right person.” you said to him, looking over to Harry and giving him a wink. 

Harry blushed once again, feeling like a silly teenager doing all this innocent but playful flirting. “I’ll make sure he comes again tomorrow in an excited mood.” Harry said, ruffling Arlo’s hair. 

Smiling at him, you nodded, “I look forward to it.”

TAG LIST: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @justlemmeadoreyou @squirreljoe

[peachyqueenly]

well i'd love to hear about your thoughts.

i'm relatively new to the fandom, and always sort of liked the kind of sad tale they had about how Hollyberry basically tried to throw away her past life, before realizing that it was a bad idea. The fact that she apparently had such a complex and detailed secret life, with cookies who might not even know her real name. who might not know what happened to her-That was always interesting to me.

Yea very much agreed. Her entire life and dynamic with all the cookies in the story (Pitaya, Wildberry, Tarte Tatin, Marge, the npcs, etc) goes so much beyond romance and its been such an interesting read. Like, she's this fun loving grandma who. While she was a queen, didn't bear the weight of responsibility for the crown that say Cacao and even PV did. Even abandoning it to live this life as Pinkberry Cookie. There is so many more layers to it than just the Pitaya interactions and I wish that got more attention.

She has a complicated relationship with Pitaya that, while isn't overly antagonistic, has strain that shows from their previous affairs in the Hollyberry Kingdom. And I think thats so much more of an interesting read than the popular depiction I've been seeing (personally, I should stress). This goes double for Wildberry who its a shame some have reduced his discomfort with Pitaya down to whatever they have... he has such interesting and valid reasons to be the way he is with Pitaya and its just not properly discussed.

TLDR; I think a lot of the nuance of this update has kinda been lost which is a real shame. Cause the things its proposing for all the characters involved (even Lily who I could write a new thesis on what this adds to her) are so interesting. And it just kinda feels like its being reduced to shipping fodder when thats not... really the point of it? Like I get the SeaMoon bond story and the MintCocoa story being read like they were but here... there is so much missed potential when the focus is being placed purely on romance.

Idk I'm trying not to sound like this is ship bashing cause its REALLLLLLY not that. Ship to your hearts content. To me anyway, its just a shame when shipping overshadows the actual point of a story in any fandom--

[kuekyuuq]

One of the things that bug me about how CWSG ended...

And no, it's not (just) a certain lacking endgame XD

We've got a serialized show about Supergirl, Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers. And yet the show spent overall so little time on her.

She got traumatized several times over, it got implied that she suffers from claustrophobia and PTSD. Yet it was never fully addressed, the next episode Kara just moved on, carried about - as if this was an episodic show. Which, yes, with the freak-of-the-week nature it was at certain points, but it also did in many others aim to have connected and continuous plots, story and character developments...

Now, what is it that bugs me in this installment?

Kara coming out to the world as Supergirl. Aaaand cut. Show over.

Is this a continuation or inevitable destination of Kara's struggles? Well, I argue, no.

What we did have was Kara struggling to find her place in the world. Kara is many things. She's a (no longer) orphan. She's (no longer) the last daughter of Krypton. Kara(thought she was but really is no more) the last Kryptonian to carry Krypton’s legacy, history, culture, education.. everything.

... Kara is Kryptonian. Was raised as one until she was 13, throughout the majority of her informative years. Kara Zor-El. Kara has incredible powers, which her very nature dictates she uses for good, become a hero. Supergirl. Kara is.. a refugee, adopted and in some ways till the end of the show at times struggling to fully integrate herself as: Kara Danvers. Kara's nature, without her powers also have her to strive to help others, uncover and fight bad things. A reporter. Kara's also just the girl who loves musicals, Big Belly Burger, Karaoke, hates greens, wants a perfect partner at Game Night... Just Kara. Kara is a sister. Kara is a daughter. Kara is a loyal friend...

Several times in the show, whenever Kara was struggling, Kara thought she had to chose between Supergirl or Kara Danvers.

The Black Mercy clearly showed Kara’s longing to be Kara Zor-El, missing the what-if.

During her redK incident some more seeds of that were sown, her red-veined self mildly risking her identity - but mostly showing that Kara was unhappy playing herself down (e.g. as Kara Danvers at work).

The downside of revealing herself was depicted in the 100th episode.

There were more instances whenever Kara became overwhelmed, that she wondered if her duality (person vs. persona) was the cause of her problems. 

But the solution was NEVER to go full Supergirl! 

It was always something else. ALWAYS, the show, told us, showed us, Kara was ultimately happier being bouncy Kara Danvers at the office and the proud hero on the streets.  That despite her pain and whichever most recent trauma, neither her cape nor the glasses were the problem. Nor was the double-act. [...except when it came to Lena]

Kara considered going full-time Supergirl in season 6 (episode 16), too. Alex and William (quoting Kara who quoted Cat) talked her out of it by letting her know, she can have it all, taking one step at a time, and maybe not all at once - because she's got a team, a family! 

And then she does it anyway.

She also becomes editor-in-chief at CatCo (which likely cuts down her investigative reporting time by a great chunk... You know, the very thing she loved about the job, loved so much it even - temporarily - did cost her that very job).

Oh, and there was also this:

The argument was made, that the whole double-life spiel had long since lead to Kara no longer knowing who she really was.

But did it?

I mean... yeah, it sure can be stressful at times, but... right, speaking of stress. Kara made that decision after

being part of reshaping the universe (and having witnessed the death of all of them beforehand!)

which reshaped Kara's history she now has no knowledge of (due to being a Paragon) or, if J'onn or her stay in the fractured PZ somehow bestowed her with her Prime-Earth memories, she now has two sets of memories...

she had been cast into the Phantom Zone again, where she had to suffer at the hands... claws... of the Phantoms and their nightmare inducing powers which are known to drive people insane for them eventually no longer being able to tell reality and the nightmare apart.

she found out her father was still alive and she sent him off to Argo / her mother - her family now well, whole and alive somewhere out in the universe

loosing yet another friend (William)

...

So, she tells the world she's Supergirl,

which will not erase the in episode 100 mentioned threats to her fam's lives

while the Children Of Liberty had been beheaded, the mistrust in people is still around

two years prior, during the Red Daughter incident, she had been declared public enemy number one

her sister's got a kid

ALL her prior reasons not to do so, have not magically evaporated!

I know, she's the Paragon of Hope, but...

People know Supergirl. Only very few know Kara Danvers. Hardly anyone on Earth ever knew about Kara Zor-El.

So, ask yourself, after revealing herself to the world, how would/will people perceive her now?

I think it's very naive to think, that Kara can be "herself" when people (at Al's bar, Noonans, work, performing the rare interview she manages to squeeze in between supering and her new, demanding job at CatCo) now either get star-struck or nervous at "meeting Supergirl", or at worst can't think past her being an (over-powered) alien. Supergirl is (in)FAMOUS! There is only Supergirl now, in the eye of the public, to anyone she meets. ...how could that possibly help her be more “herself”? The only people who she can be herself are the ones she could all along - her friends and family.  If anything it made going for a walk much more stressful, whereas Kara Danvers could eat ice cream without judging her for the messy way she may go about it in her eagerness... 

Is she being more honest?

Yes. There’s no more need to “fly on the bus”, am I rite? No more lies. 

Does this lead to her being more true to herself?

...on the surface at least, yes.

Does this lead to her being able to live as herself, her true and authentic self?

No, and not for some decades either (eventually, far away in the future, her having taken that step, and others following her example, this may very well lead to people not making distinctions anymore, being a Hero possibly just becoming considered yet another job, like a fireman/-woman or police officer).

Just a few years ago they've built the woman a friggin statue!

So, no. I do not think - and the show has not given me anything to believe otherwise, rather kept affirming my conclusion - that Kara would indeed be able to live as "herself" after the finale episode and her public "coming out".

I think the writers or whoever was in charge of that decision only saw the superficial symbolism (and a woke pro-LGTBQ+ implication). But they've entirely ignored Kara's path, her evolution and her experiences.

Truth be told, if there had been a seventh season after this cliffhanger (which it essentially was, as it raised more questions than it provided answers and/or closure), it would have had to have featured Kara facing the plenty-fold backlash of that decision. But making the show about Kara - the character - may have been a bit too much to ask for anyway... Maybe even culminating in her needing to call back Mxy to cash in her do-over raincheck.

So, no.

I see what the show was trying to say.

"Be yourself, don't hide, be proud." And that IS a good message.

But within the context of the show? Oh, boi, this one failed hard IMO.

My advice for Kara Danvers? 

TAKE A VACATION! Really, just be "Kara" for a while. No Super, no Danvers, no Zor-El. Just kick up your legs, DEAL with your trauma (talk to Kelly!), clean up shop, find your center, focus on your needs for a while.

Go sing Karaoke with your extended found family. Eat buckets of ice cream. Watch every musical in existence. Maybe even go and visit your re-united parents! Go on a road-trip with your bestie. 🥷 Finally take some time off to mourn: Red Daughter, William, Jeremiah (for good), Oliver... Go meet your nephews! There's two of them now, and they are teens already!

Trust your friends, trust in them having your back, that the world won't get destroyed (again) just because you take a few months of a sabbatical or to just limit yourself to rescuing kittens and helping grandmas cross the streets for a while. Maybe you'll even find a hook for a story to snag yourself another Pulitzer while you're just out there enjoying the world.

And yes, just ENJOY the world you've saved (over and over and over and...) for once! There's so much beauty in it. Prove to yourself why it is all worth it!

Because, Kara is NOT just Supergirl OR Kara Danvers OR just Kara...

She's all of the above and so much more.

Revealing herself to the world is not changing that it isn’t an instant solution to Kara's multitude of problems, her traumas, her inner(!) duality (tripality? quadrality?...).

The seasons have put her through the ringer several times over without giving her a chance to breathe, have thrown trauma, drama, loss, grief, shock and terror at her over and over and over again. She's a former last Kryptonian orphan refugee adopted by humans who has her parents back but estranged by time and space, facing xenophobia, racism, sexism (lots of 'isms...) left and right, had to face, fight and lose her own "evil" twin, possibly contradicting memories of her teenage years up to Crisis, keeps losing even when she's winning, spreads herself way too thin because of Big Bads constantly showing up....

For Rao's sake! The girl really doesn't know who she is anymore!

And it only on the surface leads back to her being a reporter and a Super both day and night.

There is a reason the comic book arc of Superman revealing himself got retconned / axed. ...after all, if I grasped that correctly, it was Lex' great idea for Sups to reveal himself to the world...

And no. I don't think either Cat nor Lena meant for Kara to come out like that. They were being supportive. Cat in her "you need to figure out what you want, so just dive, Kara!" way and Lena in the more gentle "whatever you feel is right to you, my one true love best friend" approach. Cat was trying to push Kara (meant well, but IMO after the previous events just wrapped up, a bit of a bad timing). And Lena was ...kinda enabling, having just come on the other end of her own life-long trauma spiel and possibly being over-supportive after the year of hell...

So yeah, I've got issues with the last few minutes of the finale. In my head-canon it was Kara's fever dream after she finally had a full night's sleep after the final show-down.

Feel free to disagree!

TL;DR:

“I was missing the point. It is not about what you do. It is about who you love.” 

- Cat Grant [2x21]

#Kue out.

[fanelectricboogieloo]

Lancebolt a Nomadic Dwarf fortress

ok currently in my DF50 Nomad (traveling through the world using dfhack to manipulate the fort site’s global min/max x/y coords) style experience I decided to send a bunch of Dwarves into the caverns to travel through them.

long effort post down below

uhh it ended up with the starting group getting mauled,

leaving them behind (taking the wagon and just literally leaving them behind) for a couple of human monster slayers and trekking it on the surface scooping visitors who wanted to explore the caverns,

traveled deep into the hilltop to start seeing the mounds (the dirt hole homes the dwarves live in) and decided to settle into testing if I could recruit the non-historical figure having citizens of the hilltop to my fort. Then uhh during the experiment to see if I could get more citizens I ended up gathering migrants and visitors from the treetops for a bit due to the original embark’s nanofort size and the trees growing lil to closely to the edge of the map causing visitors to show up in the tree branches.

while everything was a bit chill 3 invasions hit one of them being some necromancer showing up to reanimate some horse and dip.  the zombie horse mostly fended off the human invasion army of 2 people while the goblin one went in to ask for a parley which also ended with them murdering the goblin snatchers that came along after I accepted the parley which may have broken the process of giving them stuff. any way the experiment proved that hist figs are required for friendly units to even petition otherwise you just get a bunch of friendly faces that just stand there. the invasions depleted the population of 50+ back down to 12 which led to me slow marching the group out of the hilltop after causing so many bodies many being the citizens dying from the zombie horse assault... oh yeah during all that I ended up picking up an undead elf who shown up during the goblin siege, and I sent a werebeast goblin off to conquer some site which may or may not spark one of the invaders, the werebeast goblin had never return so it’s consider a boon. during the trek out of the hilltop I spotted a tunnel system and decided to go back to the cavern fort trek plan again with a bit more folks(the number jump up to 30) and a bit more wiser on building a bunker for the dwarves to live in so they don’t get jump while waiting for the map to shift to the next location.

art depicting what usually the small hole in the wall that stores a wagon.

the road arc of this session was interesting as I notice some interesting things on my travels like a burning pile of webs which led to learning that the roads intersect the gem cluster map events by paving a road through the gem cluster box and causing the game to activate the event on map load. I learn of this being the case when I spotted a demon in the middle of the road

this cavy humanoid made of coral fought and killed a giant bat and was really interested in the crammed pack of people behind a sealed door. so after some thinking I botched a plan to just dig away and just unload the map when the group double back and assault the cavy coral beast, the undead elf from earlier pop the cavy’s head off their body with a pickaxe. 

so after that event I was starting to feel like I should find the next settlement to probably end the run, and realize the tunnels like placing zigzag roads for going diagonal which mostly for my nomad setup means I’m burning seasons to make a right or left turn for 2 spaces. after a while of following the tunnel roads I got a sudden death by old age and it was one of my human civilians dying at uhh 87? with the remaining humans being around 44, 50ish and 61. this being a wake-up call to see how far I am on the world map I stop and pop open the embark menu and charted down the trek path I took.

so at this point I decided to just jump off the tunnels and just continue going west(still in the caverns) in hopes of finding a fort to hang out in.

during the off-road journey to the west I found a pack of ant people chilling, feeling hospitable I setup a mini tavern to rest and had the citizens entertain the group.

... I forgot about the caged vampire dwarf stored in the wagon... uhh so weird side-story I think the vampire dwarf got founded when I notice their name was different when I was trying to nickname them.

So Shem got persecuted by some religious baroness that pretty much been hated for their crusade which made me feel like Shem should get revenge... also only found out about Shem identity when they assisted in defending the fort during the invasion which is how I pinpointed which dwarf Shem was. So with a lil powers of dfhackery I summoned the baroness to the fort which I convict them to a crime they didn’t commit... as well as convicting Shem to a crime they confessed and had both of them lock up in cages, this was done during the hilltop arc and both of them were stored in the wagon ever since. the baroness later waste away from Dehydration while the vampire still alive just probably extremely thirsty. Any way this experience of playing somewhat vanilla dwarves... in an extremely entity modded world with Elephant-people having access to dragons and giant whales and other creatures.  Is pretty fun and has been scratching that adv mode itch I been getting since DF50 started with out it. though nomad style does give a refreshing different feel to DF that reminds me of the old advfort days. as eventful this fort is it also like the side fort to the one with a bunch of elephant people and a giraffe person.

[robbyrobinson]

(SPOILERS) Belos' Fate is Immensely Satisfying

So, for lack of a better word, did like most of what we got from Watching and Dreaming even though, to me at least, it was obvious that they were pressed for time and had to rush things due to Disney. Of particular note, I was immensely satisfied with how Belos/Philip was taken down.

I have heard some that did state that they wanted a flashback of Belos and Caleb or more confirmation of what actually happened, but, how I see it, the story of the Wittebane brothers was truly irrelevant. How the show itself depicts, it is more or less a "here is what you should know, but this is merely supplemental."

Sure, Caleb's "betrayal" was one of the main reasons why Belos resented the Isles, but when you really dissect Belos as a character, you would know that even though he idolized his older brother at some point, his unquenchable hatred for magic and witches was his true motivations.

Of course, that is because Belos was born under a Puritan doctrine and had to become more prejudiced to fit in with the social norm, but he had 400 years to let go of that hatred it is because he is so delusional and convinced that his cause is righteous, he was unable to break away. So when his brother fell in love with a witch, he could not handle it.

He could have told Luz or maybe Hunter even about the deep pain that he felt when he rammed the knife into his brother, but he had to keep internalizing and doubling down that his brother was corrupted by the Isles. So, of course, he had to put him out of his memory. It was Caleb's fault for what happened not his.

And yet, he wanted his brother back which would suggest that he cares about him. But, the issue there is that he wanted the idealistic take on his brother back: a fellow witch hunter who shared his hatred and righteous ideology. His actual brother was never of his concern: he truly desired a completely loyal brother, one who was subservient to him and would never, ever "betray" him demonstrating that he despises his actual brother.

I loved how Belos' death was undignified: rather than some big, world-shaking explosion doing him in, he is instead stomped into oblivion. This was the appropriate end for him. Should he have been done in any other way, that would have reinforced in his mind that he was the hero of the story becoming a martyr in his self-appointed quest to eradicate witches again not out of any well-intentions but because he would be praised forever for his "selflessness." Him murdering his brother? Creating Grimwalkers to kill later on? Drinking the essences of so many palismen until he no longer registered as human? All necessary sacrifices as far as he was concerned.

But...Luz does not deliver the final blow to him. She does not even acknowledge him as he's begging for her assistance. After all, why should she? Belos is a pathological liar who had lied so many times that his carefully structured house of cards gradually began to bend and break under the weight of his many, many lies. He lied to the people of the Boiling Isles by claiming to speak to the Titan. He lied to Hunter. He lied to the coven heads about them getting some new world where they are royalty.

The biggest lies, however, are the ones he tells himself. He is not a hero. Nothing he had done was for a righteous cause. He murdered his brother in cold blood. He is not even human anymore: the boiling rain melting his body eroded his human disguise as Philip Wittebane depriving him of dying as a human. With the weight of his lies crashing on his head, Belos' narcissism is all he had left to hang onto. Luz had grown tired of his lies instead seeing him as a blotch on the world she loves. Eerily, her lack of a response is the same that he had gotten when he hallucinated seeing his brother's ghost and all the ghosts of the Grimwalkers. No one was giving him the time of day and indulging in his "greatness." He tries to take advantage of Luz's compassion. That is the level of entitlement most common with narcissists. Even the "fellow human" thing rings hollow.

He does not even know what being human means. Sure, as a term of species, he was a human (not anymore), and he did understand Luz's compassion, but he could never fully understand why his actions were wrong. He likely thought "making amends" with Luz was his way of avoiding being held accountable rather than understanding that what makes someone "human" is their willingness to sacrifice themselves for others and stand against oppression. He could call himself a human as much as he wanted, but he did not understand what it meant on a deeper, spiritual level.

To me, that probably hurt him more than actually being snuffed out of existence: his body would eventually be in for a long-overdue decomposition, but he could at the least rest his soul knowing that people will remember him as the great "witch hunter general" who had singlehandedly freed the world of witchcraft. Instead, his legacy would be expunged from history as the Isles moves on from his regime. Instead of the hero, he was instead a horrific nightmare that will vanish once people woke up.

[wellknownfact]

Without Distributor-led Changes on Compression, 4K Just Doesn't Matter

tl;dr Video signals seen by most content consumers are grossly compressed and therefore obscures content intended by their creators that are never delivered to their intended audiences. I call for content distributor transparency in the manner and degree of their compression technology, and a means by which customers can elect to get the maximum viewing experience possible. And advertisers should be noisily clmmering for the same for their paid ads, which are no less affected, and in many cases, are delivered under worse conditions.

I'll admit it. I was a tech nerd growing up. I was the president of my high school video club. This is no embarrassment. This disclosure to you, dear Reader, is in the service of conveying that I'm sitting on more than 30 years of first-hand nerdery about how the technology of TV, and behind TV, works.

From the vantage of 2022 it's easy to disparage the stone age of NTSC analog-signal television of the late-20th Century. But missing in that conversation is just how good a 525i analog signal could be. And that was much, much better than the downsampled digital versions of 20th-Century content readily seen today. Put another way, TV in the second half of the 20th Century was not cause for mass complaint of poor image quality.

I say that because, in the stone age depicted as over-the-air, analog color TV, signal compression artifacts weren't a thing. Sure, there might be a degree of degradation due to atmospheric conditions (i.e., a bit of static noise in the signal), but on the whole, if your set was getting a strong signal--and in analog that is a relative term, to be sure--you could have a very fine, no compromises viewing experience, indeed.

Fast forward to digitally broadcast TV, and with it, the proliferation of video compression techniques designed to squeeze more channels down limited pipe. This is where the story gets literally, and not metaphorically, fuzzy.

At the dawn of digital transmissions in the early 2000s, a child in my house watched a lot of Dora the Explorer. Too much, probably. It was also around that time that a relative of mine worked at the Viacom satellite uplink facility outside of New York City, where the signal for dozens of networks was delivered to the bird (i.e., satellite) in the sky.

For every one of those dozens of Viacom channels, there was a console with a human operator looking at a monitor to make sure the feed was being delivered to the satellite equipment cleanly. Rows and rows of these workstations--think a dimly-lit version of NASA's Houston Mission Control.

Walking up and down the aisles of consoles tuned to different networks, what caught my eye was Dora. I did a double take because what I saw on the monitor tuned to Nick Jr. changed my impression of mass transmitted video forever. What I was seeing in that control center was the pre-compressed signal. At 525i, it was glorious. A very sharp picture with eye-popping color. Not at all like the murky, fuzzy experience of that same content in my home living room, delivered courtesy of compression by half-a-dozen systems between that Viacom network center and my in-home cable box.

It got me thinking about the various video compression experiments at that time pitted in a kind of technology survival of the fittest: Outwit, Outlast, Outplay.

Fast forward 20 years to the current state of terrestrial cable TV, satellite TV, and over-the-top (OTT) streaming, the results have been mixed: the sheer volume of content available today thanks to compression is unprecedented. At the same time, the picture quality--and more importantly to many--the fidelity of the original signal to what makes it to your smart TV, PC or other viewing device has been, underwhelming at best, and frequently disappointing.

A careful observer will notice signal dropouts, compression artifacts and some lack of definition that collectively make the signal fuzzy and blocky all at once. Today when I watch streaming 4K video on my LG Smart TV, the show content looks glorious, but the first 5 or 10 seconds of each commercial is unwatchable. After a moment, the high compression signal gives way to a higher bandwidth, lower compression signal that looks like the HD content the advertiser expected. But still surely less awesome than the original file delivered to the broadcaster.

(As an aside, I wonder how little telemetry from these partially degraded ads are ever delivered back to the paying advertisers. I would suspect that there would be a lot more make-good ads being delivered by OTT broadcasters if paying advertisers had full visibility into what little of the first few seconds of their ads many customers can see.)

While my TV of choice at home is labeled as 4K, unless I directly plug in a 4K camera to an input jack on the back of the display, I'm not seeing the richness and fidelity intended by the originating content producer. This is why the 4K image a shopper sees on the showroom floor is oozing of contrast and quality and nothing at home seems to compare. If the retailer has an in-store demo display unit set-up to spec, the in-store customer is seeing as close to an uncompressed, high dynamic range, ultra high definition signal, at max refresh rate and every bit of the Energy Star-certified auto-dimming energy saving features turned off. Importantly, that shopper may notice you're definitely not watching live TV from a cable or satellite provider--it's an on-site source running an uncompressed (or very lightly compressed) signal on a demo loop designed to tweak the available color gamut to its max.

If you haven't seen an uncompressed 4K signal live on a soundstage, inside a news studio, or in creating your own raw content with all quality metrics cranked to 11, it's hard to describe what you've been missing. Even a casual observer will notice details easily discerned in an uncompressed 4K video signal that don't stand a chance at making it through the meat grinder of commercial transmission compression.

My holiday wish is that cable companies, satellite providers, OTT providers and others would be transparent about the compression being used in their operation. It is an important factor that is easily overlooked. Until that happens, I will stare up at my live sports and streaming content with a wary eye, knowing that there is a better version available at the sacrifice of bandwidth. I'd love to have the option to experience a new tier of service that maximizes my image quality for the tradeoff of the unavailability of other content. I suspect there are quite a number of people who would pay a premium for that, too. Cable and satellite companies--are you listening?

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Could you maybe write something with dark dark Steve who has a huge size kink and crying kink and loves to humiliate?

School Days

Note: sorry it took so long. been kinda down. also hope i did OK with humiliation.

Summary: Co-worker makes you feel uncomfortable.

Warning: 18+Only, short reader, size kink, crying kink, humiliation kink, non consent, forced fingering and cock warming i think

Dark Coach Steve x Short Teacher Reader

📚

You had always had a love of teaching. Growing up your friends would always groan when it was your turn to pick what to play, because you always chose to play school.

You knew exactly what you wanted to do when you got to college. You wanted to shape young minds. It was fascinating watching them grow and learn right before your very eyes.

Shelby elementary hired you two years after you received all of your certificates. Replacing their beloved Mrs.Pepper Potts after she moved out of town with her husband.

You taught first graders. You preferred teaching the lower grades. The higher grades were a bit difficult. Competing for attention when most of the students where dealing with raging hormones proved an exhausting endeavor. Your short stature became a reoccurring issue too. During your student teacher days you realized the taller they got the more they seemed to not take you seriously.

At least working with the lower grades you were less likely to be confused as a student. You had lost track of how many times you were stopped in the hall by a colleague. With the lower grades you towered over your class and commanded respect with little effort.

📚

You felt exhausted. Your first parent teacher meeting was over. It was endearing and encouraging that so many parents had so many concerns about the development of their little ones. But their critiques on your credentials didn't fail to strike a nerve, an issue new teachers faced all the time. You smiled through it as you normally did. Letting them have their back handed remarks as you answered and waited out the clock.

When it was all over you needed a drink. You cleared up the mess they left for you, a preview of what to expect from their spawn.

When everything was in its place you tackled the blackboard. Taking out your stool you stood on tip toes erasing. You had the bright idea of outlining your curriculum on the board for all the parents to view. It was hard getting it all on the massive board, but with your step stool you got as high as you could go.

"Hey! Whoa you know that's dangerous." A voice rushed to your side as your stool tilted.

"Are you OK little one?" he asked helping you down.

God he's tall. You barely came eye to eye with his chest. You tensed in his arms and when he realized his mistake he released you.

"Oh sorry" he rubbed the back of his head slightly embarrassed. "I'm Steve Rogers." He reached out a hand for you to shake. You took it and introduced yourself. His firm grip swallowed your hand, when he squeezed you held in the hurt from the pressure.

Steve's presence was intimidating despite the smile he wore. When he released your hand, you took as step back, but he stepped forward.

He is just a close talker. Don't over analyze.

"Sorry again with your clothes I just assumed you were..." He motioned at your clothing.

Taking inspiration from Ms Frizz, your favorite animated teacher, you always wore colorful puffy skirts that depicted various things related to education or fairy tails. The look kept the attention of the youngsters, but it certainly didn't look childish.

"It's OK, but I am afraid you are a bit late for the meeting."

Spinning away you move to the other side of your desk to give yourself more space. "If you wouldn't mind filling in your information, encase of emergencies or special needs. I know you probably filled it out for the front office, but I like to have my own copy." You explained as you handed him a pen and the piece of construction paper with the other parents info.

He took it and filled it out. "I just erased the curriculum, but I can email you a copy."

"Did you also used to teach at Camdien?" Steve inquired, bending over your desk as he wrote. While you waited you packed up your belongings.

"Um yes I was a student teacher there. Did you have a child there too?"

"I coached there actually. Well was." He rose and approached you. Slipping your purse straps on your shoulder, you tried to remember if you seen his face before. You didn't recognize it. As striking as he was you doubted you would forget it.

But the athletic department lived in a world separate from the teachers. Their multiple championships brought in funding that went to their brand new athletic facility. The highly coveted building allowed them to live above the peasant class of the faculty. You had even heard a nonsensical rumor that they even had a Starbucks and onsite masseuse.

When he handed it back you reached out, but Steve pulled the paper just out of reach. Hovering it over your head like a bully playing keep away. You huff and frown after two attempts. You were not a child and would not be treated as such. Pursing your lips you made a move to leave. You would just go through the admin office to get the information.

"Aw don't pout, but I must say you do look adorable when you do." He smiled down at you as he blocked your retreat. His wholesome grin did not match the darkness in his eyes. There was a disconnect somewhere. You felt like a mouse before a lion. Were the other teachers like this? You were so eager to get started working you did little research in the school that so swiftly hired you. "Here you go."

Snatching the paper away you say, "thank you." It sounded slightly annoyed, but you did your best to choke down the edge.

Unhooking the lip of your bag you placed it with the others as his shadow clouded you. Ignoring it you side step him.

"Yeah I remember. I used to see you at Camdien." Steve recalled, blocking you once more. You stopped just short of bumping into him as you closed your bag. "Cute little thing, roaming the halls." Steve informed you, stepping closer once more, making you take a step back. The alarm bells blared in your head at that comment.

"Boy wasn't I relieved I wasn't crossing the line with all the thoughts I had." He chuckled as your back hit the chalkboard. You had to strain your neck to look him in the eye this close.

The principal was making his rounds soon. He wouldn't try anything right?

"Mr. Rogers-"

"Coach" he interrupted. He didn't touch you but that fact gave you very little relief. You felt your nails dig into your palm as you gripped the thin strap of your bag. Your arm the only barrier between you two. "Just call me Coach."

"Rogers!" Your saving grace, Principal Barnes, exclaimed from the door. Steve's body blocked you from James. "There you are. Nice to see your getting to know your colleagues."

"Yeah, just sharing stories from Camdien" Steve stepped aside to greet Principal James. His hand landed on the top of your head, messing your hair as he patted you playfully like a dog. You swallowed the discomfort as he moved to talk to James. You gathered the rest of your things as they focused their attention on each other.

"Oh yeah I forgot you both came from their."

You took that opportunity to make your exit. Walking fast mumbling a 'goodnight,' you bolted toward the door. They replied back, but you ignored it, allowing their chatter to fade the further down the hall you got.

📚

The first week of school was hectic. Lost students, late students, little accidents here and there, it ran the gambit. But nothing worried you more than P.E. period.

Steve was listed as your classes gym teacher and made the drop-off a chore. It surprised you how increasingly inappropriate he was becoming. Always stretching out your name flirtatiously in front of the children causing them to taunt you with 'OOO's, and pepper you with questions about the nonexistent relationship until you departed.

They stayed in line as you approached the double doors that led to the gymnasium. He was there, dressed in his sweat pants, gym shirt and the whistle dangled from his lips.

As you ushered them inside he caught site of you as he wrangled another group and smirked. It was unnerving especially when your students egged him on by making kissy noises loudly when they noticed him too. On one occasion he sent a note with one of your students asking you out. You ignored it.

You should've reported him you know, but what would they say 'Oh he was just being friendly' or any number of things to justify his behavior. You'd been in enough situations to know without evidence that met their standards nothing would happen.

📚

In the teachers lounge Steve made his presence known. You stared at your custom coffee mug as it sat high on the edge of the third shelf. You had half a mind to take and break his, as it taunted you from the first. You were growing more and more tired of his antics. This wasn't the first time and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

Two arms planted themselves on either side of you as something rested on your head.

It was him you knew it. Who else would it be?

"Need some help little one?" He hummed.

"God damn it Steve get off me" you barked You elbowed him, but the mountain of a man didn't budge.

"No need to be nasty."

You felt him push you into the counter, crushing you against it as he reached for your cup on the high shelf.

"Here you go" he said placing it daintily in front of you.

Calm down don't blow your lid he is doing this to fuck with you.

"Shouldn't you be watching my class?" You asked as you waited for him to move out of your way.

"Student teacher got me covered. You remember what that's like? Give them the work while we teachers kick back and relax."

He backed away allowing you to get the coffee, but stayed glued to your side. You ignored him, pulling out your phone and flopped on the couch, waiting for gym time to end.

Steve of course sat next to you crowding you into the corner. He boldly placed a hand on your thigh, you brushed it off, cursing at him to 'go away'. If you got up he would only follow so you crossed your legs and leaned into the arm of the couch. Don't let him get to you.

Steve stretched out his arm on the back of the couch. Even sitting next to you he towered over you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you in snugly. Your head resting against his tone chest. "God your so adorable."

"Steve!" you almost shriek at him as his other hand slyly crept under your skirt. "Jesus Christ what the hell is wrong with you."

You try to stand suddenly, but get jerked back down. Landing in the same awkward situation as before.

"Fuck you let me go" you hissed at him. He only chuckled as you tried to stop his hand from advancing up your skirt again. You became panicked the further he got.

Clamping your thighs tightly together as he wedged between your crossed legs. Your eyes shifted to the door before you, the couch sat across from the only entrance. If anyone came in they surely would be under the wrong assumptions.

His arm refused to budge as you attempted to pry him away. Steve was nothing but muscle, struggling was getting you no where, each shift pressed him hard against your sensitive area.

📚

"You know I've been nothing, but nice to you" Steve sounded disappointed.

"Stop please" you sounded panicked and desperate. Your nails dug into his arm as you tried to fight back an ache that taunted you as he teased.

"But you always give me attitude." He stated casually.

You slapped him. The sound loud in the empty room. Your eyes blurred with tears of frustration. Your hit did nothing, only leaving his cheek red, but from the smile on his face he liked it.

"And violent too. Hope you don't act that way around your class" he tsked while poking hard at the growing wet spot. You felt your spine curve and breath become heavier, your toes curled in your shoes as he increased his friction.

"Oh look at you. You like that don't you" he teased rubbing circles after noticing the tension in your legs relax. You cocked back to slap him again, but stopped when you felt his other hand at the back of your neck. It squeezed softly, but it was a warning nonetheless. You felt defeated. Not only was Steve bigger than you, he was stronger. Tears of frustration finally fell as you lowered your hand and let him do as he pleased.

"God your even cuter when you cry." He preened. "Tell you what. Since we don't have that much time....Kiss me and I will stop." You bristled as you felt him peel your panties to the side.

He didn't wait for your reply. Steve crashed his lips on to yours without warning. You flinched expecting pain, but it was soft. It was so tender that with anyone else they would given and close their eyes, accept it, but you couldn't.

"Stop..Steve.. Please" You panted over his lips, pushing at his chest as his fingers pushed into you. He didn't stop, the kiss only embolden him to go further. You whimpered and moaned as he took from you.

"Give me your panties" he asked pulling away from you, but his fingers still curled inside. "You promised you'd stop" you remind him, wiping away tears.

He wasn't going to relent, you could tell by the determination in his eyes. You felt exposed and embarrassed. Anyone could walk in at any moment and he knew it. He would probably get a slap on the wrist while you would need to find employment else where to escape the shame.

"I promise this time" he said lowly. "No tricks."

Swallowing your pride you lifted in your seat, he moved just enough to let the fabric pass. Rolling them down your knees quickly you hand them over. His hands slipped from you as you pass it. He held them up to the light and examined the wetness he created. Wiping away tears, you stood and bolted toward the door, but stopped when Steve whistled loudly.

"I think you forgot something."

You turned to find him pointing at your discarded mug.

"If you leave it, I leave this in it", he waved your shame in the air.

"Don't forget to wash it....don't want it to leave a stain" he ordered from the couch. You walked back on edge. Snatching the mug from the other side of the table. You rushed to the sink and rinsed your cup. More tears fell as you felt the wetness between your legs. The mirror mounted above the sink allowed you to examine yourself. Your mascara bled a bit and lipstick smeared, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with a dab of a napkin.

You swore to never step foot in the lounge ever again. If you needed to eat you would do it in your car or at your desk. This was supposed to be a magical time for you, but with Steve it had turned into a nightmare.

You sniffed as you blinked away the tears, forcing yourself to stop crying. Gym time was almost over and you needed to pull yourself together and collect your class.

"You know how often I wonder about you" Steve said rising from the couch, you watched him carefully from the mirror. You fumbled your mug, the water splashing back at you.

"Steve you promised" you said meekly, utterly defeated. He stared at you through the mirror, you felt his eyes watch your discomfort as you picked up the cup.

"What would the parents think if they knew their kids teacher walks around the class with no panties on" he tutted. You hung your head low and noticed your panties balled up in his hand as he rested it on the counter.

"I also wonder" He said pressing you into the sink. You felt his resolve through his sweat pants. "Do you fit?"

Fit?

Then it became clear. You felt his cock against your backside. You tried frantically to flea, but Steve caught you by the neck.

"I'm willing to bet you can't even fit half of me inside" he whispered in your ear as he bent you over the sink, crushing. "If I'm wrong I will let you go." Your eyes rounded as he hauled up your skirt. You whimpered as the cool air of the staff room tickled your exposed rear.

Steve was really going to fuck you in the staff room. These walls were paper thin and he knew it. Your head swirled in panic as you pleaded with him to stop. He only chuckled and shimmied down his sweat pants as you swatted back at him.

He angled and aligned himself as you sobbed. The tip slipped through your wet thighs, finding the target of its need.

You choked down a guttural moan as he breathed out 'good girl'. He watched your face as every inch stretched through your insides.

"Its is too much" you gasped out, trembling from the pressure, dancing on your tip toes as you adjusted around him.

"Its all inside" he praised the accomplishment. Forcing you to look at the mirror. "You fit me so good...see."

The mirror reflected your assault to your horror. "All cute holding me inside, taking everything I got" he said while stretching you.

Shooting pains radiated from your core as sharp breaths escaped you.

"Look at you" he taunted "coming apart just for me.... "

You heard the door to the room open and close quickly as you panted wildly. Steve didn't pull out, unabashed, letting whomever take in his pale ass as he continued to stuff you.

You didn't know who saw you, you only hoped his massive body hid you and your shame.

📚

[battleangelaelita]

Haman Karn and audience reception of female antagonists

I am not just an Azula fan, I have a broad and healthy appreciation of girlbosses in all their forms, and one of my favorites of the archetype is Haman Karn from Zeta and ZZ Gundam. Seriously, she walked so the rest of our faves could fly. More under the cut.

Now, this little blog post is going to be at least partly speculative. I don’t know for sure how how Haman Karn was received during the initial broadcast of Zeta in 1986 and ZZ in 1987. But I do know as a longtime Gundam fan that the second and third outings in the Gundam franchise were a high-water mark for female characters in Gundam, and the franchise has, at best, stagnated and usually backslid since. The Origin fleshed out parts of Sayla Mass’s story that were left on the cutting room floor so that’s really the only notable exception prior to this fall’s forthcoming Witch from Mercury, which will have the franchise’s first female protagonist.

People usually have one of two opinions on Zeta in the English speaking anime world: “best of the franchise” or “i have never heard of this.” It got its localization contracted just before Toonami decided to pull the plug on Gundam broadcasts after the one-two punch of the original having disappointing ratings and September 11 made the violence of the series less palatable--the background of the opening narration depicts the use of city-killing WMDs in the form of deorbited space colonies.

So Zeta survived on DVD sales only, while the immediate sequel didn’t get an official localization, finally releasing as a subtitle only BD/DVD in 2015, and only getting put on CrunchyRoll this year (2022).

So the only people who watched are people who were already Gundam fans, and people who were likely to be older to pay for what was at the time a niche product, or something they’d have to acquire a fansub for.

So who is Haman Karn? She’s a Neo-Zeon warlord who assumed control of a remote mining colony and military base, and returned to the Earth sphere in the middle of a ongoing colonial uprising against the despotic Earth Federation emergency regime. Seven years after the end of the One Year War, the world is still a huge mess, with many of the heros from the original forced to fight against their own government by the tyrannical Titans state security force, the Zeon-hunting organization that has become the small gear turning the large gear in the Federation.

And into this mess, which has seen magnificent bastard Char (under a pseudonym) fighting with the heroes, on the same side as his rival Amuro, Haman shows up bound and determined to make this mess worse.

Look at this demon baby...she even has a knife!

Haman has a lot of the qualities people love (and love to hate) in characters like Azula. She is a young and extremely competent female antagonist with a deep personal relationship with a previous fan favorite (Char). She is often smug and manipulative. In spite of her general sense of duty towards her people and their cause, that cause is a deeply destructive and evil one (Zeon in Gundam is a pastiche of currents of Japanese right-wing futurism viz the Kodoha clique and the pseudo-left anti-imperialism of Kita Ikki and some elements of the student movement).

In Zeta Haman is a spanner in the works, a sometimes ally, sometimes adversary of the protagonists who ends up maneuvering for supremacy in a three-way conflict with both the heroes and the series big bad Paptimus Sirocco, who is Jupiterian in both the Emmanuel Macron personalist/Bonapartist political sense as well as literally from Jupiter. Haman is the ultimate victor of this battle; she not only defeats Char in a one-on-one, possibly killing him (his fate was left ambiguous), but her forces come out in the best shape. Zeta’s protagonist Kamille Bidan beats Sirocco, but is left catatonic from the psychic resonance (it’s Newtypes, I don’t have time to explain...)

Haman goes on to be the big bad in Gundam ZZ (it’s usually pronounced Gundam Double-Zeta). Not only does the general trend of gaslight, gatekeep, girlbossing continue, she intensifies and double-downs on it. War crimes ensue. And not the silly sense that fandom talks about characters like Azula being war criminals because they don’t like them, I mean actual violations of the laws of armed conflict like the use of WMDs on open cities. She does get somewhat chickified because one of the long-running subplots is her attraction to Double Zeta’s protagonist Judau Ashta (it’s another Newtype thing...just think of it like their souls touching through some psychic stuff), but it’s played more for tragedy. In the end she cannot let go of her pride, and chooses to die when defeated rather than accept Judau’s alternate perspective.

Haman in sum has all the hallmarks of the villainous woman in the traditionally male sphere. She’s stoic, manipulative, hypercompetent, but also emotionally closed off. She can’t femme fatale, and her few romantic overtures are clumsy. Nonetheless, she has complicated, multi-faceted relationships with multiple male characters, including a series fave, and often beats them at their own game.

Yet she’s also consistently a pretty well liked character in both the English and Japanese fandoms. There is no shortage of moeified fanart of her, and she’s showed up as a cameo in several other series like the Build Fighters one.

So what went wrong elsewhere? Perhaps it’s because Haman was intended to be a sympathetic character from the start by Tomino, unlike Bryke’s relative disinterest towards Azula’s internality, for example. It’s long been a pet theory of mine that Haman began conceptually as the next arc for Sayla Mass, another fave in the Gundam franchise. Perhaps I’ll do a whole post on that subject someday, but in brief, Sayla is Char’s estranged sister, both of whom have been living under assumed names in exile from their home colony after their father’s assassination. Sayla’s plotline in the original got slightly truncated due to the episode count being slashed, but in the original outline she was supposed to lead a soldier mutiny in Zeon in the final part, taking off the character masque of Sayla and becoming Artesia Deikun again (this was restored in the expanded The Origin manga by Yasuhiko Yoshikazu, who was Tomino’s right-hand man on the original series).

There may be a slight resemblance...

Sayla unfortunately had to be cut from Zeta because the voice actress was on a year long Safari in Africa (it was the 80s, I guess people just did that sort of thing). So somewhere in development, a character who also has a complicated personal relationship with Char, a stoic and serious female character who looks like if Sayla decided to dye her hair and cut her bangs, shows up again on the opposite side of the conflict from Char, who’s doing his best at trying to be a hero...really gets the old noggin joggin’.

It could also be a matter of audience. Gundam is aimed more towards a slightly older demographic than many western animated shows, particularly one like Avatar, and it’s also a pre-internet show. People had time to grow up and form more nuanced opinions and weren’t dumped unvarnished into a fandom space very early. Or they were American adults experiencing the show for the first time as adults, with some background for nuance.

But there’s plenty of people who first watched Avatar the Last Airbender as adults who also have extremely hyperbolic opinions about Azula. The reception towards Rey from the Star Wars sequels, who let’s be honest here, is neither overpowered compared to her male counterparts nor does she have a strong, domineering personality, also points to the fact that older fans are far from immune to knee-jerk toxicity. If anything, they were worse with Rey.

In fact I find the audience reception of Rey even more baffling, because from the very start Rey is clearly communicated in terms that make her relatable to the audience of Star Wars fans. She is, after all, a fangirl in-universe, living in her mundane world dreaming of the big adventures outside of the meager existence salvaging scrap on Jakku, keenly interested in the old ‘legends’ about people like Luke Skywalker or Han Solo.

What then is the answer? Fandom I guess is an often toxic space, and I can’t find any clear answers. Sometimes villainous female characters get generally well liked and appreciated, and other times they’re treated with such comically hyperbolic disdain it would be funny if it weren’t so damn stupid. I am interested in hearing what you have to think.

[hoodoobarbie]

The mythology of the Siren, Mermaid, Water Spirits & Mami Wata and it’s origins within black feminity.

Today I had to listen to other another black woman rant about how mermaids/sirens/mami wata are evil low key. So this educational post was born in response. 

Did you really think the divine essence of the black feminine wouldn’t protect itself ? That energy exists for a reason.  Suddenly it’s evil, to have teeth and protect yourself from predators. Water is a precious resource. You will be tested to see if you are deserving of it or not. Also these spirits will defend natural resources so they don’t get fucked up by human greed. 

It’s common for some places in Africa for people to offer the Sirens/Mami Wata/Water spirits or make an offerings/contracts with them in order to use the resources on their land. It also keeps the white ppl away too because they cause so much trouble.

Sirens are also associated with being the killers of children and men, but often this is completely misrepresented intentionally.

Men fear the power of the siren because she can override the patriarchy at core and can completely unravel them. The orgins of many water spirits lie in matriachal societies, temples divine feminine and motherhood. This is why temples and sacred magikal knowledge was intentionally destroyed and stolen, especially to empower the white patriarch.

Sirens are also described as thiefs of children and child killers. Sirens have been known to kidnap kids who were being abused or have were murdered near water and take them to their kingdom to restore them.

Sometimes the child returns, sometimes they are not. However in general they are big on kidnapping people, mostly women and giving them powers, if they decide to return. The idea of them eating and killing children, was a lie perpetuated by Greeks to cover up some truly horrific acts. Unfortunate these false accusations have been allowed to continue to perpetuate.

If a siren is acting in a predatory way, there is a reason why as their energy as been disturbed. Sirens are natural guardians. 

So the real question is . . . what did you do ? Did you destroy their habitat ? Abuse a child or a person ? Commit an egregious act against a woman ie rape/murder etc ? Disrespect a sacred place, the land, the seas or rivers ? Steal precious resources that weren’t yours to take ?

These sacred traditions are more than just deities, spirits and our ancestors. All forms of ATR are access to our spiritual mind state as an entire community. When you move in Vodou, you can sense the whole of black consciousness and all of our problem spots, specifically  areas that need healing. 

Oxum-Oshun, Olokun, Yemaya, the Mami Wata, La Baliene, La Siren, Met Agwe, The Simbi - these are all spirits with a connection to waters. Water is life and has always been inherently associated feminine energy. I’m not going into detail about all these cross connections but let’s chat about La Sirene, specifically.

La Sirene, Queen of all Mermaids is more than just a powerful sorceress and queen of song/music and dreams, she is also a keeper of secrets an a guardian of sacred memories & knowledge.

Many of the souls of slaves, from the Transatlantic slave trade that were thrown off the boats into the ocean are her children, citizens and warriors now. She comforts them eternally & they live in paradise. That doesn’t mean all of these souls are at rest, plenty continuously ask their mother if they will be avenged, especially the young children. She also has a close connection with the Indigenous Taino. The isle of Hispaniola also known as Haiti (Ayiti) & the Dominican Republic is her most known domain. 

Let’s not act like slavery and colonization was a cake walk. Rape was common place and mermaids, water spirits offered African and Indigenous women protection and power over men. They became demonized overtime for their hypnotic powers and killing men, who often overstepped their boundaries. Women could leave offerings to these spirits, work or commune with them and be quickly avenged or gain great power and wealth. All of this was threatening to the white patriarchal standard.

La Sirene’s presence in Haiti and other merfolk tales that float around the Caribbean/West Indies, is not without purpose. She has ties to many people and many different cultures. Her sacred symbols are global. This is why I speculate she is much older than people think. La Sirene, is a fairly young evolution. She clearly has ties to much older things. Her older names might have been lost but she has evolved, to save her self and also document other forgotten elements of history in the process. There are those who speculate that La Sirene is the embodiment of a cross mixed culture, the evolution of Indigenous & African water spirits combined, due to the excess trauma of colonization and so the Mermaid Queen was born. Others will argue that she is the Orisha Yemaya but a newer avatar of her.  I hate to argue semantics but I will say this, she exists and her presence is felt to this day, all around the world. 

La Sirene is often depicted as a mulatto woman with eyes like the sea but if you have been blessed to see her in dream state, she does appear sometimes as a brown or dark skinned skinned woman of possibly mixed Indigenous/African ancestry with glowing hypnotic eyes.  Alot of her older depictions, deal with colorism and slavery, but as things have grown in the modern world this imagery has begun to change. However mermaids, are known for their shapeshifting powers - to truly behold her true form, is a gift reserved for the rare few. 

As a keeper of the mysteries, La Sirene also access to many forgotten things in the black subconscious. The element of water is an intensely psychic sign.  Water is her domain, and what is the human body 80% of? WATER! The truth does not hide from her hypnotic eyes. This sacred connection to water and her essence, also means you can  track forgotten elements black history and connect to other deities/cultures who’ve had contact with her & her whole court or other black water spirits as a whole. So let’s take a short historical trip down memory lane.

The Greeks & Black women. Sirens, Aphrodite, Sibyls and other Children of Water 🧜🏾‍♀️

The deity Aphrodite/Venus is of Grecian and Roman legend.  

A little known magikal fact is that Aphrodite/Venus is half siren. She is a child of the water, she was literally birthed this way after Uranus got his balls cut off & thrown into the sea. Much of her Venusian influence and powers of love and beauty come from this element. Now my Mambo doesn’t like mentioning it but Aphrodite, is tolerated by the oceanic court of sirens/mermaids. Any child of water, falls under the domain of the queen. La Sirene has a sort of strange fondness for her and so does Aphrodite for her. However this doesn’t mean they are best friends.  It’s tentative friendship at best and comes with some perks. Aphrodite works quickly for children of water sirens and often will send mermaids to her devotees who misbehave. She has deliberately placed me around her people have pissed her off, to cause mischief. She’s quite petty but also  very generous. I won’t go as far to dare and say she is in the queen’s court, but she does curry favor with the queen. Being born of water, her half siren/mermaid influence has definitely attributed to legends of her beauty in myth but also her treachery with men 🧜🏾‍♀️😂. She clearly also has some sort of homesickness for the world underneath the water, because many of her offerings are gifts of pearls, kisses, sea shells, beauty products etc. Anyone who serves the Mermaid Queen knows the meaning behind those gifts. If you’re a black gyal with water or siren energy and decide to work with Aphrodite, do it!  If you ever irritate her, the least she’ll do is give you pimples and fuck up your skin, she won’t have the full power to completely fuck up your love life like she does with the white girls.  And let me tell you, she has completely ruined some white girls lives by giving them terrible lovers or men.  

The trident 🔱 is known for its connection in Greek and Hindu cultures.  However La Sirene or other African water spirits are depicted carrying it, which is largely ignored in the occult world.

You can track the trident in Hinduism, with the serpent spirits, the nagas or Lord Shiva but let’s focus on it’s Grecian connection. The usage of the trident and Poseidon, even in mainstream society today is associated with him.  This lets us know there is a connection between the mermaids, merfolk and La Sirene/African water spirits. Poseidon’s trident was rumored to made in Athens by the Cyclops - this is the city of Athena. So now we can track an element of black history all the way to Poseidon & Athena. Keep that in your thoughts we’ll come back to that later.

Tridents were also used ceremonially in Africa & India as well, as scepters, tribal weapons and religious symbols.

They were also associated with the sea faring people and fishing. It’s highly likely the origins of the trident are cross mixed between these two societies. Indo-African relations, go back to the Bronze age and the Indus Valley civilization. Which means traveling over by sea to reach each other was necessary. There is historical evidence of African millet being found in a Indian city Chanhudaro, including a cemetary or burial ground for African women.  Maritime relations between these two groups existed before Grecian & the Egyptian Ptolemaic dynasties.

Now of course there are some deranged historians that will try to whitewash history and say the trident has its origins from the labyrs but the Ancient Greeks & Africans/Indians interacted regularly. The trident also looks nothing like a labyrs, which is quite literally a double sided axe.  This is one of the more painful obvious pieces of white washing and historical revisionism. 

Regardless, the trident is associated with water, ceremonial/religious purposes, fishing, battling in the coliseum and the symbol of power for a few African,  Black diasporian an Hindu deities.

🧜🏾‍♀️ Oracles & Sibyls

Some sibyls/oracles were known to be African prophetesses/Mamissi to the Mami Wata/Sirens in Africa, some were stolen or captured by Greeks or Romans, sold into slavery and made to be oracles, some of whom became quite famous in legend. Their connection to these water spirits, is what gave them their gift of prophecy. Not every sibyl or oracle was African but SOME were.  This lead to the sharing and theft of sacred knowledge. It’s likely these women shared this sacred information, with their colleagues, some whom may or may not have been enslaved or kept in these temple and likely this information was traded, for their freedom, power or money etc. This gave way to the usage of sacred spirits and magick being used by men. A great example of this is the snake spirits of the genii, genius spirits (not to be mistaken with genies) and which then evolved into a diluted lesser energy in Greek society being known as daemons (not to be confused with goetic demons) Instead of a woman commanding these specific energies/spirits, the patriarchs decided that these specifics powers were only worthy of being used by men. These spirits were whitewashed, adopted into their religious practices and said to only be given to men at birth. No woman was allowed to possess them anymore.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The whitewashing of Medusa & Lamia. 

In mainstream society these two women stories have been white washed but also to hide a very shameful history and narrative. These two were beautiful women, in older stories of black black mythology were known to be black and they were children of water & daughters of the powerful water spirit/snake/siren divine mother/feminine goddess. 

Medusa was raped by the GREECIAN GOD OF THE SEA, POSEIDON  and Athena covered it up, refused to avenge her and punished her by making her ugly to everyone. It’s speculated in several magikal circles that the snakes in her hair were actually dreads, due to their lack of understanding of black hair and also allegorically might have been a reference to her devotion to the fish or water snake, great mother goddess. A child of the divine feminine, mother goddess was assaulted in a temple by a man and a woman covered it up & celebrated it.

Let’s start there ... cuz this story says a lot! It’s one of the first historical cases  in myth that really documents the issues that surround the black feminine specifically and it was intentionally whitewashed. Then to add insult to injury, Athena made her hideous to all men and her chopped off her head and used as a symbol of protection but also a subtle sign of disrespect to the fullest. This still goes on to this day.

In fact ALGOL, the demon star, which is considered to be strongest protective magick talisman in the occult world today is the HEAD OF MEDUSA. The child of water! BITCH! This energy is invoked constantly and the spirit of medusa is never allowed to rest.

However these egregious acts did not come without a price. Athena at time was a goddess of fertility. However desecrating a child of water or the sirens, is seen as an attack by the divine feminine and can will cause people to be afflicted with fertility and other mental health issues as well. This is speculative but it’s also likely that after this they were constantly visited by droughts, floods or repeating issues with water sanitation & purity after this. Lowered fertility rates and miscarriages might be more prominent, for Athenians and Athena devotees & likely continues to this day.

Devotees of Athena may also develop severe issues when it to their mental health because of this connection. They completely lose touch with their feminine energy and become extremely misogynistic after continued work with her.

Not only did Athena, cause Medusa to be seen as hideous throughout the land but she celebrated when she was murdered and proudly wore Medusa’s decapitated head on her shield. From the feminist eye this virgin deity/woman was extremely male identified and adhered to the patriarchal standard. She was tested by the divine feminine and failed.

Even more strange, Athena’s birth allegorically proclaims her essential character: her wisdom is drawn from the head of a male god; the bond of affection between father and daughter; her championship of heroes and male causes, born as she was from the male, and not from a mother’s womb. A dreaded goddess of war, she remained a virgin and a servant of the patriarchal society and remains so to this day. She is the misogynistic cool girl and very asexual at the core. In fact if you explore more of her mythos, it becomes very clear she hates women. I’m bewildered at how she has become associated with lesbians and the feminine at large, when it’s been very clear that she was intent on transcending her gender from the very beginning, but never managed to escape it.  

To top it off, I’ll leave you with this quote from Aeschylus’ Oresteia by Athena:

“There is no mother anywhere who gave me birth, and, but for marriage, I am always for the male with all my heart, and strongly on my father’s side. So, in a case where the wife has killed her husband, lord of the house, her death shall not mean most to me.”

Queen Lamia was a said to incredible beauty who seduced Zeus, (a literal man whore) which as made Hera jealous. Hera cursed Lamia with infertility and insomnia. She went insane and is said to have killed her own children and ate them. Zeus is said to be the one who gifted her prophecy and gave her the ability to take out her eyes, so she would not be irritated at the site of other happy mothers.

She became associated with a child eating monster who was half woman and half snake, which ties into the Libyan snake cults. She was associated with phantoms, the shapshifting laimai or empusai and the daemon spirits.

Medusa and Lamia were Libyan by heritage and came from a place in Africa where temples to the water snake mother goddess & divine feminine were common before they were destroyed by invaders intentionally. These women likely had extreme gifts of seduction, mind control and other abilities etc. It’s highly likely that Queen Lamia used her powers of seduction, at the behest of her people to save them from colonization and was demonized for it. Zeus’s temple was in Cyrene in Lybia, so this is far more than an allegorical story. This may be a real life story that was disguised in mythos. Unfortunately deeper research into this subject has turned up many dead ends for me. It’s highly likely Medusa was a priestess of the the matriarchal Mami Watas or water goddess/snake spirits and was likely raped intentionally in Athena’s temple, as a show loyalty to the rising patriarchy by descrating the symbolism of the great mother and the divine feminine. This was likely an attempt to lessen power and status of the matriachal societies that existed at the time. Rape was common war tactic amongst colonizers and news of such disgrace would likely spread like wildfire. This also solidified Athena’s place amongst the male gods and gaining her their respect. Athena and her devotees went a step further to show their allegiance to the patriarchy, by stripping Medusa of her beauty supposedly and exiling her, then parading her decapitated head on shields, when going into battle likely with Libyan enemies.

This is just a brief explanation of a few horrific acts in history, which were whitewashed & explain why the essence of the black feminine has evolved to become more protective, predatory and fierce. She learned to defend herself. Now she kills those who threaten her. 

Fun history tip: Usually anytime you see a snake in Grecian mythology, just know something got whitewashed, because the truth was really fucked up, made them look really bad & a black woman was there.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The black feminine is capable of more than you know.

Yes, mermaids/sirens/snakes & the mami watas can be scary at times but that’s what stepping into mysticism of deep waters is like. Water is capable of many things, it is one of the most powerful elements on earth. It can nourish you and kill you, and that’s the beauty of it really.

We should all be grateful the black feminine is so beautiful, fierce & scares the living daylights out of everyone.

You would be dead if it wasn’t.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 40

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 22.8k (this will crash ur phone so pls read on desktop) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: violence, blood/injury, choking, brief depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part seven

The stench in the air is some cross between smoke and rotting food. It’s enough to make your nose wrinkle in disgust, something you’ve done several times over the past twenty minutes since getting here, but Hongjoong is still sitting beside you and tinkering with his wristband in the same position he’s been in since arriving. A chain-link fence and a row of boxes are all that separate you from your target — the military complex in the Upper Echelon just as Jisung detailed to Hongjoong the day before. It’s closer to the thickest parts of the Smokehouses in the lower area, which is no doubt what’s causing the smell and, in turn, your misery.

“The outside security is a combination of motion sensors, cameras, and guards,” Hongjoong notes, not looking up from his forearm. “Keep monitoring the guards’ patterns for now while we wait. My techie here in Lynder is working on hacking their surveillance systems remotely.”

“Anything specific to look out for?”

“Just their patrol patterns. Once we get the cameras and sensors down, we can sneak in the side. On our initial patrol, I saw a spot in one of the left alleys where the fence bends up. We’ll slip under there and infiltrate through the trash chute.”

“The trash chute,” you echo. You tear your gaze off the courtyard beyond the fence to peer at Hongjoong with question in your eyes. “How will that help?”

Hongjoong looks up from his wristband at long last, only to stare directly forward and jab a finger at the building before you two.

“Trash chute wraps down to the basement. They use air turbines to push trash up and out of the building, so it will be easy for us to slip down. I just got a blueprint of the building from my hacker. It’s not enormous but it’s big enough for us to need to stick together. No booby traps waiting inside either, since they don’t really expect company like ours, but there are a few single or double guard patrols to watch out for on each floor. This is more of a scientist and doctor facility, so we shouldn’t be seeing anything in the way of large squadrons.”

“Then couldn’t we just walk in the front door?” You ask, head tilting to eye the guards once more.

“With this pretty face on display? I think not. They might not recognize you since they have no image data on you, but me? They’ve got all sorts of image references on me that could cause lots of issues for both of us. It’s best if we avoid whatever confrontation we can.”

“How are we meant to avoid confrontation when moving from level to level?”

“The trash chute leads down to a maintenance area, so there will be workers bringing trash in the basement. We knock them out, put them in a safe and secure location, and take their uniforms. Their keycards will grant access to each level so we can move almost freely around the building. Chances are San will be behind a door that those keycards can’t grant access to.” Hongjoong motions forward but you keep your gaze firmly set on him. “That’s where my techie comes in handy again.”

“You’re relying a lot on this friend,” you mutter, finally dropping your eyes to the chain-link fence before you once more.

“I happen to trust him quite a bit, yes. He’s a bounty hunter, so we’ve had plenty of run-ins with each other over the years and he’s always helped me in many ways. Meeting him here on Dorado, though, that was planned. I asked him to come because I knew the chances of needing a techie like him would be high, and he was in the area. After the mission with Seonghwa tomorrow, we’ll be dropping in to visit him for payment too. Bounty hunters never work for free after all.”

“Makes sense,” you hum. A guard passes. One, two, three seconds, then he wraps around the side of the building again. “I considered working as one for a short period of time but it never came to fruition.”

Hongjoong’s eyes snap over to you.

“Why did it fall through? I would have pinpointed you as the type to be very good in that line of work. All things considered, I mean.”

“Hm, yeah, I suppose I would be. I did a few odd jobs here and there.” Two guards walk in tandem across your line of vision. They split after five seconds this time, one falling back and repeating his path in the opposite direction and the other continuing to walk straight ahead into the courtyard. “I had to kill a few people, but every time I shot someone, all I could see was the teammate who died in my place. At least that’s the memory I had for years. After seeing my teammate in the brother, I’m not even sure that’s what truly happened anymore.”

“What is it you remember then?”

“Him being publicly executed while I couldn’t pull the trigger fast enough.”

“What was his name?” Hongjoong asks all of a sudden, and it startles you enough to rip the focus from your bones. You jerk to look him in the eye, finding him staring right back at you from where he’s crouched not even a foot away.

“Why is that important?”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Maybe it’s better to bury your memories with the dead. I think you believe that yourself. Yet seeing as you still haven’t buried the thought of him after all this time, something tells me you never buried him. So… I’ll ask again, Y/N, what is his name?”

“Hyunwoo… his name is — was Hyunwoo.”

Hongjoong lets out a barely audible hum.

“I’ll ask my hunter about it.”

“Why?” comes your immediate response.

“If he’s the one who died, then he’s the one your pardon papers are meant for, no? If he’s not truly dead, then would you not want to hand those papers over to him anyway? The military still blames him for taking part in the king’s death even after they learned who truly did it, don’t they? Since Jisung’s fate is in your hands, you’ll have every opportunity to ask him what the truth is. Consider this to be a safety net to be sure he’s telling the truth.” Despite the weight of his words and how much gravity they hold, Hongjoong doesn’t so much as blink an eye at anything he’s just promised to you. The level of nonchalance should be infuriating at best, but you find yourself looking down at the ground with an odd weight on your shoulders now.

“Thank you,” you whisper under your breath.

“Pay attention,” he replies just as quickly, jerking his head towards the courtyard.

You do as asked without complaint or question this time. The patterns aren’t hard to follow or anything out of the ordinary. Nothing more than a simple back and forth around the perimeter of the building, one guard to cover each side. The one along this back wall you’re eyeing meets up with the guard at the left side, pauses to talk for a minute or so, then turns back to do the same with the guard at the opposite side when he reaches it. From the looks of it, there’s a significant gap in the patrol when the guard turns, which is no doubt meant to be covered by the motion sensors and cameras, but once those are down, you’ll have an easy opening to get inside.

“Alright, Nightingale is in,” Hongjoong announces after several minutes have passed. “Surveillance is down.”

“Nightingale? As in…?”

“Hacker, techie, bounty hunter — whatever you wanna call him. No time to stop and chat about him right now though, let’s get moving. You lead since you’ve been keeping track of the patrols. I’ll be right behind you.” Hongjoong pushes up from the ground, and you mirror his movements only to step around him in search of that alley he mentioned earlier. The silence that falls over the two of you is nothing if not terse, a wariness of your surroundings that has been unfamiliar for a while now. You can’t remember the last time you went on a mission that required this of you — even the first mission Hongjoong sent you on wasn’t as life-threatening as this one is. In a way, the risk offers a level of adrenaline that helps keep you focused and honed in on every shifting sense. Knowing what lies at the end of the line also helps. If you keep San at the forefront of your mind, getting through this should be far from worrisome.

You don’t need to explain your plan of action to Hongjoong when you reach that gap in the fence. He merely squats down and pulls the wire up so you can slip through first, and you do exactly that, pushing under the prongs and slipping into the base with no issues so far. It’ll be thirty seconds before the guard turns and starts heading back this way. That only gives Hongjoong half that time to join you on this side of the fence and duck behind the nearest row of boxes. You crouch beside the fence and pull up just like he did for you, eyeing the area over your shoulder just in case the guard decides to move sooner than expected. You’re safe from that for the time being; Hongjoong slides under to join you then the two of you split in opposite directions for cover.

“I’ll take the lead to the chute.” Hongjoong’s voice crackles through your earpiece and it resounds with a bit of static against your eardrum. You know Yeosang is on the other side of this call as well, monitoring what he can from the ship where the others also remain for the time being. “How much time until he walks back?”

“He just started walking this way. 23 seconds for him to reach the other side, then he’ll stop and talk to his friend for a bit. Anywhere from 60 to 120 seconds.”

“Stay put for now then. We can’t afford to risk it.”

You nod rather than responding verbally, eyes darting over to the side as the guard enters your field of vision. You drop your head further behind the boxes and splay your shoulders flat against their weight.

“Forward me the blueprints, Captain.” Yeosang is the one to speak this time. He cuts through the silence with such suddenness that you nearly jolt forward, barely holding back to flatten yourself as much as you can without causing a ruckus. Hongjoong fiddles with his wristband across from you. These two minutes could be the most crucial ones of the whole operation, and it’s only just the beginning. You’re silently begging that Hongjoong’s hacker keeps those cameras down as long as possible because one is staring you down at the corner of the building, just high enough to peek over the lip of the boxes and into your hiding spot.

“Shift’s almost over, eh?”

“Just about.”

They’re just loud enough for you to overhear, a quick way to keep track of where they are and how long it will take for you and Hongjoong to safely move out.

“Need a more honest job than protecting what’s going on down there in those labs. It’s inhumane honestly.”

“Most people they drag down there are criminals. I say reprogramming their heads is better than clogging the prisons.”

One guard snorts at that.

“Trade a life of crime for a life of legalized crime? I’m gonna be a father soon. I’m not sure I want to tell my kid and wife that dad is guarding doctors like that.”

“Yeah well, tell your kid that you’re bringing home the big bills and your dame won’t care one bit. As long as I don’t hear the screams of those poor souls, I’m content to live like this.”

“Calm down.”

The voice hisses through the white noise that rises in your ears, and you jerk your head to look in Hongjoong’s direction. He levels you with a sharp and piercing stare that has you gnawing at your lower lip. He must have noticed something you didn’t because you glance down to see your fists curled into such tight fights that your knuckles bleed pure white from the pressure.

“Don’t listen to what they’re saying. Stay focused on the mission at hand.”

You release the tension in your hands. The conversation behind you dies down, then you hear a slight shuffle. In the next moment, the guards are peeling apart and your target of interest is moving back in the opposite direction. Go time. You move when Hongjoong does, following his quick nod with one of your own then slipping out from behind your cover as he does. The guard is halfway to the other side, the other one already disappeared around the corner without a trace. It leaves the perfect opening for you two to get to the aforementioned trash chute, and when you reach it, Hongjoong lifts the cover to slip inside first. He turns just before jumping down.

“Be careful on your way down. It’s wide so you’ll need to mind your step. Wait a few seconds then follow me down.”

“Noted, Captain.”

Hongjoong dips into the opening of the chute, falling out of your sight in mere seconds, and you blink at the spot where he just was until the sound of him sliding down fades some, then you climb in behind him. There’s not an infinite amount of time for you to get in and out of sight before that guard turns around and spots you. It’s enough time for you to do a doubletake at the top of the tube because it is indeed wide, and you nearly fall into the chute headfirst. There’s no lighting whatsoever inside either, leaving you to guess where Hongjoong is. And on top of that, it’s both cramped and slightly claustrophobic despite being moderately wide. It takes having your feet firmly planted on one end with your elbows supporting your awkward and stilted shimmy down on the other to start moving downwards, but once you find a somewhat steady rhythm, you catch up with Hongjoong in no time.

You find the captain at the bottommost portion of the chute, feet finally reaching a solid landing place and getting you back upright, even if you have to squat to fit beside Hongjoong. The faintest blue light emits from his wristband and it highlights the path, or rather paths, ahead — a branching chute that splits in three directions. Hongjoong is reviewing the blueprint on his small band’s screen religiously when you land beside him. He doesn’t spare you the slightest glance until he seems to figure out which direction he wants to go next.

“Right tunnel will take us to the nearest maintenance room.”

Hongjoong slots himself into the opening, flattening all the way to his stomach to fit in the space, and you follow suit as best you can. It’s a deceptively wide space, one that makes you think the fit will be easy and comfortable. You are, however, quickly proven incorrect once you start moving. It also proves difficult to see what you’re doing and what Hongjoong is doing too. When he comes to a halt, you have to bring yourself to a sudden stop behind him before you take a heeled boot to the nose. He shifts just enough to let you see past his body and directly through the slats of the grate in front of him. A pair of legs clad in what seems to be a thin plastic material waits on the other side, unmoving and daunting to say the least. An itch touches the back of your throat. You resist the urge to swallow.

There’s an unspoken command from Hongjoong that says ‘don’t make a fucking sound’ and you’re more than happy to follow that command without complaint for now. You suck a breath in through your nose, willing the air to not whistle as it enters your system. The silence hanging in the cramped space is deafening and more than a little intimidating, to say the least.

You don’t count the seconds until there’s finally movement on the other side of the vent. The rustle of plastic rubbing against itself resounds; it pulls a pit more anxiety into your body and you only let yourself relax a hair when steps begin to echo through the room. They grow quieter with each passing moment, leading further and further away from where you and Hongjoong are hidden. Then — a whoosh, a sigh, and a slam.

Silence.

Two seconds pass, then another five without a sound.

Hongjoong moves first, although you couldn’t move much even if you wanted to, and he pushes forward through the grate until his feet find solid ground at last. You follow suit as quickly as you can, shimmying yourself through the chute and to the now-empty maintenance room alongside Hongjoong.

“The maintenance group should be back in a few minutes with a new batch of trash and to restock on supplies. We’ll need to hide on either side of the door and be ready to knock them out when they get back.”

“Will there be two workers?” You inquire. Your gaze finds Hongjoong out the corner of your eye, switching between taking in your new surroundings and examining the captain as he does the same.

“Yes, two workers per floor. That’s why I didn’t let you take this as a solo mission. Two people would be ideal for getting in and out without unnecessary suspicion.

“How exactly are we supposed to pull a whole prisoner out of here without suspicion?” You counter. Hongjoong twists at the neck to regard you with a rather demure stare.

“That’s the hard part. We don’t know what physical condition San is in yet. He might not be able to walk or stand on his own. Could be unconscious for all we know. But if we have to, we’ll fight our way out. Nightingale can only do so much to their systems; he can’t take down the guards for us.”

“The fighting won’t be an issue,” you mutter. Your hand moves around to your back on its own accord, feeling for the pistol tucked away under your jacket there, and your nerves settle a tad when your fingers close around the grip.

“Except fighting is loud, and it draws far too much attention. We’re trying not to pick fights here. San is the priority.”

“His safety is as well.”

“And putting him in unnecessary amounts of danger by picking fights with these fools is almost more of a risk.”

That is enough of a reality check to shut you up, and your jaw aches a bit as you clench your teeth tight. Hongjoong’s stare lingers a while longer, as though he’s regarding you with some sort of unknown perception and sees something you don’t in your own wall of emotions. Then he turns with nothing more than a huff and heads for the doors leading into this maintenance room.

“They should be on their way back by now. Get on the other side of the door and be ready to strike.”

You do as told, acting the part of the perfect soldier you need to be right now, and line up opposite Hongjoong just beside the doorframe. There isn’t time to contemplate who these people are, what their stories are, what secrets they hold — they could be the most innocent people in the universe for all you care. The fact of the matter is that they are about to be in the wrong place at the wrong time by their standards. By yours, they’ll be in the right place at the right time and fall perfectly into this plan Hongjoong has constructed. Contemplating the intricacies of morality at a time like this while San’s life could be hanging in the balance? You already know what side of the scales you sit on and that’s the one that favors San’s life over a stranger’s.

You blink over at Hongjoong, finding a similar steely resolution on his features, although he doesn’t seem nearly as bothered about the idea of harming an innocent in the crossfire while this all goes down. And given his track record, that does nothing to surprise you in the slightest.

It does, however, leave you a bit curious. Seonghwa claimed that the side of himself he dislikes — the Lieutenant of Death, that is — erases the lines between good and bad, the moral compass becomes skewed and stilted, and he can’t tell whether what he’s doing is the right thing or not. Looking directly in the face of the Scourge of the Black Sea right now, you can’t help but wonder if, at some point down the line, the person who made Seonghwa who he is today stands right across from you. Hongjoong would never take the blame, nor would Seonghwa ever pin it on him. The only person you can think of who could answer that question for you would be Yunho, and god knows if he would ever divulge that information to you of all people.

That line of thought is brought to an abrupt halt in the next few seconds. The doors before you slide open all the way, and the only thing to mask your sharp inhale is the loud and rumbling noise of plastic wheels rolling over the floor. Warm-toned voices lift above the wheels as two custodial workers dressed in their plastic suits stride into the room.

You and Hongjoong exchange one glance before bursting into motion. The captain moves first, arm slinging out and wrapping around the throat of the one closest to him. You follow suit as quickly as you can; it only takes a quick jab with the butt of your gun to take him out. You catch the body before it slumps to the floor and causes more noise, eyeing Hongjoong while he lulls his victim into unconsciousness.

“Take the outer suit and put it over your clothes,” he orders once both are out cold. “Bodies in the bins at the back.” You work in haste to strip the outer suit off and haul the body over to the bins in question — the ones closest to the vent you slipped in through — and by the time you turn around with your new suit fully on, Hongjoong has already done the same and hooked a mask over the lower half of his face. He tosses a matching one your way, a simple white surgical mask to help mitigate the cleaning supply fumes. “Alright, go time. Keycard should be in your pocket but double-check before we go.”

You pad over the wrinkled pockets and catch hold of the keycard, flashing it in the captain’s directions with a sharp nod.

“We’re heading out of the maintenance room and going for the elevators. We’ll update you on which level we’re on there,” Hongjoong says into his wrist before tucking it under the plastic sleeve of his new suit. It only takes a quick motion of his index finger to summon you to his side. You fall into step beside him and match his moderate pace as he takes the trash cart left abandoned by the workers you just took out. The snort that escapes through your lips is suffocated by the mask, but Hongjoong hears it nonetheless.

“I never thought I would see the Scourge of the Black Sea pushing a trash cart in a plastic janitor outfit,” you explain in a rush when his glare falls on you.

“Then you wouldn’t believe it if I told you I wore a corset and dress for a mission once.”

Your shock is both immediate and evident in your wide eyes, but Hongjoong pays you no mind and instead nods down the corridor.

“We need to move up to Level 3. That’s where San should be according to the blueprints and Nightingale’s intel. Rehabilitation and reprogramming happen there. Han didn’t provide us with much on this side of the walls, so things are going to be more difficult from here on out.”

You manage to stay quiet and mind your own business for a grand total of two minutes. In your defense, the silence is deafening and no one is around to eavesdrop on a hushed conversation anyway, so you have no issue speaking up while neither of you is speaking into your wristbands for Yeosang or the bounty hunter to overhear.

“When can I address the elephant in the room?”

“What would that be?”

It’s enough of an affirmation for you to clear your throat and speak your mind further.

“Seonghwa, of course.”

That has Hongjoong shaking his head a few times.

“Whatever happened between the two of you after I left the brig is none of my business.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you protest without missing a beat. “Him being afraid of me. That part.” If the words contain a bit of bite to them, that’s not your fault; it’s enough to spur Hongjoong to sigh deeply into his mask.

“You truly pick the most inopportune times for conversations like these.” When he says nothing more than that, you think you’ve poked and prodded too much for his liking. Looking ahead of you again only shows that you’ve reached an elevator, and Hongjoong has simply paused to fiddle with the buttons. “Heading up to Level 3, we’re sitting at G8 below ground right now. The ride up will probably be slow and take a few minutes.” You at least have the decency to wait until he pulls his wrist away from his face before you speak again.

“This is the perfect time for a talk then, isn’t it? A long and silent elevator trip?”

“My stance hasn’t changed,” Hongjoong replies as he pushes the supply cart into the elevator. You follow close behind, eyes focused on the back of his head despite it being hooded in plastic. The doors slide shut behind you, then the captain fiddles with the metal buttons on the inner panel.

“What did I do wrong? Genuinely and honestly tell me what I did wrong without bias affecting your stance.”

“Besides threatening to take your own life?”

“That was merely an intimidation tactic! Surely you have used something similar in your line of work.”

Hongjoong’s gaze flits down to the floor as the elevator lurches into motion.

“I have, of course, I’m no stranger to such a tactic. But there are — there are lingering traumas from such methods for Seonghwa… as well as myself.”

“And I suppose I’m supposed to simply accept that without asking you to elaborate?”

“Why should you need to know anything beyond that? You asked for an explanation, and there it is.”

“I can tell it has something to do with the crew,” you persist, “the crew I am now part of, so it doesn’t seem fair to hold that information back when I’m sure everyone else knows as well. For fuck’s sake, we’re pirates. We lie and kill and threaten people every day while stealing and letting innocent people come into harm’s way. What was different about what I did?”

Hongjoong’s initial response comes in the form of a hiss then he swings the side of his fist into the wall of the elevator. You bite back the instinct to flinch into a fighting stance.

“San did exactly what you tried to do once. Brought a knife out and took it to his own arms and legs out of a sick and desperate attempt to bargain with someone. It was early on when the crew was made up of only myself, Seonghwa, San, and three other pirates who didn’t survive the mutiny. Yunho hadn’t joined us yet, and we had no doctor on board so when… San went on a rampage trying to do what you did, and he succeeded at getting a lot more then. And no matter how hard Seonghwa tried, he couldn’t fucking stop San, nor could I succeed in apprehending him when I tried getting him under control. Just like you, he was insistent that he get this one bit of crucial information out of the target. Wasn’t even anyone important or someone who cared about San the way Han cares about you. The man couldn’t stomach the sight of blood or wounds though; both made him sick to his stomach. So San’s solution was to not only torture the target but also himself — for every cut to the other man, he would inflict one on himself. When San finally got fed up with Seonghwa’s attempts to stop him, San knocked him down and tied him to the door handles so Seonghwa couldn’t interrupt anymore.”

Hongjoong pauses to release a deep exhale and pull his hand away from the wall. There’s an eerie sense of calm to his movements despite how full of rage he seemed before speaking. All you can do is stare at his side profile out the corner of your eye, the plastic wrapped around your body suddenly seeming a lot more suffocating than before.

“Witnessing something like that… being unable to stop something like that from happening and watching a person devolve into some form of insanity — it’s a hefty burden to bear. And when Seonghwa saw you begin to do that, it took him back to that place, that memory, where he was when it happened before. He carried that burden with him for a long time, to a point where he didn’t trust himself to protect the crew because he couldn’t stop it before. But back then? Then he could at least try to stop it because he wasn’t locked up the whole time like he was when you started spiraling. With you, he was completely and utterly powerless to stop you, which is why he pinged my wristband and asked me to come down to the brig.”

“I didn’t realize you let him keep his wristband.”

“I didn’t put him in the brig to punish him. And you… it’s not that you aren’t allowed to have your moments like that. We’re all killers, we all have some loose screws, hardly anyone on the crew is perfectly put together and sane. It’s that you exercised a lack of control and stability that we need to see from you. The bare minimum, Y/N. That’s all we ask from you.”

You stare at the wall of the elevator without saying anything for several tense seconds. Your teeth worry your lower lip, rubbing the skin raw and red under your abuse, and you only pull away when you taste something metallic hit your tongue.

“Back then… what was so important that San would do such a thing?”

Hongjoong shakes his head twice.

“It doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter back then. He cared so little about himself that he would throw himself into the worst situations. Didn’t care one bit about living for anyone, not even himself. Besides, those scars aren’t my stories to tell.”

“He told me once that he wanted to die in his face-off with Cara,” you whisper, not daring to raise your voice any higher than that even though it’s just you and Hongjoong in the elevator.

“He’s come a long way since then,” Hongjoong says back in the same hushed tone. “Most of the crew don’t know about that incident, or even about that part of him aside from Seonghwa, Jongho, and myself. I don’t think he’s ever brought it up with Yunho, but that’s not any of my business anyway.”

“Right because your business is just to make sure everyone does their job, isn’t it?”

“My business, Y/N, is to be a leader. Not to coddle you or treat you like a weak link for any past traumas. You were punished for making a mistake, not for being damaged.”

“You seem to coddle Seonghwa just fine.” You don’t look back at the captain but you can all but feel the heat of his stare on the side of your face after you speak.

“If you paid any attention to my actions, Y/N, you would see I coddle other members of the crew just the same. You’re simply hyperfixating on how I treat Seonghwa because that’s who you see me interact with the most.”

“I see more than enough of how you and Yunho interact as well,” you retort through a soft scoff. Your eyes dart up to the elevator panel, watching the number slowly inch onwards to your destination.

“Oh, we do a lot more than coddle each other when you’re not around.”

“I don’t recall asking for details.”

“And I don’t recall offering any details.”

You finally look over at Hongjoong. The moment you do, your eyes find his dark ones, the playful smirk curling over his lips once more with no sign of relenting, and that’s the instant you realize you are most definitely in over your head when it comes to the Scourge of the Black Sea.

“Despite what you might think, Y/N,” Hongjoong starts again, his voice carrying more gravity to it than before, “my intention has never been to put you down for what you’ve been through in the past. I would not offer my help in restoring your lost memories if I did not care just a little bit. Beyond your importance to San… to Seonghwa… to the crew, you are a valuable asset. I’d like to see how valuable you can be at your full potential.”

“Perhaps my value only lies in being broken,” you counter. You twist your neck to look at the captain more directly. He stares back, mirroring your blank stare with one of his own.

“Or perhaps those walls are holding you back. I guess that’s for us to discover, no?”

You bring your chin forward once more and avoid his stare for the rest of the long ride up to Level 3. You can’t keep yourself from thinking about what he said though. It leaves you with more than you want to think about right now, and yet the truth of the matter lies directly in front of you. Whatever special Siren abilities you have are not reliable enough to be drawn out on command. Like there’s an invisible collar around your neck threatening to hurt you any time you use them. And like Wooyoung’s dead collar that keeps him from tapping into his abilities, the only thing holding you back is your own head. It’s more than likely that whatever happened to your memories and however Jisung fucked them up is the reason why you have so much trouble with it to begin with.

A lurch in the elevator’s movements pulls you from your thoughts. Moments later, it screeches to a halt that has your balance wavering, and the doors slide open to expose a deceptively similar corridor. You move to step out but Hongjoong grabs you first. His fingers crinkle around the plastic.

“We have to make this believable, so for the love of god, please behave.” The words are hissed through gritted teeth, but even if he hadn’t spat them your way, you would have caught the emotion in his eyes that matches the intensity of his tone.

“I didn’t take you to be a religious man,” you quip back if anything just to deflect the seriousness of the situation looming over you. Hongjoong seems rather amused by that, in the very least, as he huffs through a smirk and steps away to push the cart into the hallway. You fall into step beside him, matching the pace he sets in a few seconds while scanning the monotonous greys and whites surrounding you.

Given what this place is supposed to be, it’s painstakingly clean, although you don’t doubt that the maintenance crew you took out factors into that. Hongjoong keeps his gaze forward, occasionally flitting between his wristband and the area ahead. You’re walking blind beside him with just hope and trust guiding you through the floorplan. Hongjoong is good with directions thankfully because he leads both of you through the halls without hitting a single dead end.

That, however, proves to be the least of your worries.

The guards milling about the corridors with rifles strapped to their backs are your primary concern. It would be no issue if they simply passed by the two of you. But instead, you see the military in its full glory: each guard you pass either kicks the maintenance cart and tries to topple the cleaning supplies or goes for a cheeky shoulder check to knock you or Hongjoong off balance. The temptation to fucking clock them between the eyes each time it happens is simply overwhelming, but Hongjoong’s voice is ringing in your ears along with the reminder that if anything goes wrong now, it could cost you San’s rescue. That thought makes it easy to swallow your pride and push forward with your chin tucked to your chest.

You quickly lose track of how many twists and turns Hongjoong guides you through. The floor seems to go on forever — a white labyrinth that stretches into eternity — and when Hongjoong finally comes to a halt, it’s in the middle of an empty corridor with no end in sight. Your lips part to speak but the captain seems to sense it and lifts a hand to stop you. His finger twitches against the air, a surprisingly steady pattern of jerks that confuse you until you realize he’s counting seconds with each invisible tap.  

“Nightingale hacked the cameras on this floor. It may not last long depending on their security system, so we’ll need to move fast, understood?”

“Aye, Captain,” you echo back.

“We need to cut through these rooms to get to the corridor on the other side. That one will lead to the holding rooms. Maintenance cards don’t allow access to this division though.”

“So we’re at an impasse? Or does your bounty hunter have a way out of this one too?”

“No.” Hongjoong glances over the wall of metal before him. He runs a hand across the seam in the metal and brushes down to touch the handle of the door. “This is where you come in.”

“I need you to phase through the door and flip the lock.”

“You planned for this?”

“Yes, of course, I did.”

“Even when Wooyoung was originally supposed to come with?”

Again, Hongjoong affirms it, this time with a sharp nod of his head.

“I don’t even know how to do that.”

“You know it’s a Siren ability though, don’t you? You mean to tell me you’ve never done it?”

“I—”

“Did Seonghwa not teach you anything?”

“I’ve done it out of instinct when my life was at risk, not because I knew what the hell I was doing.” And once when San’s life was at risk but that’s hardly important and not something you wish to admit aloud right now in this very instant. “It was like — like a subconscious need to do something, and that’s how my body reacted.” Hongjoong hisses something inaudible under his breath, and you’re certain it’s nothing short of scathing.

“If we can’t get through this door, then we can’t recover San. So guess what? It may not be your life at risk, but it is San’s. I’m telling you what I need from you right now, Y/N. It’s on you to deliver it.”

“And I’m telling you that this isn’t something I can simply control. Last time I tried to bring out any semblance of my oh-so-great ‘abilities’, I fucking failed.” Hongjoong darts a hand out to grip your bicep, crushing your muscles under the plastic covering of your disguise. You lurch forward as he tugs you to the wall. It’s quick and messy, a stumble here then nearly face-planting into the metal without warning, but you brace yourself against it with your free hand.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you here, Ghost. I trust you to take whatever risks you have to when it comes to saving San. You either prove that trust to be misplaced right now, or you give me a damn good reason to put some faith in you.”

You flatten your palm to the cool metal. Hongjoong stares you down from your peripheral, eyes tracing the side of your face rather than where your hand touches the door.

Just a little push. In three, two, one —

You shove against the surface with all your might.

Only for nothing to happen.

You give another shove, this time pushing all the force you can muster into it.

And again, nothing happens. The door doesn’t budge, nor does your hand against it. Bile creeps up the back of your throat as reality sinks in.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong spits through his teeth. “We don’t have time for this. A guard will come around this hallway in two minutes.” Then, all of a sudden, he reaches across the space between you and the door. His hand closes around your forearm, fingers splayed over the plastic.

And just as he does that, your hand begins to sink through the metal of the door as though it’s nothing but opaque water with no resistance. Panic sneaks up on you out of nowhere as you watch your hand dip further into the surface. You startle and stumble forward like you’re going to follow your hand through, but Hongjoong slips between you and the door before that can happen.

“Unlock it, Y/N.”

The order barely processes in your hazy mind. The space between your bodies is minimal at best, but the more frightening fact is that your whole hand is currently pushed through a previously solid surface. You can’t imagine it would be pretty if the door suddenly decided to close around your limb. Hongjoong’s grip on your forearm is the only thing grounding you to reality at the moment, and you frankly have forgotten how to breathe in your state of terror. The only thing you’re vaguely aware of is how cold your right hand currently is on the other side of the door.

It takes you a moment to gain the courage to actually move your fingers, flexing and twisting them a little without issue. You fumble around blindly in search of the lock to no avail. And by pure instinct, you stretch your other hand out to the door like you’re going to brace yourself without thinking twice. Again, it’s Hongjoong who stops you and catches your other wrist before you can touch the door.

“You’ll just go all the way through if you do that. I need to keep a grip on you if you don’t want to end up losing an arm.”

“H-How the — what did you do?” You stammer. His answer never comes though because your fingers finally fall over something cool to the touch. You snap the lock, listening to the clear click that follows, and relief overtakes the panic. Hongjoong pushes against you and effectively pulls your arm out of the door without issue.

“Let’s go, we don’t have much time.” You don’t have time to do anything more than rub at your wrist and flex your fingers before you’re following Hongjoong into the dark room ahead. The cleaning cart rattles over the lip of the threshold once. The door slides shut with a whoosh of air. Then silence overtakes the two of you.

Within seconds, the room is hit with fluorescent white light. Hongjoong appears beside you, illuminated by the glow with his hand on the wall. When he drops his arm, he reaches for the zipper of his plastic suit. You watch on with apprehension to your gaze, still clutching your own hand to your chest as he pulls his left arm free. Whatever he’s doing is unbeknownst to you. Confusion still rings across your features when he waves his hand before you.

“The ring on my middle finger — this is what’s called a conductor.” You blink between his features and the band, catching sight of the simple silver ring around his finger that holds nothing more than two white gems laid side by side across the front. “It amplifies class abilities for the wearer, but it’s also strong enough to conduct the wearer’s energy through another person with physical contact. Which is why holding your arm allowed you to slip through the door with more ease since the ring was touching you.”

“You don’t keep it to be fashionable?” You mutter back. Hongjoong huffs and slips his arm back into the plastic suit.

“It’s San’s ring, actually. He gave it to me prior to the mission on Kebos. I didn’t think I would need it, but he insisted. Turns out that was a good idea after all.” Even after his hand is covered by the plastic again, Hongjoong won’t quit rubbing at the place where his ring is. The motion is almost obsessive, like he can’t gain peace just from touching it. You blink between his hands and the side of his face several times before pulling yourself free of your thoughts. You drag your tongue over your lower lip in a quick flick.

“Wait a moment, please. I have a question.”

“Again?” Hongjoong retorts. “Walk and talk. Standing around won’t save San.” He heads for the opposite side of the room, leaving the cleaning cart where it stands by your entrance, and you assume he intends to leave it there so you simply follow after him.

“Wooyoung said — he said that San is a ‘special case’. What did he mean by that?”

“Why are you asking me and not him?”

“Because it was about you. That San is a special case to you.”

“Again, Y/N, why do you want to know? What’s the importance of it? You’re awfully nosy when you want to speak.” You ignore the quip in favor of shaking your head. No response comes, and frankly, you aren’t sure what sort of explanation you have for him because it’s simply a flame of curiosity burning in your gut. Hongjoong slaps a hand down against the wall, right over the lighting panel, and the room returns to its previous state of enshrouded darkness. You blink against the sudden change in an attempt to find his figure standing out in the shadows. The only light filtering into the room comes from the door Hongjoong has stopped beside: a small rectangular window tinted almost black cut into the top half of the door sheds just enough light for you to find where Hongjoong is.

“Back on Echidna, you mentioned San being important too,” you continue, finally finding some semblance of an explanation. “I know he’s not a Siren; I’ve seen his back and there are no tattoos there. Even without that though, I’m certain I would have learned by now given how we slept beside each other during that mission.”

“He’s certainly not a Siren,” Hongjoong scoffs in reply. “He’s proved himself to be a Spectre more than once. That’s not up for debate. Nor is it important right now, because I gave you the answer you’re looking for while we were on the elevator. It’s as simple as that.”

“Fine, I’ll change the topic then. What the hell was I supposed to do if Wooyoung did come? Had it just been the two of us then what? Was I supposed to just out myself then and there?” It’s a purely rhetorical question in theory, however, because Wooyoung does know of your identity, and you know of his. As far as you know, Hongjoong is none the wiser to that, so this is also a way for you to weed the information out of him to see what exactly he knows.

“Yes. Yes, the plan was for you to use your Siren abilities in front of Wooyoung. The plan was also relying on your ability to phase through one door without issue. I expected Seonghwa to teach you that by now but apparently the two of you were busy doing… other activities.”

“Bullshit,” you snap back, partially due to your embarrassment at his blatant callout. “That can’t have been your plan!”

“I relied on Seonghwa for part of the planning for this mission. He told me you were able to do that much, that you had done it in the past, and he had seen you use a bit of telekinesis too. Even if I didn’t trust Seonghwa’s word for some odd reason, I would have given Wooyoung the conductor as a last resort. I always have a plan b and a plan c after that.”

Words fail you. As much as you want to call him out, the logic and reasoning are there. The only thing that still nags at the edge of your thoughts on the other hand —

“Why would you have outed me to Wooyoung like that?”

A sigh escapes the captain, and he reaches up to tug his mask down so that it hangs loose about his neck.

“It wasn’t an ideal situation to begin with, but since — since Seonghwa couldn’t in any way go on this mission, it had to be you. The doors aren’t on the same power grid as the surveillance system so Nightingale couldn’t have done it.” Hongjoong hesitates for a breath of air. You see him shift on his heels then step into your space. The light from the door hits the side of his face. It’s an eerie and unsettling sight, to be honest; the only features that truly come through are his eyes and nose. A band of dim light stretches over that top half of his face. Without seeing the rest of him, it’s hard to even recognize him like this. He appears far too delicate and soft to be anything like the man with a broad nose and narrowed eyes on wanted papers all over the galaxy. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice pipes up to note that the artist got his nose and eyes wrong.

“Scourge of the Black Sea. What a gaudy name.”

Someone snorts beside you. You twist to glance to your left, finding your companion standing there with his arms crossed over his chest as he examines the bounty paper you just ripped from the wall.

“One day it’ll be our job to kill him,” Jisung mutters under his breath. He doesn’t look at the paper for long — enough to roll his eyes at the almost cartoonish depiction of the criminal on it.

“No, that will be someone else’s job.” You let your arm fall from the wall but can’t quite release the paper from your grip yet. “Besides, it’s all pointless anyway. The military does nothing to scare these citizens. Nothing to encourage them to turn criminals like this man in beyond offering money. Those criminals on the other hand? They earned their reputation somehow and somewhere. People fear them, the sight of their names, and the whispers of their presence. Fear… fear is a god’s most powerful weapon, and this man holds it at his fingertips. Strange, don’t you think?”

“Fear is only useful in corralling believers. Those who choose not to believe — what need do they have in fearing a pretend deity?”

“You’re saying this Scourge isn’t real?”

“I’m saying that once we take down the figurehead king at the top of the pyramid, things will change. We’ll see what good faith and fear do for these people then.”

You glance down at the bounty once more. Then, you take it between your fingers and rip it clean down the middle, straight through the face printed onto it.

A sudden grip on your arm brings you back to the present, tearing you from the hazy memory that now swiftly fades into nothingness before you can try to remember more. You have half a thought that Hongjoong is going to attack you or something similar with the pure fervor in his hold on you. Instead, his gaze remains just as firm as before, but far from cruel or harsh.

“I apologize for making this decision without you and your permission. And I apologize for being harsh with you recently, as well as how I’ve treated you since you joined the crew. I didn’t like the situation we were in at first, couldn’t trust you or your motives, but I know now. I know that I need you as much as any person on the crew. My crew is not complete without you. There is — I put so much faith and trust in Seonghwa, and admittedly some of it is blind and unknowing. I expect him to do anything asked of him, but I realize now that I cannot ask that of him any longer. We have made it this far without revealing his identity to the crew, as well as you for that matter. But now? Given what has happened recently? I cannot ask either of you to hold back in the presence of the crew any longer. If it comes down to life or death, you have to be able to protect yourselves the best ways you know how. And if that includes using whatever abilities you have been granted as Sirens, then so be it.”

“Those ways are unbeknownst to me too,” you snort. It’s too much to consider the gravity behind Hongjoong’s words right now, not when there’s still a mission to accomplish later on. Whatever meaning his words hold — you can think back on it later once San is safe and sound. “Seonghwa hasn’t taught me much. I don’t know anything of what I’m supposed to know. At one point in my life, I had to have been aware of it all, either before joining the military or before Jisung fucked things up in my head. He wouldn’t have needed to keep those memories about Sirens because he didn’t know to look for them.”

Hongjoong’s grip falters. His eyes flash with an emotion akin to shock.

“How can you be certain?”

“I suppose I can’t truly be certain without him telling me directly, but if he knew, why would he purposefully take those memories away? Especially when he could have used me as a weapon with my abilities fully at my hands? As far as… as far as I remember, you are the only person I have told myself. Seonghwa knew long before I said a word.”

“If it means anything to you, you are free to tell whoever you wish on the crew. They’re the ones who stayed with me through a mutiny after all.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, mulling over what he’s said for only a few moments, then you offer a small nod.

“As long as it gets to be my own decision, I’m okay with that.”

Hongjoong returns your nod with one of his own as he pulls back to increase the space between your bodies.

“If you wish to learn more about what you are beyond simply talking with Seonghwa — which I highly encourage if that means anything to you — I have plenty of books at my disposal in my quarters. And once this mess is all over, I can put you in contact with a scholar who specializes in the Siren race. He and Seonghwa have spoken many times over the years.”

“You have a contact for everything, huh?”

Hongjoong tries to bite back his laugh but ultimately fails and lets the sound tumble out. The smile that graces his lips is truly a rare sight to see. It’s possibly the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him since telling him of your identity. The gesture falls almost immediately, but just seeing it for the brief time it was there is enough reassurance for you.

“I have wished to forget my past time and time again,” he admits through the quiet of the room. “There are parts of my past I wish to hack off and throw to the dogs if only to spare myself the pain of what I must witness at night in retribution for my crimes. Yet seeing how it affects you and the pain Jisung has subjected you to out of a sick claim of love… I would only wish such a fate on my worst enemies.” There’s a whisper in the silence. You inhale so sharply that your chest aches and burns. “You are not my worst enemy, Y/N. Not by a long shot.” An exhale on your part, but also on his. “I will do my job as a captain to ensure your safety. You know what I ask for in return.”

“G-Good to — to know,” you stutter back as quickly as you can. The tension lingering in your chest is tight, so prominent that it feels like someone has a tight grip over your heart. There are unsaid words as well, things you wish to say but cannot find it in you to vocalize right now. You’re grateful, in a way, to see a tiny shred of humanization from Hongjoong. “If I ask, would you help me find a way to recover those lost memories?”

Hongjoong approaches the door and lays a hand on the latch keeping it shut. He sends a glance back at you over his shoulder, a motion you only catch because of how the light through the door hits the side of his face and reflects off his eyes.

“Prove yourself first.”

The next corridor you step into looks eerily similar to the last, and it’s almost as though you didn’t go anywhere different because of how stark the similarities are. There’s not a guard in sight, thankfully for the two of you. This time, Hongjoong doesn’t stop to check his band; he steps to the right and walks directly down the hall without a breath of hesitation. It leaves you to play catch-up, a little jog to your step as you try to match his quick pace.

If an immediate fight lurking around every corner is what you’re expecting, you receive the opposite in return. Should the two of you get caught off-guard or jumped all of a sudden, you’re in for some trouble because your gun is hidden underneath the plastic suit. This time around, however, there are far more doors lining the hallways. Some have lights brightening their rectangular windows in the doors, but almost all of them are dark with no signs of life in them. As much as you hope to find San in one of the lit rooms, each peek only shows a stranger tied to a metal chair with a blindfold over their eyes. (It doesn’t stop you from checking each and every single one of them, even if Hongjoong keeps his eyes forward).

You lose track of how many turns you’ve made by the time Hongjoong stops you with his arm. With a quick yank, he pulls you back around a corner and up against the wall.

“Guard ahead. Just one. According to our floorplan, there’s a storage closet along each corridor too. Let’s grab him and shove him in there before moving forward.”

“How far to San?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

“We’re almost to the rehabilitation sector.”

“We haven’t gotten there yet?” The number of doors behind you is borderline countless, and the ones that were lit were still a significant number even if not the majority. If none of this has been the rehab section, you can’t imagine what they would possibly be.

“No. Now let’s go.”

You follow Hongjoong’s lead, shifting your mask on your face like it will help you quell the surge of panic in your gut. Seeing the guard in question — with his black fatigues and gun slung over his shoulder — turns that panic to adrenaline in a breath. It’s not an immediate attack; Hongjoong ducks his head to his chest and continues walking forward, and for a moment, you think the man is going to let the two of you simply walk past without issue. Then —

“Hey, there were no names on the sign-in sheet for this area today. Where’s your authorization?”

Hongjoong pauses and glances up at the guard with wide eyes. His acting would fool you if you didn’t know better.

“A-Authorization?” He stammers back. He reaches towards his pocket, head twisting a bit more than necessary. You take it as a cue and step to the right just a hair. “Of course, sir, it’s right here.”

Just as Hongjoong pulls his keycard out of the pocket of his suit, he lunges towards the guard with the card extended towards his neck.

Yet somehow he doesn’t move fast enough, and the card glances off the expanse of skin exposed at the man’s neck. It leaves nothing more than a thin scrape. You lurch forward to block an oncoming hit only to be hit by the full force of the guard’s weight. Blood pumps in your ears as they ring with impact. Your vision goes blurry and black for a fraction of a second, and when you recover your senses enough to see again, you find yourself flat on your back under a heavy body that now has hands closing around your neck. Hongjoong is just past the man’s shoulder with his own arm blocking his mouth and airways. Instead of letting up, the grip on your neck only grows tighter, like the guard is pushing every last bit of energy into crushing your throat under his bare hands.

It’s the fear that he might actually succeed, and the fear of failing San that drives your next actions.

You throw a shaky hand up between your body and the enemy’s, fingers scrambling to latch onto something that will help you push his weight off you. In your moment of frantic panic, something else happens. Your hand doesn’t find solid flesh and instead pushes through the wall of skin and bone before you. The first thing you feel is an uncomfortably warm sensation. Then it morphs into a horrible wet and thumping mass under your fingers. Your body moves as though controlled by something else, but you have a sense that Wooyoung has nothing to do with what is going on right now and that he is nowhere to be found in your consciousness. If you could gag, you most certainly would because your hand clenches tight around that throbbing organ until it stops thumping altogether. Only when the grip on your neck loosens enough for you to escape do you pull your appendage free. In between your gasps for air, you heave like vomit is about to come up.

There’s a phantom sensation of a beating heart at your fingertips.

A thud resounds beside you, and you dare to glance over to find Hongjoong dropping the body of the now-dead guard to the floor in equal parts shock and horror. The quickly cooling wet sensation on your hand tells you that indeed just happened; the blood dripping from the plastic is too real to ignore as much as you want to, and you truly just put your hand through a man’s chest like it was child’s play.

“Y-You…” Hongjoong has garnered all the fear in the universe with mere whispers of his reputation as a pirate, and yet looking him in the eye right now is like staring at nothing more than a child who has witnessed the monster under his bed crawling out to daylight. Bile rises in your throat. You never want to see that again. You never want to see terror cross his dark eyes when looking at you again. “You couldn’t have done that with the fucking door earlier?” He manages after a few heaves of breath. It’s evident that isn’t what he originally intended to say. You don’t think you can handle hearing whatever is on his mind at present.

Hongjoong makes quick work of the body, not bothering to get your help and leaving you where you’re still slumped against the wall while he drags the guard to the closet he mentioned previously. You can’t bring yourself to watch the process. As many people as you’ve killed, as much blood is on your hands, as high as your kill count is — you’ve never done something as inhumane as what you just did. It’s not something you imagined being capable of in the slightest. You’ve heard rumors in books and military records about some Sirens being able to do such things; some military plans even called for Siren collection so that they could be used as torturers or weapons with that specific ability. Maybe if you had stayed any longer in the military, that’s what you would have become.

But to hold the weight of a life in your hands so literally is a hefty cost to pay.

That heartbeat is still drumming at your fingertips.

“Y/N.”

Hongjoong shakes you free of your thoughts. His tone is uncharacteristically gentle. You blink forward at him where he now squats in front of you, hand outstretched to your bloodied one. His surgical mask is gone and forgotten, along with the translucent plastic suit that covered his body before.

“We won’t be needing disguises anymore.”

You manage a shaky nod and peel your mask away from the lower half of your face with your clean hand. You don’t grab hold of Hongjoong’s yet, not until you toss the mask to the floor and can freely set your unbloodied hand atop his. He tugs you to your feet, and despite the wobbling of your knees, you stand on your own enough to pull the rest of your disguise away from your body. Your hand underneath the plastic is pristine — clean as ever without a drop of blood on it. Scarlet still flashes across your vision even as Hongjoong takes the remainder of the plastic suit and throws it into the closet as well.

“Y/N,” he repeats. You can meet his eyes. If there’s fear there again, you know you won’t be able to finish this mission as you need to. “I don’t know what the fuck that was, and it’s clear you don’t either, but I need you to forget about it. Put it in the back of your mind right now. Shake it off and don’t think about it.”

“It’s—” you pause to lick over your lips “— it’s fine.” Lie. “I’m fine.” Lie. “I won’t let it bother me.” Lie.

You know it’s an easy façade to see through despite your insistence. Hongjoong doesn’t comment on it and opts for a hasty nod in reply.

“Good, because I think San is not too far ahead.”

There is a certain weight in the air as you begin walking again. While it could be because you’re so close to getting to San, you know that’s not truly the case. Hongjoong finally starts glancing into each of the lit rooms as you pass them. You do the same even as Hongjoong walks by, unable to keep your curiosity at bay. The next guard you come across is much easier to dispose of — well, you don’t actually do anything but stand next to Hongjoong because you sneak up on the one-man patrol from behind this time, which lets the captain knock him out without issue. Hongjoong uses the same method as before and stuffs the body in the nearest storage closet.

Even with your occasional company that could seriously risk the success of this mission, the floor is eerily quiet and undisturbed for a military facility. And given what the guards outside said about the screaming… you half expected to hear such screams resonating off the walls without ceasing. Instead, all you’re met with is the echo of your own footsteps and the hum of the air conditioner.

“Eyes on target,” Hongjoong exhales. You snap your attention forward, thinking he means an enemy ahead at first. But Hongjoong isn’t looking down the hall, and there is no one in sight. “Eyes on San. We found him.”

“No time like the present, Captain.” Yeosang’s sudden intrusion startles the fuck out of you. He’s been so quiet for so long that you honestly forgot he was there, patiently waiting for an update at you and Hongjoong milled about each corridor for what felt like an eternity.

“There’s a doctor in the room with him. Seems to be standing at a counter at the opposite end.” Hongjoong draws back to look at you. “I’m giving you five minutes to get in there and get him out,” he says under his breath. “Kill anyone inside who isn’t San. I’ll guard the door and make sure our exit is clear as best I can. Nightingale, do you have eyes on the emergency elevator?”

“Yes sir,” a garbled voice echoes back. The taunt in his tone is impossible to miss even with the static. “You’ll have a few customers along the way, but nothing you can’t handle.”

“Get him back,” Hongjoong whispers, this time just to you and not with Yeosang or Nightingale listening on the other side.

“Aye Captain,” you reply. Approaching the door doesn’t take more than three steps, and Hongjoong is waiting with his hand on the door panel. You don’t let yourself look through the slot of the window, too afraid of being distracted by whatever sight lies on the other side. All you need to know is that San is inside and your only obstacle is a doctor on the other side of the cell.

The slide of the door is nearly deafening with how loud the whoosh is. You don’t have time to look at San or even blink down at the chair he’s supposedly sitting in; the doctor opposite you spins on her heel upon hearing the door open.

“This is a restricted area. Unauthorized access is strictly prohibited unless with direct orders from—” You cross the room in a record-setting three seconds, dodging the chair in the middle to reach the woman in a pristine white lab coat. Her words fall short when you grip her lapel and yank her forward. You debate saying something — some witty comeback to shut her up further — but it’s pointless in the long run considering what you do next.

It only takes a quick jerk for you to twist her forward and slam her head down against the counter so hard that the impact rattles everything scattered across the surface. Her body doesn’t fall completely limp then though, so you repeat the motion once, twice, then one last time for good measure before she finally slumps to the floor. Either unconscious or dead — you aren’t sure, and you don’t want to stick around long enough to find out. When you turn back around, the door has slid into its original position, leaving you alone with the body on the floor and the man on the chair before you.

It’s almost poetic in a way; the way time feels like it’s screeching to a halt so quickly you forget how breathing works, how heavy your arm feels when you lift it to touch the side of the chair, and the emotion clawing it’s way up to your throat as you finally finally set your gaze upon that familiar side profile.

The blindfold hovering over his eyes does nothing to conceal his identity, although you think you might recognize him anywhere at this point.

You aren’t sure what to do first. Shackles are binding his wrists and ankles to the chair alongside the blindfold, then another thick band of metal strapped over his neck to keep him in place. The locking mechanic is nothing more than a simple latch contraption — obviously, they don’t plan for break-ins or breakouts for that matter.

There’s a lingering burn on the back of your tongue, one that is afraid to pull the blindfold away and see eyes that don’t recognize you. So you get to work on the bindings first and snap each one open starting at his ankles.

San remains deathly still throughout the whole process you can’t figure out whether he’s going to jump you the second you snap the final latch on his neck or merely lie there for an eternity until you do something. Your answer comes soon enough, because the moment you tug that last latch away and free San’s body from the cold metal, he bursts into action with an energy you didn’t know you had. The blindfold keeps him from doing any real damage, but he manages to shove you to the ground and land atop your chest. It fully knocks all the air out of your lungs, and the sound that was meant to be a cry of San’s name only comes out in a huff of oxygen with no intelligible sound in it.

His knee presses into the inside of your bicep on one side. On the other, he uses his right hand to keep you pinned to the floor. (Not that you’re putting up a fight anyway). His free hand stretches upward. You prepare yourself for the painful moment of truth. The black fabric over his face slides down and flutters to the floor. You see his eyelids match the motion as he blinks against the sudden light in his eyes.

And then he sees you.

Perceives you, really.

It’s a calculated gaze for only a fraction of a second, then it blossoms into one of utter shock and surprise.

You brace yourself for the nightmare to become reality.

“Y-You…” His hold on you loosens to a point where it’s near nonexistent.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Tell me this isn’t real. Tell me you’re not truly here and just some hallucination,” San breathes out. His hands tremble — either from exhaustion or true fear you don’t know — as he reaches out for your face. The pads of his fingers are rough against your cheeks. “Of all the tricks you’ve pulled on me… this has to be the cruelest.”

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“It’s real. I’m here. I’m real.”

San’s expression falters. His face twitches and contorts, a visual representation of how conflicted his head must be.

“There’s one memory I didn’t let them touch. One thing I refused to let them even glimpse at.” San’s hold on your face tightens a hair. It’s nothing violent or painful, only a touch that seeks to confirm your presence before him. His brows draw together as he squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as possible. It’s almost as though he’s fighting something back, preparing for the worst, or even just trying to hide the emotion in his eyes when he speaks next. “Back on Echidna, during our mission there, what did you tell me at the end of that first night there? Before I first fell asleep?”

It’s a tough question. You don’t have an answer off the top of your head; that mission on Echidna was some time ago now and you haven’t thought about that night in particular in a long while because of how terribly things went afterward.

“When you first fell asleep?” You echo, head tilting a little under San’s hands. “I think… I think I told you to get some rest?”

“And?” He prompts. One eye cracks open to look at you. “Did you stay the first time I fell asleep?”

Ah…

“No, no I — I said I would but then tried to leave.”

“What did you say when you returned?”

That one is much easier to answer. It’s been at the forefront of your mind every time you ponder the topic of staying versus leaving, that lingering conversation with San and what you said to him then. You can’t piece together why it’s so important now but you aren’t about to deny him.

“I told you that I couldn’t leave yet.”

“Yet…” San repeats, tone almost wistful in how breathy it sounds. Two seconds later, he’s leaning off your body, and his hands are sliding down to your shoulders only to pull you up into a kneeling position before him. You blink back in wonder for several seconds. “I couldn’t leave yet either.”

It should sound entirely stupid given the context of the situation, and yet those five words hold more weight than you thought possible. It’s more than just a dumb allusion to what you said before or some cliché one-liner that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. In saying that he couldn’t leave yet, you know what he means because it’s the antithesis to all your nightmares and the thoughts that haunted you the entire trip leading up to this point.

You feared he would readily leave his memories behind even through all your insistence that he could resist it. That lingering terror ate away at your thoughts and heart until you believe it to be true. You wonder if in the short period of time while you were away from him on Echidna, this is what he thought of before hearing those words on your lips.

But then again, it’s more than a matter of leaving the crew or staying to see things through.

San couldn’t leave all the memories of you and the others yet.

The happiness swelling in your chest is hot, a scalding fire that consumes you in mere seconds, or it’s the heat of the arms curling around your waist and tugging you into a warm torso, head tucked into a freckled neck that maps the way home.

“You came for me.”

“I couldn’t leave you alone.”

I won’t leave you alone.  

That sentence doesn’t make it past your throat or onto your lips. You don’t feel that it really needs to anyway.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you,” you whisper against the skin of his neck.

“It’s okay. I knew you would find me eventually.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

At that, San pulls you back just a bit, hand resting at the base of your skull and tangling his fingers in the hair there. His face won’t come into focus even as you stare directly at him. You don’t realize tears are falling until they drop to your thighs.

“It’s okay,” San whispers. His lips pull into a tight smile, but it holds all the warmth and comfort in the universe. “I wasn’t ready then.”

“A-Are you… are you ready now?” You stammer, almost choking on the words. San stretches his other hand up to brush the tears away from your jawline.

“Are you?”

“Yes, y-yes, I am, I truly am this time.” San tucks you closer to his body; he pulls you forward and props his chin atop your head, hold so tight that you can barely breathe but that hardly matters in the slightest. You squeeze him back like he might disappear if you let go. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“I would wait a thousand lifetimes if that’s what you asked of me.”

“I won’t ask that of you,” you murmur. A sob threatens to choke you, and you curl your fingers around San’s bicep. “I won’t make you wait for anything from now on.”

“I would gladly do the same for you in return. You know that. You may not believe it quite yet, but I’ll prove it to you as best I can.” If you let go of San now, what would happen? How much time do you have left before Hongjoong busts in? How are you going to get San out of here without trouble? There’s a sense of security in this moment that you don’t want to disrupt, like letting go will only bring reality back down on your shoulders and time will continue to spin on and on around you. If time could wait, you would certainly make it do so. “We can talk more about it later, yeah? When we’re all back safe and sound.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?” You inquire, finally pulling away to look at him properly. His hair is a bit of a mess — out of place and a greasy mat that doesn’t sit flat on his head — and you can’t resist the urge to comb a hand through it even if it does nothing.

“I’m nursing a broken rib that hurts like a bitch, but I’ve had worse,” he huffs out, almost laughing into the statement, and you return it with a smile.

“One brush with death is enough. Let’s not ever do that again.” As you’re speaking, your earpiece crackles to life and Hongjoong’s voice filters over.

“What the hell is taking so long in there? We need to get moving.”

San can’t hear the voice, but he does see the name that flashes over your wristband, and the mere sight of Hongjoong’s name has his eyes lighting up with unrestrained joy. He doesn’t wait a second before reaching for your wrist and pulling your whole arm towards his mouth.

“Hi, Captain.”

“You nee— San.” Hongjoong’s thought dies on his tongue as he processes that it is San talking to him rather than you.

“Don’t sound so excited, I’ll fall over and die,” San bites back, all smiles and joy when he speaks.

“…Right, yeah, I’ll be sure to lecture you first thing when we get back.” Perhaps to anyone else, it would be nothing, but San smiles wider than before like it means everything to him. You don’t hear any gentleness or affection in Hongjoong’s tone; the radio noise crackling alongside his voice doesn’t help in the slightest. San must pick up on something no one else does though because he hums a little and slides his hand up your wrist until your fingers meet.

“Let’s go home,” he says under his breath. Again he sounds a little wistful, mostly tired but also content, and you think it’s entirely unfair of him to be comforting you with such words when he’s the one who has been gone all this time. You’re the first to stand but San doesn’t let go of your hand quite yet, still clinging to you and lacing his fingers through the gaps between yours. When he doesn’t move to get up with you, you blink down with a question on your tongue. He doesn’t let you get the words out; not two seconds later is he pulling your hand closer and laying his lips against the back of your hand.

Some voice in the back of your mind reminds you that it’s the same hand that was buried in a guard’s chest and squeezing around his thumping heart not too long ago.

San doesn’t even know that you did such a thing yet he kisses you so gently and softly. You almost feel as though you don’t deserve such a loving touch from him. The urge to yank your hand away from his is strong, and it’s an impulse you almost follow up on but the warmth of his lips keeps you in place.

How long ago was it that you were running from planet to planet, picking up odd jobs wherever you could just to get by? All with the hopes of lifting some pardon papers for Hyunwoo off a military ship? Back then, home seemed like an impossible dream to achieve, a physical place you could never reach because you neither remembered it nor did you think it could be anything you deserved in the slightest. If it is indeed a place… you still don’t know where it would be for you. You aren’t one to find a home in people after being burned so badly in the past and hurting the ones you thought to be your home then, yet San seems quite certain.

Home.

An odd concept with an even stranger connotation to it. You aren’t ready to face the music yet.

San gets to his feet with a smile painting his lips. You’re still a little dazed and can’t return the gesture, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He’s the first to step towards the door, hand finally falling away from your wrist. You don’t voice it right then but you miss the touch the second it leaves you, and that’s a startling realization in and of itself.

Hongjoong stands on the other side of the door when it slides open. He and San merely stare each other down without speaking for what feels like hours, then you see Hongjoong reach out to take one of San’s hands in his own. He presses something down to his palm then draws back with a faint smile.

“Welcome back.”

Right in the center of San’s palm lies that ring from before, the one Hongjoong wore and used to help you get through the door. San closes his fingers around the band.

“Thank you for getting me.”

“It’s not over quite yet. We still have to get out of here in one piece,” you chime in, glancing down the hall past Hongjoong’s shoulder. The captain folds his arms over his chest and gives a sharp nod.

“We certainly can’t leave the way we came in. Blueprints told me that they’ve got a garage full of transport vehicles on Ground Level 1. If we get up there, we can take one of the cars and leave with no issue. They’ll let us right out.”

“What’s the catch?” You ask. It’s either paranoia or pure reason that drives you to ask because you can’t accept that it would be a simple as ‘one, two, three, leave’ without any issue whatsoever.

“The catch? Well, there isn’t one really. Unless you count actually getting up there with a prisoner and no more disguises a catch, in which case I’d say that’s a rather large one.”

San blinks between you and Hongjoong.

“Then we’d best get going, no?” He offers, but there’s a faint flush to his neck that implies that he’s almost embarrassed about the situation. Before you have the chance to ask him anything, Hongjoong takes off without anything more than a quick hand signal. San keeps up rather well with the captain; his injuries don’t seem to be holding him down or back for the time being, although you know from personal experience that moving with a broken rib can be excruciating over prolonged periods of time.

“How many guards should we expect?” You ask, calling forward to Hongjoong from where you bring up the rear.

“No clue! Nightingale is keeping the cameras down for as long as possible so we can reach the elevators.”

“Nightingale?” San echoes. “Nightingale’s here?”

“Not — not physically no, he’s in a remote location at the moment,” Hongjoong explains over his shoulder. “I’ll see if he can drop by the ship before we depart for a quick chat with you.”

So San has history with this Nightingale figure too? For every crumb of information you learn about San, he seems to drop whole pieces of food on your head moments later. There’s no telling how deep it runs exactly, or how much you don’t know yet. Logically, it would make sense for him to feel the same way about you, but if you were to protect your pride, you would merely say that it’s because you cannot recall much of that past. (How much would your pride suffer to admit that the only person holding you back from being open and honest with the people around you is yourself?)

“Look alive! Guard ahead. Don’t let him trigger an alarm,” Hongjoong barks out, reaching out behind his back to touch San’s arm. He pulls the man forward a hair, enough to shroud his body from sight as much as possible even though San’s much broader form still sticks out. You take the opportunity to dart around them in a rush and throw yourself at the guard. You won’t let this one get the upper hand like the last, at least not to a point where you have to stick your hand through a chest again. The man turns at the sound of quickly approaching footsteps and most likely Hongjoong’s hissed order, but it’s not enough time for him to prepare for a fight of any sort.

You swing a leg out with enough force to bring him to his knees, hands scrambling for purchase on his uniform as you throw him face-first into the tiled floor. A crack resounds — his nose most likely — then the thud of his forehead hitting the floor. You don’t take any chances with him though; it takes less than two seconds for you to pull your pistol from its holster and put a bullet in the back of the guard’s head. Once the body under your knee goes still, you flick your gaze up to the pair across from you.

“No time to hide the body,” Hongjoong says, barely making eye contact. He steps around you, but San pauses to help you get back to your feet before following after the captain once more. “From now on, the only goal is to get out with no issues.”

By a stroke of sheer luck, it turns out that the room San was being held in was rather close to the exit elevator. You can’t count on an easy path out, but for the time being, you can at least guarantee one more step to safety. Hongjoong punches one of the buttons on the keypad, doors sliding shut painfully slow before it lurches into motion.

“Short trip up this time. Be ready for a fight. This will take us up to the main corridor on the ground floor, but there’s no telling how many guards will be stationed up there. Watch your backs and corners too; the whole floor branches out into lots of hallways. I’ll get us to the garage if you two just stick close and follow me.” Hongjoong’s foot taps against the metal flooring incessantly. It does nothing but add to the anxiety of the ride upwards. San wets his lips, eyes trailing along the side of the young captain’s face, but he doesn’t speak whatever is on his mind. The urge to reach out and hold onto his hand in some mockery of an attempt at comfort comes over you. You close your fingers tighter around the grip of your gun instead.

You leave the elevator first when the doors slide open, the sole reason being to make sure the path is clear enough for San and Hongjoong behind you. Hongjoong steps out soon after, and he has his own gun out as well, one of the two pistols he keeps strapped to his thighs at all times.

“Clear,” you announce under your breath.

“Take the rear and watch our backs.”

You step to the side to allow San to follow Hongjoong more closely, not moving until you see Hongjoong check the closest set of branching hallways. The whole atmosphere is tense in a way that disturbs you. Normally, this sort of pressure would bring a heightened sense of adrenaline to your veins, yet now it only makes you fear what lurks behind each corner more and more.

“Wide hall ahead. We’ll pause to scope out our surroundings there.” Hongjoong’s order comes out in nothing more than a whisper. You don’t settle yet, not even as he and San press up against the nearest wall and make themselves as flat as possible. The barrel of your gun stays up and at the ready, checking the corridor dead ahead for any signs of movement. Out the corner of your eye, you see Hongjoong lean forward a hair. “Enemy ahead. We’re gonna have to cross his line of sight to get across. Our destination is further along the hall he’s staring straight down.”

“Do you want me to take him out?” You offer, letting your focus fall for half a second.

“Not until we’re clear. If he has backup, it’ll make it harder for us to cross with no issues. You go first, Y/N. Right around that corner, about midway down the corridor, there’s a cart that can provide some cover for you. Get there and keep that guard in your sights. Take a shot if you can, but don’t start firing like crazy because that’ll only draw more attention. The fewer bullets that fly, the greater chance of us getting out without issue. Once you’re clear, I’ll send San down to join you then I’ll follow when it’s safe.”

This is what you’re good at: getting the job done. You may not have your typical sniper rifle on hand, but a short distance shot down a hallway should be child’s play at best.

At Hongjoong’s signal, you round the corner to the right and break into a sprint. As he mentioned, there is a cart off to the left, and you dart for the cover like your life depends on it.

“Hey, you there! Are you alright? Is something chasing you?”

You don’t stop to focus on the voice at all, still running at breakneck speed until you reach the cart.

“What the fuck? Am I seeing shit again?”

There’s just enough of a gap in the metal for you to peek through, and the enemy is much closer than you anticipated. He isn’t moving at least, so you won’t need to worry about that when firing, but even if he were, running straight at you makes for an easy target. It took three seconds for you to cross the corner and reach this point of cover. Surely both Hongjoong and San counted those seconds and measured them themselves. That gives you three seconds to leave cover, aim your gun, and take the enemy down in one shot. He hasn’t pulled his gun up yet; it’s still in his holster, and if you account for a bit of fumble time to get the gun out, you should be set with an easy kill.

When San moves, so do you.

Three seconds to fire.

San is at the corner of your vision.

Three seconds until he's safe.

You cock the hammer back and hone in on your target. One soldier, face shrouded by a mask and helmet, stands at the other end of the corridor.

Two.

Your finger itches on the trigger, begging to pull it, but you need San safe first, you need him to be safe before you fire. If you misfire or cause the soldier to start raining down bullets, it won't be safe for San anymore.

One.

Bang!

Your finger jerks.

It wasn't your shot.

"San!"

It’s not your voice.

It wasn't your shot.

San is no longer on the edge of your peripherals. Hongjoong darts out of his point of cover but it’s too early, San isn’t completely safe yet, he hasn’t finished his path to you.

“Take the fucking shot!” He hisses as he passes into the hall.

Your finger moves on the command, but your brain doesn’t process it in the slightest. The noise rings through the hall, a sharp whizzing before impact is made, then the guard crumbles to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.

“C-Captain, I—”

It’s not your voice.

“Are you hit? Are you hit, San? Where? We need to get you out of here. Can you move? San, can you hear me?” Hongjoong sounds so panicked it startles you. He shouldn’t sound like that. The infamous Scourge of the Black Sea should never sound so afraid. Your arm is still outstretched with pistol in hand like that soldier didn’t fall. Despite every insistence of your mind telling you to move, you feel absolutely paralyzed.

How the fuck did that soldier pull his gun out so quickly?

You had him in your sights, you were ready to fire, it was merely a matter of one second. It was a single second counting down to San’s safety, so why was he not safe in that moment?

“Cap… Hongjoong, Hon-Hongjoong, I—”

Please why is this happening? This wasn’t supposed to happen, this can’t be happening, this was supposed to go right for once. It was supposed to be okay, god fucking damnit.

San doesn’t sound afraid. His voice is wavering and shaky but not because he’s afraid.

“Fucking shit!” Hongjoong exclaims, and you see him hang his head in his hands. It feels so wrong to see him like this. “Is it in your back? I’ll get the bullet out, okay, we just need to get somewhere safe first. Come on, let’s get up. I’ll help you walk, San, let’s go.”

San is crumpled on the ground with his right arm supporting most of his upright weight. If not for the slightly pale sheen to his skin, you would think he’s simply tired. Hongjoong leans closer to hold his face up between his hands.

He’s just tired. It’s okay. He’s okay.

San heaves out a deep breath. Hongjoong is still trying to urge him to his feet. The dread is creeping in, and you lower your arm as that dread drains you of your strength.

“I-I can’t move, Hongjoong,” San exhales. The shock of the impact doesn’t seem to have hit him in full yet. “…I can’t f-feel my legs.”

“Hey, hey, hey, stop that.” Hongjoong grabs his face tighter. “Can’t feel them or move them?”

“M-Move, yeah, sorry, I c-can’t move them. I feel them — god, they fucking h-hurt, Joong.” San’s voice breaks for the first time. His eyes carry a sheen that you truly despise to them.

“Okay, we’re gonna get you out of here, San. I promise. You hear me? I promise,” Hongjoong says with a new resolve creeping into his tone. San huffs out a drained laugh.

“You make a lot of promises to a person who doesn’t deserve it, Hongjoong.”

“I’ll be the one to decide who deserves my promises and who doesn’t,” the captain whispers back before getting back up. “I can’t risk moving the bullet around too much by throwing you over my shoulder or carrying you in my arms. We’ll have to get you on my back for now. Once we’re out, we can see to getting the bullet out but this is not a safe place to do it. I can’t — jostling you too much could severe more nerves, and that’s the last thing I want. Y/N, help get him on my back, then watch our backs for more guards. Yeosang, come in.”

“Here, Captain,” Yeosang answers within a second.

“Get Yunho on the fucking line right now and tell him to make it snappy.”

“Did something happen?”

“San got shot, it’s not pretty, I need Yunho to guide me through getting the bullet out without hurting him more.”

“I — how bad is it, Captain?” Something in Yeosang’s tone shifts. In that brief moment, you hear the panic in his own voice, the wisps of worry curling there in a way that has your own stomach churning.

“It’s bad, Yeosang, just hurry the fuck up and get him on the line!” Hongjoong sounds too frantic for your liking, and San’s body feels far too heavy as you help him settle against Hongjoong’s back. San doesn’t respond as you loop an arm around his back. You can see the blood seeping through his thin tunic like this, the hole in the shirt near his tailbone. It’s so close to where his spine lies — too close for comfort and too close to severing his spinal cord completely. Is this supposed to be considered luck? “Legs, San.”

“C-Can’t, Joong.”

“…Right, sorry, hold on.”

Did you get lucky?

This feels so far from luck that it’s almost laughable.

Hongjoong hooks his hands around the backs of San’s knees then heaves the both of them upwards. Despite his small stature, he’s much stronger than he appears because he doesn’t even flinch under the weight of San’s body around him. San seems more affected by it, in fact, although it’s not in a good way at all because the sound that escapes him is nothing if not horribly pained.

“Hong — Captain?” New voice, Yunho this time, tone laced with no shortage of panic. “Where did he get shot?”

Hongjoong can’t lift his wristband to his lips to respond, however, and he gives you a pointed look around San’s form that tells you more than enough. You bring your wrist to your mouth as the captain begins to lead the way out of the corridor.

“It’s in his back. Lower back, just shy of his tailbone, a little to the left,” you whisper. Your duty is to check for any further guards but you find your stare lingering on that patch of blood and the hole in San’s tunic instead.

“Fuck, can he feel his legs? Move them? How badly are the nerves damaged? Can you tell?”

“I…he can feel his legs, he said. But not move them and they — they hurt badly.”

“Thank god, that’s better than nothing. You guys are too far from the ship though; he’s gonna need immediate help. And I mean professional help, not you fishing the bullet out yourself, Joong. Even the smallest twitch of your fingers could cost him full use and functionality of his legs.”

“Ask him if his contact here is still in business,” Hongjoong hisses to you as you round a corner.

“Hongjoong wants to know if your contact is still here? Still in business, I mean.”

“Who, Hyunjae? He should be, yeah. It doesn’t hurt to check. He’s in Upper Echelon too, so his clinic will be your best bet for now. You still remember where it is, Joong?” Hongjoong gives a series of nods, and you confirm it for Yunho through the comms before turning back to see if anyone is coming in the opposite direction. “I know he must be in a lot of pain right now, but it’s imperative that he doesn’t move around too much. Using any of the muscles in his back is too risky. J-Just be sure he… be sure to keep a close eye on him. Don’t let him stand or sit upright on his own while that bullet is there. If his body pushes it any closer to his spinal cord then — then it’ll be near impossible to get it out without damaging nerves, and I don’t trust anyone but myself to pull an operation like that off.”

Funny how San was the one shot yet you’re the one feeling numb in this very moment.

The fear crawling up your gut is about to eat you alive, a thumping in your veins that you can’t ignore, and the only thing running through your mind is how terribly wrong this turned out right when you thought it was going well.

“Y/N, get this door.” Hongjoong cuts through the thoughts threatening to swallow you whole. He turns his back to the turn when you step closer, eyes immediately flitting towards the hall you were just watching moments ago. That silence from before has returned — the one that made your skin itch and crawl with unease — but you continue with your task until the slide of the door interrupts the quiet.

“Good to go.”

When the captain turns to face you, you catch a glimpse of San’s sweat-slick face and pale skin just past his shoulder.

Should’ve taken the fucking shot. Why didn’t I take the fucking shot? He was safe, why did I not believe he was safe? If anything I —

A hand cups the curve of your jaw, and you startle against the sudden touch as though burned. Hongjoong’s confused expression tells you it wasn’t him who touched you, so your gaze instantly settles on San instead where he stares back with a quivering smile.

“Stop that,” he murmurs, and the words come out a little slurred. You don’t have time to ask what he means by that; Hongjoong pushes into the newly opened room without waiting for you to catch up. The reason for his rush is evident in what awaits you on the other side because the garage, full of rows of military vehicles lining the floor, now lies before you. It only makes the bitterness burning the back of your throat stronger. You were that close to getting away unscathed, that close to safety, and all you had to do was make one shot.

“We’ll set you down in the backseat, San, but you gotta lie face down for the ride. I’ll try to make it a short trip for you.” Hongjoong stops at the nearest car with a clear shot out of the garage. You take it upon yourself to open the doors again; it’s no surprise they’re unlocked since the vehicles are supposed to be safely tucked away in here, but the garage will be a different story no doubt. Moving San into the backseat is a struggle in and of itself because of how afraid both you and Hongjoong are to cause him any more pain or damage to the wound. He’s visibly hurting — muscles in his shoulders and arms tense to the point where it hurts to look at, expression drawn tight as can be, and that bloodstain on the back of his shirt spreading more by the second.

When you pull yourself upright and close the door behind San, you finally notice the tremble in Hongjoong’s hands. He rounds the front of the car, leaving you to take up the passenger seat as he climbs into the driver's.

“Have you ever driven one of these?” You ask to break the tension hanging about the car’s interior.

“Once or twice. Briefly.” Those are the furthest things from words of encouragement. He fiddles with some buttons, pressing them here and there like he’s trying to get a feel of the vehicle. You almost don’t believe he’s gonna pull anything special off in his supposed inexperience, but seconds later the car revs to life, and after another flip of a switch, the garage doors screech open.

Please hang in there, San. Please.

If you close your eyes now, you’re certain you’ll see glimpses of your time on Echidna, or even as far back as your time on Eros and all the failures you suffered there. But the one thing that’s going to be on your mind for the foreseeable future is your delayed shot, the failure that almost cost San his life and possibly the use of his legs, and you aren’t sure how you’re going to come to grips with that. And obviously, San wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for that blunder, but you aren’t San, nor are you as forgiving and gracious as he is because it was your shot to take and miss, but you didn’t even take it until it was too late.

You move to look over your shoulder and into the back seat, but a hand comes up between your line of sight and San’s reclining body. Hongjoong keeps his gaze set on the road before you despite the movement.

“He’s made it through worse,” he mumbles. The fingers gripping the steering wheel tighten a hair. “Let’s not focus too hard on it right now.”

The knot in your stomach refuses to unfurl despite Hongjoong’s reassurance.

...

“Hey bread boy where ya been?”

“Umiko! I’ve missed you too! No bread this time though, Mother and Mama haven’t been working in the bakery these days!”

“You’ve been gone for so long! It’s been so boring around here without you.”

“Ah, Mother has been making me help her with the garden. We’re prepping for winter!”

“What about your papa? Is he back yet?”

“No, he’ll be gone for a while, I think. That’s what Mother said at least. He went to visit Father in the eastern villages.”

“Oh, wow, really? Aren’t they like, super far though?”

“Yeah, about sixteen kilometers to the northeast according to Mother. When he gets back, I’ll get to train some more though! Papa promised to show me some cool new tricks! What about your grandpapa and mama? Are you gonna see them soon?”

“No, my mother doesn’t want me to. She said she wants me to stick around the church. But the priests are so raggedly and cranky! Old stuck-up men!”

“Ha! The Lunar priests are all women! The head priestess always brings me rock candies and plays games with me in her free time!”

“Ugh, my priests are so boring. I don’t see why I can’t have been born a Moonchild like you! All the priests talk about is Sea Goddess this and Sea Goddess that, praise be her name or whatever they say.”

“I don’t know. At least the sea goddess is pretty cool! I’m the child of that ugly red moon up there. Not very fun if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but at least you don’t have to grow up to be a priestess like I do… I don’t see why they don’t give us a choice at least.”

“Umiko!”

“Ugh, it’s time for my classes. They’re gonna make me speak Manko again!”

“Oh come on, Umiko! It’s your first language, shouldn’t it be easy for you?”

“I like normal talk a lot more. It’s easier than all the weird grammar in Manko. That’s all they speak in the Church though so I have to get used to it.”

“Next time you come over, I’ll help you practice! My mama says that I’m getting super good at my words and syllables.”

Throughout your restless sleep, that hazy dream is the only thing you can recall, and even so it was nothing more than raucous conversations around you while you floated atop a lake of black water with a red moon staring down at you from above. Both voices were that of a child’s tone, very young but old enough to speak decently well without stammering through syllables and fumbling with sounds. No faces or clues as to who either child was, although you have a sneaking suspicion that one of them was supposed to be yourself. Whether truly a memory from your child that has been repressed all this time or just an odd message from Daichi himself, you have no way of knowing right now.

“Could do without the weird-ass dreams, Daichi,” you grumble to yourself as you tuck the flimsy cotton towel in your hands further around your body. The steam from your shower is still rising, and you have yet to step out of the porcelain box. It’s still rather early in the morning; you and Hongjoong arrived at the clinic with San late in the afternoon, where the doctor Hyunjae demanded you both stay overnight while he operated on San. You haven’t seen San since he was taken into the back part of the clinic, which had to have been over twelve hours ago by now. A long and silent dinner followed his departure into the operating room, where you and Hongjoong sat across from each other with barely-touched food and no words to share until the young captain bid you goodnight sometime later.

You know you should be counting your blessings right now. You got out of that military base with no interruptions and no trouble, Hongjoong got you all to the clinic in record time with no issues, and the doctor was both present and available to help San at a moment’s notice. The lack of an update from Hyunjae, as well as the lack of anything from Hongjoong about San’s condition, isn’t ideal but at least the situation isn’t dangerous anymore.

And yet… and yet… your heart won’t settle and neither will your nerves.

You yank the shower curtain to the side only to nearly jump out of your skin when you find Hongjoong standing on the other side of the opaque plastic. Your fingers tighten around the towel keeping you mildly decent.

“Um… how long have you been there?” You inquire, eyes blinking like mad as you fight embarrassment in the face of the captain. Hongjoong releases a sigh and glances down at his wristband.

“7.8 seconds. I didn’t think it fit to interrupt before you left yourself.”

“R-Right, sorry, um, can I help you with something? Or are you just here to be a voyeur?”

“If I were a voyeur, I would’ve interrupted,” Hongjoong argues back. He continues speaking before you have the chance to tell him it was merely a joke, and you can’t find the energy to interrupt him in return. “Thought you should know… Seonghwa is almost here. We’re going to go take care of our business here then come back to the clinic after. It could be a short trip or take all day. Either way, it’ll just be you and San here for the time being. Hyunjae and his assistant will look after both of you. And — Seonghwa wishes to talk to you about something before we head out. Join us in the lobby when you’re ready.” Hongjoong doesn’t look at you any longer, turning on his heel to head out of the bathroom, but you call after him to stop him in his tracks.

“Why didn’t you just tell me all that over comms?”

“I would have, had you not taken your earpiece out and left it on your bedside table.”

“A-Ah…” Next thing you know, Hongjoong is out of the tiny bathroom and you’re left alone with your thoughts once again. This time, you don’t stay that way for long; it takes a grand total of three minutes for you to dry off and pull the spare set of clothes Hyunjae set on the counter for you on, and even less time than that to go out to the lobby where Hongjoong is waiting for you. Seonghwa, too, stands in the blindingly white room, standing out dramatically in his all-black garb. He almost looks worse than both you and Hongjoong combined simply because of how stark the dark circles under his eyes are. Hyunjae is there as well, but he blends in much more with his surroundings because of his white pants and shirt that match yours. You make brief eye contact with the doctor upon stepping into the room.

“I’ll leave you three to chat a bit while I go run some vitals on San. Excuse me.”

The doctor disappears in the blink of an eye. Seonghwa twists his neck in your direction, eyes flitting over your face as he bites down hard on his lower lip.

“San is stable. The operation went well, but we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up,” Hongjoong explains while you’re stepping closer to the pair.

“You ripped a man’s heart out?” Seonghwa inquires. He barely lets Hongjoong finish his sentence before he’s cutting in to speak to you, and you’re still processing the news about San when he does. You’ve been in the room for less than a minute and the cat’s already out of the bag — Hongjoong must have told him all about the mission yesterday, including that incident with the first guard you killed.

“Only nearly…”

“Only nearly?!” The scoff that follows is loud and echoes through the almost empty room. Seonghwa pushes his weight back onto his heels. “You aren’t nearly experienced enough to be trying to do things like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” you argue. The words come out with more venom than you intended them to, but it emphasizes your point nonetheless. “It was just out of instinct an—”

“Fine then, you aren’t nearly experienced enough to be doing things like that then. It’s — Y/N, I know that look. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. It’s not that you aren’t capable or able to; it’s that it’s incredibly dangero—”

“How is it any different than what I was trained to do in the military?”

“I don’t… I don’t think you realize what kind of power you have, Y/N. I thought I knew the extent of it, but to be able to tear a man’s heart out instinctually? Practically on a whim? Can you not see how terrifying such power is uncontrolled?”

“Who says it’s uncontrolled?”

“And who says you have it fully under control?” Seonghwa fires back just as quick. It shuts you right up just as intended, and you snap your jaw shut so hard that your teeth chatter.

“Let’s not argue about this,” Hongjoong cuts in at last. “We can discuss it another time when things are less hectic and tensions aren’t as high.” He places a delicate hand on Seonghwa’s arm, right above where the lieutenant has his fist clenched so tight his knuckles bleed white. “The sooner we go, the better. Now, Y/N, Nightingale is going to be dropping by while we’re gone.”

“What for?” You ask, redirecting your attention to the captain and not sparing Seonghwa any more glances.

“He has some information to discuss with you about your friend in the whorehouse. He did some work on it last night, but he’d like to talk one on one with you before moving further. Hyunjae knows to expect him, so don’t worry about explaining anything to him.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Hongjoong blinks between your averted eyes and Seonghwa’s tensed shoulders one last time, then he steps away from the two of you and heads out the clinic. You expect Seonghwa to follow suit on his heels, but the lieutenant lingers at your side a little longer.

“I’m glad things weren’t worse,” Seonghwa whispers. It’s hardly audible, and at first, you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly because of how quiet he spoke. Then it hits you that of course he would say something like that; he could feel your distress the entire time San was gone, and no doubt feels it right now as well in the wake of San’s injury that happened because of your failure. He must assume you aren’t going to say anything in return, turning around to head out with Hongjoong. You catch hold of his arm before he’s out of your grasp.

“Be careful and safe, please. And… good luck. I hope it goes as well as it can.”

Seonghwa’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. He brings a hand up to cover yours on his forearm.

“I’ll return safely to you. Hopefully as a man with… more closure and fewer mommy issues? Whatever the outcome is, I hope to be able to say that upon returning.”

“I’m counting on it, pretty boy.”

“Well now I can’t disappoint you, princess,” Seonghwa returns, a smile stretched to match yours. Your hands fall away from each other at the same time, and there are no more words to exchange that will make what’s about to come any easier for Seonghwa. From now on, it’s in his own hands as well as Hongjoong’s. Though you won’t be there to witness it with your own two eyes, you can only hope that it doesn’t turn out the way your nightmares think it will.

When the door snaps shut behind Seonghwa’s back, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Ahem, Y/N? I hate to interrupt your dramatic moment in the lobby here but—” Hyunjae comes out of nowhere behind your shoulder, nearly causing you to reach for a weapon that isn’t even on your person at the moment (probably a good thing for the young doctor). “—San is up. He was asking after you, but I figured it would be more meaningful for you to go see him yourself?” Your eyes must show how you’re feeling upon hearing those words because Hyunjae matches your happiness with a soft-sided smile. He motions to the back of the room, towards the doors where you last saw San being carted behind, and he doesn’t have to say anything more to get you to follow. “He’s stable and alright for now. I’m confident that he’ll make a good recovery with little to no issues.”

“Are there any concerns about his back?” You ask as you walk side by side with the doctor. It’s his turn to sigh now.

“That remains to be seen. San won’t really answer my questions directly. I was hoping — well, perhaps you could help with that as well? Ideally, I need to know the extent of his nerve damage, although I won’t be able to get him on his feet and trying to walk for a while. And I’m certain Yunho will want him brought back to th ship as soon as he’s physically able. If you could, please ask him how he’s feeling or if there’s any numbness or tingling in his back and legs?”

“Of course, yeah, gladly.”

“Wonderful, thank you. Here’s his door right here.” Hyunjae nods his head towards the space just past your shoulder, and you bring yourself to a quick stop in front of the door he’s pointed out. “You can take your time. Nightingale will be here to chat in a bit, but I’ll send him back then.”

“Alright. Thank you… for taking care of San.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Now go on, I’m sure he’s getting anxious being able to hear you just outside his door.”

For some reason, you’re expecting some strange and large reveal upon stepping into San’s room like he’s going to look drastically different in some way. Reality isn’t like that though. He appears as normal as can be: reclining in a large bed with fluffy white sheets and blankets billowing around him and a pillow propping his head up. He turns the second the door opens, and a smile is already on his lips before he even makes eye contact with you. And again, you expect something more out of this confrontation (even though it’s not even that), but it’s all so radically normal that you feel a bit like you’re floating out of existence when you pull yourself to his bedside. There’s a seat just beside the bed, tucked close to the mattress. It wouldn’t be much of a shock if Hyunjae were to tell you that Hongjoong spent the entire night there only to watch over San while he rested.

San pulls you out of your thoughts as you’re sinking onto the cushion of the seat. He drags a hand over to the edge of the mattress, fingers hanging loosely off. You don’t let them stay alone for long and reach out to clasp your palm over his.

“You know, I hear that mouth-to-mouth contact is proven to help you heal faster,” he says with one dimple pinching a dip in his cheek.

“Did Yunho conduct that study himself?” You jest back if only to conceal the small jump your heart just did in your chest.

“We’ll have to test to and find out ourselves, I think.”

“I’m glad to see you’re well enough to be that flirtatious.”

“Mhm, admittedly, I was hoping to make you loosen up a little.” San squeezes his fingers around the back of your hand. His expression grows a bit more somber in the next few seconds. “I don’t like seeing you sad or upset.”

“I was worried,” you whisper. “Still am honestly.”

“Why? I’m still here, alive, in one piece. Can wiggle all my toes too, so there’s a good sign.” The laugh that follows shakes San’s whole body, and you lean forward as his brows knit together in pain.

“Can you feel everything? Like, no numbness or anything like that?”

“Yeah… yeah, I can feel everything. Fucking hurts like a bitch when the meds wear off but at least I still have sensation everywhere, right?”

Your free hand moves on its own accord, reaching out to brush the clump of bangs sticking to his forehead out of his eyes. It hasn’t been washed still, a messy and greasy mat of hair that desperately needs combing and care, but you don’t imagine he’ll be able to get up and get a shower anytime soon.

“I’ll talk to Hyunjae about getting a basin or a bath of some sort for you so we can wash your hair. I can barely see your white streak anymore.” You drop your touch down to his cheek almost like it’s natural for you to do so. San presses his cheek further into your palm.

“As long as you promise to wash it for me,” he hums in response before letting his lashes flutter shut.

“Are you tired?”

“I think my body is but I’d much rather stay awake and talk to you right now.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you huff through a laugh. San simply nuzzles his face further into your touch with a content little hum. “Actually there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” You had plenty of time to think over a lot of things during your restless night, but there was one thing that kept coming to mind throughout all that thinking. And maybe (just maybe), Hongjoong finally giving you permission to discuss what you are was the harbinger of those initial thoughts, but everything after that came from your own feelings of what you want and need San to know.

“I’m all ears, Y/N. You’ve got me cornered here on this bed… helpless… incapable of escaping… at your gentle mercy whatever you choose to do.”

“Oh shut up, you’re acting like I’m about to kill you. Just — I just wanna talk, that’s all.”

“You can tell me anything, Y/N. I’ll gladly listen to whatever you have to say.” San squeezes your hand a little tighter as you pull the one cupping his face back to your lap. The bundle of nervous energy in your gut has grown in volume. You trust San to not be angered or upset by what you have to say, yet you’ve still only done this once before and been told for so long that this isn’t something you should be doing, so you think it’s understandable anxiety.

“I know that — well, all the records of my bounties have always shown that my class is either unknown or that I’m an Elitist. And when… I first joined the crew, I spoke of being an Elitist too. For a long time, I believed that lying about who and what I am was the best option for me in terms of how best to protect myself.” You pause to gauge San’s reaction thus far only to find him blinking back at you as gentle and caring as ever. Upon your hesitance, he gives a soft-sided smile and a nod of reassurance, and it’s enough for you to continue with a little less worry in your stomach. “Um, I am at a point now where I don’t want to lie to you any longer. There are things that I haven’t been honest about with myself, and I’m only just now coming to terms with those things, yet it also brought on other realizations about how I want to be honest with you as well. I don’t know if or how this might paint your image of me, but I’m not an Elitist. I’m a Siren? Uh, yeah, Hongjoong already knows so it’s not — it’s not something I haven’t told him, but it’s only fair that I tell you too.”

You squeeze your eyes shut if only to protect yourself from having to see San’s expression and what it might hold. The silence that follows is a stiff and tense one for you, shoulders drawn almost all the way up to your ears until San finally responds after what feels like an eternity.

“Thank you for telling me.” If you were more pessimistic, you would swear up and down that he sounds disappointed, but that’s not even close to the truth in the slightest. You can’t read the emotion in his voice one hundred percent accurately, to be honest, although it sounds somewhat positive, so you’ll take that as a win.

“You’re not — are you not surprised or anything?”

San clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth then drags it over his lower lip.

“Honestly… I already knew. Or I suppose I should say that I had some idea of it. I’ve witnessed some crazy things in my life, but I’ll never forget the image of seeing you pull yourself free of your restraints in that warehouse we were trapped in together. I knew it wasn’t a matter of them being loose or you being set free by a third party, and at the time, I boiled it down to being a miracle of fate. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions so I just left it as an inkling of an idea.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” If San has been holding onto that information since then, it’s a wonder he hasn’t even had the slightest slip of the tongue since.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything because you clearly weren’t ready to talk about it with me quite yet. And that’s not something I say out of bitterness or regret; I understand fully what that’s like. You were patient with me, and you’ve continued to be patient when I needed time to process what we went through back then. So I wanted to return the favor in a way. Wait until you told me yourself before cornering you about it.”

“You…” The words die on your tongue. You aren’t even entirely sure what it was you wanted to say in the first place because your brain feels as though it’s been replaced by steel wool and you’re scraping at it with a fork for just one single thought.

“We all want something in life, Y/N. I can’t pretend to know what it is you want at the end of the day, nor can I act like I know what anyone else on the crew wants either. After years of considering what it is I’m after, I thought it to be revenge, and I pictured that being the end of the line for me. That once I got that revenge, it wouldn’t really matter any longer because I could just… die at peace. I’ve seen people be desperate for things — been with Hongjoong long enough to see every up and down in his existence at this point. You were — Y/N, you were the first person I couldn’t see that desperation in. I know you were working for those papers, but you had them in your grasp as it was and it was like you had nothing to care about. The person those pardon papers were for was already gone, and to an outsider looking in like I was, it seemed as though you didn’t know how to grapple with that reality. I cared — care, I care about every member of the crew in ways I can’t put into words, and I love them all even when they get on my nerves or bother me because we’ve been through the worst together. I simply imagined that after my revenge, I would live out the rest of my days with them at peace since I got what I wanted. But finding you, and seeing a fight and a will to survive but nothing to fight for, though it was selfish of me, I wanted to give you something to fight for. I didn’t expect that I would want that thing to be me, but when you saved me on Echidna, I thought that maybe for once I had earned it. That I deserved to be someone worth fighting for, and you gave that to me. It took so long for me to accept that from the rest of the crew, so I was surprised at how easily it came with you. I guess… in a way, everything I’ve done since then has been for you. To help you, to be there for you, to do whatever I could in making a tough existence easier while not pushing too far or hard. I didn’t want to force anything out of you. Like I told you when you decided to reveal what you went through in the military to me, I don’t want you to feel like I expect anything from you. I want you to trust that I’ll wait as long as you need me to. That’s all I ask from you. Who we are and what we are… why should either of those things be important in the face of trust? If I can trust you, and you can trust me in return, shouldn’t we also be able to trust that those things don’t matter?”

Your mouth and throat are dry, although that’s probably because you’re staring down at San with your jaw stuttering over nonexistent words, and again that feeling of steel wool in the brain intensifies to an incredible magnitude.

Who we are and what we are… why should either of those things be important in the face of trust?

“Now I’ve made you cry twice in less than twenty-four hours, I’m starting to believe I’m doing something wrong here,” San says, closing his sentence with a shaky laugh that sounds a bit like he’s about to cry as well. Frankly, it’s another story of you not realizing that you’re crying until he points it out, but you can’t even muster up the strength to move and wipe away the tears. “Y/N… my darling, come here.”

He drops the hand he’s been gripping tightly for the last several minutes now to hold his arms out to you like he’s welcoming you into a hug. Logic tells you that’s hardly possible because you don’t want to put him in any pain by leaning on him, but you do inch forward and let him take your face into his warm and calloused hands. Words are still failing you, your voice refuses to work even to sob, and even with all that, San doesn’t seem to mind. He brushes the pads of his thumbs over your cheeks until every tear is gone from sight, humming a little under his breath all the while to a tune you don’t recognize.

“We’ve all suffered a lot in our lives. I think lots of people would refuse to believe that simply because we’re wanted by the law and considered bad people by the public. And maybe we’ve done things that are… morally ambiguous and grey and that normal people wouldn’t choose to do because it’s a difficult line to draw in the sand. But as far as I’m concerned, we met each other on this side of the line and found each other there. We decide what that means moving forward. I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the universe. Here, with you, with the crew, under Hongjoong’s leadership. I’ll never have a home like this one, so I’m going to cling to it as long as I can.”

If San has more to say, you don’t let him finish the thought because you’re pushing up out of your seat to press further into him as best you can without hurting him. Where words fail, emotion speaks, or so it seems. He meets you partway, sitting up just enough to welcome the kiss you’re aiming for. It’s better than last time, less rushed and chaste and sudden, but you slot your lips against his the same way you did before, hand reaching to secure itself on the side of his neck over that pretty constellation of freckles.

“I think I love you,” you murmur against his lips, sloppy and full of tears and saliva, but San smiles into the touch nonetheless. His nails dig little crescents into your skin where they’re pressed right under your jaw. “Whatever that means and entails.”

“I think I love you too.” His confession comes out in the faintest of whispers, letting them pass right from his lips to yours before he steals the breath right out your lungs with his next kiss. It’s a heady feeling — kissing Choi San — because it’s a taste you don’t think you’ve experienced before. With Seonghwa, things were so full of passion and fire, the heat of bodies against each other while the emotions came much later and in a disastrous way for both of you. San kisses you like you’re a broken mirror, like he’s taking each piece off the floor where you shattered and putting them back into place as best he can. It’s not perfect, but you don’t think it’s meant to be either, and that’s okay too. He pulls back to let you breathe again, bringing air back into your lungs as he smiles wide enough for his dimples to appear. “We can figure out what that means and entails together. We have time.”

✧✧✧ a/n: this was,,,,a long time coming in a lot of ways, and im so sorry for such a large gap between the last chapter and this one. in real life//personal life, i’ve been working on a lot and been very busy which left me with less time and drive to write! but! i finished this chapter after a long time, and it’s extra long just for you guys who have been patient and kind with me during this extended and unexpected break <3 thank you for all the love and support!! let’s get right back into things and right back into the universe of moc together!! i can’t wait for the next <3

if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know! 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[agustdakasuga]

Between The Bloodshed | Chapter 24

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

The boys have decided to grant you your space, but they can only wait so long.

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Chapter warning(s): Mentions of drug dealing, angry Jungkook curses (and calls someone a wh*re)

Jin walked around his casino, inspecting the area. Some players cast him glances, seeing the handsome suited male walked around with two guards and the casino manager in tow. Jin was extremely meticulous when it came to his places of business. 

“Clear this row. The machines look horrible. Order new ones.” Jin ordered. The manager nodded, opening his file to take note. 

“How’s the bar business?” Jin asked. 

“It is going very well, sir. Along with the new menu for the restaurant that you put in. We have patrons ordering finger foods.” The manager reported. Jin nodded his head in approval. 

“Sir, there have been some new business prepositions for you. From different suppliers.” 

“Prepare them in my private booth at the restaurant. I’ll go through them as a eat. Ask the bar to fix my drink too.” Jin gave a backwards wave as he headed to his office first. He stopped the guards just before the first coded door. After he punched the code in, he pushed open the glass door and headed in. There was another coded door to get through before he opened the double doors that led to his office. 

RINGGGGG

“Hmm?” He pressed the speaker button. 

“Hyung! S-She... (y/n)... She...”

“Jungkook, calm down and tell me what’s going on. This is about (y/n)? What’s wrong? I thought Taehyung was visiting her today.” Jin frowned, wondering what the maknae was freaking out about. 

“SHE’S GONE!”

“Gone? As in, kidnapped again?” Jin went closer to his phone. 

“No. Taehyung hyung came back from the hospital, he was a mess. Then he said something about the room being empty, her leaving her bracelet behind. He checked with the nurses, who said she woke up this morning and checked out right away.” 

“I see...” Jin didn’t really know what to say. 

“She left us!” 

“Jungkook, calm down. Get a grip. I’m coming home now.” Jin said and hung up, He sighed, gathering his things and heading out. 

“I’m going home. Put a hold on everything first.” Jin told the manager, not explaining much as he called for his driver. The car pulled up and Jin got in. he texted the other older ones on the way home. 

“Yoongi, Hoseok.” Jin exited his car just as the two came out. Yoongi chewed on his nail, he had been rather distressed since Hoseok dropped him off at his coastal hotel the other day. But he wouldn’t tell the others what had happened. 

“Namjoon’s inside with the younger ones.” Hoseok informed. They entered the side wing this time. The other 4 members were seated there. 

“Why did she leave...?” Jimin sighed. 

“She won’t return to work so quickly, considering she just woke up from her coma. Plus, she still has things to collect here. She wouldn’t abandon Kookie too.” Namjoon said. 

“Should we find her?” Taehyung jumped up. 

“No. She obviously wants to be alone now. It’s traumatic, even for someone like her. What we are used to, not everyone is. Us going to her house now isn’t going to change anything. She needs space and we have to grant her that.” Yoongi spoke. Everyone knew what the older said was right. They knew where your apartment was, yet they knew they shouldn’t go. 

“Then we just wait for her to come back and speak to us? What if she never wants to see us again?” Jungkook panicked. 

“Even if she does, she still has a contract to honour with our family. She’ll have to come see Namjoon, at least, to nullify it. I know for a fact, that she’ll stick to that.” Jin said. 

“I thought I could finally hold her.” 

“That’s all we wanted as well. But sometimes, things just don’t go our way.” Namjoon tried his best to comfort the maknaes. 

“I have some important business to attend to. I’ll be back tonight.” Hoseok said and left immediately. Yoongi stood up as well, heading to his office here, slamming the door shut. He needed to see you, there were so many things he needed to ask you. 

“Please, take a seat.” Yoongi gulped as he closed the office doors behind him. The visitor nodded, taking a seat on one of the couches. Yoongi wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs before sitting opposite him. 

“What can I do for you... hyung?” He asked. 

“I know everything, Yoongi.”

“W-What do you mean?” Yoongi’s eyes widened. 

“Your friend, the lady doctor, she came to see me the other day. She offered to be my doctor and surgeon.” Geumjae explained. Yoongi was speechless, not really knowing how to react. 

“Of course, I said no. And she respected that, surprisingly. Everyone else was pushing me to get the surgery since it gives me another ‘chance at life’ but I didn’t want to go through all of that. Then, she told me something.”

“What did she say...?” Yoongi asked cautiously. 

“She told me just how much of our father’s burden you’re carrying, even after his death. How much you’re living with the guilt of everything that he caused and how you have taken all the blame on yourself. She made me realise how even though the past hurts, living my life, hating someone who’s not even at fault, isn’t worth it.” He sighed. 

“Oh...” Was all Yoongi could say. 

“Yoongi, as much as I hated our father, I knew it was wrong of me to blame you. You’re not him. I just... what he did to my mum, I needed someone to blame. Even after his death.” Geumjae sighed. 

“It’s okay. I knew whatever dad did... I can never undo it.” Yoongi looked away. 

“But that’s the thing, my omma and I shouldn’t have expected you to undo it. You never needed to and yet, we made you feel like it was your duty to.” Geumjae said. 

“Before her death, she stopped blaming you and your mum, knowing that it was never any of your faults to begin with. There was no point blaming a child and mother who was kept in the dark just as much as we were.” He continued. Yoongi nodded his head.

“We were all just disposable in dad’s eyes. He never cared about us at all.” Yoongi spoke, it was the truth. 

“You’re all I have left, Yoongi.” Geumjae looked at Yoongi.

“You too, hyung. All I ever wanted was just to have you as an older brother, I hated it when dad spoke about you like you were nothing, when he blamed you when he caught us playing together.” Yoongi’s voice grew soft. 

“When I knew you were ill, I tried to get (y/n) to do the surgery. I didn’t care if you hated me. I just wanted you alive.” Yoongi revealed. 

“Yoongi...” 

“That’s why I went to see you. That’s why I told you, if you want me to never find you again, you have to go for the surgery. Because I knew that would be the only way to make you do it.” He wiped a tear. 

“There’s a lot of missed time to make up for. I’ll do the surgery.” Geumjae reached over to hold Yoongi’s hand. 

“Y-You will?” Yoongi’s eyes widened. 

“Only if Dr (y/n) does it.” Geumjae stated. Yoongi nodded his head. The two brothers stood up, hugging each other. 

“Will you ever forgive me, Yoongi?” Geumjae asked.

“I have never once blamed you to begin with, hyung.” Yoongi replied, his words muffled by his brother’s shoulder slightly. That’s why Yoongi needed to find you first and didn’t even mention any of this to the other boys. He wanted you to be the first person to know how he made up with his brother and how it was all thanks to you. 

Yoongi bit his thumbnail as he looked out the window. He swirled the ice cube around the whiskey glass before taking a sip. His shoulder ached, he knew he was over working it too quickly. 

“Hyung?” He turned around to see Jimin there. 

“Jin hyung said to give this to you.” He handed the older a small ziploc bag with some pills inside. It was probably painkillers for his shoulder. Even now, Jin was still the only one that had the key access to your medicine cabinet. 

“Thanks.” He popped the pills into his mouth, gulping it down with his whiskey. If you were there, you would have scolded him. 

“How’s Tae?” Yoongi asked after a short silence. 

“He’s doing better. It was just the initial shock... You know like what happened with his noona. But he calmed down, Namjoon hyung took him to DNA to do some housekeeping.” Jimin informed. Yoongi nodded. 

“Good.” The older sighed. Jimin left the office, going back to his dojo to train, just to get his own anxieties out of his system. Namjoon drove this time, casting glances to Taehyung every now and then. Taehyung just stared out the window, a distant look in his eyes. 

“You know, the last time I bought flowers for someone... I found my dad beating my noona to death.” Taehyung suddenly spoke. 

“Taehyung-”

“Today, I bought flowers for the girl I love, only to find that she doesn’t even want to see me anymore. Just took off and left.” Taehyung sighed. Namjoon didn’t reply, just letting Taehyung be. 

“Are you sure you can work, Taehyung?” Namjoon asked. 

“Of course. Sorry.” Taehyung cleared his throat. Namjoon didn’t mean that rudely, he just wanted to snap Taehyung out of it. 

“We’re here.” Namjoon stopped the car and parked. The doors were opened for them by the guards of DNA. They bowed as the two entered. Namjoon and Taehyung went upstairs to where the 7′s shared office was. They sat inside, going through all the paperwork they have missed. With Taehyung around, Namjoon didn’t have to do it all alone. 

“I thought we were housekeeping. I brought my favourite bat for nothing.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. Namjoon chuckled at the disappointment evident in the younger’s voice. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your action. Our men told me that there has been quite a drug problem here.” Namjoon informed. 

“Not by our dealers?” Taehyung grew surprised. Unauthorised dealing of drugs in Bangtan territory wasn’t common since Bangtan has its own dealers. The boys were always controlling what drug gets dealt with and how much of it. 

“Do they know the culprit?” Taehyung asked. 

“We’ll catch him ourselves. Tonight.” Namjoon smirked. Taehyung grew excited, it had been a while since they’ve caught someone themselves. 

When night fell, Namjoon and Taehyung left their office. Taehyung slung his bat over his shoulder, the splintered wood a contrast from his stark, dark green suit. The two stood on the VIP balcony, sipping their drinks quietly as they observed the club being filled. 

“I think we’ve found our dealer.” Namjoon said, swirling his drink in his crystal glass. Taehyung followed his leader’s line of sight, a smile slowly growing on his face as they emptied their glasses and walked out of the booth. 

Jungkook had left after the older ones spoke of the plan to not seek you out, he returned to his fighting ring since there was a high staked, big fight tonight. 

“Mr Jeon.” The workers bowed. Jungkook ignored them, straightening his jacket.

“Get me a drink.” He said as he walked up to his regular, protected booth. Entering, he removed his jacket and sat on the plush couch. He leaned back comfortably, crossing his legs. 

“Sir.” His attendant bowed deeply, placing Jungkook’s usual drink order over a napkin on his side table. Jungkook shooed him away and he scurried away. 

“Hmm...” Jungkook looked at the iPad, scanning through the fighters that would be sparring today. He clicked on a specific fighter’s profile and immediately bet 10 million won. All he had to do now was sit back, relax and watch his pet win. Jungkook wasn’t an impulsive gambler but he was a confident one, ‘don’t put all your eggs into one basket’ didn’t apply to him. 

“Jungkookie.” A female’s voice entered the VIP area where he was sitting. Jungkook ignored her, eyes trained on the people coming in and placing their bets for the fight. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” She had the audacity to sit down beside him. Jungkook took a sip of his drink. 

“Who let you in?” He asked, not even looking at her. 

“I told them I’m with you and they let me in.” She giggled. Wordlessly, Jungkook stood up and headed to the door. Grabbing the guard by the back of his collar, Jungkook dragged him in, throwing him to the ground. 

“So you just let anyone in now?” Jungkook hovered over him. 

“N-No, sir! I’m sorry! She told me she was with you and I know that a girl is usually with you-”

“Don’t you dare compare her to that wh*re over there.” Jungkook cut him off with a menacing hiss. The guard shut his mouth, pursing his lips. 

“You’re fired. Get out of my sight and take the wh*re with you, since you like to listen to her so much.” Jungkook growled. His patience was already running thin from the events earlier today and he wasn’t about to let someone else test it again at his own place of business. 

“Jungkook, don’t you think-” Jungkook, gaze still trained on the guard in front of him, took his gun out and pointed it at her. She screamed and ducked behind the couch. 

“Get out!” Jungkook roared and the two ran out as quickly as they could. 

“Unless you see a member of Bangtan, no one is to be let into MY booth. You understand me?!” Jungkook shouted at the other guard, who jumped in fear, saluting and nodding his head. Jungkook slammed the door. 

“F*ckers trying to test me.” Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair and dropped back down onto the couch. 

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Jungkook looked through the glass to see his fighter standing there with his manager and the ringmaster. Giving a nod of approval, he waved for them to enter. The fighter and his manager walked behind the ringmaster. Seeing him bow to Jungkook, the two bowed respectfully. Jungkook stood up, going to the fighter. He scanned his figure. 

“Mr Jeon.” The fighter bowed. Jungkook smiled. 

“You have a lot of potential. I’ve got my money on you tonight.” Jungkook faked kindness. The manager’s eyes widened. 

“Thank you so much for your kindness, Mr Jeon! We- I mean, he won’t let you down!” They bowed again. Jungkook hummed with a nod, patting the fighter’s shoulder encouragingly. 

“That’s good to hear. I’ve seen you train so I know you won’t let me down.” Jungkook chuckled, sitting back down.

“Have a great fight. I’ll be watching.” Jungkook waved. The fighter looked out the viewing glass that faced the ring. He visibly gulped and nodded his head. 

“Thank you again, Mr Jeon.” The manager bowed and guided his fighter out. The ringmaster stayed behind. 

“After the fight, we’ll keep the kid. However, not a big fan of the manager...” Jungkook smirked. That’s all Jungkook needed to say for the ringmaster to understand what he meant. The ringmaster nodded and bowed deeply before exiting the room. 

--

You sighed, stretching your fingers. 

“Great work, everyone.” You nodded to everyone in the surgical suite. The nurses and other attending doctors bowed to you. You walked out the double doors, pulling your soiled scrubs off and tossing them into the bin. 

“Good job. As always.” Your mother was there, waiting for you at the exit. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled. You can only imagine how happy your mother was when you told her that you would be working here temporarily. There were some skills that you needed brushing up on and honestly, you wanted to avoid 7 people for a while. 

“I’m gonna take a break.” You walked away from your mother, heading to the stairwell. You entered the rooftop of the hospital. 

“You’re such a coward. You know that?” You shook your head at yourself. Sitting on the only bench there, you tucked your hands into the pocket of your coat.

A few days ago, you had sent a message to Namjoon, asking for time off and that you will contact him shortly regarding you contract with the family. You didn’t even wait for his reply before blocking him. 

“You look like you need a hot chocolate.” A new voice appeared. You stiffened slightly, turning around. 

“Found ya.” He smirked. 

“I wasn’t exactly hiding. Besides, I knew one of you were bound to come and seek me out. Although, I can’t say I expected you to be the first one.” You chuckled. He held out a cup of hot chocolate and you received it. You opened the lid, watching the steam escape for a few seconds before taking a sip. The sweet beverage comforted you. 

“You’ve cut your hair.” He pointed out. You nodded, reaching up to touch your now slightly short hair that ended just above your shoulders. You wanted a change and this was the best you could do. 

“How are you doing?” He asked, sitting on the bench beside you. 

“Surviving.” You shrugged. 

“Really?” He wasn’t convinced by your vague answer. 

“I shot someone, I killed him. I’ll forever live with the guilt of his blood on my hands but do I regret it? No. It needed to happen.” You sighed. 

“We know there was a boy that helped you escape. We found his body in the room and gave him a burial, it’s only right.” He took a slip of paper out of his wallet, handing it to you. 

“He’s there.” He informed. You looked at the address and number on the paper, nodding with a hum before putting it in your pocket. 

“Are you done with work for the day?” He asked. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m leaving with you. I asked for an indefinite time of leave. That means I want to be away from all of you.” You snorted. 

“We don’t have to leave. We can stay right here. But now that I think about it, I’m sure I’m the only one in the family that hasn’t told you how I joined Bangtan.” He looked at the city skyline before him, a small smile on his face. You blinked, turning your head to look at his side profile. 

~~

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