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ahummingbirdwitch · 3 months

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Daddied (Young!Papa Emeritus Nihil x F!Reader)

Summary: Takes place before the 60s; Nihil has not had any of his sons or met Sister Imperator yet. You’re a Sister of Sin who’s been hooking up with him for some time now, and one night, things get particularly steamy…

Pairing: Young! Papa Emeritus Nihil x F!Reader (Sister of Sin)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,313

Warnings: unsafe sex, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, unplanned pregnancy

Notes: This is my first Ghost fic, I hope y’all like it! Had to get my horny feelings about Nihil out of my system

Meet me tonight, the note had read. I need to see you.

Though you had been seeing Nihil for a few months now, your heart still skipped a beat every time you read one of the notes he left for you. You were not the only Sister of Sin he was entangled with—the young antipope was known for his sexual appetite—but from what you could tell, you were the one he sought out the most. He called for you more often than the other Sisters, his notes handwritten with care, and he liked to leave little gifts for you whenever he could—some flowers here, some jewelry there. It made your fellow Sisters jealous, but it made you feel special.

You found yourself preoccupied by the thought of him all day, unable to focus during your duties. You were sure you knew the reason Nihil wanted to see you; in the morning, he would be leaving with the rest of the band, ready to kick off the new world tour. This tour would be the longest one yet for Ghost, and he would be gone for months. The thought of not seeing him for so long was painful, but you did your best not to let it consume you.

There was still tonight. And you would make it count.

That evening, once Black Mass had ended and you’d finished your chores, you headed straight for Nihil’s office, not bothering to change out of your habit; your time with him tonight was precious, and you intended to make the most of it. At the door to his office, you knocked three times. “Papa?” you called in, keeping your voice low. “I’ve come to see you.”

Only a few seconds later, the door opened, and Nihil appeared in the entryway. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him. He was free of his usual papal robes, wearing a loosely-buttoned black shirt and slacks instead, but his face remained painted like a skull; perhaps he hadn’t had time to wash off the makeup. The moment he noticed you, he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you inside the room.

Shutting the door behind you, he suddenly shoved you up against it and kissed you hard, stealing the air from your lungs. When he broke free, he was smirking. “There you are, lovely,” he purred. “You kept me waiting so long.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, still recovering from the kiss. “Sister Margaret had me lead prayer, and I—”

Nihil silenced you with another kiss, leaving you breathless once more when he pulled back. “Shhh, I don’t care about that, cara mia,” he murmured. “Just be with me now. I need you.”

You felt his hands at your waist, bunching up your dress to expose your tights beneath. He was quick to wrench them down along with your panties, wasting no time slipping one hand between your legs. You inhaled sharply when his finger brushed your entrance. “Not wet yet?” he said, pouting. “We’ll have to change that.”

You gasped as he began to rub your clit, using two fingers to circle the bud. “P-Papa—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He waved one finger with his free hand. “Try again.”

You struggled to respond, a moan rising in your throat. “Daddy,” you corrected yourself.

“That’s better.” Nihil leaned in to suck your earlobe, continuing to stimulate your clit. “I need you nice and wet for me, darling. Let me in now, alright?”

You were helpless to his ministrations, only able to nod feebly. “Mm—mhm.”

At that moment, you felt one of his fingers breach your opening, sinking in easily thanks to the slick you’d begun to produce. You whined as he stroked your g-spot, keeping his thumb on your clit all the while. “That’s a good girl,” he cooed. “ That’s it. So wet for me.”

It was not long before a second finger joined the first, and you cried out as you were stretched open further, instinctively bucking against his hand. Nihil sank his teeth into your neck, sucking fiercely on your skin as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. Your heart raced; you could tell how desperate he was, eager to speed things along and get you ready for him. Was your time with him really so limited? Did he just want you badly? Or was it both?

You couldn’t think very hard about it, finding yourself dangerously close to cumming already. “D-Daddy,” you whimpered. “I’m—I’m close.”

Nihil let go of your neck, his breath hot on your ear. “No, no, not yet, angel,” he whispered. “I want you cumming around my cock tonight.”

You let out a pitiful cry when he pulled his fingers from you, watching as he popped them briefly into his mouth to taste them. He grinned. “Sweet as always,” he remarked before taking you by the shoulders and kissing you again.

You moaned into his mouth, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he too began to undress you. Your veil fell to the floor along with your habit, and Nihil swiftly did away with your undergarments. Before you could help remove his shirt, you were swept up into his arms and carried into the bedroom connecting to his office. Dropping you onto his bed, he quickly disposed of his remaining clothes, then crawled over you, pinning you down.

He kissed the spot between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in. “So lovely,” he murmured, positioning himself between your thighs. “I need you now. ”

You didn’t need to give him an answer. You spread your legs wider, giving him more room, and that was all the invitation he needed. Nihil brought the head of his cock to your entrance, then he was pushing all the way inside, sinking down deep. You mewled, clawing at his back as you adjusted to his size, and he laughed darkly. “Oh, that’s good,” he mumbled. “Good, good. ”

He began to thrust, and you arched your back, taking him in deeper. It hadn’t been long since you’d last had sex with him, but you’d missed this feeling of being full. It felt so good to feel whole, to be one with him. You hooked your heels behind his thighs and opened your mouth, moaning out freely. “ Daddy. ”

Nihil nipped at your neck. “Yes, amore,” he breathed. “Keep calling me that.”

Through your haze of lust, you remembered what the morning held for the two of you, and pain struck your heart. “Papa—I-I mean, Daddy,” you panted. “You’re—you’re leaving tomorrow. Right?”

Nihil made a low sound, halfway between annoyance and dismay at being reminded. “Yes,” he muttered. He brought his lips to your jaw, kissing along the side of it. “Don’t—don’t talk about that now, love. Just let me fuck you.”

He deepened his thrusts, pounding into you harder and faster, and you threw your head back with a wail. It was so good, too good. You knew you weren’t the only one he fucked, not even close, but right now, you could pretend that you were. You could believe you were more than just his lover—and in a way, weren’t you? He had chosen you to take to bed the night before he went on tour. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

You dug your nails into his back, giving in to him completely. “Daddy,” you moaned. “Please. Please. ” You weren’t sure what you were begging for—for him to stay and not go on tour, for him to fuck you, for him to love you.

Nihil’s breathing was ragged, his movements stuttering as he chased his pleasure. “Just a little more,” he groaned, face buried in your neck. “Just a little more now, sweetheart, that’s it.”

He hit your g-spot hard and you wailed loudly, tightening around him. You knew he was close, and so were you, your clit still tingling with the need for release. “Daddy,” you pleaded. “Make me cum. Please. ”

Nihil slowed down ever so slightly. “Mmm—what a good girl, asking so nicely,” he purred. “How much do you need it?”

“So much,” you begged, jutting your hips up into him. “Please. Please. ”

He growled, pleased. “Good, good,” he grunted. He picked up speed again, his lips quirking up into a smile when you cried out. “Oh, you’re so good for me, angel. You deserve a reward.”

He slipped his hand between your body and his, finding your clit and beginning to rub it like before. You couldn’t help but squeal, suddenly overwhelmed by the dual sensations of his fingers on your clit and his cock inside you. It was incredible. “Daddy,” you whined. “ Daddy. ”

“Yes, sweet girl,” he crooned. “Cum for me, just like that.”

You squirmed wildly beneath him, unable to control yourself. You needed more. You needed him, all of him. “Daddy, please, ” you mewled. “Give—give it to me.”

Nihil looked down at you, makeup smeared all over his face. “Cum for me,” he repeated, panting. “Cum now, love. I’m close.” There was a slight edge of sternness to his voice; he was growing impatient.

You knew what he wanted from you; he wanted you to cum first so he could pull out in time. The two of you rarely used condoms—Nihil claimed not to like the way they felt, and seemed to enjoy the risk of going without one. Despite that, however, he had never once cum inside you; you trusted him not to. He was so close now, at any moment he would have to pull out.

But there was a strange feeling inside you, an unfamiliar urge to throw caution to the wind. You thought about him leaving in the morning, about not getting to see him for months and months. It would feel like an eternity before you could feel him like this again, your bodies intertwined. You wanted this to be special. You wanted him to remember this, so that when he returned, he would want you more than anyone else.

“Cum inside me,” you blurted out.

Nihil stared down at you, taken aback. “What?”

“Cum inside me,” you said again. You were devastatingly close to your climax. Just a few more strokes, and you would be right there. “Daddy, please. ”

“I—” He faltered when you clenched around him, though he kept up his rhythm on your clit. “I—are you sure? Are—are you—”

“I’m safe,” you said quickly. “I’ve—I’ve taken medicines.” It was a flimsy answer, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You needed him to cum, more than anything. You grasped his shoulders, tugging at him desperately. “Please. Daddy. I—I need you.”

Nihil bit his lip, eyes clouded with lust. He wanted the same thing you did, just as badly. When you tightened on him again, he released a strangled moan, and any lingering hesitation vanished at once from his expression. His fingers began to work you faster. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes—cum for me now, my sweet— now. ”

You weren’t sure if it was the urgency in his voice, or his sweaty, paint-smudged face, or his delicious assault on your clit, but you were coming undone for him just then, doing exactly as he ordered. You came with a high-pitched cry, spasming uncontrollably and gripping his cock so hard you could have been trying to choke it. It took only seconds for Nihil to follow right behind you; for the first time, he kept himself buried inside you, letting his hot seed spurt from his cock in jets and coat your walls. You could only gasp softly as he filled you to the brim, so numb from your own orgasm you could barely speak or react.

For several heartbeats, Nihil remained inside you, cock twitching as he emptied himself fully. Then, at last, he pulled out of you gently, leaving you lying there as he got up to clean himself. As you caught your breath, you felt an unexpected wave of exhaustion wash over you. You could hardly think, your ears ringing and pussy throbbing. You knew you needed to get up and get changed, then head back to your room right away, but for whatever reason, you couldn’t move. It was as if you were still desperate to stay with him, and with your orgasm giving way into love-drunkenness, that need was growing even stronger.

You shifted onto your side, closing your eyes. It wouldn’t hurt if you took another minute to rest. You would get up and leave as soon as you could…

As you drifted off, you did not notice Nihil return to the bed with a fresh cloth, using it to carefully wipe you clean. When he finished, he took a moment to study you. After some time, he reached for a blanket to pull over you, then he silently left the room, heading back into his office without looking over his shoulder.

^ ^ ^

When you woke in the morning, Nihil was gone.

Late for early Mass, you had no time to think about the night before or even grieve his absence. After picking up your discarded habit and hastily dressing yourself, you rushed to the chapel, arriving in the middle of the service, earning yourself suspicious looks from your Sisters and a truly demonic glare from Sister Margaret in particular. You received a stern reprimanding from her after Mass, and yet, despite all the chaos and distress of that morning, it was nothing compared to what you would experience three weeks later.

You awoke at dawn one day feeling deathly ill. You spent hours hunched over in the bathroom, emptying the contents of your stomach, and had no choice but to visit the abbey doctor later once you were able. The news he delivered you was mortifying, but, regrettably, did not come as a shock.

You were pregnant.

Fuck.

#papa emeritus nihil #young papa nihil #papa nihil x reader #the band ghost #ao3 #a03 writer #ghost band

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anamelessfool · 4 months

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No Deal (AO3) 18+ MDNI Chapter 3 Here

Oh Sweet Nuthin' Arc Part 2

Young Nihil x F Reader WC: 4929 (lol yes)

Tags: Recreational Drug Use, Manbaby Boyfriends, Vans, There's a Lot of Drug Stuff You Guys, 1970s, Concert, Surprising Revelations about Nihil and Reader, Campfire Chats, Why is the 70s Just so.....

JULY 1970 Nihil was one of these friends of friends of friends. Some forty-something cat who lived further up in the mountains, in what you suspected was some sort of commune. Shit like that was pretty common around here. The higher up in the mountains, the weirder folks got. Could be the altitude.

You're tired of being daddied by all the dudes that wanna dad. Time to separate the sheep from the go-goats.

I cannot do a Reader fic without an unhinged vibe, thanks.

This chapter is dedicated to @ghostchems who encouraged me to go HAM on this. Thank you for letting me shower you with random lore and congrats.

Tag List and Music below The Cut (and thanks for all the reblogs!)

@em0bussy @riptide-kid @monkberryghouldelight @thew0man @historian-crown @ghuleh-recs @fishwithtitz @ghostchems

I've decided to call this Arc "Oh Sweet Nuthin'" Based on one of my favorite Velvet Underground songs from their 1970 album Loaded

youtube

Feel free to imagine this as the credits to this episode, ok?

#ghost band fic #papa emeritus nihil #young nihil #papa emeritus nihil x reader #1970s music #reader x character #Youtube

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severineofsalem · 1 year

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Lesson Learned

Pairing(s): Sister Imperator x Fem!Reader x Papa Nihil

Summary: Nihil makes you both late for a dinner with Sister. She doesn’t take it well.

Word Count: 966

Warning(s): NSFW 18+, DONT DO DRUGS, p in v sex, USE PROTECTION! these folks aren’t, dom/sub dynamics, Sister controlling the reign over you and Nihil, edging, overstimulation from edging, creampie, not edited (you have been warned)

AO3 Link

A/N: UMM THERE IS NOT ENOUGH OF THESE TWO. It is downright criminal.

A cigarette hung from her lips. The same lips that held a menacing smirk. Pulling the blunt away with two claws, she circled around the mess. A sweaty, enervated mess that contained the current reigning papa and yourself. Nihil’s bedroom reeked of tobacco, weed, and arousal. A combination that you were starting to get used to.

“Did I say you could stop.” It certainly wasn’t a question. You already knew the answer before a hand grabbed at your neck, nails digging harshly into the frail skin. You winced, “N-no Sister.” Eyes burning with tears.

You should have known better than to follow Nihil on his antics. The mischievous papa is always dragging you into something that would eventually get the two of you in trouble. Especially with Sister Imperator. You had been watching over Papa Nihil while he and a couple brothers of sin got doped up. You managed to not check the time, busy making sure Nihil didn’t get wasted and take too many hits, leading you to miss dinner with Sister in the dining hall. She quickly found you two and sent the brothers on their way.

She retracted her hand, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow, slithering her way back to the dark corner she stood in previously. With an impatient flick of her wrist, you began to bounce again. The man below you whined out and pushed his hands against you in protest. A form of a cry bloomed in your throat.

You both have been going for hours without a single release. Every time you're near a high, Sister would find a way to switch things up and make you hold off.

You had made her wait all alone, leaving her embarrassed. Now she is doing the same to you.

How Nihil was refraining with a melted, cross-faded brain was a complete mystery to you. He had been stumbling around by the time Sister stormed in. His black hair stuck to his forehead, slick with sweat. Face paint faded, staining mostly around the eyes. His mouth agape as he panted. He peered up, locking on to your hazy stare. A squeeze to your hip gave you a billow of reassurance. The tears clouding your vision finally dropped. The head of his cock assaulted your sweet spot. Every thrust caused you to tremble.

“P-please.” You pleaded. You didn’t know what you were begging for. Incoherent strings of utterances escaped you. All the strength you had before was gone, your body collapsing right onto the lean man beneath you.

A loud, feminine sigh left Imperator. Heels clacked towards the bed, echoing lightly. A warm palm gently rubbed the small of your back. The gesture made you sob heavier into the chest you were planted on. Hushed exchanges flew over your head, your mind too occupied with the aching and sores attacking your bones. Your abused walls pulsed, your core felt like a never-ending fire.

The sound of a heartbeat fastening against your ear told you something had changed. The soothing palm left while the two on your hips gripped firmly, flipping you over with ease. “-ucking finally.”

“You better be glad I’m being generous, Nihil.” The blonde clenched her teeth. She had joined the pile. Imperator observed the sight, tilting her head. You looked mesmerizing against the plush bedding. Blown pupils pairing a pleading look between the half shut lids. Legs wrapped around Nihil, who was now above you. Eager excitement radiated off of the male, who previously cried like a pathetic bitch.

Sister snaked a hand between her thighs, rubbing her wet core. “Fuck, Sorella. Still so tight.” Nihil pulled all the way just to slam back in. Your mouth opened with a silent scream. Your tender walls clamp down with every pound he gave. His hands fisted the comforter next to your head. The large grucifix Nihil wore dangled against the valley between your breasts.

“Gonna be a good boy and cum inside her? Fill her up nice and warm for me?” The question drew Nihil into a frenzy, his pace impossibly getting faster. Sounds of skin slapping and subtle moans from the blonde woman reverberated. Her hand moved along with the way Nihil thrusted.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The tight knot in your stomach snapped, tingling sensation hit you in waves. A mix of a yelp and a wail shrieked out of you, whole body uncontrollably twitching. White filled your vision. Nihil continued to ram until his own climax caught him. Jumbles of whines and groans left him as he spilled his seed deep in you, coloring your insides white.

He crumbled to the bed, shaking as he corrected his breathing. Both of your eyes closed, taking in the overwhelming sense of orgasmic bliss. Sister held off, deciding watching the both of you was pleasurable enough. She watched as a strung out Nihil cuddled into your side, his long arm draping over your stomach. She nearly lost her breath looking at the puddle between your legs.

“N-no!” You kicked your legs out, a pitiful attempt to squirm away from the tongue violating you.

“Shh. You did so well. Now continue to be our good girl.” You tucked yourself into the crook of Nihil’s neck. Sweet kisses pressed against your forehead. It nearly distracted you from the hot muscle licking away at your weeping hole. Sister shut her eyes contently, the trembling thighs that squeezed her head and the taste of her two lovers made her intensely euphoric.

Once she deemed she had gotten every last drop, she pulled away smirking. Sister shifted beside you, taking the empty side polar to Nihil. A long talon twirled a string of your hair, petting it out of your face. “Next time, don’t be late.” You and the Papa only nodded, drifting off shortly.

#sister imperator #young sister imperator #papa nihil #young papa nihil #papa emeritus zero #sister imperator x reader x papa nihil #sister imperator smut #papa nihil smut #the band ghost #ghost fic #sister imperator x reader #papa nihil x reader

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vanaglori-ah · 2 years

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a treatment for loneliness

the hallways were fraught with the echoes of groans. they sounded annoyed, pained. and between them, you could hear sniffles. was someone...crying? to be fair, lots of crying happened within the clergy. usually some turbulent relationships or a family member crying at the realization that they couldn’t drag their relative out of the clergy, trying to convince them how horrible it was to abandon everyone for a blasphemous religion. but this one sounded different. and with your cleaning duties fulfilled, you were free to check.

you followed the noise, noticing that most people walked by without much of glance to the room. the door was ajar and you peeked in before gently pushing it open. “papa.”

he looks up. “oh.” he blows into the tissue. “come in, come in.” he coughs and recomposes himself. “what can i do for you?”

you look around the room, eyes flicking to each corner before closing the door behind you. “it’s nothing much papa. i just wanted to come check on you.” you smile. “you sounded upset.”

“upset?” nihil scoffs albeit you can see the tear stains, evident with his messy face paint. “i am not upset.”

you raised an eyebrow. “papa, i understand. i’ve had many relationship troubles. you don’t always forget your first.”

“i am papa though.” he lays back down in his bed. “fumbling is not my thing.”

“we are all only human papa.” you walk over to the side of the bed. a piece of paper catches your eye and you pick it up. nihil looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. “dance macabre? a rather interesting title. but this wasn’t part of seven inches of satanic panic.”

“it was a work in progress that i threw out. maybe it can be used for something else.” he says.

“sounds a bit like a lonely piece.”

“it isn’t.” he glares at you.

“was it for sister imperator?” you watch as he looks away, sheepish.

“that ship has sailed.”

you fold up the song and tuck it away within your clothes. “i understand you and sister have history. and that breakups whether it’s with friends or partners can be hard. it can be lonely.”

“i am not lonely!” nihil crosses his arms across his chest.

“it’s okay to admit you are.” you sit on the bed. “besides, you’re not really alone. not when you have...me, and the clergy, and our dark eminence.”

“i guess you’re right.” he sighs, looking back at you. “sometimes i wish lucifer would just...strike out that feeling of loneliness. take it away.”

“i’m not lucifer,” you move towards him. he looks at you curiously. “but i have an...idea.” you lick your lips.

he catches on easily. “oh?” he smirks.

“it’s temporary. but it works, you know. and i don’t think sister will catch us either.”

your start with the gentle sensation of your fingers, letting them graze his cheeks. he shivers, eyes closing. he blocks out everything in his mind, focusing solely on the feeling of your skin. it was easy. he did this often while attending to the altar and praying. your fingers trail along his jawline, against his neck, and then down his chest. “do you want me to continue papa?”

“yes. please continue.”

your discard your shoes before climbing onto the bed and on top of his body. you kiss his cheek and he giggles. “tickles.” he mutters.

you trail kisses along his jawline, going down further along his neck and then reaching his chest. with your hands free, you grip onto his thighs and rub circles into the muscle using your thumbs. he shivers and your hands move upwards, closer to his crotch. your lips are at his stomach and you tug at the fabric using one of your hands.

a shaky moan escapes nihil’s lips, a hand gripping onto the headboard. his nails scratch into the wood.

“hallowed be thy name.”

#kind of wrote this with young nihil in mind #but it also can apply to old nihil #whichever one you guys want #ngl the idea for this fic came from old nihil #the band ghost #ghost bc #papa nihil #papa emeritus zero #papa nihil x reader #ghost x reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader

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anotherghostbandsimper · 11 months

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Just some self indulgent young!papa Nihil X reader cos this man needs some love

Another night, another ritual, another stream of fans screaming and drooling over Nihil. Not that you minded. It was expected, him being a huge singer. He was helping the clergy immensely and you were proud he chose you. Imperator wasn’t as much though.

You and Imperator had your differences but you did try be nice to her. Of course you did. But Sister Imperator despised you and Nihil. She’d had her eyes on him before you’d joined the Clergy and yet here you were, a Cardinal, dating the Papa.

As you snapped out of your thoughts, near the end of Kiss The Go Goat you saw him kneel and kiss a fan, now you knew for a fact sometimes he got carried away, but it hurt. You turned on your heel and left going to a much quieter place to clear your head. He’s probably drunk, and very adrenaline driven, it doesn’t matter. It didn’t mean anything.

You had no idea how long you’d been sat alone but you were soon snapped out of your thoughts by Imperator.

“Well well seems you and Papa have come to an end-“

She didn’t get very far without water to the face. You stood there in a mix of amusement and shock. Nihil dropped the bottle and stood beside you, his hands on your hips. A look on his face that told you to NOT fuck with him or else.

“I think you have done enough damage Seestor, if you could leave my fiancé alone”

His voice held a tone of possessiveness but you enjoyed it. He was never one for claiming you belonged to him, sure he’d boast you two were dating but to say you were his? Once a very soggy and annoyed Imperator left Nihil took your hands and held your face gently.

“Amore mio- I am so sorry. I’m not sure what overcame me! I-“

You cut him off with a gentle, sweet kiss. Reassuring him it was ok, that you didn’t care that much.

“Don’t you dare do it again Papa or your in big trouble you hear me? I can and will call our wedding off”

You teased. He knew you didn’t mean it. You loved him wholeheartedly and you’d never leave, just like he’d never leave you. Even when he was old and withered.

#ghost band #papa nihil #young papa nihil #x reader #ghost fic #60s style #kiss the go goat #Spotify

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thatwithiniswithout · 1 year

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No Rest for the Wicked // (Young) Papa Nihil x Reader

WARNINGS: 18 +, angsty, smutty, kinda voyeur papa??, did not proofread, mobile post

It had been months since you heard from your lover, and it had felt like years since you heard his voice. Not that you were upset, he hated when you were upset. Try as you did the familiar sting in the pit of your stomach nested there anytime your record spun his favorite bands.

He left unsure, heated.

"I hate when you're upset", he had spit, eyes leaking a foreign fume.

You had fought before, always as firey as the last, but this was the last time you would hear his calls of guilty. He was an angry man; wrath was deeply intertwined with his soul, much like the lust that ran within his heart.

The thought sent a familiar ache through your core, fingers instinctively sliding through your panties. Flashes of passion echoed through your mind as you focused on your growing need.

"Let me see," he commanded as he stood above you, "Let me see how much you need me."

As you obeyed him, his tongue immediately found the place where it was needed most. It was sinful, the ease of which he pulled praises from your lips. The tip of his tongue languidly drawing circles around your clit for heavens knows how long was almost enough to have you begging. He road your pleasure until you were close enough to the edge to tip, just to bring you back over. This dance was his favorite part, or so he had said.

"You're so good for me, baby, just stay still," he called, but your ears were far from this realm.

And then he entered you, as he had done time and time again. Quickly, fully, stopping for just a second before dragging more praises from your lips. As good as his tongue felt, you both knew nothing held a candle to how his cock would move you to tears.

To tears it moved you, both in memory and in the present as your fingers dutifully brought you closer and closer to the precipice you sought. How you missed the way your walls stretched for him, how your voice sang his name.

Sparks began to bubble in your stomach as you applied more pressure, moved faster, begged your mind to let you come. Each stroke was a step closer to him, his hand replacing yours in your mind as you began to quiver.

Every sense was afire, nothing but wonton desire flooding your mind. In this heat, your wish became true. Your lover's voice caressed your mind as his hand felt more rooted in reality than it ever had. Yet, you could not bring yourself to look upon the reality of his absence. Instead, you let his Devil's magic continue as he pushed you over the ledge of euphoria, more forgiving than he ever did in practice.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I'm not coming back," breezed past your mind as you finished, feeling a warmth leave your body.

"I know."

But you knew how to get his attention.

#the band ghost #papa nihil #young papa nihil #young papa nihil x reader

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jiejies-corner-store · 2 months

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THE AVENTURINE FIC 😭😭 OH GOSH IM CRYING 😭😭

i’m so sorry, anon! here this should make it up 😭😭 the devil knows you're dead

pairing. aventurine x reader

tags/tw: fem!reader, references to a complicated childbirth, mother!reader, father!aventurine, spoilers to aventurine's real name, spoilers in reference to 2.1 trailblaze questline, aventurine’s nihilism and depression, references to death, hurt/comfort, ooc aventurine probably, i make shit up at the end because i want a happy ending—bite me.

sfw

a/n: ouchie. i finished 2.1 and it hurt. it hurt a lot. the ost for the “all the sad tales” is genuinely so beautiful. the trumpet just feels so melancholy yet hopeful it just goes so perfectly with aventurine’s story. but i need something that feels good now. ABSOLUTELY NOT PROOF-READ pt. 1

“As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.”

It was cold. Cold and warm. Almost feverish feeling. The type of feeling you’d get when you were freezing but your skin was hot to the touch. There was this frustrating beeping noise somewhere off in the distance that you just couldn’t tune out, finally you opened your eyes to see a sea of darkness, and seemingly at an unreachable horizon, a large circle of white light that looked like a gate.

“You’re not dead, if that’s what you’re wondering,” a voice came from beside you. How you didn’t realize there was a whole person standing next to you, you had no clue.

“Well, that’s not originally what I was going for, but now I’m a bit worried I might be,” you laughed, nervous, but curious all the same. This… person you couldn’t quite make out an exact face, or even a body for that matter, but ther was this distinct feeling that it was in fact a person. Like your instinct knew, but your brain couldn’t quite fill in the details.

“This is a place beyond mortal comprehension, if I tried to explain it to you, you would only be more confused. Walk with me,” the entity said, and without even willing your body to do so, you followed. Ripples emanated from each step as you followed and soon the inky void around you melted into an unfamiliar planet.

The sky was a deep purple, streaked with red that looked like lighting that crackled along the sky. Instead of the fluid, black ground, sand now shifted as you moved foward. Inside a small hut made of rock, you saw a woman cradling a swaddled child.

“Such a lucky child, such a blessed child… Just like your name. A gift from THEM to Avgin… my boy…”

You turned to the figure beside you and hesitantly asked, “Where are we?”

“A land of rock, but not water, lightning, but not rain, blood, but not tears,” the entity responded cryptically, which only caused a crease in your brow. You went closer to the mother in the hut and sat next to her. She whispered a blessing onto her child, but none of the words made sense to your ears. Similar to the entity, it’s like your brain scrambled them from your understanding.

The mother cried. You tried to wrap your arms around her to comfort her but only phased through her like a ghost. The baby too began to cry.

Then, the scene changed again, suddenly it was a cell with iron bars. A blond young man sat next to you. The blond’s gaze was downturned, but you could recognize that voice anywhere.

“—Thirty tanba… that’s all my life is worth.”

“That’s not…” you said, but realized it was all in vain. You tried again to take Kakavasha’s hands into your own. You wantd to take the cuffs off his wrists and cradle where the skin was rubbed raw.

“It's all or nothing…”

“Kakav—agh!”

Your future never existed You█ future never existed You█ future ne█er existed You█ fut███ ne█er existed You█ fut███ ne█er ████ted You█ fut███ █e█er ████ted Yo██ ██████ █e█er ████ted

Your mind felt clouded, a searing headache, followed by an inability to even pin down a coherent thought. The scene shifted once more.

“What’s going on!” you shouted at the figure that stood only silently next to you, crippled on the ground, clutching at your head, fingers pressing in to try to find the spot that would alleviate this awful pressure.

When your senses were no longer blinded by pain, you were back to that inky void you started in, but this time you weren’t alone. Not far away, maybe twenty feet or so, was your Kakavasha, and a woman you didn’t recognize.

“Why are we born into this world if it's just to die?”

You stumbled to your feet to try to run to him, but with each step closer he only got further away. He walked towards that gate of light. In your head, you heart was pounding faster and faster. You failed to catch up to him. He only got further and further away until he disappeared like fireflies dispersing into the night, “Kakavasha! No—!”

Utterly devastated, you sunk back onto your knees. You didn’t know why but you had this distinct feeling of loss. Tears rolled from your eyes freely. He… he wasn’t gone surely? The entity’s presence reappeared next to you.

“Why did you show me all of this,” you asked, not sure if you actually wanted an answer.

“Because you need to go back,” the entity answered and your jaw locked, gritting your teeth so hard they hurt.

You screamed into the void, “You’re the one who brought me here!”

“I never call anyone to me… you mortals believe that it is US that determine when your time to go is… but in truth it is your own doing, whether it is your body or your mind that gives up first,” the entity said, “It is only the strength of your will that will allow you to continue down your destined path… but many give up on that path and someone else must be chosen.”

“What does this have to do with me,” you snapped. “Why are you meddling in my life? What does Kakavasha have to do with this?”

“Kakavasha still has a long road ahead of him. I have supplemented his journey all his life. It was only recently he was able to live on his own will,” said the entity ”Your body is giving up. I do not have the power anymore to keep him alive. That lies with you.”

Your surroundings melted again. You were in a hospital room and on the bed was you. Eyes closed and steadily breathing, but your heartbeat was weak. The annoying beeping from before was louder and more prominent.

“You wanted to help him. During his past, you reached out each time. There is nothing you can do about that now, but the future and the present… you still have a choice.”

Laying a hand on your unmoving body, there was a slight resistance, but with just a bit more pressure you felt as if you could phase through it entirely.

“What do I need to do,” you asked the entity.

“Live.”

You furrowed your brow at that. Of course you wanted to live… right? The entity gestured for your hand, you obliged. Against your palm was an oddly soft feeling. Warm. Like a mother’s touch against your’s. Your palms pressed together, the entity spoke,

“May the goddess Gaiathra close HER eyes three times… Keep your blood eternally pulsing… Let your journey be forever peaceful… …and your schemes forever concealed."

You lifted your head and your “body” began to disappear similar to how Kakavasha disappeared. Just before you disappeared into sparks of golden light, you had the sense about you to ask:

“Who are you?” you felt like you were shouting, but your voice was quiet.

“You could call me Fenge Biyos.”

You opened your eyes with a deep gasp for air. Your surroundings were blurry, and you rubbed at your eyes, only to realize Kakavasha was up, standing next to your hospital bed with an anxious expression, hands already grasping the one that was wiping crust from your eyes.

“You’re awake,” he choked out, holding you as if you would break, “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry I did this to you that I—”

“Kakavasha, slow down, what… why are you—no, don’t be sorry,” you finally found your words, sitting foward on the bed to wrap your arms around him. You racked your brain, trying to figure out what was going on. Your mind was still foggy, but finally that haze disappated and you remembered everything leading up to now.

“Kakavasha~” you hummed in a song-like tone, a small wrapped box with a blue and purple bow tied around it. You skipped over to his desk and wrapped your arms around his shoulders where he sat, and placed the gift in front of him, laying your head on his shoulder as your arms tightly hugged him. “I have a surprise.”

He smiled with a small laugh, “Doesn’t this usually work the other way around?” He pecked a kiss onto your check before pulling the bow off and opening the lid of the box, when he froze.

The smile on your face faltered bit when he didn’t say anything after a bit. The corners of it tightened into a more forced position, “Kakavasha? You’re gonna be a papa…”

The joy in his face from earlier had completely vanished. Only replaced by a stony, cold, poker face. He pushed his chair back and you stumbled into the wall behind. He gave you a tight smile and kissed your forehead before heading for the door and grabbing his hat. “I’ll be back later.”

With that, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving you at a loss as you fell into his chair, feeling suddenly so very empty in this large office alone.

He came back after that, apologetic for leaving you, but nothing felt truly right. He continued to reassure you that he did want to have this child, but it was a strenous time. The entire pregnancy was stressful. The doctors warned you that the level of stress you were under put you at risk for a premature birth, but you brushed them off. It was just the hormones, you were sure. Kakavasha still loved you. The ring on your finger should’ve been proof enough of that.

“How about the name Ilyas?” you suggested, laying your head on Kakavasha’s lap, “I was… looking at some databases about Avgin names and I thought that one was nice. What do you think?”

Aventurine hummed, but his mind seemed elsewhere. You let it go.

The next few months continued on in similar fashion.

But it all came to a head.

The two of you were standing in the kitchen. It had started off small. The hormones and the stress were getting to you. It was an off hand comment about him not fixing dinner, and you were tired and hungry from carrying around his child.

From there it had escalated. It turned into you were tired of feeling like you were walking on eggshells when you talked about the pregnancy. About how he was barely around for the appointments, and when he was he seemd emotionally distant… finally he exploded

“I never asked for this!” he shouted. “When did I ever say I wanted to be a father? Did you even ask me? Did you think about what I felt about this whole thing at all?”

You paused, feeling tears well up in your throat as a white-hot fear flashed through your body. You laughed, a hollow sound, “I’m sorry, Aventurine, I thought it took two people to make a baby? And you certainly made no attempt to use protection.”

He didn’t have anything to say about that. Even though the argument seemed over, you felt a nauseous feeling crawling up in your throat. Your tears felt like acid burning through your skin. Then a pain in your stomach. Your knees gave out and the last thing you remember was the scared expression on Kakavasha’s face before it all went dark.

“I was scared…. I was so scared that bringing another Avgin into this world would only bring misfortune onto you… that Gaiathra Triclops would take you from our child, just like my mother was taken from me,” he openly cried into your shoulder. “I took it out on you. I made something that should’ve been a beautiful experience something that was awful, and I understand… if you never forgive me for that but please…. please don’t leave.”

Now you were crying with him, one hand tangled in his blond locks and the other rubbing his back. Quietly, so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it, he whispered, “I can’t lose you too.”

You thought for a long time. In front of you wasn’t one of the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC. Not a calculating or cunning man, who’s only interest was in things that benefited the IPC’s bank accounts. In front of you was a broken man, who’d had everything stripped away from him when he was only a child. Who was shattered and forced to put his life back together with nothing but fear and anxiety as glue.

Did it excuse what he'd broken?

No.

“I’m here… I won’t leave Kakavasha,”

But maybe with time and effort, you could help re-glue each other with something a little more beautiful.

“Ilyas! Don’t run so far!” you called after a small blond haired child who was already ahead of you by a longshot, you turned exasperatedly to your husband, “Honey, can you go after him please? I don’t want him to get trampled by some idiot who’s not paying attention…”

The man only smiled at you, one hand firmly wrapped around your ever expanding waist, “It’s okay. There’s some of my squad that’s following him incognito. He won’t get out of our sights without them dragging him back. We can let him get his energy out. He’ll be cooped up in a hospital soon.”

You huffed conceded. Already tired from just getting through the theme park’s entrance. You were due in about two weeks, but Kakavasha was insistent that a week before you’d be under hospital supervision until you brought your second child into the world. It had taken about five years before the two of you had healed enough and there were roadbumps along the way… but you were both ready to give Ilyas a little sister.

But for now, the two of you wanted to let Ilyas have one more day as an only child. The reconstructed Penacony was nothing like the Dreamscape of the past. Fear and secrets no longer were trapped in the gilded cage of the former prison planet. With the help of the IPC and the Harmony, New Penacony was entirely real. No more dreams, just reality. They’d kept many of their old franchises and built a true theme park.

“Mama!! Picture! Let’s get a picture here before we go in!” Ilyas screeched, pointing at Clockie statue in front of the Clock Studios main attraction. You set a hand on Kakavasha’s arm, glancing up at him to try to get a read on what he was feeling. He’d let you in on the parts of his past that he’d kept a secret. The scheme behind Penacony, his proposed “death” and his encounter with his Past and Future.

He took a breathe and looked back down at you, giving you a smile that said “I’m okay” and relief flooded your bones. After walking you over in front of the camera, he crouched down and scooped Ilyas into his arms.

“Ready?” the cameraman asked and you nodded. After a brief countdown the camera flashed, and for a moment in that bright light, you saw the hopeful future that lied ahead.

#aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #aventurine x you #hsr 2.1 #penacony

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egonspenglerishot · 11 months

Note

Nihil or Copia (or both) with an anxious S/O?

He he he….hE

Copia

He notices straight away.

The poor baby has anxiety himself so you best believe he knows the signs of an attack

He will make a list of what makes you tick in the bad way, what overstimulated you etc.

Always has your favorite sour sweets on hand to shock you back to reality.

Won’t touch unless given permission

For me my anxiety gets real bad when meeting people for the first time, I imagine Copia has something like that, possibly due to his childhood and never knowing who his real mother and father are

Young Nihil

He thinks your being over dramatic at first.

Well until he sees you crying and hyperventilating

He fucking SHOVES everyone outta the way to get to you.

The guilt is huge with him, he realized that he should believe what his lover says

He tried getting you to calm down, by hugging you tightly and rubbing your back

When that doesn’t work he gets ice cold water to shock you, has to force you to drink it

He learns eventually

Old Nihil

He knows, from either past relationships or from when you two were younger

Cold water and sour candy (works for me)

If he can’t get a cold water he’ll get any cold drink he can

Finds out sprite and 7Up are very effective

Once you’ve calmed down he’ll kiss you all over

Obviously having to take breaks for oxygen

Another thing is when you hyperventilate he will offer you his mask.

Which works like a charm

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia #papa Nihil #young Nihil #old Nihil

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emeritus-fuckers · 4 months

Note

I dunno if I’ve asked but could you do some headcanons on young Nihil finding out he has a child with a fan (not inserting my oc at all) and it’s a daughter

I may have got slightly carried away XD - Nyx

Young Papa Nihil finding out he has a daughter with a fan

He's terrified. Completely terrified.

He just kinda stands there looking shocked and then asks how much you want for child support.

You don't really see him much, but he does support you financially, whatever you need.

He visits after she is born to leave a ring past down the Emeritus line. When I say more visit, more like he turns up late in at night in the hospital when no one is around. He doesn't want to see anyone who could talk into staying. He leaves the envelope with the ring next to her crib. He can't even look at her, she seems so small and tiny it makes him want to stay so he runs.

He visits again when she is two. He only accepts a cup of coffee and watches her from a distance, you can see him pale slightly.

Her eyes... she has his eyes... fuck. Her beautiful black hair is now down to her shoulders.

He leaves far quicker than he should, he sits in the car barely able to control his own breathing. He knows deep down he is becoming an even bigger fuck up.

He tries to distract himself, but he can't help but think about her, wonder how she is. He starts to realise, he misses her. But no, he can't get involved, he detroys everything he touches and she is too precious.

He keeps reasoning that she is better off without him, he can see that she is clearly well cared for by you.

He came again when she was 3 and then when she was 4. That visit really got to him.

She seemed so happy to see him, that innocent gaze broke something in him. He lifted her up and held her tightly in his arms.

She was so fascinated with his facepaint. Tracing the lines of it with her delicate fingers. He told her that he was Papa, he didn't know if she knew he was her father, but Papa was his title so he stuck with that, it worked.

From then on he visited once a year, but that was it.

When she gets older and starts to wonder a little more she finds his songs and finds out about the band.

Now that really gets to him, one day he goes to visit and she is singing his songs. He smiles to himself saying she has his gift with music, and she does her voice is beautiful.

There is a phase when they don't speak, when she realises he is her father and that he pretty much completely abandoned her.

But Nihil asks for the chance to explain, he would have failed her as a father, he really did do his best, he didn't want to mess her up like his father did to him. He just wants her to be happy.

Their relationship imrpoves, he is still distant but he takes an interest in her life. As she becomes a young adult and beyond she writes letters to him and as Nihil ages these become the most precious things to him. He always writes back and visits her when he can. He hopes she will always turn to him if she needs his advice on stuff.

He just wishes he hadn't been such a coward when he was younger. He knows that thankfully he salvaged it somehow and that at least he has one child happy to call him their father. He deeply regrets the way he went on with his own sons, but his father wasn't a good person and the scars from Nihil's childhood run too deep.

Written by Nyx.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @thecuriouss @dio-niisio@firefirevampire @mybotanicaldemise @emo-mess @natoncesaid @ouijaboardemo

#ghost band #ghost bc #ghost #ask #papanihilsimper #ghost band x reader #ghost bc x reader #ghost x reader #papa nihil #papa emeritus zero #papa emeritus 0 #young papa nihil #nihil emeritus #papa emeritus zero x reader #papa emeritus 0 x reader #nihil emeritus x reader #young papa nihil x reader #young nihil x reader

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hwaightme · 3 months

Text

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance.

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included.

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal.

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour.

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think.

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…”

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present.

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?”

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony.

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories.

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton.

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny.

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm.

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul.

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?”

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze.

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer.

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric.

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you.

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing.

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out.

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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