#-about the likes and shares thing' it literally means so much

[lvnleah]

missing you | kyra cooney-cross.

if you have any requests please send them in, this writers block is driving me insane xxx

“Baby, when are you gonna be home?” Kyra asked you from the other side of the screen, “I miss you like so so much.”

You chucked as you flopped down on your childhood bed back home in America, “Like, I don’t know, like 48 hours away maybe?”

You were currently in America for four days, a relative of yours had passed away so you were attending the funeral. It was anyone who you were close with but you wanted to be there for your Mom and Grandma. 

Kyra groaned dramatically, flopping down on your shared bed at home. “That’s forever away.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “It’s two days, babe.”

“Two days too long.” She buried her face in her pillow before peeking back up at the screen. “I’ve been so lonely.”

“Oh, have you?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure Caitlin, Steph and Mini are thrilled about that.”

Kyra huffed. “Steph told me to get a hobby.”

You snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

“You are my hobby.” She pouted, stretching across her bed like a cat. “I just miss you, okay? I hate going to training without you, and my food doesn’t taste as good because you’re not cooking it, and everything is boring.”

“You sound like a child.”

“I feel like a child,” she admitted. “A sad, abandoned, neglected child.”

“You are none of those things.”

She ignored you, her bottom lip jutting out as she whined, “I don’t even sleep properly when you’re not here.”

You softened slightly at that, despite her dramatics. “Babe, it’s just a few more days.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re busy. What am I supposed to do?”

“You could—”

“I tried everything,” she cut you off. “I played FIFA, I went for a walk, I babysat Harper, I even helped Beth and Katie prank Leah just to pass the time.”

You bit back a laugh. “And?”

“Leah threatened to murder me.”

“I’d say you had it coming.”

She groaned, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. “I’m just gonna lie here until you come back.”

“Sounds so productive.”

She rolled her head to look at you again. “You promise you’ll be back in two days?”

“I promise.”

Kyra let out another dramatic sigh, then tilted her head at you. “Who was it that even passed anyway?”

You hesitated for a second before answering. “My mom’s uncle’s wife. I mean, I met her a few times when I was younger, but we weren’t close or anything. I just wanted to be here for my mom and grandma.”

Kyra nodded slowly, then frowned. “Wait… so you’re telling me I’ve been suffering for someone you weren’t even close to?”

You rolled your eyes. “Ky, that’s not the point.”

She groaned, throwing her arm over her face. “This is the worst. This is actually the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You snorted. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am suffering,” she repeated, emphasizing every word. “I’m gonna die before you come home.”

“Well, don’t do that,” you teased. “I’d be really sad if I came back and you were just… gone.”

She squinted at you. “That’s not funny.”

You laughed. “A little funny.”

“Not funny,” she insisted. “Because if I died, who would annoy you? Who would follow you around everywhere? Who would drink from your water bottle even though you hate it?”

“Are you listing things I’d miss or things I’d be relieved about?”

Kyra gasped, “You don’t mean that. You're supposed to love me!”

You smirked. “I do love you, baby. You’re just a tiny bit dramatic, that’s all.”

She pouted at you again, letting silence settle for a few moments before sighing. “I just miss you. So much.”

“I know,” you said softly. “Just two more days, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled. “But when you get back, I’m never leaving you alone.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew she meant it.

When you finally landed back in London, you barely had time to grab your suitcase before your phone started buzzing. You didn’t even need to check the screen.

Kyra: Are you here yet??

Kyra: Helloooo 

Kyra: Please tell me you’re here

Kyra: I’m literally at the training ground waiting

Kyra: Do you need me to come pick you up???

Kyra: Actually, never mind. Renée said no, what a meanie

You chuckled to yourself as you pulled your bag along, shaking your head at how impatient she was.

By the time you got to the training ground, you barely had time to step out of your car before you heard an all-too-familiar voice.

“Babe!”

You turned just in time to see Kyra sprinting toward you at full speed. Before you could react, she launched herself at you, arms wrapping tightly around your neck.

You stumbled back but caught her, laughing. “Ky, we’re in the car park.”

“I don’t care,” she mumbled into your neck. “I missed you.”

“I noticed.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I was gone for four days.”

“Four agonizing days.”

You sighed, squeezing her waist. “Are you gonna let me put my bag down, at least?”

“No.” She smirked before placing a kiss on your lips. 

You rolled your eyes as you kissed her back, but eventually, she did let you go. Only to grab your hand and drag you inside.

From the moment you stepped into the training facility, you realized Kyra wasn’t joking when she said she wouldn’t leave you alone.

At training, she was glued to you. Partnering up for drills? Of course, she was with you. Water breaks? She was practically hovering over you. Even in passing drills, if you so much as looked at someone else, she was immediately there, pouting.

At one point, Leah walked by and muttered, “She’s worse than before.”

“I told you,” Beth added. “She missed her girl.”

You ignored them, trying to focus on training, but Kyra made that incredibly difficult.

When you sat down to tie your boots, she plopped next to you, head resting on your shoulder.

“You good?” you asked.

“Mhm.” She nodded, “Just missed you a whole lot, that’s all.”

During a water break, she tried to drink from your bottle again.

“Ky, no.” You sighed, reaching out to take the water from her. 

“But I missed you.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that this is my water.”

“Oh come on! Don’t pretend like I haven’t eaten you—”

“Kyra!” you cut her off, eyes wide as your face flushed red.

Around you, your teammates immediately erupted into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Katie wheezed, practically doubling over. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Beth was clutching her stomach, shaking her head. “That’s gonna haunt me for life.”

Kyra just shrugged. “What? I was just saying the truth because—”

“Nope!” you rushed to cover her mouth with your hand. “No more talking.”

Her eyes crinkled as she grinned under your hand, and you could feel her smugness radiating off her. You groaned, removing your hand as you turned away.

“I actually hate you,” you muttered.

“No, you don’t,” she said sweetly, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind. “You love me.”

You sighed as she buried her face in your back, clinging to you like a koala. “I regret coming back.”

“No, you don’t.”

Beth snickered as she patted you on the shoulder when she walked past. “This is your life now, mate.”

“I know,” you groaned, but you still leaned back into Kyra’s embrace.

Because, despite her being an absolute pest, she was your pest.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[yutarot]

1999. l.mk

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ husband!mark, assassin au, romance, enemies to lovers

wc. 10k

warnings. violence, suggestive, lots of fighting, they literally spend half the fic tryna kill eachother idk, mention of alcohol, guns, angst, heavily inspired by +82 pressin and mr and mrs smith (2005)

synopsis. after accidentally nearly killing another assassin, you both get assigned the task of taking eachother out. but what happens when the assassin you’re after turns out to be a lot closer to you than you had ever expected? do you ignore your feelings? or do you listen to your heart, risking both of your lives in the process.

notes — hiii!! i rlly enjoyed writing this it was sooo much fun. i sorta got this idea after seeing the mv for +82 pressin and ive been wanting to write something based on mr and mrs smith for a whileee so it sorta worked perfectly in my head. i hope u enjoy!!! (p.s. thank u @sungbites for being my writing motivation hehe love u)

it’s a night like all the rest, darkness falling through the window like a shadow with nowhere to go: lost, helpless. you’ve always liked night-time, enjoyed the tranquility of the silent hours as thoughts pass through your mind with no clear destination. you lie there, a moment of peace stilling within you as you slowly begin to fall into slumber. 

your peace is cut short, all tranquility lost when a voice from beside you arises. ‘babe, can you turn off the light please?’

you roll your eyes in a secretive protest before turning to face your husband, a smile now plastered on your face. 

‘of course, honey.’

you hate mark. every single moment of every day, you spend each waking hour questioning yourself of why you ever married him. whether in detestation or disgust, you hate him. but your marriage isn't based on love or hate, so you do what you must: you hide it, conceal your hate behind joyful smiles and the blissful art of routine. after all, you’re good at keeping secrets.

abruptly, he rolls back over to face away from you and you do the same.

‘goodnight, babe.’ he murmurs.

‘goodnight.’

you don’t acknowledge each other again, drifting to sleep in nothing but your own mind.

a night like all the rest. 

each morning is always the same: wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30, wave off your husband as he leaves for work at 8, always accompanied by a quick kiss as he walks through the door, and each morning you suppress your hatred just as much as the last. this morning was no different.

as you sit at the dining table, your breakfast laid out before you, you both eat in silence. this is how it’s always been, this marriage, days of simple routine and empty discussion. you don’t know anything about him, not really. yes, you know where he grew up, what movies he likes, what his favourite kind of bread is, but you don’t know what goes on in his mind. evidently, you're okay with that, because it means that he doesn’t need to know what goes on in yours. it’s a marriage of mutuality, an understanding that your life is your life, and weirdly neither of you question it. neither of you question if the love is fake, or if it just isn’t there at all.

however, there’s one, tiny detail which you know you’ll never share with him, a side of your life untouched, undisturbed. on the outside, you’re the symbol of a perfect housewife, compliant, clean and kept, staying home during the day whilst he’s out at work, tidying the furniture and cooking up dinner by the time he gets home. that’s all he sees, thats all he knows. but what he doesn’t know, is that you’re none of that, not a single bit. 

after finishing your breakfast and placing down your cutlery, you look up at your husband. 

‘delicious, sweetheart, just like always.’ he says, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. he always did sound patronising when he compliments your cooking, but you give him the benefit of the doubt; its the only thing, besides your looks, that he can compliment you for. it's the only talent you show him.

you feign a smile in response, ‘i know just how you like it.’

‘you do.’ he grins back.

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, pretending like you’re in a happy marriage, and you wonder how much longer he can do the same. but you have to, you’ve done it for the past four years, you can suffer the restriction of a few more. 

all for the sake of concealment.

mark gets up from his seat at the table, ‘i had better go, baby, i can't be late; we had this huge data crash at work last night, and there’s lots to fix.’

‘of course, honey. i'll make your favourite for you tonight.’ you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him his jacket, waving him out the door. 

its tiring, the act of deception. you watch as his car reverses off of the drive of your house before driving around the corner. you wait a few moments, making sure he really is and truly gone out of your sight. or more importantly, you're out of his.

and once you are, your real day begins. 

untying the apron around your waist, you walk steadily and with purpose, climbing the stairs and walking into the room which you call your closet. only it's not only a closet, not really.

pulling back a few items of clothing, you expose the keypay at the back of the room, pressing in the passcode. 

0417. the date you got married. 

the lock springs open, giving you access to your secret, and highly personal safe.

as always, laid inside are two items of significant importance.

your work phone, and a gun. 

you pocket the gun before picking up the phone and selecting the first number in your phone book. 

‘agency.’

you hold the phone to your ear, it doesn’t even ring once before the other end picks up; they expect your call, just as they do each morning. 

‘i am now alone, will be there in 15.’ you speak, before hanging up and placing the phone in your other back pocket. 

the agency is a grand, foreboding building, dark shadows cascading between its outer walls and falling over its glass panels like a shroud. you walk inside, scanning your keycard through the main entrance before making your way to the front desk.

‘yn lee.’ you recite your name. ‘im clocking in.’

the receptionist nods. ‘mrs K wants to see you in her office.’

‘what for?’ you ask. 

the receptionist shrugs, implying that whatever your boss wants you for is confidential, and therefore, important.

after a quick journey to the 10th floor via the elevator, you make your way through the white lined corridor, the shiny black marble at your feet causing each step to echo, bouncing off every wall as you step further and further towards the door looming ahead of you. 

you knock the door twice before she calls for you to come inside, which you do so quickly, closing it behind you. 

she motions for you to sit down, her short, black and perfectly cut hair framing her face and emphasising the gap between her neck and the shoulders of her pristine, grey suit. 

you sit, looking at the woman in the desk in front of you as she speaks. 

‘it’s an interesting life you lead, agent lee.’ she says, head tilting to the side. 

presuming she’s talking about the faux relationship with your husband, you respond quickly. ‘i’d get lonely in that house by myself.’

‘that’s not what i'm implying.’

oh?

she speaks again, standing from her desk as she does so.

‘this job; you’ve been a level 2 agent with us for four years, and despite countless attempts at recruiting you for level 1, you’ve always declined. why is that?’

you take a moment to ponder her question, to truly decipher what she's asking of you. 

‘i'm comfortable.’ you reply. 

‘nothing about this job is comfortable.’

she’s right. your job is to kill. being a level 1 just means you have to do it alone, estranged from working in groups, harder jobs and more secretive clients. you stay silent as she continues. 

‘the reason i wanted you here, mrs lee, is because our agency has discovered an almost identical rival agency in the market. same jobs, same asking price and same level agents. what i mean, in short, is that we now have competition, and that doesn’t happen by coincidence.’

‘you think someone’s leaking intel to a rival agency?’

‘not think, know.’ the red of her lips twist into a scorn of seriousness, as if shes trying to intimidate you. 

‘and you think i have something to do with it?’ you ask, disbelief briefly cascading over your thoughts. 

she sits back down behind her desk, reaching for a drawer and shuffling through files and files of paper. 

‘quite the contrary.’ she replies, and you look at her in confusion before she continues. ‘actually, you're one of the few that i know don't have something to do with it.’

finishing her sentence, she slides an envelope across the desk, nodding for you to take it. 

she gets back up from her desk, looking you directly in your eyes, a shift of tone in the air around you.

‘once i've left the room, you’re going to open the envelope, mrs lee. i have two armed gunmen outside the door, under my command, waiting for you to leave. think of it as a little test of what that envelope contains. and, agent lee?’

you don't say a word, looking back at her to continue.

‘this time, i'm not asking.’

her smile is sickening. but you have no time to reproach her before she's out of the room, leaving you with nothing but the cold envelope in your hands and the ever-impending threat of death which falls over you. 

after your limited amount of time, frozen in your seat, alone in your bosses office, your mind finally goes back to the envelope in your hand. you open it, pulling out the contents inside. your mind is a state of anger; in your hand lies two pieces of paper, one, a picture of a man in his late 50’s, a cool, silver moustache lining his lip, and one, a letter, addressed directly to you. 

agent 1270.

with this letter, i have enclosed a portrait of your first job as a level 1 agent. configurations confirmed him a regular gambler at the artemis casino on 34th street. don’t fuck this up. if you do, i won't hesitate to get rid of you; we have a lot on the line. 

K. 

p.s. my gunmen are inpatient. 

moments after you even get a chance to finish the last word of the letter, two men in black suits burst through the door of the office. you roll under the desk, pocketing both items as gunshots ring out around you. 

‘shit.’ you hiss, reaching for the gun in your back pocket. with no time to waste, you emerge from the side of the desk, aiming your gun at the head of the man furthest to you, using your momentum to swing your heel swiftly into the closest man's chest as your first bullet flies through the air. with one man down and the other one winded on the floor, you take your opportunity, walking up to him as he struggles to breathe. 

you kick the gun out of his hand. 

‘why is she doing this? why make me a level 1 agent?’ you ask, the gun pointed towards the man below you. 

he gasps for air, shaking his head. with nothing but raw frustration and pent up hatred at the woman forcing you to do this, you pull the trigger. 

anger boils within you, years of working for the agency and never have you stooped so low as to have been forced to kill one of your own. she’s testing you, seeing what you can do, and you’re going to find out why.

you find your way to elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor. checking your freshly ironed suit for any specks of blood or evidence of your previous fight, you step out of the elevator. you’re instantly met with the level 1 offices, people in suits everywhere, some sat at desks and some engaging with conversation. everyone notices you, but noone says a word. its a very private industry, the industry of assassination, no questions are asked and none are answered. 

you walk over to what looks like the main desk of the floor and the woman checks you in, showing you swiftly to your new office. the walls are a pristine white, with a glass desk and an illumination of light that's almost blinding. you set down the documents from K’s letter, examining the mans face. you don't know who he is, you never do, and it’s in your best interest not to care. all that matters is getting the job done, and under current circumstances, it matters more than ever. since, unlike before, it's not only the hidden identity from your husband that's on the line, but as is your life. 

you’re not sat at your desk for long, K’s threat looming over you. 

you check your watch. 3.14pm, exactly 14 minutes since the artemis casino opened its doors for the evening. tonight, you’ll make sure that someone will never leave them. 

after being assigned your own personal assistant, who you've learned to know as agent 4916, you request only three items for your plan to work smoothly and quickly. a dark red satin dress, a vial of poison and it’s respective antidote - not that you expect it to go wrong, but you can never assume the best in a job like yours. even so, you've never once failed a mission, and you were not about to take the risk of failing on the only mission where you don’t give yourself a backup plan; that’s what the knife strapped to your thigh is for.

you thank your assistant with a nod as you step into the taxi you ordered, covering your shoulders with a thick fur coat you acquired secretly from the evidence room. 

‘where are y’ headed?’ the taxi man asks, puffing an exhale of cigarette smoke out of the window. 

‘artemis casino, please.’

the man grins, ‘you a golddigger, huh?’

you roll your eyes, ‘im married.’ men like this disgust you, always assuming the worst of women. if only he knew. 

‘what does he do?’ he asks. it’s at this where your confidence is knocked; you can't exactly say ‘i dont know.’..

so instead you pause, waiting until the car comes to a halt outside the front of the casino before stepping out, replying back with a sly yet dismissive response as you pass him his money through the front window. 

‘none of your business.’

the casino is a lot busier than you had hoped, groups of old men and rich couples sauntering amongst the tables. there’s an indistinct mumble of voices, layering perfectly over the chime of jazz music, not enough to drown it out, but just enough to make you listen out for the instruments. 

you keep your mind fixated on the picture of the man you're looking for, but as you wander around, a sharp eye scanning all the faces, you spot him, sitting and smiling cruelly in a circle around a poker table. you label this as a perfect opportunity; there’s nothing like the emotion of overconfidence to blind a man's senses. 

walking over, you lean a hand on the back of his chair. 

‘that’s interesting.’ you say as you peak over his shoulder at his cards. 

you catch his attention as he looks up at you. 

you continue, ‘i won’t expose you,’ you giggle, feigning emotion comes natural to you now, ‘don’t worry.’ continuing your act, you walk off and head straight over to the bar. 

just as you planned, he walks after you. 

‘what are you playing at?’ he asks. you ignore him. 

the bartender looks at you expectantly, waiting for your order. 

‘vodka. neat.’ the bartender nods but the man beside you turns to you in disgust. 

you laugh at his reaction before catching the bartender's attention, ‘make that two.’ you say.

the man speaks up. ‘wai-’

‘unless.. this man can't handle his drink?’

he stops talking. 

after a moment of silence the bartender brings you your drinks. 

you stand up, your drink in hand. you’ve done this many times before and each is as flawless as the last. 

you walk around him, slowly, and as if unplanned, you trip, your drink flying straight across his blazer, soaking its expensive lining with the sweet stickiness of the clear liquid.

he stands up, a suppressed rage emerging from within him. 

‘oops,’ you say innocently, ‘here, have mine.’

he nods in reply. ‘leave it on the side.’ he says, before storming off to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

perfect.

it's then that you set the final action of your plan into place, it's then that you slip the poison into his drink. 

not wanting to be with him when the poison takes action, you hurry yourself out of view, climbing to the second balcony floor and placing yourself with perfect vision of the bar you were just at, the drink sitting there, a note you placed reading ‘bottoms up, pussy. i'll be watching’, tucked under the glass in attempts to urge him on. 

you watch for a minute, then two, and when it gets to the third, you begin to grow anxious. 

but it’s not the extent of time that makes your worry flutter; it's the sudden man sitting at the bar, at the exact seat where the glass is placed. 

the wrong man.

you can’t see the stranger's face, only the sharp outline of his back as he slumps over the drink, reading the note you placed under it.

you watch intently as he looks around, his face still under too much shadow to properly decipher his features. the shine of his all black suit glimmers from the point of his shoulders as he reaches for the drink. your stomach drops.

shit.

you stand up in vigour as his lips touch the glass. 

you were about to kill the wrong man. 

you were about to kill yourself. 

clenching your jaw with an abandonment of your mission, you stealthily follow the man from the bar as he clutches his stomach, breathing heavily as he swings himself into a bathroom cubicle. you stand outside the door, listening to his laboured breaths and the sudden bang as his body slumps over the toilet bowl. you can’t see him, but you decide suddenly that you can’t let him die, you can’t fuck up this job and kill the wrong guy, you’d look like a fool.

you slide the antidote under the door of the cubicle with your foot, hearing a breathless, pained whisper of ‘the fuck?’ from the other side, but you don't stick around to exchange pleasantries, not when you nearly killed the man. 

you turn to leave, but just as you take a step towards the main door of the bathroom, something on the floor catches your eye, something that the man had dropped in his haste to reach the cubicle. 

a business card.

you pick it up, slowly peeling it from the floor.

your face grows stern.

dread envelopes you. your legs grow weak, feeling as it tries to weigh you down.

on one side is a logo you know all too well, the rival agency your boss had warned you about. 

on the other side, one word and one number. 

agent 1999. 

the man you had nearly killed was another assassin.

an assassin from a rival agency.

and he had just fucked up your job. 

you’ve been sat at your dinner table in silence for the last ten minutes and mark hasn’t come home yet. part of you is relieved, not having to uphold your character as his wife under all the stress that you're under after failing your mission. however, there’s a part of you that’s waiting for him, the abruption in your daily routine throwing you off, despite how much you hate him. 

that’s when you hear the front door click shut, mark coming through to the dining room.

‘honey? what are you doing awake?’ he asks, setting down his briefcase, the tie to match his brown, tartan suit loose around his neck, top button undone. he looks dishevelled, whatever had made him late had ruined him.

you stand up, rubbing your eyes out of exhaustion. ‘you can’t just come home late like this.’

‘im sorry, baby. a lot happened at work, okay?’ he says, walking up to you. he leans forward to catch your eye contact. ‘some idiot sent me the wrong file and the whole network crashed.’

you nod, pushing in the dining table chair as you prepare to leave the room and go to bed. 

‘goodnight, yn.’

‘goodnight.’

you can’t help but feel that something is off. 

like usual, you wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30 and wave your husband off as he leaves for work. each morning is the same, a list of routined actions you perform, a pretend life you wish you could lead. only this morning, you fear it could be your last. 

as you tread down the white hall of the 10th floor of the agency, eventually standing at your bosses door in anticipation, you knock. 

she calls you in and you shut the door behind you. there she sits, black bob swaying above her shoulders and thin, red lips pressed into a straight line of discontent. the bullet holes on the desk from yesterday still remain, a reminder of what your boss had promised would happen to you if you had failed to complete the job.

not only had you done that very thing but to make matters even worse, you had also accidentally held an attempt of assassination on a man from the rival agency.

‘good morning, agent lee.’ her voice is stern, deep.

you nod, taking a seat. 

‘you know why you're here? yes?’

you nod, not daring to say a word.

‘then i believe you understand the vitality of the situation we are now in because of your mistake.’

again, you nod. 

‘words, mrs lee.’ her voice raises, causing you to sit up in your seat.

‘yes.’

she nods, crossing one leg over the other. ‘good. then you shall be pleased to know that i'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’ 

your mind is going a million miles an hour, thoughts racing each other in a swirl of confusion. the perplexion must have been evident on your face as K begins to explain. ‘the agent that intercepted your mission is agent 1999 of the sparta agency. we have reason to believe that he is the source feeding our information to his agency, that’s how he knew you were going to be there.’

it all makes so much sense yet none at all. why would a random stranger pick up an unattended drink at a casino and drink it? unless..

a thought sparks in your mind. ‘you think he drank the vial on purpose?’

a small grin peaks at the corner of K’s upper lip before she continues. ‘he gambled that whoever was on the mission would have had an antidote on them. sparta agency aren’t to be messed with, agent lee, they will use any means to intercept our missions, and with this intel they are our biggest liability.’ she rises from her seat, walking to move over to her wall-panel window, scouring the view that lays beyond it. ‘after this, whoever agent 1999 is will most likely be given the task to kill you; they can’t risk the fact that you might know what he looks like.’

her back is still facing you as you reply. ‘but i don't know what he looks like, i didn’t see his face.’ 

she turns in your direction, a smirk which you haven’t seen before now plastering her features. ‘and he didn't see yours either. that’s why i'm giving you the task of taking him out, it’s a race of who can find and kill who first, if he’s smart, he’ll always be where you are, it only makes your job easier.’ 

to take out a criminal is one thing, but to take out a highly skilled assassin is another. you stay silent, conflict in your mind overwhelming you. you love your agency, and you love your job, but you fear that this task is nothing but fated suicide.

K steps back to behind her desk, sitting again to face you as she speaks. ‘if you do this, mrs lee, you would have regained my approval.’ she shuffles through the files on her desk, looking up at you through her brow at her next words. ‘not just anyone can take out two of my men with just a pistol and two bullets. i'm trusting you with this. you have 24 hours to complete the job.’

you check your watch, it’s 10:45 am.

12 hours.

12 hours to take out a high class, heavily skilled assassin. 

she really was testing you.

you waste absolutely no time deciding what you’re going to do, rushing to your office and calling for your assistant. 

‘give me whereabouts on agent 1999 of the sparta agency, i want all the information you can find.’ you say, and she nods before scurrying out the room. 

you’ve never questioned a kill before, knowing nothing but their faces, merciless in all aspects. but there’s something incredibly ironic about this one, something that you’ve never had to deal with before.

he’s just like you. 

your assistant returns and you sort through the printed files until you find his personal profile. like the rest of your jobs, you expect to see his face, printed in the top corner, usually a CCTV picture or a mugshot if you're lucky. but much to your surprise, you’re faced with nothing but a grey square, a question mark placed in the middle, almost mocking your lack of knowledge.

you look up at your assistant, a brow raised.

‘there’s no record of what he looks like. not a trace.’ she says.

you nod, a forced sense of acceptance. this man knows what he’s doing. 

continuing to search the files, one catches your attention: his previous kills. 

671. 

‘he uses a revolver..’ you murmur to yourself. 

this fact, this small, minor detail, changes everything; revolvers are exceptionally loud guns. meaning almost each and every one of his kills would have been done in private, in basements, elevators.

if you want to lure him in, get him somewhere he will follow, you need to find somewhere private, somewhere you can confront him one on one. 

that’s when the perfect idea hits you.

you grab your car keys from your desk drawer, pocketing them in the inner pocket of your blazer. a motel, somewhere far enough from the city but somewhere close enough that he will follow you there. 

you’re just hoping that, right now, he’s sat outside your agency waiting for you to leave, waiting to follow you home. 

but you’re not going home. not today. 

your suspicions are correct when you reach the border of the city, a blacked out mercedes maintaining its speed a few cars behind you. you know it’s him, agent 1999, you don’t need to see his face to be sure.

you pull up to the first motel you see, the lack of cars in the parking lot signalling a perfect place for the job you're about to undertake.

before he can swing into the motel behind you, you step out the car, sprinting to the reception. 

you push open the door in eagerness, rushing to the front desk. the receptionist looks up upon hearing the bell on the door ring at your arrival.

‘one night. please.’ you say before sliding a $100 bill across the desk. ‘keep the change.’

the receptionist looks at you in disbelief as she hands you a key with the number 8 engraved on it. 

you waste no time, rushing round the corner to the stairwell. it’s just as you make it past the line of sight that you hear the reception bell ring, that agent 1999 has come through the front door. 

your curiosity is screaming at you to peek around the corner, to find out who this man is that you’ve been given the task of killing before he kills you. but you refrain, your urge to survive overwhelming you as you begin to climb the stairs, past room 6, past room 7 and past room 8. instead, you go to room 9, placing a gamble that it’s that room that the receptionist will assign him. 

you don’t move, don’t waver from your stance outside his door. 

not even as you hear the door to the stairwell open, not even as you hear the slow, antagonising echo of his footsteps.

not even as he comes around the corner.

fear. 

not the kind that paralyses you, but the kind that makes you regret. that’s what you feel when you see him, that’s what you feel when you look down the barrel of his gun: fear. 

but it’s not the gun that scares you.

it’s who's holding it. 

the assassin you’ve been hired to kill, the man who's been hunting you down, is none other than the man you had least expected it to be.

your husband..

you lock eyes with him, but you see none of his usual warmth, his usual empathy. all you see is the eyes of the man trying to kill you. 

‘mark.’ you breath, raising your gun at him, a mirror of his pose.

slightly, ever so slightly, you see him flinch as you say his name. he’s holding back. 

‘babe.’ he says, sarcasm lining his tone. ‘why aren’t you at home?’

a smile of annoyance lines your lips, eyes rolling. ‘could ask the same of you.’

you’re ever so aware of the guns you have pointed at each other. his eyes never leaving yours, he speaks again. ‘i have important business to attend to.’

of course you do, you think to yourself. 

its a pity you never liked him, never got to know him. atleast now, you understand why.

‘as do i.’ 

suddenly, gunshots blast through the air. 

amidst the confusion and fear of who shot who, you run to the door labelled ‘8’, turning the key and quickly running inside. but your attempts to shut mark out are quickly abandoned when he swiftly places his foot between the closing door and it’s frame.

you jump back, reaching in your back pocket for the small knife you stashed earlier, hiding around the corner of the room. he kicks the door open, standing in the doorway, gun still in hand. he walks in slowly, treading lightly as he scans the room with his aim. 

but just as he gets into the room, you stop him, grabbing his arms from behind him and twisting the gun out of his hand. 

he attempts to kick you off his back, mind increasingly aware of the knife you have placed to his throat.

hesitantly, he turns, putting his hands up. 

once you’re face to face, you take no time in tackling him. he grunts, the wind knocking right out of him as he hits the floor. 

straddling his waist, both of your faces are emotionless, void of any of the pretend love you were used to maintaining.

‘did you know?’ he grunts, breathless, eyes glancing slightly at the blade you have pressed to his throat. ‘did you know it was me?’

you push the knife closer to his skin and he winces. 

‘answer me, yn.’ his voice is hoarse, struggling to speak. 

you take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth. 

‘no.’ you say, but curiosity peaks in you again, and this time, you’re taking no chances at missing out. ‘did you?’

his jaw clenches.

with a sudden sense of energy, he kicks you, causing you to fall on top of him, your knife going slack in your hand as he knocks it to the side. he flips you both over in the process so that he’s now above you, taking a hold of both of your wrists. 

‘no,’ he says, anger lining his words. ‘well,’ he chuckles, ‘i knew one thing.’

you furrow your brows. 

he continues, ‘you’ve always hated me. i’ve always been able to see it in your eyes. you detest the thought of ever marrying me.’

you go to speak, but before you can reply, he cuts you off. 

‘i wouldn’t worry, it’s a mutual feeling.’

with that, you reciprocate his anger. all those years of marriage, of putting up with a man you hate in order to give yourself a sense of security, all of it, has come down to this. pushing him off of you, you crawl to his revolver, laid out across the other side of the room. 

your hands gain purchase to it, lifting it up to point at him. 

your finger rests on the trigger. he’s in perfect shot. there’s no one around, you would complete your mission and regain your boss's trust back. but somehow, something stops you. 

as you look into his eyes, the deep brown hue of his pupils looking at you in disgust and anger, you snap. 

you just can’t do it. 

because whilst his eyes may be looking at you in a new light, it’s those same eyes you have grown accustomed to seeing everyday. nearly every other set of eyes you see, looking back at you, you only get to see once before they’re closed forever, no one being granted the experience of ever viewing them again. but his, you’ve always known that, no matter what, you’d see them at the end of the day, that you’d wake up to them after every nightmare. 

you just don’t think that you could let them go. 

that you could let him go.  

he notices your hesitation, a hint of a smile now making it’s way to his features.

‘you can’t do it, can you?’

you stay silent, finger still hovering over the trigger. 

‘over five-hundred kills and now you’re hesitating.’ he taunts. 

you stay still, shaking with anger. ‘you’ve done your research.’

‘had to make sure i knew what i was dealing with. although, nothing could have prepared me for this.’ he laughs, as if this whole situation is funny to him. 

‘okay then,’ you say, lowering the gun. turning it in your palm, extending the handle out towards him. ‘kill me.’

he looks at you, a stern expression on his face, as he takes the gun from your hand. 

but what he’s not expecting is for you to put your palm to his shoulder, making him sit himself down on the bed as you climb to straddle his lap. 

he looks up at you, a mix of hatred and annoyance lining his features. slowly, you take his left wrist, guiding his hand to hold the small of your back. his eyes travel to the curve of your waist before looking back up. even slower, you take his right wrist, the one holding the gun, moving it so that the barrel presses firmly against your temple.

you let go of his wrists, the index finger of his left hand drawing circles on your skin, something he used to do years ago, in the age where you used to cuddle up to each other to watch movies. then, you accepted it because you had to make eachother think you loved the other. now, he’s doing it because he knows you don’t.

his face is close enough to yours now that you see the golden specks of his eyes as he looks at you, they swim in the pool of colour, drowning in the light that reflects off of them. 

gun still pressed to your temple, mark lets out a deep breath. ‘you really want this?’ he whispers. 

barely there, you nod, eyes falling to his lips. 

he chuckles, hand at your waist now tracing its way up to the back of your neck. 

his eyes flutter as he leans in. it's smooth, gentle but so incredibly angry as he kisses you. in all the years of your marriage, you’ve never kissed mark like this, never shown him enough emotion to be able to connect this deeply with him. your mind soars into a place of nothingness, beyond your world of killing and death, but it’s quickly brought back when you hear a sudden click from the pressure at your temple. 

the gun.

you pull away, marks face a look of irritation as his eyes travel between the empty gun and you.

he had tried to distract you. 

he had tried to kill you.

you slap the gun out of his hand before climbing off of him, dashing for the half open door. 

you hear his footsteps clamber after you, chasing you down the motel hall. sprinting down the stairs, knowing he’s behind you, you keep running and running and running. 

but it's not the fear of death that's urging you on, it’s the fear of knowing you didn’t have it in you to kill him.

and he did.

you didn’t go home to cook dinner that night, the image of his eyes on you scarring your memory, the feeling of his lips invading your mind. 

instead, you go home with nothing but one intention. 

this time you’re not going to let him distract you. this time you’re not going to let him leave. 

his eyes were not going to stop you. 

driving down your street, an invigorating anger consumes you. a resurgence of betrayal floods your actions as you press down on the gas pedal as though your life depends on it. all because now it’s evident that if you don't kill him, he will kill you. 

pulling your car sharply around the corner and onto your driveway, you step out the car, pistol in either hand. you scan the building with your eyes, the warm exterior of your house now a cold shell, a place for death.

someone, tonight, is going to die here, and you will not let it be you. 

as you creep around the house towards the back door, silence swarming you, you see a sudden flicker of light from the kitchen. 

there he is, usual home comfort clothing, usual messy hair. to him, you’re not a threat; he’s seen it first hand, witnessed your hesitation. 

but not anymore, not after he had tried to kill you. you won’t let him take your life away from you anymore than he already has. 

you slowly walk towards the back door, twisting the handle to pop it open, but just as you do, the kitchen light switches off. the entire house turns to black. 

he knows you’re here. 

you walk inside, past your immaculate kitchen, past the stairwell. but it’s when you get to the living room that you hear a shuffle amongst the furniture. 

and you’re right next to the light switch. 

you reach your hand towards the switch, inches away from turning the light on before a hand clasps around your wrists. you twist, shooting blindly at the figure behind you, an attempt to defend yourself. 

‘nice try, honey.’ you hear his voice whisper from beside you. 

you turn again, trying to gain an idea of where he is, but before your eyes can focus, a rally of gunshots explode at the wall beside you. unfortunately for mark, he misses, similarly blinded by the darkness surrounding you, but fortunately for you, the fire of his revolver illuminates from the barrel, signaling exactly where he’s positioned from across the room.

moving before you can even think, you run towards him, launching yourself in his direction. you meet the hardness of his shoulder as you knock you both onto the floor, rolling away from each other. you attempt to regain your balance on your feet, but a sound from across the room stops you in your tracks: the chilling swipe of a knife being drawn from the kitchen drawer.

mark has never deviated from his selected weapon before. 

he is desperate.

still unable to see each other, you speak out as you eventually stand up. 

‘have you ever considered couple’s therapy, sweetie?’ you taunt, hoping a joke would distract him as you crawl across the room to find one of your pistols. 

he laughs in reply, ‘with you, or the fake wife i’ve been married to for four years?’

‘i have no idea what you're talking about.’ your voice is sweet, an innocent persona you’ve been willing to upkeep. 

his voice sounds closer, raspier. ‘you know, i always wondered why you hated me.’ he says, the sound of his words circling you as you freeze. ‘i thought, maybe you knew what i did for a living, that you despised me for it.’ he stops walking. ‘but now i know that you really do just hate me.’

with that, he lunges in your direction, circulating his arms around you from behind, knife held firmly against the front of your neck. you feel his breath on your cheek, hear his heartbeat. 

and it’s racing.

‘you won’t do it.’ you say, fear consuming you. 

you feel his lips twitch into a smile from beside you. 

‘you’re naive, baby.’

‘then do it.’

there’s a moment of stillness, mark’s breath halting, his heart still pounding. 

the pressure at your throat lingers, but it doesn’t increase. 

instead, it’s the silence that speaks volumes.

the knife drops to the floor, clattering at your feet, his arms still enveloping you. 

he turns your body by your shoulders, and the stillness of the room allows your eyes to focus.

there he is, hair dishevelled as he looks down on you. it’s almost impossible to tell, but amongst the flood of darkness you think you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. 

he looks down at the floor, his arms falling to his sides. 

‘im sorry, yn.’ he says. 

you furrow your brows in confusion. 

‘wh-’ 

but before you could ask what he means, you feel the warm embrace of his arms around you, head falling into his chest as he pulls you towards him, a hand running through your hair. 

you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other's comfort, memories of the start of your marriage flooding back to you. 

it’s now that you realise the extent of your fear, it's now that you realise what you really feel. 

it’s not mark’s eyes that reel you in, not the warm brown or the golden specks that you urge to drift away with, no, it’s just him. 

the man you have despised for all these years, for this entire marriage, is the man you don’t.

before you could have it in your heart to figure out why, a high pitched screech blurs around you, a whistle you both know all too well. 

‘yn!’ mark pleads, pulling your wrist towards him as he ducks behind the wine cabinet, its bronze structure serving as the perfect shield as he holds your body towards him. 

you don’t know why, but you trust his embrace.

as if perfectly timed, the hot surge of the explosion traces your skin as the kitchen falls to ruin, the cabinet protecting you both from the heat of the blast. it’s only a small explosion, erupting only a meter within itself, but your heart pounds at the nature of it.

you look up at mark as you pull away from each other. 

‘that wasn’t me-’ you begin, but a shock in mark’s eyes stop you from talking.

you turn, facing the direction of the explosion. 

emerging within the rubble of your kitchen wall, is a figure. 

the smoke conceals them, hiding the details of their features from you. 

but as the second figure emerges from the dust, you recognise their silhouette almost immediately. 

agent K. your boss.

‘fuck.’ mark mumbles to himself as he holds an eye contact with the first person so extreme that it has you questioning. meanwhile, you do all you can to avoid K’s glare, feeling her eyes burn into your skull.

both yours and marks. 

K and the man you don’t recognise both stand in what’s left of your kitchen, eyes trained on the proximity of you and the man beside you.

you don’t dare to speak first. 

‘agent 1270. agent 1999.’ K begins, breaking the silence. 

you check your watch, fear and terror consuming you as you read the steady pace of the clock hands.

10:44 pm. 

it’s been exactly 11 hours and 59 minutes. 

you’re completely and utterly fucked.

K continues, ‘there's a little someone i would like you to meet.’

after her cue, two men in black walk towards you, dragging a half limp man between them,  black cloth over his head as they place him on his knees ahead of you. 

after receiving a nod from K, one of the two men reach for his hood, lifting it off his head and revealing the terrifyingly familiar face of the man it belongs to. 

he smiles, his silver moustache smiling with him. 

it’s him, the man you were supposed to poison when you had accidently poisoned mark instead. 

mark clenches his jaw beside you, hands digging in his pockets as he glares at the man in front of him. 

and suddenly it all pieces together. 

your mind draws back to your conversation with your boss.

‘it’s a race of who can find and kill who first.’ 

that is what she told you when she gave you the task of killing mark, that is why she gave you the job. 

because he was set to kill you too. 

you were set to take out eachother.

‘this was your plan all along.’ you say, eyes flickering between K and the stranger beside her, completely ignoring the man as he gets dragged away again out of sight. ‘this is what you’d hoped for. you knew, this whole time, what you wanted.’

mark looks at you, and you can see the pieces falling together in his head. 

K looks angry, livid even, but it only adds fuel to your flame, so you continue.

‘there was never a rivalry between our agencies, was there?’ you ask, not waiting for the answer; you already know what it will be. ‘there was never any competition.’

K’s anger slowly morphs into a smug look of distaste as she begins to speak, slowly walking towards you. 

‘mrs lee, do you really think i would have assigned you such a task? you, an inexperienced solo assassin set to murder a gambler at a casino?’ her eyes search yours. ‘it was all under the plan i had constructed. i instructed you to slip poison into the gentlemans drink, under oath that if you fucked up i would get rid of you, and agent H here,’ she points at marks boss beside her, ‘was to instruct agent 1999 to take a sip of the drink, reasoning it as an interception of rival plans and promising him an antidote he wasn’t going to receive. killing both of you in the process.’ you feel the anger in mark shift beside you. ‘what we didn’t expect, however, was for you to give it to him yourself. so, by all due means, we had to improvise. if we couldn’t take you out, then you would have to take out each other.’

by this point, K is directly in front of you, the scent of her navy suit filling the air around you with an aroma of sweet spice. 

but as you look into her eyes, you decide that, really, you’re not scared of her. 

you peek at mark beside you, his attention elsewhere, trained on his boss as he remains across the other side of the room, a smug look on his face.

mark speaks up. ‘why? why go through all that trouble to kill us?’ he says, directly aimed at his boss.

agent H comes forward, until eventually, he is side by side with agent K. 

your boss smiles, ‘because marriage is a dangerous sport, agent 1999.’

your heart thumps in your chest, your skin crawls.

she knew. 

she knew everything. 

‘a distraction.’ she sneers, ‘a liability.’

you don’t say anything, you can’t.

‘and though you liked to pretend you hated it, mrs lee, i knew, truly, deep down, there was a vow more important to you than any job you could have been given.’

the silence is deafening, scorching the air around you. 

but its not K that finishes the sentence, it's the voice of the man beside you, the voice of the reason behind all of this. 

he’s breathless, but the words are laced with nothing but raw honesty as he whispers them, a realisation sparking from within him.

and now he’s finally aware.

‘till death do us part.’

it’s only after those words are uttered that the whole world breaks loose. 

shots erupt from wall to wall, glass smashing around you as you follow mark, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. 

you both burst out the door, his hand letting loose of yours so that you can sprint your way over to mark’s car. 

‘get in!’ he yells at you from the driver's seat, but your mind betrays you, a plan of strategy forming in your wits.

‘hang on.’ you yell back at him and with little time to spare, mark rolls his eyes.

he rolls down the window. ‘we don’t really have time for this, yn.’ mark grunts through his teeth, anger enticing him to just drive off without you, to let you die. but he can’t, not like this.

you ignore him, legs close to giving in as you run to the keypad on the gate to your driveway. urging mark to drive through, you press in the numbers, closing the gate before climbing over, jumping into his car on the other side.

‘go, go, go.’ you yell, gunfire belting off the metal of the cars exterior and you shut the door.

skidding the car round the exit of the street, the rubber of the tyres producing a thick layer of smoke behind you, mark calls over to you, ‘what did you d-’

but before he could finish his sentence, your entire house explodes in a massacre of flames. 

you grin at him in succession, ‘self destruction code.’

he laughs back at you, ‘you’re crazy.’

‘i know.’

as you begin to gain speed on the highway, mark sliding the car skillfully between the cars around you, you start to notice three other cars doing the same behind you, gaining speed, and the familiar black tint of each window signalling who they belong to.

‘shit, they’re after us.’ you wince, mark looking in the rearview mirror and cursing at the sight. but before he can suggest anything, he peeks over at you, watching as you reach under the seat and find yourself a set of machine guns.

noticing his questioning look, you turn to him, ‘what? that’s where they are in my car, so i could only guess.’ you shrug.

he laughs, in awe at this new version of his wife, ‘i think i can get used to this side of you.’

‘you’d better.’ you reply, before reaching up at the sunroof and pulling it across, making a gap for you to emerge out of. manoeuvring yourself so that you're kneeling on the centre console of the car, you push your upper body out the top of the car, aiming the gun at the cars chasing after you. 

beginning to fire your guns, aiming for the cars’ tyres and successfully stalling one of the drivers, you seem to start to lose your balance.

‘mark!’ you call. 

‘you okay, baby?’ he yells back, noticing your struggle.

you roll your eyes. ‘you’re driving like a coward’

‘you’re kidding, right?’

you look down at him, peeking your head back through the sunroof. ‘let me drive.’

he sighs in acceptance before you reach your legs over to his side of the car, swapping places with him. 

but mark has better ideas. 

‘open the trunk.’ he demands, picking up both machine guns from the passenger seat and climbing to the back. 

you press the button, the trunk opening up and giving mark a full view of the cars behind him. 

you speed up the car, weaving through the traffic in an attempt to divert their bullets. 

‘it’s too busy, babe, i can’t aim like this.’ he yells back to you. 

‘hang on.’ you call as you speed past cars until you find a junction in the road. you turn the car, slipping across it and nearly flipping the car in the process. 

‘holy shit.’ mark yells, clinging onto the handle on the car roof.

you laugh, ‘sorry.’ 

now with a clear aim of the cars behind you, mark crawls on the backseat, shooting desperately after them.

you begin to grow eager, listening as mark wastes all the bullets you have at your disposal. that’s when an idea begins to form in your head, an impossible yet incredibly daring plan. 

amidst all the chaos, you call for him again. ‘mark!’

‘yeah?’ he says, ducking behind the seats to avoid the other cars’ oncoming gunfire, panting in exhaustion. 

‘you got any explosives?’

mark’s head tilts, ‘under your seat. why?’ 

you reach under your seat, grabbing the grenade and passing it back to mark. 

‘i need you to open the left door at the back.’ you yell, and he does so, other hand holding on by the seat belt to keep himself upright. 

you continue, ‘when i tell you to, throw it out that door.’

‘shit, okay.’ he replies, leaning back against the seat, wincing in pain at the strength to keep himself going. 

noticing a straight length of road up ahead, you ready your hand on the car’s parking brake. when you gain enough speed, you quickly turn the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to a stop in the process. in a whirl of gravity, the car spins on its side as the cars behind you are forced to stop. it's then that you call for mark to throw the explosive. 

a bright white light erupts from beside you, a hot breeze brushing past your skin.

the cars go up in flames, both of your bosses inside them. 

it's over.

everything is over.

after a few moments of tranquility, mark is already outside the car, pulling you from the driver's seat and bringing you to your feet. 

‘you okay?’ he turns to you, eyes searching yours in a second of sincerity that you’ve never seen from him before. 

it’s cruel, the way he looks at you, as though nothing has changed, as though you're still that same innocent wife you once were. the thick atmosphere of reality struggles to set in between you as you look back at the damage you’ve made.

both physical and not.

‘they’re gone’ you whisper, ‘it’s all gone.’

he feels everything you feel, he always has, every thought, every emotion, all of it. so he does what he knows he also needs the most, as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you in warmth. he knows you're hurting, and for once in his life, he has the power to stop it. 

side by side, you walk. not a word is uttered, not a thought exchanged. you don’t need to, you both understand. it’s bittersweet, but yet terribly foreboding, so you don’t say a word. 

you had managed to find yourselves in a nearby town, not a care where you had ended up, home no longer a fortified place, destroyed and abandoned. you stand, complete yet broken, at the front of the town's local church, looking up at the grand design of its wooden doors. 

it’s as if you both had gravitated here by some external form of fate, woven into your lives, repeated like a mantra, forcing back to you everything you had seemed to have forgotten. that’s how you find yourselves where you are now, feet facing each other as you stand at the altar at the front of the church hall, the echo of the stone walls reflecting your silence. 

for once in your life, you look into his eyes knowing that they’re his.

‘till death do us part.’ you whisper, and you know K was right; you do mean it.

he smiles back at you, dimples showing.

‘till death do us part.’

mark looks at you, really looks at you, a softness in his features and a new found sincerity in his heart. 

it was at that exact moment that you realised why you had hated marrying mark lee.

it was attachment: something so incredibly forbidden yet increasingly enticing. all you wanted, all you really wanted, was to love in honesty, but it wasn’t mark that you wanted to love.

it was agent 1999. 

two weeks later 

the room is plastered in an ugly hue of grey, carpet stained and window forcing a breeze to flow through the curtains. mark sits beside you, listening to the question of the woman before you. 

‘so, what made you both want to come here for couples therapy?’

mark turns to you, a smirk lining his lips. you smile, trying to conceal your laugh.

‘i guess you could say we kept a few secrets. isn’t that right, mark?’

he looks at you, eyes wide and heart full. 

‘something like that.’

[clownshifting]

I do not trust and will never trust anyone who calls themself a p-shifter, because it just shows that either the person doesn't know of the terms harmful roots and should really REALLY do much more research (cause you more or less can't avoid this topic if you dig into physical nonhumanity a bit) or they are aware of the origin and just... don't care and decide to use an inherently ableistic term?? which, no??

Terminology and the way it is used can always ve changed to better fit or to adapt to the current times. Right now, if I had to count, out of the 40 members in a shifting server i used to run - nearly half of them experience disability and a few experience psychosis/are CLCZ. The community has and will always change, not to "rope" people in, but because our experiences are always exceedingly vast and "pshifting" doesn't mean what you think it means nowadays. It's just physical shapeshifting in any form, psychosomatic or metaphysically - it's still PHYSICAL.

Our community and our identity is nothing compared to what happened before, and we have denounced and have shut down cult behavior in our servers and safe spaces. Our terminology is not YOURS to remove from US. We don't need your trust, we need basic personhood and respect.

As far as I've been able to tell, this modern iteration of the p-shifting doesn't really do anything about this and it's the same shit it's always been. I think discussions about physical nonhumanity are a good way going forward, but in general I also think people should be careful and aware of how loaded an issue this can be. I am also extremely wary of anyone who's a self-identified p-shifter.

"The modern iteration" hasnt been exclusively singling out those who are CLCZ or endels because delusions and psychosis do not function in a "if we experience it, they'll think so too" way nor does any shifter think that these things are inherently harmful. We don't teach those things.

It's interpersonal and those subjective beliefs in CLCZ are always influenced by the person themselves before anything else. There is no way a pshifter can make someone believe they are a fox just because they are publicly sharing their identity and their feelings. Shifters have had a long history in physical nonhuman spaces, to the point of literally being at the forefront and supporting holotheres in their community building. We are inseparable from the physical nonhumanity movement because we are not dangerous - we are just shapeshifters.

I'm truly sorry you have horrible experiences but that doesn't give you the right to denounce our experiences and our community and say that we are abusing our friends with our ideology and identity. I have friends who are CLCZ, who have psychosis, and who have other semblances of physical nonhumanity that varies from somatic to metaphysical and not once have I ever intentionally hurt them by explaining my identity. Not once. It is not my responsibility as a person to shield them away from content they don't want to see, but it is never on purpose that they may see it at all. That is never a shifter's fault that they share their experiences.

I hear this "I'm wary of pshifters" stuff all the time from those who used to be in those spaces because they haven't actually ever tried to deep dive on the newer blossoms of the community, focusing on past experiences from others we physically cannot stop or change. All pshifters can do now is change, denounce, and build our community to be better than it once was. We are not here to do anything you claim we want or wanted to do in the past.

They are not like us, and using trauma or the same rhetoric that our identity is "unsafe" for another group when the history is inherently muddied behind context is, imo, a mockery of analyzing a new community.

You aren't going to find a physical nonhuman space free of pshifters because we built those spaces.

hello kinblr. i think. perhaps! we should be kinder to pshifters!

some of y'all talk about pshifters the way kintok talks about physical therians and it's kind of disgusting.

some of you will say "not all physical therians are delusional! and even if they are, they're just as valid as anycreature who isn't" in the same breath as "physical shifters are delusional. you cannot physically become an animal :/ you have clinical lycanthropy PLEASE seek help and stop getting ur delusion everywhere i just had the floors waxed"

you swear you can experience therianthropy on all levels including physical, but call p-shifters crazy for experiencing physical shifting. you cannot say you love physical therians and then exclude therians who physically shift! you are just as bad as anyone who denies or invalidates p-therians because "you can't have wolf dna"

these communities were created by and for the therians you want to throw under the bus. they created these spaces for us, and you need to act like it

[melanchoire]

JOCK G!P YUJIN

cw: riding, titsucking.

jock g!p yujin 🙏🏻 typical sportsgirl and athlete who is popular due to his charming and charismatic personality, being friends with everyone at school and so friendly that literally everyone says hi to her when she walks down the halls, even becoming friends and having a good relationship with the teachers when it’s hard to get along with a teacher without seeming like a suck–up who is only nice out of interest in passing the subject! but if we talk about yujin on the court… if yujin is already somewhat conceited and quite playful in her everyday life, that intensifies once the match starts. i can see her as the type who would make you wear her jersey during every single one of her games, pointing in your direction after a perfect shot and blowing you a kiss that makes everyone in the stands turn to look at you and say “awww cute 🥺” when you want to hit yujin for how stupid she looks when she is cheesy and does those stupid things that are only romantic in her eyes

but we’re talking about jock g!p yujin, and this wouldn’t be jock g!p yujin content if we didn’t talk about her cock SO here we go

if on a normal day she already boasts about the size of her cock, like loving to wear baggy pants because when she sits down she always gets a tent in her crotch and her bulge becomes too visible or she tends to manspread unconsciously but stops doing it the moment you call her and give her a gentle tap on the shoulder so that she reacts and realizes what she is doing (although sometimes she does it on purpose because she wants you to see the outline of her cock against her pants.) she is much more conceited about it when she steps on the court, and how does she do it? by not wearing underwear under her athletic shorts 😇 yujin is usually seen wearing a loose t–shirt and a pair of boxers when the two of you’re alone together in the comforts of your shared home, but she seems to have other kinds of comforts being in her area, that is, the court SO she loves being without underwear when she wears sports shorts because she is somewhat enchanted by the way her cock traces against the soft, thin fabric?? whenever she is playing she tries to move as much as possible because she knows it will make her cock bounce under her pants and she wants to have your eyes on her crotch at all times

although all this does not mean that yujin dominates in bed, after all, she is a bratty switch who loves to give you attitude because she knows she will be fucked the moment you two walk through the front door 💕

yujinnie obviously needs aftercare and a good rest after a successful match, so what better than to give her the big ride she deserves? poor baby barely able to contain her moans and groans because your pussy feels so warm and and so tight around her hard cock that she could cum just from your wet walls clenching around her member, at the same time keeping her eyes on your face and admiring how you close your eyes and let your head fall back when you’re bouncing up and down on her cock and seeming to use it for your own pleasure, enjoying the sound of the sharp and loud slaps your skin makes as it hits hers and the obscene wet noise your pussy makes as it rubs against the base of her cock every time you sit down and her member is buried deep inside you…

and of course, all this includes wearing her jersey while you ride her 🤤 you already do it when you go to see her at her games or the practices she usually has every afternoon, so why not do it when you’re fucking her too?

yujin staring at your chest because she seems to be mesmerized by the way your tits bounce under the fabric 😵‍💫 she practically looks like a puppy watching his partner waving his favorite toy in front of his eyes and teasing him that they’re going to throw it at any moment… i’m afraid yujin doesn’t have the guts to say anything about it, but she feels like she's earned heaven the moment you notice her gaze and lift the hem of her jersey hold it above your chest, using your free hand to stroke the hair at the nape of her neck and slowly guide her face to your chest, letting her have as much fun as she wants

ughh and she looks at you from under her eyelashes with the most beautiful puppy eyes possible, closing her lips around your nipple and whimpering against your skin as you begin to ride her at a speed faster than her dumb brain can process

and yujin is the happiest girl in the world because no matter how many awards and medals she wins, she will always have the best trophy waiting for her at home

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: On Thin Ice

Pairing: Reader x Caroline “KK” Harvey

Fandom: women’s ice hockey

Word Count: ~2.5k

Summary: it stung more than it should have…

🏷️: @isansstuff , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr

The fight started last night.

It wasn’t just some stupid argument about hockey or chirping each other for fun. It was real, serious, and it left a bad taste in my mouth.

“You know she’s using you, right?” I had snapped at KK, pacing our shared dorm like I was trying to escape the frustration burning through me. “You’re just some shiny new toy to her.”

KK, sitting on her bed with her arms crossed, rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t know shit, Y/N.”

I scoffed. “Oh, I don’t? KK, she flirts with literally every hockey player she meets, and now you’re acting like she’s different with you?”

“Maybe she is,” KK shot back, her voice sharp.

“You’re delusional, KK.”

She stood up then, stepping closer, her expression hard. “And you’re a bitch, Y/N. Any other obvious things we want to point out?”

The words hit harder than they should have. The usual playful banter we shared had no place here, not when it was laced with real anger.

I swallowed, fists clenching at my sides. “Oh really, I’m a bitch now, Carol? Well, fuck you.”

And that was it. I stormed out of the room, leaving her standing there, probably regretting nothing.

The tension carried into morning practice.

We didn’t talk on the way there. Usually, we carpooled, filling the drive with endless chirping and music battles. But today, I rode with Lacey instead, leaving KK to get there on her own.

On the ice, it was even worse. Our usual chemistry was nonexistent. I barely looked at her, let alone passed her the puck.

KK, never one to let anything go, skated up beside me, her voice low. “Still mad?”

I didn’t answer.

“Jesus, Y/N, are you seriously this petty?”

I turned to her, my jaw tight. “Go practice with someone else, Caroline.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she skated off, pairing up with someone else. I ignored the sting in my chest and focused on drills, pretending like it didn’t bother me.

But it did.

After practice, I rushed out of the rink, still not looking at KK.

She called my name once, but I didn’t stop.

KK’s POV

I knew I fucked up.

I didn’t realize how much until I overheard Y/N talking to Lacey in the locker room.

“She really called you a bitch?” Lacey asked, sounding as shocked as I felt now that I was hearing it from the outside.

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered. “I mean, I know we joke around, but this wasn’t like that. It was real. And it sucked.”

I peeked around the corner, my stomach twisting at the defeated look on Y/N’s face.

“I just—I hate that I care so much,” Y/N admitted. “I wish I didn’t have a stupid crush on her.”

My breath caught.

Wait.

What?

My heart slammed against my ribs, my brain scrambling to process what I just heard. Y/N had a crush on me?

I barely heard the rest of their conversation before they left the locker room.

For the next two weeks, Y/N avoided me like I had the plague.

She refused to carpool with me. She didn’t sit next to me in the locker room. On the ice, she treated me like just another teammate—no teasing, no banter, just cold indifference.

I hated it.

So I tried fixing it the only way I knew how.

I left little things in her locker—her favorite protein bars, a note that said, Still mad? with a sad face, even a coffee from her favorite place.

Nothing worked.

She ignored me.

I finally snapped after practice one day. Instead of going back to my own side of the apartment, I marched straight to hers.

I knocked once. No answer.

I knocked again. Still nothing.

So I did the only logical thing—I used my spare key and let myself in.

She was sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone. When she saw me, her face hardened.

“What do you want, Harvey?”

I shut the door behind me. “For you to stop avoiding me. And to never use my government name again.”

She scoffed. “Well, that’s not happening.”

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. “Look, I get it. I was an asshole. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just crossed her arms.

I hesitated, my throat dry. “And… I might’ve overheard you talking to Lacey.”

Her face drops. “You what?”

I swallowed. “I know you have a crush on me.”

Her eyes widened before narrowing. “Jesus Christ, KK, do you know how to mind your own business?”

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop! I was just… there.”

She groaned, rubbing her face. “Great. Just great.”

I hesitated. My heart was racing. I didn’t know how to do this right, how to say the things I should’ve said weeks ago.

So I just… said them.

“I like you too.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

I took a deep breath. “I like you, Y/N. And I was being an idiot. I got defensive because you were right. That cheer girl? She was using me. And I think, deep down, I knew it. But I didn’t want to admit it. Not to you, not to myself.”

Y/N was silent, her expression unreadable.

I stepped closer. “And I think I freaked out because… I think I’ve liked you for longer than I’ve realized.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she still didn’t say anything.

So I kept going.

“I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want you to hate me.” I exhaled. “I just want us to go back to normal. And maybe… try something more.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

For the first time in two weeks, her expression softened.

“…Okay,” she murmured.

“Okay?” I repeated, hopeful.

She gave me a small smile. “Yeah. But if you ever call me a bitch again, I’m slashing your tires.”

I laughed, relief crashing over me. “Fair deal.”

And when she finally, finally let me sit next to her, I knew we’d be okay.

Maybe even better than okay.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- what's sexy about you?

welcome back to a new pick a pile reading my loves. before we begin, let me state that sexy to me doesn't simply mean sexual attractiveness, it's more of a state of mind to me, a vibe. interpret this as you will. <3

as always, this is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. much love!

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　*　　⠀.

　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*

.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

pile 1: omg pile 1 are you one of those girls that love the office siren/corporate chic/business casual or lots of leather look?

anyway, your allure is undeniable. you have a restless, wildfire energy that makes you untouchable, unpredictable and tempting. to some, you're literally eve's apple. you're the kind of person who walks into a room and shifts the atmosphere immediately. you're driven, passionate and you're currently building something or creating and thriving and it HAUNTS people. they always wonder about your next move. there's something about your eyes, you might have a very intense gaze or simply beautiful eyes. a striking posture or walk. you carry yourself like you're going places and others can feel it. you might be a fire sign (leo, aries, sag) or a taurus/libra since the empress is present. people want to bask in your dark feminine glow. people project all kinds of fantasies onto you, stuff that you never even thought about. they wonder who you really are under all those layers because it feels forbidden for them to get to know the real you. people see you as off limits in general, you also could be someone in a position of authority. you're very protective of your placement in society, you might also be someone who wants to fight injustice in the world. one thing that people notice very quickly about you is how you always think before you speak and it lowkey scares them because what else are you hiding in that mysterious mind of yours? guess we'll never know. this isn't always a good thing since you seem to attract a lot of petty and immature gossip, especially between coworkers or classmates lmao but the thing is, you're socially untouchable. there's nothing that could make you crash out publicly and they know it so they tend to keep their gossip between themselves instead of trying to provoke you or confront you. people fear intensity because most people are empty and have nothing to give to the world, always remember that. never reveal your cards because it's part of your allure, you always seem like you're in control even when you're not. "i know something you don't" vibes lol

definitely tap more into that poised, unshaken and calculating energy if you want more people to notice you. speak your mind but refrain from sharing too much because you might give your ideas away (subconsciously or consciously). also try to remember that not everyone is your friend, even if they pretend to be. careful with what you share with those people because they might use it against you. also, i have an intuitive message: if you're wondering if you were right about ghosting that person, you were

pile 2: an enchantress. a dreamer. perhaps you're an astrologer/tarot reader or mystic too. ethereal energy. people see you as someone who can save them or heal them, you're romantic, grounding and people instinctively flock to you because you make them feel safe. people probably overshare a lot with you. gentle and poetic beauty, lighter than usual hair or eyes. timeless beauty. you might be an earth sign or a cancer/pisces, could also have some libra placements. there's a natural regal energy about you, you belong in soft candle lit rooms wearing silk and drinking expensive wine. you probably look amazing in blue or purple. your energy is VERY elusive, cyclical and unpredictable. you choose where your energy flows by choosing when to withdraw it, probably not even on purpose. you simply know when to leave the party and that makes you unreachable, creating a fun effect where the more unreachable you are the more people want a piece of you. most have probably begged you to come to their social outings or parties and you still refused them. you give off the energy of someone who has options, people never know where they stand with you. you can never be found in the same place, you're always wandering off and that's so intriguing. you also might be someone who attracts alienation in their life in terms of love, like it's hard for you to find someone who can be an equal partner. forgive me for adding this but you might also be someone with not a lot of money or who chooses to not spend a lot of money on themselves, yet you give off the opposite energy to people (they think you're withholding from spending money on yourself or your clothes). you always leave people wondering "why". manic pixie dream girl who? i love the fact that both the high priestess and the moon came up, your intuition is so on point, people can't lie to you or manipulate you. you're always three steps ahead, even when they least expect it. people are very afraid to lose you so they try to keep up with the force of nature that you are. your sexiness is mainly in your contrast, you can be gentle but you can also be intimidating as hell when you want to be because people don't know how to read you (you don't give off intimidating vibes at all, more like mermaid vibes if anything). you're good at keeping people on their toes.

you might be also one of those people that says something offhandedly that sticks in other people's minds for weeks.

pile 3: this pile is the epitome of cute and sweet, people feel so comforted by your beauty and your presence, i don't really sense any nervousness around you at all (just cute shy embarrassment that you get from interacting with your crush in elementary school). but it is all a facade, in a way. you might look cute, girlish and sweet but deep down you're someone who has insane amount of inner strength. you've probably been through hell and worst and that made you develop a more gentler outlook on life. you might also be someone who used to be apathy fuelled before you realized that there's beauty and joy in everything. i see you as someone who has grown a lot in 2024, you probably changed your mindset about life in a very radical life and that change was noticed by those who surround you. you're also someone who has lots of friends or lots of supporters around you. i feel like you could be a water sign or an air sign. the eight of cups shows that you're someone who might be prone to escapism or self isolation or you simply choose your friends in a very picky way. like you'll totally leave someone if they don't impress you of if they can't match that inner strength of yours. you could also be someone with daddy issues (sorry) and that attracts lots of older figures in your life who want to compensate for that. like people want to baby you in a way lol (this applies to both friends and partners). but again, this is all a cute curated image, not the reality. you're someone who isn't afraid to challenge authority and you don't let people control you and this makes those "replacement" father figures run for their lives after a while because they realize you're not as innocent as you look and that's your kind of allure. you're secretly sharp, intellectually dominant and you can be brutally honest when you want to be. most people make the mistake of seeing you as a naive girl next door and they love it when you prove them wrong. you could have beautiful hair or hands. also very alluring collarbones. people find it extremely sexy that you don't settle, you're not desperate for anyone's attention or company so they always try to impress you but it never works. you're a muse.

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are always appreciated <3

[haedalkoo]

hii i’ve been enjoying going through your translations, thank you so much for sharing your perspective and being generous with your knowledge!!

this is a throwback moment I have a question about: you know the clip where jk is asked to read “…you’ll always be #1 to me” then jm jokingly says “are you saying that to me?” > I’ve always wondered how it lands when he chooses to use “jimin-ah” in front of all those people, the press no less, recorded too. I know it’s playful, teasing, showing how close they are but curious on your perspective? especially when he scolds him haha, I imagine they usually speak politely in front of press at least out of respect – or at least that’s what would be expected from him. I read jimin’s response as being a bit flustered esp as he walks away but obviously enjoying their banter too. it’s like jk knows he likes when he flirts like that even tho it can come off as bratty dongsaeng lol

does it come off as outrageously flirty or just mischievous, or a bit of both (how I read it)?

hi! thank you so much, i'm happy you're enjoying my posts! this is actually one of my all time favorite jikook moments. JK is so flirty yet sweet and unabashedly romantic, and I love seeing how flustered jimin gets.

If my memory serves me right, JK is reading a fortune cookie message. The message is written informally already, and I think he reads it to himself first and JM, who was right behind the cameras, asks, "oh are you saying that to me?" with a teasing smile. Then JK goes, "ah..." (a bit taken aback by Jimin's joke) and then says: may I say this to you, hyung? in a very polite, very soft tone.

To me, he's asking for permission to be informal, especially in front of so many people. but addressing his hyung in banmal like that is comical, good for the cameras, so he takes his chance and goes: jimin-ah, it's okay if you're not number one— *here jimin gets flustered and BOLTS lmao* where are you going?— you're always the best either way.

I didn't translate it as you're always n1 to me because i'm doing a more literal translation (in the first sentence he does explicitly say number one, and then says you're always the best) but it's quite literally the same thing. You're always number one to me, I think you're always the best, etc. The meaning doesn't really change!

So yeah, to answer your question, I think he speaks informally since the message on the cookie is written like that, but it's funny and cute because he's saying it to his hyung so it's a bit cheeky (and obviously did the work flustering jimin). I think JK took the chance he had in front of him to do what he loves the most, which is to make jimin blush and laugh, under the perfect cover (doing it for the sake of entertainment, the cameras, etc.) They're really smart with these little moments they get to have in front of the cameras that they mask as "jokes", honestly. it's right in our faces sometimes!

You can see it for what it is, flirting, but it's shielded by this "mischievous maknae" act that lets Jungkook get away with it in front of everyone else. they can be so bold and subtle at the same time... 🩷

[twopoppies]

This isn’t really a question, more of a comment, and I consider your blog a safe space to share it: It seems like there’s a consensus in some part of the fandom about Harry, where people assume he was planning his solo career since 2013, that he betrayed the other boys, and that being ‘the chosen one’ by Sony, the Azoffs, and everyone around him has made his life easier. Because of that, people think he doesn’t deserve any sympathy and that he’s to blame for everything. I used to think this way at one point, too.

Now that I’m back, looking at things in retrospect and trying to understand a few other things, I realize how limited (and I’d say harmful) that perspective is. Here, I’ll add a disclaimer: I’m not denying that Harry had an advantage over the others, or that he made mistakes, etc. I’m just trying to understand things better within the context they happened in.

So, it’s 2010, Harry starts in the industry at 16, and from the start it’s clear he’s a pretty domestic, naive, quirky, friendly person with a big heart. And on top of that, he’s physically attractive. Put all those traits together, and you’ve got the perfect target, your moneymaker. You’ve got this young teenager who’s perfect to draw in a huge female audience. So, what do I do as a smart and evil businessman? I decide to milk him for all he’s worth and make more and more money from my new asset.

Now fast forward to late 2012-early 2013. You’ve got a closeted Harry, clearly sad and exhausted from not being able to love and live freely, and from the workload. Then he meets Jeff. What does he do as the son of one of the most successful managers in the industry? He applies what he's learned, sees the potential in this kid, and offers him what he wants most—not just money and more fame, but something way more valuable: freedom.

Add to that, apparently, everyone wants to be your friend because you’re the new hot thing, everyone ‘advises’ you, everyone wants something from you. But most of all, you have a lot of people whispering in your ear about what to do or not to do, and you don’t know who to trust, so you trust those who, even though they’ve asked for something in return, have given you protection and promised you freedom. Those who make you feel safe and have protected your relationship.

Suddenly, you’re in the media more and more, meeting really interesting famous people, but at the same time, the closet gets tighter, the physical separations get longer, and everything becomes unbearable. You just want to be at peace with your boyfriend and make music. And you can’t take it anymore. And then, there are probably other, much more personal things he was dealing with.

What I’m trying to say with all this is that just because Harry was ‘the chosen one’ from the start doesn’t mean he had the best time of his life while watching his bandmates suffer. Just because he has a smile on his face most of the time doesn’t mean we know what he’s feeling. We don’t know him personally.

I know Harry’s in a different and better situation now than when he started. I know he has more control over some things (or at least I hope he does), and I think that’s because he learned from what happened in the band. He literally said he only started processing a lot of things from that time in 2020-2021.

To wrap this up, I just want to say they were all really young when they started, and I can’t even imagine what else they went through. I'm 24 and I still don't know how to deal with a lot of things. I’m just tired of people comparing their suffering and judging based on that.

I know exactly who you’re talking about with that framing of Harry’s story. The person who started it is a bitter ex-larrie and it’s such nonsense (as you very clearly lay out) but they’ve amassed a big following and that side of the fandom has festered into a nasty cauldron of hate.

Harry’s ability to make everything look easy, and to appear as though he’s weathered his trauma without any lasting damage, makes him a target to people who are angry at the level of critical/financial success he’s had.

Instead of just accepting that he was given more opportunities because people in power saw more potential to make money off of him (for whatever host of reasons), and he had the talent and drive to run with it instead of being crushed by it, they’d prefer to paint a ridiculous story about him being evil, corrupt, talentless, and unsupportive of his bandmates.

Oh, and also, anything good ever said him is due to NDAs and Jeff buying articles praising him. 🙄

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * JACOB BLACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 jacob standing up for you

you don’t even notice it half the time, but jacob watches everything.

he’s hyperaware of when people take advantage of your kindness—when someone interrupts you, when they make a comment that you just brush off, when they roll their eyes like your words don’t matter.

and every single time, jacob is right there, ready to shut it down.

it wasn’t that he thought you were weak—far from it—but he saw how much you kept inside, how much you let slide just to keep the peace.

one time at a party, someone made a snide remark about something you said, laughing like it was so funny.

you just smiled tightly, letting it slide, but jacob? his head snapped toward them so fast it was almost inhuman.

“what was that?” his voice was low, dangerous, the kind that made the air shift. the guy stammered, suddenly backpedaling, and jacob just scoffed. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

he spent the rest of the night making sure you knew how much he loved the way your mind worked. “i could listen to you talk all day,” he murmured, arms wrapped around you. “screw them. they don’t deserve to hear you.”

if someone pushes you into doing something you don’t want to do, jacob is on it. no hesitation. you barely have time to form an excuse before he steps in.

“they said no.” his voice is firm, final. he doesn’t raise it—he doesn’t need to. the person immediately backs off.

he turns to you, softer now. “you okay?” and when you nod, he just shakes his head. “you gotta stop being so nice, babe.” but you can tell—he loves you for it, even if it drives him crazy.

if you ever struggle to get a word in during conversations, jacob makes sure you’re heard.

you’ll be mid-sentence, and if someone interrupts you, jacob just goes, “hold up—y/n was saying something.” then he looks at you expectantly, like whatever you were saying is the most important thing in the world.

the pack notices too. not that they ever would want to hurt you on purpose. you’re family to them. they absolutely adore you and respect jacob as their brother.

so whenever one of the guys teases you and you just laugh it off, jacob’s right there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “that wasn’t funny. try again.” the air turns tense.

they share an understanding look and there’s a moment of silence when they realize that what they said, even if it was meant as a harmless joke, wasn’t necessarily funny and their words could affect you.

apologies flow instantly. you know they’re sincere and quickly reassure them it’s all okay. jacob nods at them a quiet thank you.

if you ever downplay yourself—whether it’s your accomplishments, your feelings, or your worth—jacob shuts it down immediately.

“i don’t know, it wasn’t a big deal—”

“yes, it was. you worked your ass off.”

“i mean, i guess, but—”

“no buts. you worked hard and you deserve all the good things you’re getting. c’mon baby, you should be so proud.”

he literally won’t let it go until you admit that you’re incredible and feel proud.

if you’re ever too anxious or upset to speak, jacob doesn’t pressure you—he just stays.

one time, someone was being particularly awful, and you shrank into yourself, overwhelmed.

jacob just slipped his hand into yours, squeezing gently. “let’s get outta here, yeah?” he didn’t let go until you felt safe again.

he loves hyping you up afterward. “you know you didn’t deserve that, right?” he tilts his head, waiting for you to agree. “c’mon, say it.” you roll your eyes, but he nudges you playfully. “say it, babe.”

if you ever talk down on yourself because of the way people treat you, jacob won’t have it.

“nope. not happening. you’re amazing, and if anyone makes you feel like you’re not, they can go to hell.” his tone is so firm, so certain, it almost makes you believe it too.

if you get anxious in confrontations, jacob knows exactly how to handle it. if your voice wavers, his hand will be on your lower back, grounding you.

if you start shrinking into yourself, he subtly moves closer, making his presence known. it’s his way of saying i’ve got you.

but he doesn’t want to just protect you—he wants to make you stronger. he wants you to know how strong you are.

“babe, you know i’ll always fight for you. always. but i need you to fight for yourself, too.”

his hands find yours, warm and steady. “you’re stronger than you think. you just gotta believe it.”

the more jacob did this for you, the more you began to see your own strength.

his belief in you helped you believe in yourself. each time someone tried to push you down, you didn’t have to face it alone. you had jacob.

and more importantly, you realized you could face it on your own too. because jacob was right—you were stronger than you thought.

over time, you start standing up for yourself more, and jacob lives for it.

the next time someone made a snide remark, you remembered jacob’s words.

you didn’t even let it slide this time. you stared them down, your voice firm. “i don’t know why you think you can talk to me like that, but you can’t.” you walked away before they could say anything back, feeling a surge of pride.

that was the first time you really stood up for yourself—no hesitation, no second-guessing—jacob watches with so much pride.

you barely approached him before he’s grinning like an idiot. he just smirks, looking at you like you hung the moon. “look at you, all fierce and terrifying,” he teases making you giggle.

“that was so hot,” he smiles like a fool, wrapping an arm around you. “my little badass.” he pulled you into a hug, spinning you around.

from then on, every time you stood up for yourself, jacob would give you the same proud look.

if someone tried to argue with you, he’d be right there in your corner, ready to back you up without hesitation.

but later, when it’s just the two of you, he gets softer. he pulls you close, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “i knew you had it in you.” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

and the best part? the next time someone tries to walk over you, even when you don’t need jacob to step in, he’s still there, watching from the sidelines, his smirk saying that’s my mate.

[anxiouswildfire]

@lunasky2491 ‘s suggestion from a while ago

Hunith comes to Camelot in an au where merlin doesn’t visit her or write often. She doesn’t know much, since he doesn’t share a lot about his life.

Hunith Ambrosius sighed, head in her hands as she thought about her son. Hunith was the sort to worry. A lot. It had been many years since Merlin went off to work under Gaius. They used to be close, but nowadays Merlin seemed to rarely have time to write his own mother.

She looked over the last letter he wrote, dated back many months, and decided to make the journey to Camelot.

Dearest mum,

Hunith walked through many different towns making her way to Camelot.

I’m sorry it’s been a bit. I’ve been quite busy with his royal highness’ needs. He broke his arm last week and had been complaining ever since. When can I get a break?

She finally arrived many days later, in awe of the towering city.

Life has been good. Gaius is sticking to his ‘merlin goes to the tavern’ excuse whenever I’m needed, even though I’m literally doing important things and have rarely been to the tavern.

She made her way through the bustling loud streets to Gaius, figuring his apprentice wouldn’t be far.

Don’t worry about my little secret, I only do it when absolutely necessary

She quickly asked a passerby about the whereabouts of Gaius’ chambers. They pointed her in the right direction.

Ugh, boss wants me back now. I’m busy every second of the day I swear, but it’s actually fun in Camelot.

Hunith knocked on Gaius’ door. The man answered the door and gaped in surprise.

Miss you loads,

Merlin

Gaius hugged her. “Oh, Hunith.”

“Hello, old friend.” She smiled warmly at him.

“Merlin is still with Prince Arthur.”

“Is something wrong with him?”

Gaius raised his eyebrow, “which one?”

“Prince Arthur. Is he okay?”

“Yes of course-“ Gaius stopped. “Did you not know that Merlin is Arthur’s manservant?”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No, that boy never tells me anything! Wow! I’m so proud of him! Climbing the ranks.. oh I wish he told me more.” She considered. “The letters mentioning quests for the Prince makes more sense now. I thought he meant it in a metaphorical way.”

“He saved Arthur’s life.”

“Oh, my boy!” She smiled. Then hesitated.

“No one knows about his magic, don’t worry.”

Her eyes widened. “You know?”

“Let’s just say.. he wasn’t very careful in the early days.”

“Gaius!” Merlin walked into the room, then stopped at the sight of his mom. “Mum!”

“My baby!” She rushed towards him and gave him a hug.

Gaius left to give them some privacy

Merlin’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh mum..”

“Merlin, why didn’t you tell me you were the prince’s manservant!”

He blinked, “I thought I did. Did you not wonder why I hung around the prat so often?”

“I thought he was very injury prone.” She said, frowning at the insult.

“He does get into danger more than I’d like..” Merlin muttered. “But no, he’s my friend and my master.”

“Well I’m very impressed that you climbed the ranks-“

“No mum, I just got the job because I saved his life. I’m a terrible manservant.”

“How long have you been his servant?”

“Since the first day I came to Camelot, mum.”

She gasped. “Merlin! How did I not know this?”

“What were you thinking when I’d insult him all the time?”

“I thought he was rude to you when you treated him.”

“I mean he is rude but-“

“Merlin, don’t call the prince rude!”

“Merlin!” Arthur called “Merlin, where are you, you lazy prat!” He noticed hunith had then merlin shortly after. “Oh, hello.” He bowed his head slightly in greeting.“Merlin, who’s this?”

“This is my mum, hunith.”

“Nice to meet you, hunith.”

Hunith smiled. “Hello, Prince Arthur.” She bowed.

“I don’t know where you get your rudeness from because it isn’t from her!”

“I know exactly where you got your rudeness from.” Merlin muttered

“Merlin! Don’t insult your king!”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Sorry about my son, my lord”

“Oh no, hunith, it’s alright, Merlin’s like this with everyone. Well especially with me..”

“Stop sucking up to my mom and tell me what chores you have for me so I can get out of your presence as soon as humanly possible!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Mordred suggested we all have an extra training session. You need to help me with my armour.”

Merlin glowered with genuine hatred. “Oh of course it’s mordred.”

“I still don’t get what you have against sir mordred.”

“‘Sir’ mordred more like sir murder. I’m going to kill that man someday. Maybe suffocate him in his sleep sometime..” Merlin muttered quietly.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll help you in a second after I get my mum settled.”

“I don’t have all day, Merlin.”

“I don’t have all day merlin” Merlin mocked as Arthur left

“Merlin, my baby, why do you not show him you care in more… conventional ways?”

Merlin sighed heavily like he was exhausted. “His head would get too big.” He said simply.

“I think we all would like to have a little love shown in more obvious ways.”

Merlin smiled at her softly, “I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, merlin. But you know that’s not what I meant.”

“.. i know.”

“You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“I would like to keep him waiting actually”

“Don’t you ever worry about getting fired?”

“Oh getting fired.. that would be a sweet break.”

Hunith laughed, a little confused.

“I’m serious, I'm so tired.” He said with a straight face

Hunith stopped laughing

Merlin started laughing

Hunith smiled with uncertainty.

“No but to be honest, protecting that man from.. special assassins is a full time job. Plus my regular job of being his servant, PLUS a physician’s apprentice? It’s a lot.”

“That does sound like a lot, baby.”

“But it’s fine, I’m good.”

“Are you? You seem tired. You’re his friend, does he know?”

“No, but I’m alright.”

“Maybe you should tell-“

“No way. I’m not losing my best friend and possibly my life.“

“You think he’d kill you?”

“I don’t know but his father definitely would and I can’t make him choose between him and his father.”

“That’s not your choice to make, honey.”

“It’s my life!”

“You’re alone, my boy.”

“I’m.. not. I have Gwen, my friend. I have arthur. I have Gaius. I have other friends..”

“And I’m guessing only Gaius knows?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“I don’t think Gaius is the most understanding. Do you ever talk to him about how much pressure you have on your shoulders?”

Merlin sighed, tearing up. “How did you notice?”

“Just from you talking, baby, you’re so exhausted. I know you. Even though I barely truly know you now, I know my boy.”

Merlin hugged his mother. “Thank you for listening, mama. I do actually have to go before Arthur tries finding me again.”

“Okay, just think about what I had to say.”

“Thank you!” He shouted as he ran away out the door.

Hunith sighed heavily, knowing her son would not be talking to anyone about his troubles.

Gaius came back in.

“Oh, Gaius.”

“What is it hunith?” He closed the door and looked at her, worried.

Hunith teared up. “My boy, he’s under so much pressure.”

“Oh yes.. right that.”

“Gaius, there must be some way to help him!”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, hunith. It’s bigger than us.”

“Bigger than us?”

After some tea and cookies, the whole destiny thing was explained. How Arthur and Merlin were two sides of the same coin, Destinies intertwined, the once and future king and emrys meant to bring back magic to Avalon.

Merlin came back. “I asked for a day off.” He said as he walked into the room, immediately chattering up a storm, “Arthur said he’d think about it which basically means no but like I feel like it’s only because he’d miss me, he doesn’t really need me as a servant, he just likes having me around. Though that is helpful in keeping him alive.“

His two guardians exchanged knowing looks.

“Merlin, are you in love with Prince Arthur?”

“Hunith!” Gaius chastised for asking so outright.

“I’m.. what? In love? With Arthur?” Merlin laughed. “If I was in love with Arthur I would-“ he stopped. “Nevermind, um.”

Hunith smiled knowingly.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!

[caesarflickermans]

Hello, CEO of Plutarch Heavensbee! I have a question for you.

How do you think Plutarch knew about Latin/Rome?

To me, this quote has so many layers to it that NEED to be looked into: (still mad we arent getting a plutarch book) "It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome."

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think any other character ever says anything about other languages/countries. We only get a brief rudimentary dump about 12/Appalachia and the history of how Panem was formed, but that's literally it. At no point in any time does anyone else really reference the old world -- and Latin comes from the old world even to people from today!

How do you think he managed to dig up history texts? Do you think he shared his knowledge with a lot of his allies (or enemies)? He was just explaining the quote to Katniss, he wasn't sitting down and giving her a lecture. Do you think he just knew about Rome specifically, or do you think he knew about other nations?

I tried looking up theories or even interviews with SC but I couldn't find much. (I also, very stupidly, googled "How did Plutarch know about Rome" at first without realizing that I would need many actual THG terms in the search to get things that are not about the actual Plutarch philosopher lmao. But now I have a crack answer: Plutarch Heavensbee is the reincarnation of Πλούταρχος.)

I received this ask before Sunrise, and am happy to report that my initial thoughts perfectly align with the new material:

The Heavensbee family maintains a monopoly on historical texts.

The prequel gives us room to speculate, particularly in relation to Trajan Heavensbee, whom Plutarch references as the sole ancestor "who has been of any use" (SOTR, 9).

It is no likely no coincidence that Trajan's portrait depicts him holding a book, that he presides as the owner of the Heavensbee library, and that his statue is featured within the Academy. The family's influence extends so deeply that they have a hall named in their honour within the Academy.

While arguments have been made that Trajan's title as "Father of Panem" suggests a founding father myth, I propose a different theory. To me, he might have been the architect of Panem's education and indoctrination system during the formative years of totalitarian rule.

Ballad introduced us to some characters who make occasional references to the past—Snow references ancient US cities, while Gaul directly names political thinkers. However, Snow references the burning of books to keep warm during the war, thus implying that Heavensbee's possession of a library is extraordinary. Additionally, I believe that historical revisionism—similar to the one revising the events of the 50th Hunger Games—necessitates eliminating historical texts to maintain the illusion of Panem's superiority.

Hence, I assume that the Heavensbee library is quite unique within the Capitol, as Trajan likely played a vital role in maintaining (and being allowed to maintain) the library, many families burned their books, and I take it that alike Fahrenheit 451 and historic parallels, controlling the past (Orwell) was a vital factor far before the 50th Games.

Collins' reference to George Orwell in particular have made me giddy for the sole fact that I've viewed the Capitol through that very lens for years, thus meaning that Plutarch's in-depth knowledge is a rarity, and that the Heavensbee family's access to historical texts were what allowed them to escape parts of the indoctrination.

[bigsoggyboots]

Saccharine

Mel x Assistant!Reader

pt. 2 of Tantalizing

(pt. 1 here)

Saccharine: Overly or sickishly sweet.

summ: For the first time in your life, you're questioning if you're good enough.

wc: 1.1k

an: I wasn't originally going to make a pt. 2 to this but someone asked and I delivered. (I have them tagged!) You can sorta see when I locked in and proceeded to put my whole foot into the writing. I really enjoyed this tbh because it helped me write Mel's character. anyways, enjoy! have a good rest of your week.

(posted on my AO3)

“You and Councilor Medarda, what are you?”

Viktor snapped you out of your work. Literally and figuratively, he snapped a piece of chalk at your ear.

You look towards him and he's already set his tools away to look at you. “What?”

Viktor repeats, “You and.. Mel,” He has to familiarize himself with the name, “Are you lovers?”

You processed the question, feeling a sudden dryness in your throat. Just thinking of her makes your heart frolick and it makes you forget how big of a deal this is to everyone but you.

After all, what you've come to notice over the years is Piltover's obsession with having a status, and a name. It's never something you could quite wrap your head around, even as a kid. You see the quality of a person more than what society deems their quality to be; and you forget how this isn't universal thinking.

The one thing you seem to worry about is if Mel thinks the same. You have to dull down that little voice in your head every time the pursuit of a relationship with her comes to mind. You have to remind yourself that if she's reciprocated a lot of her feelings so far, what is there to worry about? Even if it hurts your heart to think otherwise.

“I guess so. I haven't had time to really talk to her about it.” You sensed Viktor heard the hopefulness in your tone as his eyes glimmered knowingly. That made him more happy than you would've wanted, but you're not truly mad. You just pretend to be. “That obvious?”

“Obvious enough to your boss.” You laughed at that. Viktor's not one to push power roles but does it affectionately, and as a reminder. Times like this are when it's felt best, when reassurance is needed most.

The hand on you is sudden; it shocks you away from your laughter. “You should go to her..” Viktor trails off as your face scrunches in confusion. “..and ask.”

“Viktor, you never give advice like this..” Whatever else you were going to say is stopped as his face scrunches in seriousness. He looks disappointed in a way.

“Your love for her is.. saccharine.”

“Saccharine?”

“Saccharine.” Viktor got up from his seat and stood over you in a way that felt like he towered you, crooked stance and all.

“The love you and Mel share is innocent- a innocent love un-misunderstood. It blinds me and I can't deny how much you two radiate off of one another, so please, go to her.” Viktor shooed his hand to the door. Then he did it again. And again. ..He did it a fourth time.

“Oh you mean now-”

“Yes I mean now.”

“Mel?”

“_________.” You look like you actually caught her off-guard. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Not pleasant really; she was expecting you. She gave you the keys to her home not too long ago, and for you to stop at her door to see her was nice.

“Can we talk?” You under the evening sunlight was captivating. Mel almost didn't want to look away.

“Why of course.” She took your hand in hers. “Come inside.”

The inside of Mel's house was how you envisioned it. Simple yet put together and in many ways pristine. It screamed her with all the decorative gold and red around. Perhaps you'd have more time to look if it wasn't Mel taking away all your attention.

You both sat on her couch facing each other, her fingers curled and traced around all the lines on your fingers. The only thing you two kept was eye contact.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Her gaze on you was sweet, sickeningly so, perhaps like Viktor mentioned. It made you smile. Her at peace felt like sunshine. It almost felt like something you shouldn't have, or would take up her time.

Your gaze hits the floor and, for a moment, you think back on your last words.

‘Take up her time.’

The underlying dread in your bones. The feel of your throat sinking. You can't shake that. That you somehow now care about status. Not for you, but for her.

Did she love you enough to risk the downfall of her career for it? Did she care about the risk it may put you in because of your association with Jayce and Viktor? And what about the public? Did she care for their opinions?

Your breathing picked up as these storms of questions took wind. Your face felt hot, there were tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

How was this happening?

Why was this happening?

Then, it hit you.

For the first time in your life, you were questioning if you were good enough.

You questioned yourself so much so that you didn't register Mel's touch; her soft, pliant hands cupping your face. She looked as scared and as scatter-brained as you.

“_________, are you alright?” You unbeknowingly lean into her hands. “You.. looked off somewhere into the distance. Where did you go?”

If you had the words, you'd answer and if your heart wasn't still hammering in your chest, you'd make the effort to.

Mel's thumb comes to wipe away at the tear rolling down your cheek.

“Do you want us to be a couple?”

She almost couldn't believe you'd asked. Was this a decision that weighed so heavily on your heart?

“Is that what this is all about?” A faux exasperated chuckle left her as she leaned into you for a hug.

Mel's warmth and softness of her skin grounded you, tore you from the place you called your mind. You wrapped your arms around her without a second thought. You clinged on to her tighter than you would admit.

You breathed into her neck, inhaling as much of it as you could. “Yes because,” You know what you want. “I don't want to be a shadow of you. I want to be your equal. I want us to be equals.”

Equals?

That wasn't something her brain wasn't ready to hear. She wasn't prepared for that or the words that tumbled out for her next.

“I like the sound of us.”

All Mel was ever prepared for was war and business. She was used to be expected something, being somewhere, having her hands on the new biggest thing and all sorts of other things. She was a Medarda above anything else, it was something she came so deeply to care for.

But, for the first time in forever, she wasn't worried about that. She didn't care for devising strategies nor pulling out a facade made to please; she was Mel Medarda.

Mel Medarda, daughter of Ambessa Medarda.

Mel Medarda, the richest person in Piltover.

Mel Medarda, one of 8 seats In Piltover's Council.

Mel Medarda, top investor of Hextech.

Mel Medarda, a person.

Strip her of everything and she only becomes a person. Something with no worries. Something she's been wanting to be all her life.

Now, she can be that with you.

taglist: @jiungmcvv @sevikaaaalover @gl1ttor1is @maybelateriwilldecide @zombieeepup @hardunknownkitty @russoishot123 @abbyanderswife @mxrwell @puppiesandrain @supermaunaro @awesomealadin @kaylschipss @sum0y @local-enby @cority @autumnaticallyy @sevikaiswife @bunbunpudding @spleeniexox @martachm @joon1uvr @arcaneflorist @charliepoopyfart @igothoes @craz1er4you

[shuploc]

Can you please draw Peter B again? I loved the way you drew him a while ago. If not that's okay I love your Miguel pieces. Keep up the good work!

Hehe, yeah, for sure! I'm actually gonna start working on two pieces for the SpiderDads zine soon (one of them NSFW), and both will of course have Miguel and Peter in them

If I didn't have to do commissions and other types of work to make ends meet, then you would have seen so much more Peter stuff from me, but unfortunately I can't pay rent with likes and shares (I really wish I could though 😅)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just wanted to make a color ref for Brain Therapist Magneto from 309 but i needed lights too for some reason

bonus The Flats Only Version

[tomwambsgans]

greg said actually i wanna take YOU out and I'M gonna pay for it

[ranchwamen]

Hey, now seems like a fine time to share some more Sirpaverse lore. "Mind reading", or perhaps more accurately, turning thoughts into audio and visuals, was cracked for the first time by magician and engineer Dr. Jade Biscuits and her team in 1981. The spell required for it, while it has been refined and smoothed out over the decades, is still much too complex for human hands to perform, and therefore requires a middleman object to carry it out. (Spells are very much like code: they are "strings" of singular magical alterations to the physical world, lacking much power alone but all together can create significant effects.) Usually this middleman comes in the form of a helmet or headphone-like headgear that connect to a screen or speaker, wired versions are still the majority but wireless options have started appearing on the market in very recent years.

Thought transmitters like this were used exclusively in hospitals and universities for their first years of existence, but became more widespread as disability aids in the mid-1980's. Technically anyone can obtain a transmitter, but they are very expensive to manufacture and that reflects on their price and their scarcity — those who actually need them first and foremost are priority, obviously. Their primary use is to allow people with impaired communication abilities to... well, communicate better! Secondarily they are used in investigation to get a better, literal look at something that a witness has seen or heard, but they at the end of the day they are about as trustworthy as lie detectors are. They transmit thought, after all, not the unbiased objective truth of what has happened in the past. People's memory is seldom perfect.

Thought transmitters are a major milestone of scientific progress, having changed millions of lives and still doing so decades later! To make any sound, any image, that the mind can think of, it gives people a lot of power, power that they may have previously lacked. However, the transmitters do not come without any issues. To produce sound or an image, the thought of that sound or image must be very clear in the mind. It means that, to say something, you must literally be able to think the exact tones, pitch, cadence, timbre, volume, the everything, and to produce an image, you must be literally able to think each hue, saturation, brightness, each placement of each colour and stroke, each tiny movement, again, everything. Otherwise the output will be grainy and unclear, partly or completely meaningless static. Even with the most clear possible thought and the most up-to-date transmitters, the output will never be perfectly pure. You will always be able to tell that an image, a video or a sound was produced by a transmitter. And to even get to that purest state.... ehhh....

....Goes without saying, I'm sure, but it's one tricky task, and transmitting thought into audio or visuals isn't a one-size-fits-all situation! Let's take me, for example. I think in words and clear sentences. I can visualise things in my mind just fine and do so often as an artist and storyteller, but my "main mode" of thought is words. My friends, though, have expressed to me that their natural thought is much more visual! While I would think to myself, "I'm gonna go to the store", my friends would instead visualise themselves acting out the actions of going to the store. No doubt we would find different transmitting modes easiest... and no doubt that for some people, neither option would work, at all. Sadly proper mind reading, transmitting thought to thought-in-another-person's-head, is still impossible with the current existing technology. But it is being worked at! Maybe one day, eventually.

Here is Dr. Jade Biscuits for good measure! She was originally invented for completely different character stories years ago, but she is who I originally invented the microphone transmitter for (thoughts-to-audio transmitter that's worn on the head like a headset), and therefore it seemed right that in the Sirpaverse she would be its inventor :D

One of my fave things in the Sirpaverse is that spells are “invented”. Magic or applied physics is a STEM subject and highly skilled magicians are constantly trying to invent new spells, taking inspiration or studying the genes of real-world organisms and their magical properties or going for something new entirely. Several teams around the world are trying to crack the mystery of teleportation, for example, but much like time travel it may prove to be impossible — we don’t know though! Not all limits of magic have been found quite yet. Many spells were only invented in recent years, like how “mind reading” was invented in the early 1980’s!!