#a logical and production nightmare though

[thresholdbb]

I want a Federation reality show but the concept changes each week

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part III

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. gun/physical violence, blood, dead bodies, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

A/N: it's finally here! Sorry for the wait, things have just been really busy lately... but I hope you enjoy!

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Living with you has been an absolute nightmare.

Obviously Jungkook had known that dropping poison in his champagne and whiskey wouldn’t be the end of your little assassination attempt; he’d expected you to continue doing whatever was in your power to make good on your threat. He may have been a little cocky about it too, teasing you over the fact that he was standing before you unscathed, but the logical part of him still knew to keep his guard up constantly. 

What he hadn’t realised was how exhausting it would all be. 

You’d been here only four days and Jungkook had already had to evade poison in his toothpaste, a suspicious looking pin wedged into the insole of his shoe, and garlic juice in his cologne- the last one seeming far from a homicide attempt and closer to just pissing him off. 

Dealing with that alone was one thing, because it wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. But on top of it all, Jungkook hadn’t slept properly in days. He’d found himself dozing off for a few minutes here and there while holed up in his office at night occasionally, but he had mostly just stuck to spending his nights working, especially on the Park issue. He couldn’t risk actually sleeping in his office considering he knew that you had the ability to bypass the lock. And besides, as much as he would appreciate a few extra hours of sleep, Jungkook still had to be ready for if Jimin decided to attack again, even if he’d been quiet so far.

One of those preparations involved speaking with your father, which was why you and Jungkook were seated in one of the guest houses at 8:00 AM in the morning while your father was sat casually on the creme-coloured settee across from the mahogany coffee table before you both. The guest house was situated near the gates of Jungkook’s estate, still within its borders, but far enough that it had its own entrance and ensured guests wouldn’t end up too close to his house, just how he liked it. 

The initial meeting with your father had been awkward, though Jungkook may have been the only one to catch onto it. Your father hadn’t embraced you or kissed your cheek or told you how much he missed you, instead he had sent a formal nod in your direction before giving Jungkook a firm handshake. After that your father had barely spared you a glance, addressing Jungkook as if he were the only one in the room. You didn’t seem very offended by this either, your gaze instead drifting around the space looking almost bored as the two men conversed casually for a few minutes. 

It was an interesting detail, one Jungkook tucked into the back of his sleep-deprived mind. 

“The differences between the North and South have surprised me a ton,” Mr. Lee commented, taking a sip from the teacup in his hand. His accent was rough, no doubt a product of his upbringing in the South, “you guys do things a lot more softly here in the North.”

It was a jab, Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough not to know that, especially knowing how rough things were in the South. That comment was enough for him to know that your father was the type of man that liked to put others down to make himself seem superior. It only amused Jungkook though, because as per the culture, your father already had a bit of an upper hand since he was older, and yet he still felt the need to talk down to him.

Distantly, he wondered if your father’s personality had something to do with why you decided to hide your true personality even from him. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Jungkook decided to reply dryly, not bothering to bite back. If he had learned anything, it was how to choose his battles, and an ego trip was not worth it in his books. 

Instead his gaze drifted towards your seemingly aloof form. It was a bit unnerving to see you look so quiet and proper, almost like he was being shown a third side of you. Your facade was still definitely up though, no one could miss the slight widening of your eyes and faint pout of your lips to feign an innocent look, but this version of your act was definitely more placid. 

Jungkook’s gaze travelled back to your father as he smiled, a sudden urge to get you to react overtaking him, “it’s definitely been an adjustment for your daughter.”

At your mention, your wandering eyes were reeled back to meet the gazes of the two men before you once again, but, unlike during the dinner with Taehyung and Chaewon, that was the extent of your reaction to the obvious dig. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed in your direction as you continued to sit silently beside him, an innocent expression still painting your already heavily painted features. 

Despite the topic, Mr. Lee’s gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook, “hope she hasn’t been too much trouble. She used to be quite the spitfire growing up, but thankfully I fixed her right up before she could bring that attitude into adulthood. Can’t imagine how I would’ve gotten her married if I hadn’t.”

The room became quiet as Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in his place, your father’s words, which sounded so casual on his tongue, unable to settle comfortably within him. Jungkook wasn’t so naive as to believe that “fixed her up” alluded to gentle parenting and stern lectures. And if his guesses as to how your father might have disciplined you growing up were correct, then you had his sympathies. Jungkook’s childhood wasn’t exactly filled with rainbows and butterflies, the son of a mafia leader’s childhood never is, but everything his father had done was for the betterment of the Jeons, not so Jungkook could be a good slave to a spouse. 

“No,” he finally decided to answer, “she hasn’t been any trouble at all.”

If your father’s comment had bothered you, you didn’t show it. But Jungkook was still eager to change the subject. 

Before he could, however, he was surprised when he felt you straighten up beside him and beat him to it. 

“How is Hannah doing, father?”

Despite all his research, Jungkook had no clue who Hannah was. He’d never even heard of the name before, which he found surprising considering how well he made sure to research the Lees before his marriage. Nevertheless it was clear to him that whoever this Hannah was, she was important. You’d asked the question with your usual soft voice, a casual hint in your tone, but Jungkook had known you long enough at this point to see past your act. He could see the way your gaze had turned calculating, taking in each and every expression that flitted across your father’s face as he took a sip from his teacup before he finally allowed himself to take you in. 

“She's doing fine,” he answered after a moment, voice void of any emotion, “very fine actually.”

Jungkook didn’t miss the subtle jump in your eyebrows at his words, so subtle that he doubted your father would notice it even though he was finally acknowledging your presence. 

“But you should start worrying more about this place, Y/N. This is your home now after all.”

Your gaze immediately dropped at his words as you gave him a timid nod, ditzy Y/N clearly back in full swing. Most would have witnessed this interaction and seen a loving daughter being rejected by her cold, heartless father. But looking past your act of innocence, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel that there was more to this interaction than that. The relationship you had with your father was weird. If Jungkook hadn’t known either of you, he wouldn’t have guessed that you were more than mere acquaintances with how distant you both seemed. No love, no animosity, just… impassive.

And yet, despite this clearly uncommunicative relationship, you’d spoken up only once in this entire conversation to ask about a person named Hannah - or rather you had wanted confirmation about something regarding Hannah, and judging from the way your expression had returned to that naively bored look, you had gotten the confirmation you were seeking. Neither of you had offered to identify who Hannah was to Jungkook either, so he doubted asking would prove to be very useful. 

If only Jungkook had the mind to figure everything out on his own at this moment. He’d already had to stifle three yawns since the beginning of the conversation, all of which he was able to hide only because your father had initially seemed very interested in scanning the contents of the guest house. Hopefully he’d get better at hiding his exhaustion as the day progressed, he had a long day ahead of him after all. 

Your father caught Jungkook’s attention once again when he leaned forward to place his empty teacup on the mahogany coffee table in front of him. The teacup clinked against the wood before he leaned back into the settee, giving Jungkook a questioning look. 

“So, now that we’ve got the chit chat out of the way, why’d you need to see me so desperately?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Jungkook ignored the arrogant structuring of his words once again, gaze instead drifting to you, who was keenly scanning the front page of a newspaper that had been haphazardly placed on the coffee table to give the room a more homey feel. 

He wasn’t entirely sure whether you knew anything about Jimin’s attack on the West Docks. Yes, you had broken into his office once, but Jungkook didn’t leave important stuff like that just lying around so technically you didn’t have any way of knowing about it. Jungkook preferred if you didn’t, because obviously the less you knew the better. You were trying to kill him after all, and as much as he liked to make a joke out of it, he wasn’t dumb enough not to at least partially take it seriously. 

So Jungkook shifted in his seat to face you, the action catching your previously wandering attention, before he placed a hand on your knee. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hesitant, but thankfully you didn’t flinch at the contact. 

“Why don’t you go freshen up, princess? Your father and I have some business to discuss, and then after that you and I have somewhere to be.”

Jungkook watched your eyebrows twitch, though whether it was from the nickname or in question of where the two of you would be heading he didn’t know. But then your gaze flickered to your father’s direction for a moment before you quietly nodded. 

You stood from the settee, ignoring the way Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your knee, brushed against your skin as it fell. When you faced your father, hands clutched before you, he was already looking up at you with a familiarly indifferent expression. 

“It was nice seeing you again, father,” you said formally, keeping your voice light and soft as you offered him a small bow. You were returned a formal nod, another familiar action, before you turned away from the two men and pushed through the double doors of the guest house. 

A deep sigh escaped your lips the moment you heard the door shut behind you, feeling as though someone had lifted an anvil off your chest. Your father’s presence had always felt suffocating, you were just glad that the two of you being in the same room has also always been a rare occurrence in itself. 

You didn’t have time to dwell on that fact as the beauty of Jungkook’s estate now stood before you in all its glory. Lush green grass surrounding a stone walkway, colourful flowers popping out of strategically placed beds, and large, but maintained, Japanese Maple trees scattered here and there were all organised neatly to form a breathtaking courtyard. 

This was the one thing you could unconditionally appreciate about Jungkook’s estate. Most leaders’ estates screamed money with the various marble statues of themselves and their families littering their front yards and excessive landscaping drenching the flowers and grass in stone and metal. But Jungkook’s was filled with greenery, as if you were walking through an enormous garden. You loved it. 

While surveying the area your gaze dropped to the stone pathway before you, the one you and Jungkook had walked through to get to the guest house and also the one you were certain Jungkook was expecting you to take after being kicked out of said guest house. You stared at it for no more than three seconds, not even bothering to think it over, before you spun around in your spot and pressed your ear to the door you had just emerged from. 

There was something wrong. 

Although alliances were a very uncommon thing in the South, you were still smart enough to know that business deals between allies should be eased into slowly, not started four days after a marriage. This meeting was happening way too soon, which made you doubt it was business-related at all. 

Jungkook needed something from the Lees. The only question was what?

After leaning quietly against the door for a few minutes, you were only able to pick up a few words here and there between quick stifled yawns. It would’ve disappointed you if it wasn’t for the one name you managed to catch Jungkook say as clear day.

Park Jimin.

The leader of the Parks. The man whose close friend consisted of the ruthless Min Yoongi, leader of the Mins. Both mafias were located north of Taehyung and Jungkook’s territories. Personally, you’ve never heard of any ongoing disputes between the four, but if Jungkook was mentioning Park’s name in a meeting with your father, there had to be something going on. 

That would be perfect, because if you killed Jungkook while he was having a feud with Jimin, then Jungkook’s death would be more likely to be pinned on Jimin, allowing you to bear no consequences and be sent back to the Lees without a scratch. 

Except… it wasn’t perfect, because killing Jungkook had proven to be a lot harder than you had anticipated.

Killing your first husband had been child’s play. Even after you’d grabbed the gun from his waistband and shot him twice in the chest, his men had taken one look at the scene and ruled you out before you had even had the chance to construct a detailed tale of an assassin that had come through the window and shot him dead. They had been complete idiots, entirely unable to see the doe-eyed girl with frilly pink dresses and a soft airy voice as anything more than that. 

But this case was an entirely different challenge. You’d realised on the very night of your wedding that the people around Jungkook, as well as Jungkook himself of course, were not as stupid. You knew that if you tried to pull the same stunt again, you’d be pinned for the murder eventually. It’s why you hadn't even bothered to search for some kind of weapon in Jungkook’s mansion, nor had you tried to steal the gun you knew stayed sat on Jungkook’s waistband at every moment of the day. If you used a weapon to kill Jungkook, you’d be caught. 

That’s why you had stuck to poisons as your main choice of weapon. The collection of toxins you had managed to smuggle into the mansion, all thanks to Persilla of course, was made to make kills look like nature’s fate. Yet, despite dropping toxins into anything that could possibly make contact with Jungkook’s mouth or skin for the past four days, your efforts were proving to be futile. Jungkook’s knack for catching onto small details was just a difficult barrier to overcome. 

You knew H hadn’t sent you that note to pressure you into speeding up Jungkook’s murder, and you hadn’t taken it in that way at first, but now that four days had passed you were beginning to think about changing your methods. It would be more complicated, but you needed to get this done quickly. 

A gun would be the best way to finish him off in your opinion; it was the one weapon you were a master of and getting a hold of one shouldn’t be too difficult with all the guards milling around the estate. Then all you’d need to do was get Jungkook alone, shoot him dead, and then plant some evidence that pointed towards the Parks. You’d need to be careful, but it was doable a-

“Now look what I’ve found.”

You snapped away from the door and whirled around, startled entirely as a male voice suddenly spoke up from behind you. You were met with the view of a man, one you’ve never seen before, standing a couple metres away from your form, his hair as light brown as his eyes. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, while the buttons of his white polo shirt were open to reveal a sliver of his neck. 

“I seem to have caught a nosy little mouse.”

You wanted to ask him who he was and what he was doing here. Anyone within the gates of Jungkook’s estate had to be close to him, you’d learned that much during your stay here. Yet, Jungkook had failed to mention this man at all. 

But before you could voice your questions, the man stepped forward, brown dress shoes tapping against the stone beneath you both, and held out a hand, “I’m Daehyun, Jungkook’s cousin. We haven’t formally been introduced.”

Tentatively, because you still had an act to uphold, you reached out to shake his hand, making sure to keep your grip weak, “I’m Y/N.”

Then you remembered that eavesdropping on a conversation between Jungkook and your dad may not seem like the most innocent thing to Daehyun. So you quickly mustered up a believable excuse. 

“I swear I wasn’t trying to listen to their conversation! I just…”

You paused, pretending to shy away from him to give the illusion that you were embarrassed to admit the blatant lie that was about to escape your lips.

“I just wanted to know if Jungkook would talk about me,” you said, keeping your gaze on the ground as you started fidgeting with your fingers, “he’s not the most talkative man with me, so I just wanted to see if he would admit anything to my father.”

“Mhmm,” Daehyun replied, and you couldn’t help but feel that the tone of his voice gave the impression that he wasn’t paying attention. Finding that strange, you lifted your gaze from the ground hesitantly and observed him. The sight made you grimace inwardly. 

Daehyun’s lack of interest could be explained by the fact that he was too busy raking his eyes across your body, taking in your bare legs and neck, almost as if he were entranced. You noticed his fingers twitch as he took in the frills of your pink dress and the silk bow holding up half your hair. 

“God, you don’t look a day over 19,” he commented, as if you weren’t even there and he was simply talking to himself, “how old are you, darling?”

This was far from the first time a guy had looked at you as though you were a piece of meat. In fact, your act seemed to garner a lot more attention from the male species than it should. You liked to think that all the years of this had made you immune to moments like these, but deep down you knew it still made your skin crawl.

That being said, the implications of Daehyun’s words were beginning to register in your mind. This was Jungkook’s cousin, his family. It was customary for all male members of mafia families to have a gun with them at all times, which meant that there was a very high probability that, if Daehyun were to turn around, you would catch sight of a shiny black gun wedged into his waistband. He didn’t seem like the intelligent type to you either, which meant this would be a better opportunity to steal a gun compared to snagging one from a constantly alert guard. 

All you needed to do was get him a little closer to you. 

“Twenty-three,” you finally answered, keeping your voice soft and innocent-sounding. You took the opportunity to take a timid step forward, one that seemed to go unnoticed by Daehyun.

Instead he nodded, as if in approval of your answer, “Jungkook really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t he… I expect you’ll age beautifully. Lucky bastard.”

You pushed down the urge to throw up in your mouth. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t think you had it in you to lead him on in order to steal the gun. He was just way too slimy, saying things that were way too gross. 

But turns out, you didn’t really need to say anything as Daehyun took another step towards you, leaving only a hand’s length between yourself and him. You automatically felt yourself tense. If it were up to you, you’d have grabbed his shirt and kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine. But you were ditzy Y/N at the moment, and ditzy Y/N couldn’t fight back. 

Instead you tried to focus on the gun. He was close enough that you could snake your arm behind him without him noticing, but he still needed to get a little closer for you to grab it. 

“Relax, darling,” Daehyun soothed, and to both your distaste and relief he placed a hand on your shoulder, closing the distance you needed. Your hand crept forward slowly, stopping at his waistband, “you don’t need to be so tense-”

“Daehyun.”

Crap.

Your empty hand shot back to your side as your gaze snapped to the source of the voice, Daehyun’s following suit less quickly. Jungkook was shutting the door of the guest house behind him, dark eyes fixed on the hand on your shoulder. His voice had been low, the threat in them evident. Yet, Daehyun smiled, instead taking his time in removing his hand from your shoulder and taking a step back. 

“Jungkook,” he nodded, his hands returning to his pockets, “your wife and I were just having a small chat.”

You searched the space behind Jungkook, finding no sign of your father. The guest house had two exits, one that led into Jungkook’s estate and another that led outside of it. Your father must have gone through the latter. 

Jungkook gained your attention once again when he took a few steps forward, his sharp gaze fixed on Daehyun, “you can talk without touching.”

Daehyun raised his hands in mock surrender as Jungkook paused in front of you, scanning you from head to toe for a second, before he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away from him, barely sparing him another glance as he started on the stone pathway you knew led to his mansion. There was this one patch of the pathway that you noticed hid the two of you from the attentive eyes of the guards. You took that opportunity to drop your act of innocence. 

“Cousin of yours?” You asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“Unfortunately.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched Jungkook spit out the word through gritted teeth, keeping his face forward. He was angry. He didn’t like Daehyun, you realised. Yet he seemed to have free access to his house? That didn’t make any sense.

You watched the patch eventually give way to a large circular driveway that laid before the front doors of Jungkook’s mansion. There was a sleek black car already parked on the grey concrete, obscured slightly by the fountain in the circle’s centre. It probably had something to do with what Jungkook was talking about earlier, about how there was somewhere the two of you would be going. 

With your innocent facade back up, because you noticed guards milling around this part of the estate, you turned to Jungkook with a curious look, “where are we going?”

He paused for a moment as his gaze dropped on you, and you immediately knew he was choosing his next words carefully, making sure to pick the ones that only allowed you to know as much as he wanted you to. 

“We’re going to meet some families,” he finally answered, but you’d already become distracted as you noticed a guard walk up to the window of the black car and begin speaking with the driver, the exposed gun at his hip suddenly looking very attractive to you especially after your failed attempt at snatching Daehyun’s. 

“And why is that?” You asked him absentmindedly, wondering if there was any way you could grab the weapon. You’d only need to brush past the guard for a moment to grab and shove it into the holster at your thigh. You knew the frills of your dress would do an amazing job at hiding its outline as well, even from eyes like Jungkook’s.

“There was an accident at the West Docks and a few workers died. We’re going to meet with the families and pay our respects.”

Your attention snapped back to Jungkook, the reminder to keep your expression light coming just a millisecond too late. It was a practically microscopic reaction, but it was enough for Jungkook to pick up on, making him tilt his head in question.

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked without much thought, because you honestly didn’t have anything smarter to say. Why was a mafia leader paying respects to people who weren't part of the family?

You weren't an idiot; it was no coincidence that Jungkook mentioned an incident taking place at the docks around the same time he had a meeting with your father in which he was mentioning Park Jimin’s name. You’d pieced together that said “incident” was more likely some kind of attack, and the one responsible for said attack was probably Park Jimin. If Jimin had attacked Jungkook’s docks, then that meant he was testing how strong the Jeons were at the moment, which further meant that he was interested in taking over the territory. Obviously Jungkook would have wanted to ensure that he had your father’s support if things were to escalate. 

People would have died in the attack at the West Docks, that’s how it always worked. Hell, people died at the borders all the time in the South since there was so much animosity between the territories there. 

But that’s just how things worked, or at least that’s what you’d heard mafia leaders parrot to each other growing up. “They knew what they were signing up for.” “They’re doing it for the sake of the mafia.” It was the kind of thinking that you loathed, and that exact thinking that you hoped to dismantle bit by bit until everyone, not just you, could see the flaws behind it. 

Yet… here Jungkook was, saying he wanted to value those lives lost by paying respects to their mourning families…

It was unbelievable. 

However, before either of you could speak, the door of the parked car opened to reveal a man wearing a standard suit. He stepped out onto the concrete, only to turn around in his place and open the door to the backseat. He continued to stay like that, patiently waiting for the two of you. 

Jungkook was the first to move, walking around the car to open the door himself and disappear behind the sleek black metal, while you eventually followed behind him, giving the man a soft thank you before sinking into the backseat beside your husband. In a matter of seconds, the doors were shut and you felt the car begin to move beneath you. 

There was an unfamiliar silence as you peered through the tinted windows, watching as the car passed through the front gates before submerging into a thick forest. The four days you’ve been at Jungkook’s mansion had been full of constant bickering, that was until someone else would enter the room. Then suddenly you were clasping your hands in front of you and bowing with a soft smile, all while Jungkook hid his cocky grins. 

“What? No snappy comebacks today?” Jungkook spoke, probably feeling the uncharacteristic silence as well. Despite noticing that there was a divider between the driver and you both, meaning there was no reason for you to keep your act up, you didn’t answer. 

You didn’t know why his earlier words weren’t sitting well with you. Just because Jungkook dropped a few condolences here and there didn’t make him a good person. He was the leader of a mafia after all, and you’d met enough of them to know the kind of people they were: cruel, merciless, and lacking in respect for the ones outside their families. Even the level of care they had for their families was questionable. 

But still… this was throwing you off.

You turned around in your seat as a sudden thought came to mind, causing Jungkook’s gaze to shift from the window to your form. 

“What do you mean by paying respect?” You asked. Perhaps the phrase meant something different in the North. Perhaps instead of meeting the families and expressing empathy for their loss, he was going to lecture them on the need for martyrs and how the families owed the Jeons for letting them live in their territories. Yes, that made a lot more sense to you. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, was looking at you as if you’d gone insane. 

“I won’t even begin to answer that question,” he scoffed. But then he seemed to consider something for a moment, probably the fact that you would also be the one paying respects and not knowing what that was might be a hindrance to his perfect image, and spoke with an annoyed sigh, “we will be meeting with the families, relaying a few comforting words. Let them know that we will be supporting them from now on so they can focus solely on overcoming their grief rather than on how they’ll make ends meet moving forward.”

You turned back to your window with a frustrated breath, his answer doing nothing to dissipate your confusion. You might have also faced away from him to hide a stifled yawn. Car rides tended to make you sleepy, and in combination with the fact that you haven’t slept properly throughout your stay at the Jeon Mansion, it was taking a lot of willpower to keep your mind alert at the moment. 

“Considering that this will be our first official public appearance, I should also repeat how crucial it will be for you to act like a good wife.”

You rolled your eyes as a huff escaped your lips, “Yeah, I get it.”

“If you getting it means you’ll act better than the way you acted in front of your father, then good,” he commented, which made you turn to him once again with a brow raised. 

“What is that supposed to mean? I was fine in front of my father.”

Jungkook shrugged, “you could have been better.”

“How?”

He thought for a moment, mulling it over before he responded with an amused look, “when you were leaving the room, you stood up and just let my hand fall away to the side. Some would take that as a sign that you’re mad at me.”

“I am not going to kiss the ground you walk on just so that a few jobless people will keep their mouths shut,” you shot back. If you were having any qualms about killing him earlier they were entirely gone now. You were going to enjoy each and every moment of gutting the man at your side, not even the slightest hint of guilt.

“Not to mention how quiet you were,” he continued, but this time you could feel the weight of his gaze deepen, “you do know that we’ll have to actually speak to the families, right?”

There was a silent curiosity in his eyes that he didn’t voice, but you knew it was there, though for what exactly it was for you didn’t know. Was he questioning why you were so quiet? If that were the case, you didn’t have an answer; you hadn’t even realised you’d been so quiet during the meeting. Or was he curious about Hannah? You doubted it. With all the research he had done on the Lees and your territory, you guessed he already knew who she was. 

“Relax, Jungkook,” you waved him off, “I’ve been acting as someone else for years. You’ll get your nice and loving wife.”

With that settled you turned back to the window, stifling another yawn with your hand. 

-

-

-

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the fact that you were actually waking up, meaning that at some point during the ride you had fallen asleep. The second thing you noticed as you were waking up was that whatever thing you were leaning on did not feel like the inner side of a car door. That second realisation had you sitting up in your seat instantly, eyes shooting open to understand the situation. 

Outside you could see that there were no longer thick-trunked trees surrounding the road in which you drove on, instead replaced by groups of houses and small apartment buildings. You watched as kids playing in the roughened streets stopped to stare at the sleek black car, their parents no different as they tried to see through the tinted windows with unfiltered curiosity. 

You turned away from the window to take in Jungkook, whose shoulder you realised you’d made your pillow while you’d fallen asleep, only to have your eyes widen. 

To your surprise, Jungkook had fallen asleep as well, with his head resting back against the headrest and lips just slightly parted. Small puffs of breath rhythmically escaped from between them when he exhaled, a telltale sign that he truly was asleep and not just resting his eyes or something. 

The image had you frozen for a moment. He looked so… peaceful. Not that he always looked stressed out. Despite having a killer for a wife, Jungkook seemed to be pretty relaxed most of the time, amused even. But this was a different kind of peace, one that came with a complete lack of thoughts, making him look almost innocent - not the hard leader that you knew him to be. 

Without his gaze on yours preventing it, you also noticed things that you’d never really noticed about him before. Like the length of his eyelashes, or the strong dip of his jawline. His lips had a red undertone and rounded into a slight pout, while his skin was flawless - not a very common characteristic amongst leaders, though not many were as young as Jungkook - aside from the end of a faded scar peeking from behind the collar of his black shirt. The side of his hair that was facing you was slightly ruffled, as if his head had been leaning against something before it had moved to lean against the seat behind him. 

God this man was fine. 

You forced your gaze forward, realising that you were staring. Were you really so deprived that you were finding the man that you were supposed to kill hot? Well, in your defence, you had eyes. Also in your defence, the leaders in the South were all old and slimy dudes that should have been put down years ago. Just looking at Jungkook was like a breath of fresh air after drowning.

But then you paused, realising the weight of the situation. Jungkook was asleep, the same Jungkook who you knew had a gun wedged into his waistband at this very moment. It was risky, he’d definitely notice it missing when he woke up considering his attention to detail, but if you were to grab the gun, and then immediately get out of the car, he’d have no choice but to let you hold onto it until the two of you were out of the public’s eye. It would be more than enough time to secretly kill him and then plant evidence incriminating Jimin. 

Judging from the houses outside, you deemed that you both were close enough to the destination that you could hop out of the car immediately after it stopped. So you turned around, making sure to keep your movements as slow as possible, before you snaked an arm around his torso. You could feel the soft inside of his black blazer as your hand slipped beneath it, fingers just barely ghosting over his equally black dress shirt. It was unlucky that his gun was on the side of his waist facing away from you, but thankfully after checking to make sure he was still asleep, which he was, your fingers wrapped around the metal handle. 

Or at least you thought he had been asleep, because as you pulled the gun from its confines, a hand suddenly engulfing yours made you flinch. 

Your gaze snapped up to him, surprised when you found him wide awake and staring back at you. In all honesty, it wasn’t the fact that you were caught that had you frozen like a deer in headlights, Jungkook was well aware of your intentions, but rather the position that you were in. You’d used your left hand to grab his gun, which left your entire front to be pressed against his chest, while your right hand was resting on his other side, practically caging him against the seat of the car. Barely a breath’s distance separated your face with his, making the intensity of his stare all the more intimidating. 

You tried to pull away from him, but his hand brushed higher to wrap around your wrist and keep you in place, dark brown eyes still boring into yours.

“Put it back.”

It shouldn’t have, but the deepness of his voice sent a tiny shiver down your spine, one that you did everything in your power to make sure Jungkook couldn’t notice. You’d rather be caught dead than having Jungkook think you were into him in any way whatsoever. 

A small part of you, the same one that had persuaded you to drop a good amount of garlic into his cologne just yesterday, also reasoned that you’d never be caught dead taking orders from him as well. Logically speaking, there was no way you could save this attempt at taking his gun, he’d caught you and that was that. And yet, despite that, you didn’t move, hand still clutching the gun which was now hovering over his waistband. 

You felt Jungkook’s fingers tighten slightly around the soft skin of your wrist, the lack of your movement not going unnoticed by him. 

“Put it back, Y/N.”

It only made you want to do the opposite, just to piss him off a bit more, but you knew you were only delaying the inevitable. So, with the tiny devil at your shoulder retreating back to wherever it had come from and with a frustrated breath escaping your lips, you slowly pushed the gun back into his waistband. The action was slow, still dragging it out for as long as possible, until you felt the trigger guard push against the edge of the cloth. Yet, even when you let the handle drop from your grasp, Jungkook’s hand didn’t drop from your wrist. Instead, the edges of his lips twitched upwards.

“So we’ve moved on from poisons now?” He asked instead, voice low as his satisfied gaze stayed fixed on yours, “is my whiskey finally free from your terror?”

Your reply was quick, though your voice was just as low and breathy as his, “I wouldn’t start trusting it just yet.”

You really meant that, considering the new bottles of whiskey Jungkook had ordered had already been spiked not even an hour after they’d been placed in his cabinet. You knew that he knew, making the action pointless, but you were weak in front of that little devil at your shoulder. 

The abrupt sound of the car’s door opening made you jerk back into your seat, ripping your empty hand from Jungkook’s, as you quickly fixed the ruffles in your dress. By the time the driver’s face appeared at the doorway, you were offering him an innocent smile, making sure to keep your eyes bright and lips stuck in a perpetually delighted turn. An amused breath escaped Jungkook as he turned to open his own door. You hadn’t even realised that the car had come to a stop. 

You accepted the driver’s hand as he extended it towards you, the short heel of your white shoes tapping against the grey concrete while you stepped out of the car, grateful suddenly for the fresh air. 

You didn’t know what exactly you were expecting when Jungkook had said that you were going to meet with families. Mostly you had pictured a stage, one that he would stand and speak on, and then a crowd of families standing before it paying close attention to his every word. But there was no such stage in sight, in fact, as you looked around the area you noticed that there was nothing out of the ordinary; just a simple neighbourhood with kids playing in the cracked street and parents standing in their worn front porches. Everyone was staring though, curious eyes staying fixed on Jungkook, and then on you. 

It was a bit daunting if you were being entirely honest with yourself. Yes, you were the daughter of a mafia leader, but you’d never actually been made to make public appearances like this, much less speak at them. Daughters of leaders were more like decoration pieces, hidden away until they were married off. 

Jungkook rounded the car until he was standing at your side, an arm wrapping snuggly around your waist. The action had been hesitant, as if he expected you to push him away or flinch at the touch, but you were beyond trying to fight whatever image of perfection Jungkook was trying to sell; there were bigger issues you needed to worry about now. And maybe a tiny part of you found comfort in it as you noticed all the eyes that were on you now. It was your first public appearance in the Jeon Territory after all, everyone would be curious about the Jeon Jungkook’s new wife. You needed to appear shy for the sake of your act, but you were still able to notice the mixed reactions, some confused, some sceptical, but most were just surprised. 

Jungkook also seemed to be scanning the crowd before he turned towards you, whispering the words in your ear, “let’s get going.”

You didn’t have time to notice the fuss that action had caused in a group of girls before you both began following a guard into a house on your right. He guided you through the doorway, the door already wide open, as you made your way towards what seemed like a living room. The space had a homey vibe, pictures of the family scattered across the walls and lit candles placed on the tables, but it was clear that whoever lived here was struggling: the paint was peeling off the walls, the wooden floor was littered with scuffs and dents, and the furniture looked a day away from crumbling. It pained your heart to see the kitchen barren. 

It was only when you and Jungkook managed to squeeze into the small living room that you finally noticed signs of life. There was an old woman sitting on the only sofa in the room, her expression dejected while her form was hunched forward in a way that you knew was a result of grief and not old age. At the sound of your footsteps her head raised, taking in the two of you with pained eyes. 

You had to mask your surprise when you watched Jungkook lower himself onto a knee before her, “hello Mrs. Hwang.”

The woman, Mrs. Hwang, ignored the greeting, instead shaking her head while keeping her gaze on the hands resting in her lap, “I don’t understand. They keep telling me he’s gone, but I just don’t understand… How could he be gone? How could my beautiful son be gone? What happened to him?”

“Mrs. Hwang,” Jungkook said slowly, his brows pulling together in sympathy, “your son and a few other workers were killed in a construction accident at the West Docks. I’m sorry.”

The tears that had been swimming in her eyes finally began to stream down her cheeks, the news coming from the leader of the Jeons finally confirming what she had seemingly been denying for a while, but you could only try to fan the flames of the anger that ignited in your chest. There was no construction accident, there had been an attack orchestrated by Jimin, and normal people who had nothing to do with the territorial feud had suffered the consequences. This poor woman, for example, had lost her son. She deserved to know the real reason he was gone, deserved to belt out her anger at the actual people responsible, not be fed a cover-up story you knew was only being promoted in order to prevent public unrest.

You watched as Jungkook tried to reassure her, his words artfully compassionate and reassuring, wondering just how much of those words he actually meant. He probably didn’t mean many of them, if any at all. Perhaps this was the method in which he maintained his power? Leaders in the South usually asserted their power by ensuring the public feared them, scaring them so much that even the thought of betrayal had them shaking in fear. But Jungkook was a smart man. Perhaps he realised that being loved by the public was a better method of manipulation, one that produced more loyalty. 

You’d been so deep in thought that when you felt the tap of Jungkook’s black dress shoe on your white ones you almost flinched. He was looking up at you with a pointed look, and it was then that you realised that the woman was staring at you as well, as if she were waiting for you to speak. Jungkook’s words, genuine or not, seemed to have stopped the tears that had been flowing down her cheeks while you’d been distracted because there was almost nothing left of them except the water staining her cheeks. 

Sensing your confusion, Jungkook gave Mrs. Hwang a strained smile, “you must excuse her, she’s still getting used to the North. It can be overwhelming at times.”

Mrs. Hwang nodded in understanding before she turned to face you once again. 

“That’s okay dear. I was just wondering how married life has been treating you. My husband passed away so long ago yet I still find myself missing the companionship even now.”

Oh… 

That was not the kind of question you hesitate at if you want people to get a good impression of your and Jungkook’s relationship, and the look on Jungkook’s face at the moment only confirmed those thoughts. 

“It’s been treating me well,” you answered finally, hesitating on what the right thing to say would be in this situation, “he’s been very good to me.”

It was the wrong thing to say, you realised that at the exact moment Jungkook grimaced and tears started to stream down Mrs. Hwang’s face once again. She nodded in your direction, “my husband treated me well too. How I miss him… And now my son is gone as well, who do I have left?”

Your voice died in your throat, mind unable to come up with anything that could possibly comfort the bawling woman who had lost so much. All you could do was stand dumbly and watch her crumble before you, wishing you could crawl into a hole and stay there forever hidden. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, immediately placed a hand on her knee and began to reassure her once again, comforting words falling from his lips like a gentle stream. He reminded her of how her son and husband were in a better place now, of the friends she still has in the neighbourhood, and then of her granddaughter who needed her to be strong. 

At the mention of her granddaughter, the door of the living room suddenly smacked open, revealing a little girl skipping into the room. She was wearing a sparkly pink shirt and washed out jeans which were fraying at the edges, while a worn doll hung from her fingers. Despite this, there was a bright smile on her face as she walked deeper into the room. 

The sight of Jungkook slowed her down in her tracks, replacing the once innocent smile with a deep blush painting her cheeks. Her gaze shifted away from him, clearly shy from her sudden crush. But then she caught sight of her grandmother and her gaze became worried. She made her way to her side quickly before gently placing the doll on her grandmother’s lap, also placing a comforting hand on her arm.

“Don’t cry grandma,” she said with a frown, using her other hand to push a few strands of her grandmother’s hair behind her ear. The girl turned in Jungkook’s direction, though the blush was back and her eyes wouldn’t meet his, “I keep telling her not to be sad, but she keeps crying.”

It was then when she caught sight of someone else in the room, making her turn to face in your direction. Her reaction was immediate, eyes lighting up in excitement as she took in your dress, then your shoes, and then your makeup. The girl quickly jumped from the side of the sofa and skipped over to you, eyes wide in childlike amazement. 

“Your dress!” She squealed, continuing to skip in a circle around you as she scanned you from top to bottom, “it’s so pretty! I’m going to ask Daddy to get me one just like it when he comes back!”

The last sentence felt like a hammer to your chest, and you could see Jungkook’s expression also sadden from behind her. How long would it take this little girl to realise that her father would not be coming back? That his life had been taken from him only because of the cruel way in which this world was structured?

Before you could think much of it, you slowly lowered yourself to the ground, knees touching the cold wood as you became eye to eye with the excited girl before you. It gave her the opportunity to marvel at your hair and the light sparkles on your eyelids, her small hand brushing against the frills of your dress softly as her excitement only heightened. 

“You look just like a princess!” She continued. But then a thought seemed to strike her, suddenly making her shy, “do you think I could grow up to be a princess like you one day?”

You smiled at her, using every bit of your self control not to cry for this little girl and her innocence, “I think you’ll grow up to be an even prettier princess one day.”

Her smile brightened again, her confidence restored in that quick way only a child’s confidence could. You wanted that confidence to stick though, knowing just how quickly the cruelty of this world could destroy it . 

“But do you want me to tell you a little secret?” You asked, to which she nodded hastily, also desperate in that way only children were. 

“You don’t need pink dresses and sparkles to be a princess.” You gently took hold of her hand, giving her tiny fingers a comforting squeeze. This new information seemed to shock her, her eyes widening as a surprised gasp escaped her lips, “what matters is your heart. Your grandmother lost someone very dear to her, and she’ll need someone to help her get through her sadness.”

The girl straightened up immediately, chin rising as if to meet the challenge head on, “don’t worry, Daddy always makes me in charge of helping grandma. I’ll always take care of her.”

“That’s very responsible of you,” you praised.

“I am! I’m very-” She struggled with the words for a moment until she finally seemed to manage the beast, “responsible!”

An amused breath escaped your lips at her childish confidence, despite the sorrow tugging at your heartstrings. 

“And when you realise what you’ve lost,” you continued, this time speaking to the girl she will become when the devastating news finally hits her, “your grandma will be there to get you through it as well. You won’t be alone, okay?”

She nodded innocently, the weight of your words flying over her head. But that was okay, she’d realise their meaning when the time came. You could only hope that they would provide at least some comfort when it really mattered. 

Without another thought, you reached behind your head to unravel the silky pink ribbon in your hair, making sure to smooth it out before you held it out to her. She squealed in delight, grabbing the ribbon and softly running a hand over the silk material. 

But then she suddenly looked up from it and threw her arms around your neck, the spontaneity of the action causing you to flinch. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She continued to squeal, “I think you’re the best princess in the world!”

With her chin laying on your shoulder, your gaze automatically met Jungkook’s as your hands hesitantly raised to rest on her back. He was still kneeling in front of Mrs. Hwang, but his hand had dropped from her knee to his own, realising that it was unneeded as a fond smile was overtaking her expression at the sight of her happy granddaughter. Jungkook’s expression was unreadable as he watched the girl jump excitedly in your embrace. 

The two of you only stayed a few minutes longer, only because the girl had insisted that you tie the ribbon in her hair, before Jungkook stood and cleared his throat, a clear sign that you both should get going. You hadn’t even realised how heavy the atmosphere had been in the house until you were walking through the doorway, finally able to take in a full breath of fresh air. A guard was already standing before the front door, turning around to lead you both to the next house when he noticed your presence. 

“Well… that was interesting,” Jungkook commented, his face turning in your direction to meet your gaze. 

You were quiet as you followed behind him, making sure to pull your act back up in the process. You hadn’t realised that it had sort of dropped when you began speaking to the girl, the heat of the moment enough to make you forget. 

You didn’t turn to meet his gaze, instead scanning the area and people that surrounded you both as you spoke, “I’m not very good at it.”

His head tilted in question. 

In hindsight, you should have told him earlier, but perhaps you were a tiny bit embarrassed of it. Now, though, the cat was out of the bag, so there was no point in trying to hide it from him now.

“The wife thing? The hugging and laughing and kissing? I can do that,” you finally admitted, “but comforting? I’m not the best at it.”

That was an understatement, but you were sure Jungkook probably knew that by now. His gaze felt heavy as he watched you for a moment, studying your expression. Then he turned away, keeping his eyes fixed before him as he spoke words you were not expecting in the slightest.

“You did alright.”

-

-

-

It was early in the evening when you and Jungkook finally visited the last house, the sun just barely visible above the horizon when you had crossed over the street to follow behind the guard for the last time today. You had visited at least 20 houses, all of which weighed your heart down more and more until you had felt like you were dragging it against the concrete beneath you. Some had lost their son, their brother, their husband, all of whom were important not only because they were loved, but also because they had been the sole provider of the family. You committed each grief-filled face to memory, promising that pain like that would be a thing of the past. 

It only made you more determined to accomplish your goal. 

Now you stood behind Jungkook as he spoke to a woman in her kitchen, listening attentively to her describe the kind man that was her late husband with a bittersweet fondness. His expression was sympathetic as she spoke, nodding every so often with a gentle smile, while the woman thanked him again and again for being here and helping them. 

If your observations proved anything, people certainly respected him around here. Whenever he would pass by in the street or when he spoke with the families, you watched many bow in his presence or express their gratitude for him. But no one ever invaded his space, and they definitely didn’t try to speak to him unless spoken to. It was all in all a respectful appreciation for the man they thought was a good leader. It was such an odd sight to you, being so used to people in the South trembling in fear in the presence of a leader, that it seemed almost foreign. 

Your gaze travelled around the room as you continued to stand with your hands clasped in front of yourself, casually surveying the small area while simultaneously making sure to absently follow the conversation in case you were spoken to. After your visit to the first house, you’d decided that it was best if you stayed as quiet as possible seeing as you were a trainwreck when it came to comforting people. Sure, you’d sort of saved yourself when you had spoken to the little girl, but you had clearly said the wrong things when you’d spoken to Mrs. Hwang. It was an embarrassing shortcoming on your part, but you also couldn’t really blame yourself. It’s not like you had any examples from when you were growing up to draw on. 

You were pulled from your thoughts, however, when you noticed a quick shadow flit in your peripheral vision, making you discreetly turn your head in that direction. For a moment, the doorway in which your gaze had settled on was empty aside from a guard who stood still in front of it, to the point that you thought you had imagined it. But then a fluffy black tail slithered from behind the wall, making you freeze in place. The tail brushed against the wooden floor before its owner turned around, the familiar face and collar moving into view. 

Persilla’s feline eyes stayed fixed on you as she sat herself down for a moment, tilting her head as she watched you meet her gaze in surprise. She was going completely unnoticed by everyone else in the room, though that part didn’t surprise you. That cat was a master of camouflage after all. She was only seen when she wanted to be. 

Which was why her presence had you wondering what she was doing here. 

The answer to that question came when she suddenly stood, walking dangerously close to the guard as she crossed him and made her way into the hallway slowly. She easily blended into the shadows as she paused and turned back for a moment, making sure that you were still watching her, before she finally slipped into one of the rooms which had a door that was slightly ajar. 

The message was clear to you: she wanted you to follow her. 

You glanced at Jungkook and the woman, who were still deep in conversation thankfully, before you silently shuffled to the doorway where the guard was standing idly. 

“Excuse me?” You spoke, voice soft as a feather. The man’s firm gaze shifted to you, “is there a bathroom anywhere that I could use?”

You could feel Jungkook sneak a glance in your direction, but the woman was still speaking with him, keeping him occupied. You’d made sure to keep your voice loud enough so that he could hear the bathroom excuse though, not wanting him to suspect anything. 

The guard nodded and began to guide you down the same hall Persilla had walked through. Then, to your relief, he stopped in front of the door she had disappeared behind, unknowingly making your life much easier. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at him before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind you. You immediately began to survey the small space, taking in the toilet and small sink, but your brows furrowed when you failed to find your favourite black cat. 

You kneeled before the sink to open the cabinet underneath it, frowning when it also was empty. 

“Persilla?” You whispered, so silently you could barely hear yourself. 

That was when you took notice of the window beside the sink. It was high up and blurred, but what really made you pause was the fact that it was open. Perhaps Persilla had jumped out of it before you’d entered the room? If she was expecting you to follow her, though, she clearly underestimated your size…

You flinched backwards when she suddenly dropped from said window, paws soundlessly making contact with the tiles before she circled your form. When she was satisfied she sat in front of you, showing you her neck. Once again, wedged between her fur and collar, was a small folded piece of paper. 

“He better not make a messenger out of you,” you practically mouthed with a grumble before you reached out and slipped the note from her collar, unfolding it curiously. The handwriting was familiar as your eyes scanned through the words, though there was only one person the note could be from anyway. 

I heard he has a knack for detail, so I’m assuming that’s why it’s not done yet. No problem. But we really should meet soon, there’s something I need to tell you. (I would’ve let myself in now, but your husband is waiting right outside the door so I had to make good use of Persilla) 

~ H

P.S. I left you a little gift in the toilet tank. I think you might like it. 

Your brows furrowed at the last part, gaze immediately shifting to the toilet in the corner of the room. It was a standard two piece, one with a removable back cover that made it easier to access the tank. 

You pushed yourself off the tiled floor and made your way towards it before grabbing the heavy cover and hauling it upwards with a strained huff, eyes immediately scanning the inside. There were shiny metal pipes intersecting with each other and valves protruding in some places, but it was a black handle wedged between the mess that caught your eye. You grabbed it and pulled it out of the tank, easing the cover back into place with a smile. 

Finally…

Delight was all you could feel as you rotated the shiny new handgun in your hand, taking in its familiar shape. You pressed against the release button first, catching the magazine expertly in your other hand as it popped out of the handle and checked its contents. It was full of ammunition, allowing you to push it back into the gun in satisfaction. Then your attention shifted to the silencer that had been screwed into the gun’s barrel. It wouldn’t entirely silence a shot, but it was still better than nothing and it could definitely come in handy. He knew you well, didn’t he…

You unscrewed the silencer from the gun and then shoved both into the holster at your thigh, making sure to smooth over your dress quickly. One look in the mirror had you satisfied, even eyes like Jungkook’s wouldn’t be able to tell there was a gun concealed under here. He would have no clue what was coming. 

You crouched down to scratch Persilla’s chin, promising her some good salmon for being such a good girl, before she jumped out the window and scurried off. Unable to contain your own curiosity you walked over to the window and gave it a quick glance, but there was no one in sight. 

Just as you had been told, Jungkook was standing right outside the door when you opened it after flushing the toilet and washing your hands to give the illusion that you’d really used the bathroom. You weren’t surprised when you watched his eyes dart behind you to carefully scan the bathroom, but you knew there was nothing to see. Everything that mattered was now strapped to your thigh discreetly hidden underneath your dress. 

“Checking the bathroom after a lady uses it is a bit much, don’t you think?” You couldn’t help but comment, keeping your expression innocent as you noticed the guard standing patiently at the end of the hallway. 

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed in your direction, but there was an amused turn to his lips. You maintained your expression as you felt his arm wrap around yours and pull you closer, whispering the words into your ear as he began to guide you out of the house, “and trying to kill your husband isn’t?”

“A woman can’t have hobbies?”

He steered you along the street, passing by crowds of people who stood at a distance around the neighbourhood, as you both made your way back to the car. Because of that you had to keep a smile on your face as you spoke, despite the nature of your words. 

Jungkook raised an eyebrow to pair with his smile, aware of the crowd’s eyes on you both. There was no doubt that, through their eyes, you both looked like a nice couple speaking about nice things, far from the truth of course, “there are many husbands that wouldn’t be so understanding about your particular hobby. I think I deserve some credit.”

“Dead men don’t get credit.”

“Good thing I’m not dead yet, princess.”

You wished you could shoot him a nasty glare to wipe the cocky grin off his face, but you could only watch him innocently as he opened the door of the black car and waited for you to get in, an arm resting on the top of the car’s door nonchalantly. Taking the opportunity, you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving the impression that you were thanking him for the gesture, but instead said, “I wouldn’t count on that for long.”

Jungkook shut the door behind you in amusement after you sat in the car, ready to join you in the backseat until he felt his phone vibrate suddenly against his thigh. He stayed standing on your side of the car, resting a hand over its top as his other hand went to grab the phone out of his pocket and bring it to his ear. 

“What have you got for me?” He asked, casually surveying the area as he waited for a response. His brows furrowed when he heard the person on the other end of the line hesitate before he spoke. 

“Hello sir,” he finally said, to which Jungkook huffed, knowing whatever was about to be said wasn’t going to please him.

“Out with it, I don’t have all day.”

The man on the other end of the line sighed, “I was just contacted by the informant who has been working on what you ordered him to do…”

Jungkook frowned, remembering how he’d asked the informant to investigate your room and the man you’d been having hushed phone calls with before your marriage. He had wondered why it was taking the informant so long to get back to him, but Jungkook trusted the informant with his life, that’s why he had placed him in the Lee mansion in the first place. If things were being delayed, there was a reason. 

One that was about to be explained to him right now. 

“The informant just told me that he wasn’t able to identify the man.”

Jungkook’s grip on his phone tightened at the news, brows furrowing even further, “what?”

“He said he searched through Mrs. Y/N’s room from top to bottom, but was unable to find anything out of the ordinary, nor anything related to the mystery man. Then he traced her prior phone calls, but none led to anywhere significant. The only thing the informant was able to figure out was that the man goes by the letter H.”

Jungkook mulled over the information for a moment, tapping his finger against the hood of the car while deep in thought. H… that was practically nothing to go by. Why were you talking to a man that seemed so untraceable? What did he have to hide? What did you have to hide?

Jungkook’s jaw ticked. 

“What do you mean tracing the phone calls led to nowhere significant?”

“He explained that the locations were all scattered. Some were in the South, some were in the North, some were in the western and eastern regions, and a couple were even outside the country altogether,” he explained, then seemed to hesitate on his next words, “the informant mentioned that there were a couple locations that may seem slightly promising, but he admitted that he doubts they would prove to be very useful.”

“Tell him to send you the locations, and then send some men to check them out,” Jungkook said immediately.

His gaze dropped on you, who was already staring back at him from your seat. 

“That man is not a ghost. We’ll find him, whether he likes it or not.”

-

-

-

Unlike earlier, you nor Jungkook slept as the car raced through the highway, nothing but the darkness of night visible from outside of the window aside from the occasional streetlamp. You’d already been on the road for about an hour or two, the entirety of the trip drenched in silence. 

Jungkook clearly had something on his mind, you could tell from the way his eyes were clouded over in thought as they stayed glued to the window. You hadn’t been able to hear what he’d talked about on the phone, so you’d settled for deciphering his expressions. He’d seemed frustrated by something he’d been told, that was as much as you could make out. 

The weight of the gun on your thigh felt heavy, the need to grab it and use it itching against your fingers. Technically speaking, you had an opportunity right at this very moment. You could shoot Jungkook dead, bang on the divider to get the driver to stop the car, and then shoot him dead too before he put two and two together. It would be simple, and you’d also be able to run to the nearest sign of life and dramatically explain how a man associated with Park Jimin had hijacked the car and killed Jungkook and the driver, leaving you alive to relay the message. They’d buy that in a second. It would be perfect.

The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would have to kill the driver. Jungkook was a mafia leader, and mafia leaders were cruel and merciless. He deserved what was coming. But this driver… he was just a guy doing his job. He might even have a family waiting for him at home, and after the day you’d had, the thought of another family losing someone dear to them made you squirm in your seat.

Realistically, you knew your goal couldn’t be complete without the deaths of a few innocents. But even that thought wasn’t enough to get your fingers to grab the gun at your thigh. A frustrated breath escaped your lips at the lack of your action, one that of course, didn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook. 

“Someone seems frustrated,” he commented, the first time either of you have spoken after entering the car. You rolled your eyes, refusing to face him. But Jungkook continued to observe you intensely, giving you the impression that he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end so easily this time. 

“You know, you seem so adamant on killing me,” he said slowly, “if I’m going to have my wife perpetually working on my death, I think I at least deserve to know why she’s so passionate for the cause.”

It didn’t go over your head that he was suddenly so interested in your intentions after that ominous phone call, and you had no problem calling him out on it, “I heard you had an interesting phone call earlier. Maybe you should focus on that instead.”

“I am. I’m trying to find a pesky man that goes by the letter H, you wouldn’t happen to know him would you?”

You froze, surprise freezing your limbs as you wondered where Jungkook had gotten that name from. Had you messed up somewhere? You’d burned the first note you received and flushed the second down the toilet, so there was no way he could have gotten hold of them. Besides that, you’d never uttered his name out loud since marrying Jungkook. No, there was no way he could have found out from you. 

Jungkook smiled, as if reading your thoughts, “it seems you do.”

You shrugged, trying to collect yourself, “H knows everyone and no one.”

“But you know him better than others. Tell me, is he the reason you want me dead?”

You turned to meet his gaze, the taunt in your voice evident, “maybe you should find him and ask him yourself.”

“I will. He won’t be able to hide from me forever.”

You chuckled, answer instant, “doubtful.”

That made Jungkook tilt his head at you, an evident question. 

“He’s only found when he wants to be found. Otherwise, he’ll have you running in circles like a clueless pet.”

For some reason your words seemed to irritate Jungkook as you noticed his gaze narrow.

“You seem pretty fond of him.”

You didn’t answer, your gaze instead drifting back to the window. Up until now you’d been driving through a thick forest, the concrete road surrounded by enormous trees that seemed to extend into the sky. But the window on Jungkook’s side showcased the trees starting to dwindle, empty patches emerging in the thicket occasionally until they finally gave way to a grand view of the ocean. If you squinted your eyes enough you could make out a large docks system in the distance, full of enormous ships and warehouses. 

The view had caught your eye though, distracting you from the sorry excuse of a conversation you were having with Jungkook. It was the light that had initially caught your attention, more specifically the sheer intensity of it. The docks were lined with the same street lamps that were brightening the road you were currency driving on, yet it looked like someone dropped the sun into one of the warehouses. 

At first you thought perhaps you were overthinking it, but then Jungkook followed your line of sight, peering critically through the window for a moment before he suddenly sat up straight. It was then that you saw it as well; at the edge of one of the warehouses, a roaring fire was beginning to destroy everything in its vicinity. It was only visible now because it had moved on from behind the warehouse, engulfing the structure itself at an alarming rate. 

A sudden explosion shook the docks, so powerful that you could feel the vibrations of the shock despite your distance from the area. At that moment you felt the car screech to a stop, the momentum pushing both you and Jungkook painfully against your seatbelts for a split second, before Jungkook’s phone suddenly started to ring. 

He picked it up on the first bell, not bothering to hide the call from you this time. You could hear loud sounds erupt from the phone the second the line was accepted, a man’s voice barely audible above the chaos. 

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked hastily, eyes glued to the wreck. He looked as if he wanted to jump out of the car and run to it, but the distance was far too large for him to get there at any reasonable time. 

The man on the other line grunted for a moment, yelling orders to another before he shouted, “sir! There’s been a few explosions at the West Docks! Three of our warehouses have been destroyed, we’re trying to staunch the flames in the fourth one at the moment!”

“Forget it,” Jungkook shook his head immediately, “order thirty guards to the area to make sure there aren’t any actual threats around and to help out with the flames. And take anyone who’s injured to the hospital right away.”

“Of course, sir!” The man on the other line shouted instantly, but then he hesitated before he spoke again, “but sir… who could have done this?”

Jungkook was silent, and you knew you both were thinking of the same man’s name. 

“Just do as I’ve said. I want the least amount of casualties possible.”

There was an incoherent sound on the other end of the line that resembled a “yes sir” before it went dead. Jungkook’s hand instantly went to brush through his hair, the gears in his head clearly working overtime as he seemed to be deep in thought. Before you could say anything though, his phone rang again and this time your eyes widened as you got a clear view of the caller ID. It was the man that you both were thinking of not even a full minute ago. 

Park Jimin. 

This time Jungkook did wait to pick up the call, instead staring at the screen for a few seconds longer than he should have. The silence in the car stretched, nothing but the sound of his ringtone reverberating throughout the small space, as you noticed his muscles tense under his black suit and the grip on his phone tighten to a point that you were sure it would snap the thing in half. This was probably the most tense you’d ever seen him look. 

Jungkook finally grabbed the handle of the door and threw it open, stepping out of the car without so much as a sound. You watched him close the door behind him, only pausing for a moment to say something to the driver before you watched him disappear into the thick forest on your side of the road, leaving you and the driver alone in a dark and empty road. 

Wow… he really did not want you to hear that conversation. 

-

-

-

Jungkook cut through the trees of the forest, the sound of his ringtone practically mocking him as he continued to walk way deeper than he knew was necessary. He couldn’t help it. Park Jimin’s mere name angered him, and cutting through the trees of the forest was helping him direct that anger onto something unimportant. Because he wouldn’t be able to let it out on Jimin. He had to be calm, collected, and even amused in front of that bastard, nothing that could give away just how well Jimin managed to get under Jungkook’s skin. 

But he eventually came to a stop, realising that he couldn’t go traipsing through the forest forever. The phone still vibrated against his hand as he relaxed his muscles, slipping into the Jeon Jungkook that was unbothered and coolheaded. The one that wouldn’t allow Jimin to have the upper hand because of his practically ancient anger.

Jungkook brought the phone to his ear and, finally, accepted the call.

The line was quiet for a second, as if Jimin expected Jungkook to say the first greeting, but he was just as quiet, forcing Jimin to be the conversation initiator. 

“Hello Jungkook, I was just calling to confirm if you received my gift or not.”

His voice was just as melodically taunting as Jungkook remembered it from years ago, the words instantly causing him to clench his jaw. But he relaxed it once again, knowing that he needed to stay clear headed.

“All that just for me? I must say you flatter me, Jimin.”

“How can I not flatter an old friend?” And Jungkook could practically hear the smile in his voice, knowing how much the mention of old friend would make his blood boil. It did, but Jungkook pushed down the feeling of strangling him through the phone.

“But to what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden gift?” He asked, knowing full well what the attack meant. But he was interested in how Jimin would explain it, whether he would put it plainly or jump around the topic like a coward. 

The line was silent for a second, as if Jimin were choosing which angle he wanted to go by, before he finally spoke again. 

“Why don’t we speak about it over dinner?“

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise, the words catching him off guard. How could Jimin be inviting him over to his territory so easily, after years of silent animosity? Sure, Taehyung and Yoongi have been at each other’s throats the past few years, Taehyung constantly having to fight off the Mins at his border, but the border between the Parks and Jeons have been silent, much like their leaders. 

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, “you’re inviting me to the Park Territory?”

“Yes, I believe it’s time we settle a couple things, don’t you think?”

Settle a couple things was much too ambiguous of a phrase for Jungkook to decipher. Did he want to sort out the terms for a war? Or was Jimin beyond morality now and instead going straight to setting a trap? Jungkook wasn’t really sure what Jimin was capable of after the warehouse of bodies he’d witnessed a week ago. 

His doubts kept him from speaking, allowing nothing but the serene sounds of the dark forest around him to fill the silence. Jimin seemed to sense his hesitance, letting the silence stretch for only a few moments before he chuckled into the line. 

“Come on, Jungkook. What will it be?”

-

-

-

This was an opportunity.

Currently, your husband was alone, surrounded solely by trees, in an environment dark enough that you could very much get away with shooting him dead and not being blamed for it. You wouldn’t even need to shoot the driver to cover up your tracks, lessening your guilty conscience to a decent amount. It was perfect. The only issue now, was how you were going to get into the forest without arousing suspicion. 

You tapped on the divider, waiting only a couple seconds before you pulled the panel down to reveal the professionally dressed driver. 

“Excuse me? I need to use the bathroom,” you announced, trying to sound as urgent as possible while simultaneously keeping your voice naive. 

The driver, on the other hand, looked as though you’d slammed him in the stomach with a sledgehammer. 

“Ma’am…” He spoke hesitantly, “you’ll have to wait.”

“But I need to go nowww,” you whined, trying to put every bit of spoiled brat into your voice as you could. Then you turned your face towards the forest Jungkook had disappeared into, widening your eyes to give the impression that an idea had suddenly popped into your head, before turning back to face him, “I know! I’ll just go in the forest very quickly.”

Without a response, you pushed the door open and stepped out, causing the driver to scramble out of the car as well, pure panic washing over his expression at your determination. 

“Please ma’am! I can’t let you go out there in the dead of night.”

“Why?” You asked, sporting a confused, and very much dumb, look, “it’s fine! I’ll just go towards my husband. He’ll protect me.”

The mention of Jungkook seemed to visibly calm the man, though there was still a lingering hesitance in his expression, “let me walk you to him.”

You waved him off, praying that he let you go without a fuss. You didn’t want things to get more complicated than they needed to be, or it wouldn’t end well for the man before you, “he’s right at the edge, don’t worry! I saw him and everything!”

You turned around and began walking towards the thicket of trees and, to your utmost relief, you didn’t hear the sounds of the driver following. 

It took you about a minute of walking through the forest to realise that Jungkook was, in fact, not at its very edge, which left you trekking deeper into the thicket of trees, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness. You could hear the occasional sound of a bird, that strange humm that always seemed to be present in the wilderness, and the skittering of small animals against fallen branches, but there was no sound of your own expert footsteps to your satisfaction. Jungkook wouldn’t be able to hear what was coming. 

Once you’d created a considerable distance between yourself and the driver, to the point that you were certain he would no longer be able to catch sight of you, your innocent smile dropped, replaced immediately by a look of focus as you reached for the gun at your thigh. 

Your gaze wasted no time in surveying the darkened wilderness around you, flickering down only briefly to double check the magazine once again. Your surroundings were still empty of human life, no signs of Jungkook anywhere near you for the time being. Your brows couldn’t help but furrow, wondering why he’d decided to go hiking to take one phone call, even if it was from Jimin. 

You grabbed the silencer from your holster and began to screw it onto the barrel, strolling until you caught the faint sight of a dark silhouette in the distance. The sight had you crouching instantly, fingers still twisting the silencer into the barrel as you began inching closer to the figure, using the thick trunks of the trees to hide yourself from view. The closer you got, the more the silhouette began to shape into Jungkook, his black hair falling into his eyes as his gaze was directed downwards while one hand held his phone up to his ear. 

You finally hid yourself behind a tree that was directly to his right, letting go of the now fully attached silencer to instead rest your finger against the trigger guard. You were close enough that you could hear his end of the conversation now, one that seemed to have just begun.

“All that just for me? I must say you flatter me, Jimin,” he said, voice cool and collected, but you could see the fist his other hand had become. 

Something about Jimin got under Jungkook’s skin, that was clear enough to you by now. But you wondered, why? Jungkook seemed like a man that was unmoved by a challenge, enjoyed them even, according to your observations these past four days and also according to his reaction to your presence. And yet, small attacks and calls from Jimin were enough to move him? No… there was something deeper to this reaction, something personal between Jimin and Jungkook that you didn’t know about. Some sort of history perhaps?

“But to what do I owe the pleasure of this sudden gift?”

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thoughts. It didn’t matter anymore. You were about to shoot Jungkook dead, making the answers to these questions useless for you. This little mission of yours was over. 

You watched a squirrel scurry down the trunk of a tree to your left, the small animal cloaked in the shadows of the darkness. Eager to get this over with, you placed your hand on the top of the gun, slowly pulling the slide backwards. At the exact moment you heard a click sound from your gun, the squirrel crashed into a pile of leaves, muffling the racking of your slide. Still, your gaze stayed fixed on Jungkook’s expression just in case as both your hands went to hold the handle. His brows were furrowed, but his eyes were still turned downwards, giving the impression that perhaps Jimin had said something he wasn’t expecting. 

Distantly you wondered what it could have been, but physically you brought your gun up from the side of the trunk, pushing the thought out of your mind. 

You felt all thoughts flow out of your head like they always did whenever you were aiming, this time your barrel pointing straight in the direction of Jungkook’s temple. When you saw a lack of any reaction from him, you knew it was over.

Your finger finally pressed against the trigger.

Goodbye, Jungkook.

“You’re inviting me to the Park Territory?”

You froze, your finger stalling as it pushed the trigger by about a third of its pathway, the words making your eyes widen in surprise. It had to be a misunderstanding, your luck couldn’t be so good - or would it be bad in this case? - that Park Jimin was inviting Jeon Jungkook over to his territory? 

You strained your ears, desperately trying to hear Jimin’s answer to the question. You even dangerously pushed your head forward a bit, risking being detected by Jungkook, but he was much too busy staring at the ground with slightly widened eyes to notice your form, clearly just as surprised as you.

You pulled back behind the trunk when you managed to make out a yes from Jimin’s end of the line, causing you to suck in a breath. 

This changed things. 

If Jungkook were to be killed in the Park Territory it wouldn’t just cause tensions between the northern territories, it would instantly cause all out war. Killing a leader while he was visiting another territory was a huge no no, no matter what region of the country you were from. It signified at least some form of ethics in a world that was so unethical, and surprisingly you’d never met a territory that didn’t honour that rule. To the point that when leaders broke that rule, it was instant chaos. All it would take was for Jungkook to die on Park soil for both the Jeons and Kims to retaliate with full force, no room for negotiations or apologies. 

And the best part was that, if Jungkook were to go, he would have to take you. Leaders always took their wives whenever they travelled or visited other territories to assert their power. If Jungkook ended up going to the Park Territory without you, he would give off the impression that he was scared he wouldn't be able to protect you should something go wrong, making him look weak. Mr. Perfect Image would never have that, especially in the face of the one person clearly trying to take over his territory. 

Now it all depended on his answer. 

Your handgun continued to stay pinned on Jungkook’s head, finger still pressing against the trigger as you watched him stare into the ground before him. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, going over the advantages and disadvantages of his options while his lips were pressed into a firm line. Whether he survived or not tonight was all dependent on the answer he gave now.

You could feel your muscles tensing in anticipation, the natural sounds of the forest blurring into the background as you focused on the man before you. 

Jungkook’s head suddenly lifted, staring straight ahead of him as the chaos of his thoughts seemed to subside. You automatically adjusted your aim, preparing yourself before he finally spoke.

“Fine.”

Your finger instantly lifted off the trigger to let it bounce back into place, pairing with the sound of Jungkook ending the phone call. Your arm dropped to your side as the realisation washed over you. 

The decision had been made, you were going to visit the Parks. 

But one thing had become more clear to you at this very moment. You had just given up a good opportunity to end this man, one that may not show itself again, which meant you could not let it be in vain. No matter what happened there, no matter how you had to do it, Jungkook was dying in the Park Territory. There was no room for failure now, only the end of what needed to be done. 

You’d do anything to make sure of it. 

A/N: Things are about to get very physical 😏 Also comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[delimeful]

let my mind reset (6)

warnings: angst, brainwashing, torture, psychological conditioning, references to injury/gore/death, harmful surgical implants, they are really going through it now, lmk if i missed any

-

Where the hours had passed slowly before, now they seemed to slip by all too fast. Every spare moment Roman had was spent in anxious anticipation of the next session and all that came with it.

He had never seen something like the haze used on a person before. Crav’n were invulnerable to it, and he’d only ever witnessed his aunt use it briefly on one of the local fauna once, a harmless and finicky tree-dwelling species about the size of his hand.

(Roman remembered the way Marta had compelled the little creature to pace back and forth, from place to place, wearing its will away until there wasn’t any hesitation between order and action. Then, she’d sent it walking into the nearby pond.

He remembered the way its survival instinct had set in late, the way it began to thrash, and still Marta didn’t call it back. He remembered feeling relieved when his mother stepped in and put a stop to the demonstration, scooping the poor beast from its fate with disapproval etched firmly in the set of her shoulders.

He didn’t remember if the creature had lived through the withdrawal, afterwards.)

Virgil was far from a simple animal, though, and despite Roman’s half-formed nightmares, he didn’t mindlessly succumb to the influence of the drug the first time it was forced on him, nor the second or the third.

In fact, every time the other Humans entered his cell with that unsettling green canister, he seemed just as panicked as Roman, if not more, putting up as much of a fight as he could with a battered body and a wrung out mind. No matter how they tutted or scolded, the other Humans still couldn’t get the mask on him until Roux had him forcibly subdued, which was a tiny victory in itself.

That didn’t stop the drug from taking its toll each and every time.

As horrible as it sounded, the worst part was that the effects weren't painful or malicious in nature. At least that would have been easier to fight against; a logical, instinctive response to being hurt.

No, it was far more insidious than that. The haze dulled pain. First, the physical: it eased away the stiffness of sore muscles and the burning of shocked nerves, leaving only a pleasant numbness behind. Then, the mental: it stalled the production of stressful chemical compounds, replacing them with whatever was needed to trick the victim’s mind into believing they were happy, relaxed, pliable.

Roman had never seen Virgil so unwound, so carefree, and he hated how unnatural the behavior seemed on the Human. It was a miserable experience, finally seeing him without the hunted slant to his posture, and feeling sickened by the sight.

What was worse was watching it wear off.

As though a switch had been thrown in reverse, Virgil would be plagued by a creeping, unrelenting sense of panic and dread, pacing around his cell frantically until a sudden hypersensitivity to touch left him crumpled in one spot, breathing harsh and pained.

Time after time, he was shown exactly how painful withdrawal from even a few doses was, until he was left bracing for it well before the next session had even begun.

“The last guys who had me would have killed for something like this,” Virgil said, nearly panting as he laid out on his back. He had his fingers pressed against his neck, feeling his pulse. His heart was racing so hard that Roman could see the veins pulsing eerily under the skin. A heavy spike of adrenaline, unprompted by anything tangible. “Bet she has at least a few people stashed away just to drain for easy cash.”

He spoke more, like this. Out of turn, about topics that were morbid and pessimistic, as though the thoughts were tumbling free of his mind without his permission. Roman never let his negative reactions to the more grim topics go beyond his ears flickering back; it wasn’t like he had the room or right to judge. They didn’t have very many reasons to be optimistic. Besides, he’d realized early on that the more worked up Roman got, the worse Virgil got in turn.

He still didn’t know the exact details of how Dren harvesting worked, and he was fairly sure he was better off for it. The very idea of setting an entire person aside for something like that was reprehensible, and therefore entirely possible for Marta.

“She said she… she gets rid of Humans that don’t break,” he replied after a moment, the words tumbling freely from him for once. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to turn a profit from it.”

He’d been trying to match the distant, dry tone Virgil had used, but he must have missed the mark, because the Human stiffened, and drew his hand back from Roman’s grasp to press it harshly against his eyes.

Belatedly, Roman realized what he’d just implied. Virgil was one of those Humans trying not to break, was at this very moment barely clinging to his composure, and he’d just been informed he was stuck between two horrific fates worse than death. “I didn’t mean—,”

“‘S alright,” Virgil interrupted, voice rough with exhaustion. “It’s not like I didn’t know. It makes me feel a little better, honestly.”

Roman stared at him, bewildered and still slightly aghast at his own stupidity, and Virgil shifted a few fingers to peer back with one eye.

“At least some Humans didn’t fall for it, y’know? At least some of them got out in their own way,” he continued, a thin thread of hopelessness tangled up in the words. “I was starting to wonder if the rest of space was right. If we were all just destined to be monsters with the right motivation.”

Roman should have been more alarmed at the implication that Virgil felt close to succumbing, that he was nearer than he’d ever wanted to be to a Human on the brink of falling under someone else’s blatantly malignant control, but all he could feel was a painful sympathy.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, and then, more firmly— “Humans aren’t monsters.”

Virgil’s eye widened slightly, gaze intent in a way that would have made Roman bristle in the past.

“They’re just people. They can do good or bad, just like anyone else. And sure, these guys are— they’re not doing good.” A pause, and Roman forced himself to meet Virgil’s stare. “But you have. You saved Patton, and you tried to save me, and you’re— you’re not a monster. You’re a good friend.”

Virgil buried his face back in his elbow and was quiet for a long moment.

“…You’re not so bad yourself.”

—

Roman hadn’t expected Marta to show up in person, not with how much she had delegated to her brainwashed underlings thus far, but arrive she did.

“Don’t fret, ghiva’al,” she crooned to him, passing by his cell with the lightest clink of her claws dragged against the bars. “I’m here to meet your little pet, not you.”

“Don’t—,” call me that, call him that, he wanted to snarl, but his throat closed up so sharply that it sounded a little like he’d choked.

Marta made her stilted croaking laugh, sparing him a glance that might have been pitying if it had bothered to reach her cold, empty eyes. “You always did struggle with words when emotional, didn’t you? Not nearly as well spoken as your mother. What a shame to see that hasn’t changed.”

There was a sharp clacking as an aggressive shudder ran through Roman’s scales, but he still couldn’t find his voice. Not even when Marta moved on to grip the bars of Virgil’s cell, her attention shifting to the Human where he stood warily in the center of the cage.

Roman had learned more than he’d ever thought he would about Human body language over the past few weeks. He knew from the slight sway to Virgil’s every shift that the Human was drained, likely barely keeping his feet.

Still, he was upright to face Marta, his height advantage allowing him to look down at her, and that was better than being crumpled on the ground at her feet. Little victories were all they had now, and they clung to each and every one.

Roux wasn’t there, Roman realized with a jolt, and the knowledge was enough to drag his mind into overdrive, a sudden double-edged hope springing to life in his chest.

Virgil must have already realized, because the way he held himself shifted into something taut and coiled, like he was preparing to lunge forward at the first opportunity, weak or not.

“Back of the cell,” Marta commanded, voice turned brisk and blunt in a way it hadn’t been with Roman. Like she was speaking to a beast instead of a person.

Virgil didn’t move, barely deigned to acknowledge the words beyond a brief flicker of his pupils upwards.

Marta waited, letting the silence stretch for a brief moment, and then clicked her teeth together in a mild reprimand. “The hard way, then.”

Despite her apparent annoyance, the words held a sort of anticipatory delight, and Roman felt the thick tar of dread slide under his scales as he watched her slide a small, triangular remote from a pouch at her side.

When she pressed the button in the center of it, she was looking at Roman.

It was Virgil who went rigid and fell.

Despite knowing it would undercut every lie he’d tried to sell about how little he cared, despite the fact that he was playing right into her claws, Roman couldn’t help but rush to the bars separating them, a shout of horror catching in his chest.

The Human hit the ground hard but stayed chillingly frozen, with every muscle locked into hard lines. He didn’t make a sound until Marta shifted her thumb away from the button, the motion somehow allowing him to finally go limp like a puppet with strings cut.

“Virgil!” Roman managed, though the sound of it was nearly lost in the sudden loudness of the Human’s gasping breaths. He hadn’t been breathing before, Roman realized with a terrified shock.

Whatever Marta was doing, it hadn’t countered Virgil’s natural stubbornness, and he climbed back to his feet with less staggering than Roman would have expected.

His gaze caught on the tremor to Virgil’s hands, the shuddering of his pulse, and he understood. Adrenaline.

The fight or flight instinct, Virgil had called it while talking with Patton. Roman had seen him choose to fight once, at their very first meeting, but even that couldn’t compare to the speed and ferocity of the way the Human lunged now.

Marta didn’t flinch back when he made loud, skull-rattling contact with the bars, but she didn’t blink, either, keeping her eyes firmly locked on Virgil as she pressed the button once more.

Instead of letting him drop, however, she reached out and seized him by the face, claws digging in on either cheek and holding tightly.

Virgil couldn’t so much as flinch away from the pain, and Roman slammed his arm against the door of his own cell with force, furious at his own helplessness.

Marta released the trigger again, and this time, every gasping inhale Virgil took was dosed with her haze. He tried to jerk back, but it was far faster acting straight from the source, and he had barely a moment before his expression dropped to something hollow and smooth, his desperate strength wavering and then extinguishing like a flame with nothing left to burn.

“Down,” Marta commanded, releasing her grip, and Virgil stood in place for a few long heartbeats before his legs collapsed underneath him.

She waved a hand absently down at him, still scattering her haze thick in the air. “There you go. It feels so much better when you listen, doesn’t it?”

Virgil twitched, a ripple of discontent crossing his face, but didn’t respond. He was shaking relentlessly now, his entire body trembling in a way that had Roman deeply concerned.

“You’re safe with me,” Marta lied, reaching down to glide the palm of her hand over the side of Virgil’s face. “You’re only safe with me. Everyone else wants to hurt you, but I’ll make the pain go away. Always do as I say, okay?”

Virgil didn’t move away, even as her rough skin caught on the wounds her claws had left only moments ago. His breathing grew wispier, slower, until he appeared almost calm, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Let’s try this again,” Marta straightened, and when her hand left Virgil’s cheek, he strained after it for a handful of seconds. “Back of the cell.”

Virgil climbed back to his feet, and Roman closed his eyes as the Human quietly began shuffling across his stretch of cell. He felt all of six winters old again, watching his aunt lead something fuzzy and helpless back and forth, closer and closer to the water’s edge.

“Good. Now, heel.” More shuffling, wordless as a corpse.

How long did he have before Virgil took his own plunge?

—

It took longer than before for Virgil to regain coherence, afterwards.

Roman knew the moment he’d come back to himself, because the soft grip around his hand had instantly vanished, yanked away so sharply that he’d barely registered the movement before Virgil was up on his feet and backing away.

“Virgil,” he tried, and the Human shook his head, the motion harsh, his hands lifting up to grip roughly at his hair in a distressed motion Roman had only ever caught glimpses of back on the ship.

He’d continued to retreat until he hit the furthest corner of the cell, where he slid down and curled in on himself, utterly unreceptive to any of Roman’s stilted calls. Roman caught his expression crumpling into a miserable grimace before he buried his face in his knees and hid that away too.

The silence stretched.

If there were some right words to say here, Roman couldn’t find them. Even if he did, he undoubtedly wouldn’t be able to say them. The helplessness sheared against his scales like rough sand, but how could he allow himself to wallow in it when he at least still had his mind, his existence still unarguably his own?

Freshly taunted by the knowledge that he didn’t have even that much, Virgil remained still and taut and quiet in the furthest reaches of his cell for what felt like a very long time.

When he did finally stir, Roman was appalled to see the faint streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the sweat and grime.

Patton had described Human weeping as arrhythmic vocalizations, much like Ampens, but with a physical manifestation as well. Roman hadn’t known that Humans could cry silently, like a pup gone still and quiet in the face of danger, with only the barest hitching of breath to indicate distress.

The expression on Virgil now was creased into firm lines, but it didn’t seem agonized or crumbling at the edges. Rather, as he climbed to his face, he seemed to hold the same bitter resolution Roman had seen in him a few times before: during the tail end of their first meeting, and after the fight with the raiders, both times when he’d thought he was about to be left alone again.

“Roman,” he started, and then worked his jaw tersely, once, twice. Rather than continue, he held out a hand, palm-up in silent offering.

Things had changed a lot over the course of their captivity, Roman reflected as he reached out and set his own hand in the Human’s grasp with barely a shred of hesitation. It felt like second nature by now, to reach out and cling on whenever his stomach was roiling with stress.

Virgil watched him for a moment longer, and then wrapped his fingers around Roman’s hand and drew closer, slowly pulling his arm up until he had positioned Roman’s claws just above the skin of his neck.

“This,” Virgil said, each word resolute, “is the best place to sever if you want to kill a Human quickly.”

The words took a dull, ringing moment to sink in, but once they did, Roman jerked back sharply. “Virgil, what—?”

For the first time, Virgil held on, keeping his hand pinned in place with ease even as he had to grip the bars with his other hand to remain upright. Roman could see the way the Human’s pulse fluttered under the skin, a heartbeat racing visibly exactly where Virgil had indicated.

“It’s important. You need to know,” Virgil insisted, and lifted their joined hands higher, to his temple. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Gashes up here are valuable because the blood runs down and drips into their eyes, which will work pretty well as a distraction—,”

“Stop it!” Roman demanded, yanking harder as his panic increased. “I’m not going to— stop talking like that! I don’t need to know how to hurt you!”

At the start of their voyage, Roman would have done just about anything for information like this, anything to feel safe on his own ship again. So why was he learning it only now, when each word and accompanying gesture made him feel ill and rotted down to the tip of his tail?

“It’s not— Roman, it’s not about me,” Virgil said, frustration seeping into his voice. He let Roman drag his hand away from his face, but still didn’t let go. “It’s about them.”

Roman wasn’t sure he believed that. “I don’t need to kill anyone. They’re brainwashed, this is Marta’s fault! I know the truth, now.”

Virgil shook his head, ghosted the fingers of his free hand over his implant scar with a distant, sickened expression. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want guilt to be the reason— Look. If it’s them or you, I want it to be you. I want you to make sure it’s you.”

And what if it's me or you? Roman thought, but the words lodged firmly in his chest until he could barely breathe around them.

“They all made their choice,” Virgil continued once it became clear that Roman wouldn’t respond. “They’ve kept making that choice, every time. You have to want to survive, too, okay?”

Mutely, Roman nodded, trying to ignore the creeping sense of horror. He pulled Virgil’s hand back towards himself, fumbled for speech for a long moment before finding the words and hoping they didn’t feel like a betrayal when spoken aloud.

“The underbelly,” he started, and Virgil’s expression— shut down. Every hint of body language went flat like stone, and just as unyielding.

“No.” The word was final, a sentence all its own, and Roman scowled mulishly.

“But—!”

“Roman.” Virgil lifted his other arm over so that he was clasping Roman’s hand between both of his own. “You’re the only one left, right? You told me that.”

The thought was still a wound-like pang in his chest, even after all this time. “Yes,” he admitted. “But, even still—,”

“No way. I don’t want to hear it, man. There’s nobody I would be willing to use it on, anyhow.” Virgil kept his gaze locked firmly on a point past Roman’s shoulder, but his shoulders were set, his voice steadfast.

There was no point arguing. Not now, when the both of them were one wrong move from collapse.

“Okay,” Roman finally said, and forced himself not to protest when Virgil reclaimed the position of lecturer. It was a struggle not to wince away with each gory anecdote, a full guide on the quickest ways to make the Human body stop functioning or even turn on itself.

“Gut wounds are slow to kill, but they can be painful enough to debilitate. There are vulnerable organs here, below the rib cage, and damage to them is difficult to treat without surgery if the wound is severe enough…”

Still, he held himself at attention, did his best to memorize every word.

If Virgil wouldn’t accept knowledge about Roman’s own vulnerabilities as a gift of equal exchange, Roman would simply have to treasure this information with the same dedication that he applied to the rest of their small crew.

After all, knowing all the individual weak points of a Human would make it that much easier for him to protect each and every single part of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t going to die. Not here, and certainly not by Roman’s own claws. Not if Roman had anything to say about it.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD & DAMIAN WAYNE (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

—

“Reaction Time” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) and (Damian Wayne & Platonic!Reader)

| Reader is introduced to the first of her new boyfriend’s extended family.

| SFW, breaking in, Damian Logic™ -frazzled!reader

| pic sources: beg.=rebirth rhato, middle=batman & robin#12, and end=rebirth teen titans • all comics

| part of the meet the bats series

| 1k+ words

It’s the small hours of the morning still, you can tell by the heat of Jason’s body pressed along your side. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, the comforter hasn’t fallen off your body at any point, you're not too hot, and when you listen over the sound of your own breathing you don’t hear anything off.

Your soft breaths sound normal, nothing concerning there. You hold your breath so you can hear better. You want to go back to sleep but you have to get rid of the nagging ✨wrongness✨ that had you awake in the first place.

You find Jason’s breathing fine, luckily calm, and when you focus harder you can make out the tiny murmurs - Jason consistently had nightmares, whether they woke him or you up or not - and the more pronounced huffs of breath that were a product of wherever the Sandman had taken him. There was something off about it though, like it was louder.

Your nose scrunches and you finally open your eyes, sliding blurry sleep crusted orbs to watch your boyfriend you piece it together. His breaths weren’t louder; they were overlapping. Or-

You blink your eyes open wider, watching his chest rise up and down. Both sets of breaths weren’t matching. Your world stutters.

The breaths were coming from opposite directions too.

It’s as your head’s whipping around that you feel the barely there scrape across your neck and the flash of metal in the corner of your eye. Your body freezes, breaths quickening in your chest just as Jason jumps up and your eyes lock on a small shadowy figure.

“If I was you I wouldn’t move another inch,” Jason warns.

You whimper, barely registering the safety of a gun clicking off and Jason's arm raised over you.

Then you scream.

A small voice talks right over you.

“Tt, this is who you want to be your girlfriend? She has terrible response time.”

“Damian?”

Jason’s exclamation makes you gasp.

“You know him?”

Jason glances at you when you talk through your screaming, face creasing in worry, before he groans and clicks back on the safety of the gun. Putting it back underneath his pillow and then easing the blade away from your neck.

“Baby, breath, okay? I’m gonna deal with him,” he nods at the shadow who sounds like a fucking baby - what the fuck? “And you're gonna be fine. Sheath this shit Damian or so help me god,” he grounds out.

You’ve stopped screaming but your chest is heaving as you watch the kid move and put away the sword. That’s a suspicious amount of stop light colors.

“Is that Robin?”

Another scoff from Robin. There’s a superhero in your apartment, why in the world?

“Y/n baby-”

Jason’s voice is only the tiniest bit hysteric, which is utterly inappropriate because you are buzzing out of your skin right now. You scramble up when Jason tries to keep you down, squeezing as close to the other side of the bed as you can with him in the way.

“Why are you so calm? What the fuck is Batman’s sidekick doing in my apartment, Jason?”

“Leaving,” he shoos the boy harshly. “He was fucking leaving.”

Robin shrugs and you find yourself laughing lightly.

“Oh my god….”

What if you were naked? You could’ve so easily been naked right now.

“Oh my god…”

Robin waves towards you with a scowl.

“She is an insufficient choice for a partner.”

“What the- get out! I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“You are also losing your touch, Todd, you should have sensed me seconds before my weapon got that close-”

Jason grits his teeth and whips around to point at the door.

“I’m not losing shit. Now, go. The fuck. Outside.”

Robin purses his lips, domino creasing in what you can only guess is a glare, before marching out. You stare wide eyed after his back, eyes drawn specifically to the hilt of his sword.

“Jason…”

“I am so sorry. Is your neck okay?”

All you can do is nod.

He moves so he’s in front of you, blocking your view of the door and the tiny vigilante behind it. His hands hover awkwardly over your body while he speaks in hushed tones.

“That’s good at least.” He huffs, “I told them to give me space because you weren’t ready, I did. I promise.”

“Mhm,” you nod then drop your head in your hands. “Jason?”

“Yes baby?”

“I’m about to cry.”

He sucks in a breath.

“Okay, alright okay, just hold on. I-” he jumps out of the bed. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and get you some tea and send my little brother home, alright?”

“Yeah okay,” you mumble. Bless him but your boyfriend never knew what the hell to do with blatant emotions.

Or, scratch that, he knew what to do and could talk it out just fine when they were your feelings. He also just overcompensated for the teary stuff.

You take in a deep breath, rubbing at your temples.

This time when Jason reaches for you he touches. Warm hands grab your own and bring them down to his lap, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah,” you breath, blinking wet eyes at him. “I trust you.”

He blinks, “You trust me?”

His brows move up and his head tilts, and it’s all very endearing but-

“I know, okay, but not right now. Let’s shelve that for when I’m more awake and your kid brother who’s Robin isn’t in my living room.”

“Agreed,” he licks his lips. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”

“Amazing,” you lean in and the two of you share a brief kiss. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“You deserve it, get in there.”

You laugh faintly, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and grabbing a shower cap to switch out your bonnet with.

“Passion flower tea?”

You give him a thumbs up and a ‘yes please’ before disappearing behind the bathroom door. You miss the way Jason smiles at your retreating form.

The last thing you hear before you slip into the rising warm water and flowery scented bath salts is a litany of soft curses before Jason forces himself to go have that conversation with his brother.

─────

“So how’d it go?”

You lean against your closet door, new set of pajamas on.

“He’s embarrassed but he’ll live,” Jason heaves a sigh, hands running down his face. “I’m sorry again.”

You shrug, “It’s fine. Not like you planned it. Now, are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

You walk up and wrap your hands around his wrists, he gives in to your request and lets you pull his hands away. You bring them down to his sides and run your palms up his arms, rubbing out some of the tension, before cradling the sides of his face.

He cracks his neck before looking at you and you give him a little smile.

“It’s cool, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you say so,” he hums, hands coming up to rub at your forearms. He turns to press a kiss into your palm.

“I do say so. You told me your family was weird Jason.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t regular people weird and I can’t even promise he won’t do it again. Or that one of the others won’t just show up one day too.”

“Uh huh,” you shrug and move in so you can peck him on the lips. “I’ll just have to get used to your brand of weirdness then. No big deal.”

He scoffs, “‘No big deal’ she says. Just wait.”

You laugh much less tinged with panic this time.

“I will, because I want to be a part of your life.”

His eyes crinkle.

“Yeah yeah,” he murmurs before kissing you longer this time. When you pull away he’s smiling. “I love you too.”

He clams up, casts this guarded look at you, and you shake your head.

“Oh my god, Jason. I also love you. Can we go back to bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Sounds good.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

[vintagerpg]

John Blanche is an absolute legend. As an artist and art director, he essentially steered the rudder of Warhammer and, through it, British fantasy art, for decades. Among a pile of important work, my favorite is probably his illustrations for the four-volume Sorcery! gamebook series by Steve Jackson.

I’m not sure how the Hollow Press edition of Voodoo Forest (2022) got on my radar, but it did (and thank goodness, because through it I found Vermis). The first version appeared in 2015 and was the product of a decade of work. This edition includes additional plates and was resequenced. The back matter says it’s the project’s definitive form.

It’s impressive! There are 46 full-page illustrations, each accompanied by a second, smaller one, and one 2-page spread. In a lot of ways, Blanche’s style seems unchanged, which is a curious thing for an artist with a career spanning multiple decades (compare to Ian Miller, who has had a number of stylistic periods). It’s strange to see his work without any direct references to the worlds of Warhammer. There are subtle, perhaps reflexive visual references, like the way the demon woman’s claw hands resemble the canon Slaaneshi demonette, or how all the secondary illustrations depict a variety of folk carrying banners. Those banners serve as cryptic titles. Many are quotes from Macbeth. I assume many others reference other works, but I haven’t quite figured them out. The doomed atmosphere of the Scottish play sort of overrides all other associations for me (though there is very little in the visuals that would make me think of Shakespeare, though there is one man in a kilt).

Taken as a whole, the thing is unsettling, a sort of dream or nightmare landscape that clearly conforms to some organizing principal, but the logic of which remains obscure. There is not much gore or violence, but violence seems imminent in nearly all the plates. I would not want to explore this particular forest, but I am glad to have it on my shelf.

[ropebuny]

You love crime? Rape is a crime. Molestation of children is a crime. My daughter was abducted and raped. You love that huh? Sick fuck.

obviously I was going for the crimes which benefit the people who are vulnerable in society, for example a poor woman shop lifting baby products for her child, or pirating. the post also says that I love homosexuals, obviously normal people won’t look at that and go “Oh what about the homosexuals who are pedos. my kid was preyed upon by a gay pedophile, so you support that ?” my post also says I love sex changes and normal people won’t look at that and think “Oh what about genital mutilation being done on kids ? What about sex changes that are done forcefully or non-consensually ???? You support that ???” my post also says I love vaccines and I’m sure there have been certain vaccines in the past which greatly harmed or maybe even killed the ones who took it. that doesn’t mean I support those. but vaccines in general are mostly beneficial so it’s a normal thing for people to say that they love vaccines, which wouldn’t mean that they love EVERY SINGLE KIND of vaccine for example even the really really shit ones who have harmed us severely. my post also says I love autism and I’m sure there’s certain people who are autistic and are horrible human beings. me saying that I love autistic people doesn’t instantly make me support the actions of certain bad autistic people. autism can also be a fucking nightmare to deal with, it’s not all fun and games as it severely impacts how you look at the world and interact with it. me saying that I love autism doesn’t mean that I am rooting for the negative experiences autistic people deal with. my post also says I love abortions. certain abortions have resulted in the death of the mother or even both the mother and the child, or have left them with serious health complications as a result of the abortion. me saying that I love abortions doesn’t mean I am also rooting for those with a bad outcome. abortions generally are beneficial so it’s normal for people to say they love abortions, even if certain ones end horribly because as a general consensus they are a beneficial procedure. this is why certain people will also say they love crime while also not supporting every single type of crime. they definitely mean the crimes which are beneficial for vulnerable members of society like the mother shop lifting for baby supplies that I mentioned at the beginning, or perhaps a pregnant woman who is getting an abortion illegally because her country/state has banned abortions… and supporting these said people even though what they are doing is considered a crime

people will say ‘I love sex’ and normal people won’t think “but sex can also be nonconsensual… or between a child and an adult… or between an animal and a human… so they support those ? they must support rape because they said they love sex, meaning love ALL KINDS of sex” because they will obviously assume the logical and ethical side of it. and same how some people will say they love crime as a general statement and not mean every specific single type of crime. same how some people will say they love drugs as a general statement and not mean every single specific type of drug to ever exist in the history of the world etc. people will say they love christianity but that doesn’t mean that they automatically support every single heinous thing that went down since christianity was created etc. because there will always be certain outcasts in a group of things, but people will still nevertheless make general statements about liking a certain group of things even if said group has certain bad members within it (without it automatically meaning that these people, who say that they like a certain group of things, also support the shitty members found within said group !), as seen in the examples above

it’s very important to be able to read between the lines and not take everything at face value

I am truly sorry for you for what your kid went through and I wish you nothing but the best going forward in your lives. but this was such a weird ask to send to someone

[itsnotzka]

First Date Data // Duskwood one shot

One-shot // Jake's POV // Fluff(ish).

How could that first date go? And how much could Jake overthink it?

No warnings // 4,3k words.

. . .

Standing alone in front of a large red neon sign, alone, in the shadows, with my eyes locked on the parking lot, I wonder how I got myself into such a preposterous situation.

This is a false statement.

I know precisely well how I got myself into this preposterous situation.

Another false statement.

Is the situation, in fact, preposterous? How can one even assess the preposterousness of a situation? Where is the line that makes something preposterous or not? Can something like this even be done? Of course it can, everything can be done with enough time, data and willpower.

And coffee.

This is something I know almost too well from my own experience. I wish I didn't know that, it would make things much easier. That way I would be convince most of the things I did were impossible, therefore I wouldn't do them.

But every little thing I've done has brought me here. To this place. Right here where I stand. Alone. Alone for now.

Do I regret any of it?

It depends.

What a convenient answer. I can do better than that. This is the worst answer anybody can give. Of course it depends. Everything depends on everything else, there is no denying it. Nothing is simple black and white, things are rarely either 1 or 0.

Rarely, but not never. I do know all about that. So I'm asking myself again, do I regret anything?

Negative.

Because, as ridiculous as it sounds, am about to have a date with a girl. A woman. And this is what makes the situation preposterous.

It's been only a second or two since I looked at that red neon sign. I think fast, I always think fast, but now my mind is working as fast as greased lightning.

This statement is neither false or true. It's nonsensical.

But it doesn't change the fact, that the thoughts in my head are scattered. I never allow that. I simply cannot allow that. It's inefficient. How can you act productively when your mind is wandering?

You cannot. It's a simple answer. That's why you don't do it. Yet here I am.

I am standing in the shadows, just at the edge of the light from a nearby lamp. Red neon makes everything shrouded in a red glow of horror.

There is no such thing.

This is what happens when your mind wanders. Ridiculous thoughts. Inaccurate observations. No logic. True nightmare.

This is when I decide that's the end of that thread of thought.

I did a couple of things before I came here. First one: reconnaissance.

Reconnaissance is the first step of Hacking. It's also the first step of absolutely everything else. Everybody should know this. Sadly, not enough people do.

I came early. I know this restaurant. I suggested it myself. Being on familiar terrain, you are less likely to step on a mine. Knowing the area, you know what to expect. What to avoid and where to run, if necessary.

She doesn't know it. She's never been here. I have the advantage. Except, we're not enemies. It would be a little easier if we were. I know how to throw my enemy off guard. How to confuse them. I know how to beat them.

It won't work here.

We're not enemies, yet it seems we're not entirely on the same side. Things can go wrong. For me. For her. 'For me' option is much more probable.

The second thing I though about: introductions.

Should I bring her something? Should I wait inside or outside? Should I eat something before, or should I go there actually hungry?

This was the first time when I thought: Google it.

I am not a man with great experience when it comes to real dates. I don't do dates. I don't just simply go to places like this one. I am, however, a man with a great ambition.

I tried to solve this conundrum logically. I weighed the pros and cons of every single eventuality.

I ended up not Googling it. My answer: bring nothing, wait outside, don't be hungry. Did it make me feel better?

Not enough data to answer this question.

It's five past zero hour.

A thought runs through my head. Another preposterous thought runs through my head. She is not coming, she was never coming. It was all a sham.

I can simply check where she is. Should I do that? The answer to that one is simple, I shouldn't do that. I should never do that. It's unethical. It's wrong. I should never do that. Period.

I sometimes do that.

A car approaches. It's a cab. For a minute or two nothing happens. I'm on standby.

Then I see her. She gets out of the car, smiles at the driver, waves goodbye.

He's a lucky guy - I think - he's already done it all. Met her. Talked with her. Made her smile.

This man is irrelevant, he shouldn't bother me. I'm trying to erase him from my memory.

I think about her again. Her hair gleams in the yellow lamplight as she looks around. Her black dress flutters slightly in the evening breeze. Her dark jacket is too light for today's weather, but she doesn't seem to care.

I'm taking a step forward. I'm coming out of the shadows. Now the same lamp illuminates me as it illuminates her.

She turns once more and then sees me. Her eyes rest on me and for a moment the expression on her face is absolutely blank.

It's blank. What's the meaning of this?

It doesn't mean anything.

Am I not looking good? Of course I'm not looking good – she's wearing an elegant dress and I'm wearing a hoodie. I didn't sleep last night. My hair is never right.

Is she disappointed? Am not what she expected?

It doesn't mean anything!

Her rosy lips twists slowly in a tender smile, her eyes seems to sparkle with something I'm simply unable to decode.

I'm not moving. I should move, but I'm not.

She is the one who comes closer, her heels clicking steadily against the hard ground, each click like a countdown.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

C o n t a c t .

She is not saying anything, she just looks at me, that gentle smile never leaves her face.

"Hello," I say my well-rehearsed line, "It's nice to see you."

The corners of her mouth turn up even more, a quiet laugh leaves her throat. I'm not sure if I'm under or overanalyzing this.

"It is more than nice to finally see you, Jake," she says, her voice like this crispy, evening breeze, "How are you?"

How am I?

How-am-I?

There could be many answers to this very, very simple question. Suddenly it's not even a matter of 'how', but 'if am I even here'.

It's surreal and I feel out of place. It started like an innocent dream and now it's slowly turning into a nightmare. I can see the red glow of horror on her face, the neon sign is still there, it's still taunting me.

She tilts her head when I don't give her an answer for a few seconds.

"I'm good" At this point I have no idea if this statement is true or false. "I hope you are as well."

The neon sign blinks as she laughs, this sound surrounds me like a cocoon, her hair are glistening again, goosebumps disappear from her skin, her cheeks are flushed. So are mine.

"You're just as I've imagined you would be!" she says, she shakes her head, she giggles, she bites her rosy bottom lip.

She holds out her hand to me, she presses her lips together, trying not to smile. I don't mind her smiling.

I shake her hand. She squeezes it tightly. Her touch is warm, it's spine-tingling. I'm suddenly very grateful she decided a simple handshake would be enough.

This is not my first encounter with a woman. I try to remind myself.

This is my first encounter with this woman.

I'd be lying if I said I don't know much about her. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to find out even more. Too much. I'd be lying if I said that since she met me, some of her preferences have changed. I'd be lying if I said it didn't work somewhat in my favor.

She's known for a long time I could always find out more.

Ding, ding, ding! I figured it out. It was her plan all along. She wrapped me around her finger. I mindlessly fell into her well-designed trap. I like it as much as I hate it. I never fall for any kind of traps.

"Will you accompany me inside?" I ask. I rehearsed it as well.

She doesn't answer.

Correction.

She doesn't say anything, but nods eagerly. Her hair falls over her shoulders and her face like a waterfall. Golden waterfall of shining waters.

Fine.

The next thing I Googled. I admit it.

All the old-fashioned male-female customs seem to annoy everyone, especially nowadays. And yet, during a date, everyone expects you to know all of that. It's almost a paradox.

Pay for her. Don't pay for her. Open the door. Don't do it. Help her sit. Don't even go near her.

Which rules are acceptable and which should be rejected altogether? It was absolutely beyond my cognitive abilities.

The Internet is full of information, and if you put your mind to it, you can find whatever answer you want.

I was able to find the right one. I am ready to open the door. I am ready to go inside first. I am ready to hold the door open for her and let her inside. I am ready to talk to the waiter.

When we start walking, she does something unexpected. My whole elaborate plan goes to hell. She takes my hand, she rushes to the door, I am forced to follow her blindly. She opens the door and runs inside, then she lets go of my hand.

My mind froze as soon as her hand touched mine. I went unresponsive. My body moved on its own.

With her help.

Laughing, she looks around the restaurant. It's not too fancy. It's not too lousy. It is perfectly balanced, as all the things should be.

Then it hits me. I'm no gentleman. She's no lady. Not in that way, anyway. I'm simply a man with his eyes locked on a woman of his dreams.

We don't need to follow those rules. She doesn't want us to follow those rules and she's just showed me that. We are far beyond that phase. It is our first date and we're far beyond that phase.

I recover when the waiter asks her if we have a reservation. Then he looks at me questioningly. There is still a gentle smile hiding at the corners of her mouth. It never leaves her face.

I take it from here. We have a reservation. I made sure we had a reservation. I was checking as often as possible if our reservation wasn't, in fact, cancelled or changed at any point.

It goes smoothly from here. As far as I understand the meaning of the word 'smoothly', that is.

We follow the waiter. She looks at the table. It's near the window, at the far corner of the room. Secluded, but in a good way. It's the best table in the whole restaurant. I know that. She notices that. She glances at me as her brows raise a little.

Is she impressed?

Again, not enough data to answer this question.

We sit opposite each other. The table is small, our knees are almost touching. She looks at me when the waiter hands us the menus. She still looks at me when she opens hers. I look at her when I place mine on the table, still closed.

An unbroken silence falls between us. Somehow it's not uncomfortable at all.

How is that possible?

He puts the menu down for a moment. She starts taking off her jacket.

Is it warm in here? Should I rush to help her? Is it an invitation to touch her?

This wasn't planned. Why exactly haven't I planned that?

Before I can do anything, the jacket is off, she hangs it on the chair. The lacy sleeves of her dress end in the middle of her forearm. Her scalloped neckline is not too low, it's not too high.

It's enough for my imagination.

A quiet, small, uncontrolled, almost unnoticeable sigh is leaving my throat.

She notices it. Damn it, she notices it. She is perceptive. She's more perceptive than she wants me to know.

I know.

"I like your dress." I say, there is no point denying it "It looks good on you."

She's not embarrassed. She knows how she looks in it. Still, she lowers her head, she gives me a lopsided smile as she tosses her hair back.

She likes the compliment.

"Thank you. I was hoping you would."

How could I not?

Silence.

She nibbles on her bottom lip, as she looks at the menu again. I don't look at the menu. I don't have to look at the menu. I'm looking at her.

I've seen her many times before. I saw her pictures. She's sitting so close to me now and I can't help but wonder how beautiful she is. It's like I'm seeing her for the very first time.

I am seeing her for the very first time.

"What do you recommend? I assume you know this place." she says, she smiles, she glances at the menu, then back at me.

A spark. There is a spark in her eye. This is not a simple question. She doesn't want recommendation. She wants me to amuse her. I want to see how much I've planned this. She knows I planned this.

Yes, I planned every single second of this date. Yes, the decision tree for that evening is almost infinite. Almost, yet I know it all. And yes, the food is the least important part of our meeting.

"I like number four, number fifteen, sometimes eleven. For you, however, I recommend number seventeen. Number twenty-two to drink. You're going to like it."

Curious, she looks at the menu. She finds the numbers. One after another. She nods. She hums. Her whole face lit up.

"Not bad! Let's make it interesting though. I'll order it if you let me pick your meal."

A counteroffer. I expected nothing less from someone like her.

It's a game. We're playing another game and I'm not sure if I know all the rules.Then again, I've already established she doesn't want us to follow rules. So how can I play this game?

I'm resting my elbows on the table, I can't stop looking at her, but she's not bothered by it. It's like she wants me to look. This is the first time when I smile.

"I accept your offer," I answer briefly.

She giggles. She sets her menu aside. She rests her elbows on the table, she leans closer to me, her arms folded together. I notice a little mischief deep in her eyes.

She's mimicking me. It's yet another game.

I raise my head. She raises her head. I chuckle. She chuckles. She places her open hand in the middle of the table. Before I am able to touch her, the waiter comes back to us.

I order for her. She orders for me. I don't even register what he says to the waiter. It's a tunnel vision. I see her, nothing else.

We're alone again. As alone as we can be in a restaurant.

"Care for some small talk?" she asks.

"Always. Although I'm not good with topics." I admit, but she knows it well "I'd appreciate it if you'd start."

She likes the idea. This is what she wanted. She thinks for a moment or two. She puts her index finger to her chin as she looks up. Then she smirks. She puts her palms on the table and stares at me intensely.

"How long would you last in a zombie apocalypse?" her question throws me off. Her questions always throw me off.

I laugh. I laugh out loud.

She's wearing an elegant dress, I'm quite sure her make-up is thoughtfully matched to her outfit. She is a truly graceful woman and she's sitting across me, asking me about a zombie apocalypse.

Can it get more perfect than that? There's a part of me that wants to say 'yes', but I know it's not true. I don't think anyone could be more perfect than her right now. Than her in general.

It's a hypothetical question. There is no way to test this, yet I'm somehow certain of my answer.

"I'd survive. Long. To the very end, I'd say."

She nods her head slowly, she seems impressed by my answer, but I'm not sure if she believes me.

"How about you?"

"I am pretty sure I'd be dead on the day one." she giggles "I'd be good at being a zombie, though! You'd have to be careful, I would gladly eat your brain out!"

She makes me laugh again. I laugh louder. She laughs with me. I casually put my hand across the table, very near hers.

"If that really was the case, I'd definitely let you bite me." I say before thinking.

It's a purely theoretical scenario, yet I am sure this statement would be true.

She hums surprised, her eyes are wide. Her fingers touch my arm. It's a gentle lazy stroke, but I can feel them intensely through the sleeve of my hoodie. A shiver runs through my whole body to stop low on my back. She fixes her hair, she shifts a little. That small, innocent movement makes her knee touch mine.

Interesting fact:

If something touches your knee, you always feel it. You can't touch something with your knee and not realize it. This is how human body works.

It was intentional. Or maybe it wasn't intentional, but she likes the outcome. I try to follow every single game we're playing, but it's getting harder. It's getting out of control. I don't have that kind of attention span. Not while she's touching me.

Focus.

"Your turn." She says, an innocent look in her eyes, as if she didn't disturb my personal space at all.

I'm trying thinking straight. It's almost impossible while she's touching me. I am totally lost, my decision tree is long forgotten. I frown.

"I'm not sure I can top your question." I finally say.

"You don't have to. I like your questions."

Her hand moved, now she's stroking my hand with her fingertips.

"What's your strategy whilst playing hide-and-seek?"

I think fast. This question pops up in my mind. It wasn't planned. It was based on her question, it's not as good, though.

Her eyes widen even more, she bursts out laughing, her fingers tighten on my hand and now she's practically holding it. My heart's racing, my mouth's all dry.

Focus!

"Oh? I didn't know there is more than one strategy!"

I take a risk. It's not really a risk. I do realize that. After all, we are here together. She wanted to come here. She touched me first.

All in all, I take a risk. I wrap my other hand around her hand. She's trapped now. She's trapped between my hands.

Her touch is like an inductive charger. It's just a touch, but I feel it with every inch of my body. Our hands together. Our knees together. We, together.

Preposterous. Horrifying. There is no escape now. For me as well as for her.

"There's always more than one strategy for everything. You should always have more than one strategy in mind, whatever you do." I answer.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot who I am talking to!" she chuckles, her head tilted, she looks at our intertwined hands with a soft smile "Tell me about those hide-and-seek strategies, so I can tell you which one is mine."

Well. There are many, many hide-and-seek strategies. This is, after all, my favorite game of all. As long as I'm the one who's hiding.

She looks at me curiously as I spread her hand on the table.

"The basic one. You choose a place and you hide. You don't leave until someone finds you."

I touch the middle of her hand, I draw a small circle with my thumb. Then with my other hand I close her fingers on mine.

She laughs softly. She likes my way of explaining.

"And there is my strategy of choice." I continue as I spread her hand again "You keep your eye on the seeker, you move as they move. That way they can look for you forever. As long as you're careful, of course."

I gently run my fingers up and down her arm, I draw lines, I draw patters. I brush the hem of the sleeve of her dress. I'm not sure if my analogy is clear.

It doesn't matter.

There is this strange satisfaction in my chest as I see her face studying my every single move, her eyes curious as the goosebumps appear on her arm, she bites her rosy bottom lip again.

I got myself back together. I'm in control. My mind works properly again. My logical thinking ability is back. All I needed was a proper stimulation. My decision tree is useless now, I'm improvising.

"I'm afraid I'm the basic one, then." She says, disappointment mixed with amusement in her voice.

There is nothing basic about her.

"There's nothing basic about you."

She blinks as she glances at me.

Is it a good thing I speak before thinking now? Of course not, it's never good. One should never speak without carefully thinking about every single word.

Yet here I am. Again.

We are forced to take our hands off the tabletop. The waiter brings our order, we wait patiently for him to leave. I take a sip of my beer. She smells her jasmine tea. She tries her jasmine tea. She's delighted with her jasmine tea. I am delighted with her delight in her jasmine tea.

I chose it.

We eat. We try to eat. We mostly talk. I listen to her carefully. She listens to me carefully. There are some more stimulating questions. Some stories.

Our knees don't disconnect even for a moment. I laugh at her jokes. She laughs at the things I say. I have a feeling not all of them are funny enough to be the cause of her laughter, but she does that anyway.

The waiter wants us to order desserts, and we haven't even finished our dinner. We don't have time to finish our dinner. As I said before, the food is the least important part of our meeting.

Time passes quickly. We don't even notice it.

It passes too quickly.

The evening is gone in the twinkling of an eye. How is that possible?

Not egough data, although I have a theory.

When she goes to the bathroom, I take care of the bill. We are the last to leave the restaurant. The staff turns off the light behind us.

Now we're standing in this small parking lot, almost like before.

Much closer.

The neon sigh blinks. It's taunting me again. She puts her hand on my chest for a second and a half. My heart stops.

"Thank you for inviting me here. It was a very pleasant evening." she says, she looks down, I'm not sure what it means.

"It truly was." I admit.

This statement is so-damn-true.

"Should I order a cab for you?" I ask.

She raises her head, her eyes are saying something, but she remains silent. She takes a small step towards me, she doesn't take her eyes of mine. Her cheeks flushed from the crispy night air. I can't move.

"No." she answers me, her voice quiet, yet it's all I can hear "You should order a cab for us."

The meaning of those words hits me like an wrecking ball. My mind splatters all over the parking lot.

My hand moves on its own. I sink my fingers into her golden waterfall of shining waters. She hums quietly. She tilts her head as my hand go through her hair, to the back of her head.

I hesitate.

One second passes.

Two seconds.

I close the distance. I touch her lips with mine. I can taste a hint of her jasmine tea still on them. This gentle touch makes me shiver.

I want to pull her closer.

I don't have to pull her closer.

She clings to me like a second skin as I put my other hand low on her back. For three more seconds her soft lips are just stroking mine. We're both investigating. It's a reconnaissance. It's a first step. Everything about her is soft. Her hair is soft. Her skin is soft. Her lips are soft. Even her breath is soft.

How can it all be so soft?

Not enough data.

I can feel her smile as her fingers slowly pulls the string of my hoodie.

Then it explodes. I thought my mind was already splattered, but when I she kisses me deep, my mind is entirely gone. It is like it was never even here. There is no logic in this. There is no truth, no false. There is no strategy. There's absolutely nothing in my mind, except one single thought.

False statement.

This is not a single thought. It's a cluster of thoughts, images and feelings. Zombies. Hide-and-seek. Jasmine tea.

No logic.

How can her lips feel so good on mine? Her softness surrounds me. Consumes me. Her whole body curves into mine when we lose ourselves in this moment. She sighs softly when we finally break apart. Her rosy lips are almost red now. Her eyes wide like oceans.

She's not letting me go. I'm not letting her go.

"Am I correct in assuming you like coffee?" she asks. She smiles again.

"Yes. That's a very correct assumption." I manage to answer.

"I make a truly delicious mocha. Maybe you'd like to try it?"

Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

I nod.

"So get that damn cab for us." She laughs. She brushes my lips with hers again .

I pull away just enough to take my phone out of my pocket and order that damn cab for us.

We're getting into that damn cab.

There's no logic in this preposterous situation. I've never been so pleased with the lack of logic in something.

She's making me mocha in the morning the next day.

[loudblonde]

Simon "Ghost" Riley X Male!Reader Mafia AU (Chapter 10)

Summery: Tension and jealousy run high with König and Ghost wanting to impress the younger man, yet (Y/N) doesn't care for their peacock-like tendencies.

Warnings: Mentions of torture of minors

Word count: 2,1K

+18 themes, minors dni

When they retired for the night, Simon didn’t know what to make of this. Logically he knew that getting jealous over someone who wasn’t even his own was just a result of them spending time together and sharing a bed. Logically he knew that (Y/N) was so detached from morality that he could never care for Simon in any way that Simon needed it. (Y/N) wanted Ghost, not Simon. There was no way in Simon's mind for anything else to make sense. He looked to where (Y/N) were lounging on the bed, leaned back and read a book. He thought about the cabin. How it had just been them. How there was no one else. How Simon and Ghost wanted that. Both sides of him longed to be fully alone under the predatory eyes of (Y/N). Whatever the gaze held, love, care, hate or lust, he just wanted those eyes on him. 

Almost as though (Y/N) sensed eyes on him, he looked up and motioned Simon over. Simon dutifully climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), his head coming to rest on the other's chest. Simon closed his eyes and smiled slightly. He didn’t care that Price was going to punish him for this. He didn’t care that he had been ordered to not get attached, not like last time. 

“You disobeyed a direct order and got the client killed all because you fell in love.” Price said, his tone was deadly still. 

Simon’s hands were tied behind his back, and his knees hurt from having knelt for hours on cold, dirty concrete. His breath was ragged and the icy air around them only tore into his wounds and lungs with a ravenous hunger. It was as though all the elements were trying to kill him. Blonde hair was stuck on his forehead with caked and dried blood. Yet, Simon didn’t speak, he knew it would only anger the man further. 

“And not only that, but you lost a million quid worth of product.” Price knelt down and took the boys’ face into his leather-gloved hand. He looked at Simon disgusted. “If I were any smarter I would just kill you, such… weakness shouldn’t be allowed here, but you have promise. Even with this monumental screwup.” He stood back up and motioned for Soap to come over. 

The Scotsman, well boy, neither were older than 17, walked over and stood next to Simon. 

Price dropped a balaclava in front of Simon, it held the image of a crude skull on the bottom part. “You are not Simon, but Ghost. Simon is a worthless sack of shit who is too emotional to even be worthy of keeping around. But Ghost is worth it. Ghost is my new attack dog. Do you understand?” Price asked. 

Ghost nodded, not saying a word. “Good, you will train with The Hound, he is getting old and a good leader, he will have free reign to punish you for any screw-ups.” Price said before sighing softly. He gently brushed Ghost's hair away, his hand resting on his cheek. Ghost leaned into his touch, too touch deprived to be able to stop himself. “I don’t like that I have to punish you, you boys mean a lot to me, but I can’t have weakness, not as high up as you are.” Price said. “I care about you, that is why I am doing this….” He pulled away and turned to Soap before handing him a knife. 

Soap looked at the knife and at Price confused. “Sir, what do you want me to do?” 

“Make sure he keeps that mask on, no matter what.” Price said and left the basement room entirely, ignoring the screams of pain coming from Ghost as the door closed behind him. 

Simon really should have learned his lesson, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t. He wanted to be close to (Y/N), even if it was just for now. To finally be able to sleep without worrying about nightmares and night terrors was too addicting and by god was Simon addicted to the younger man. 

(Y/N) slid his hand up through Simon’s hair, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the comforting feeling of someone beside him. Simon practically melted against his side, becoming a pool of muscles to be manipulated. 

(Y/N) opened his eyes and looked down at Simon. He smiled before closing his eyes again. “Simon?” 

Simon hummed in response, not yet opening his eyes. 

“I am enjoying our time together. This is nice. I wouldn’t want to trade this for anything else.” (Y/N) said, showing a moment of weakness in the privacy of their borrowed bedroom.

Simon’s smile softened as he looked up at him. “I am enjoying this time as well. I am… happy, for once. I can’t describe it any other way.” Simon said. 

“You growing soft on me, Si?” (Y/N) teased. They both chuckled and closed their eyes. “We are safe here for as long as we need to be here. Don’t worry about being anyone but your own.” 

“Thank you… (Nickname).” Simon said before yawning. He felt at ease enough to not worry about falling asleep. His body felt heavier and heavier as sleep dragged him down into a blissful night of darkness. No nightmares nor dreams, just silence. 

—

When Simon awoke the next morning, the bed next to him was empty though still warm. He groaned a bit and placed his head further into the pillow he was cuddling instead. A chuckle came into the room from (Y/N) who ran a hand down Simon’s back. “The shower is free, I am going to go see if König is awake or if I should just start cooking us all some breakfast.” 

Simon shuddered a bit before turning to look at (Y/N). He gave a small smile and nodded. “Of course, I will be right with you.” He said and got up. By the time Simon finished his shower, put on a mask and walked down into the main room, (Y/N) and König were already eating some eggs and toast. A plate covered with another sat for Simon at the table and he gladly sat down with them. 

“Enjoyed the first night here?” König asked as he placed down a cup of tea. 

Simon nodded. “It was good.” He said courtly, he looked at König with a raised eyebrow. König simply nodded at that. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes and waved a white napkin between them. “Boys, boys, you are both pretty, no need to puff out your chests.” 

König looked away sheepishly. “My apologies, mein Schatz.” 

“Sorry, sir,” Simon said and picked up some toast. 

“I thought you said that you and Ghost were not a thing,” König said, turning his attention towards (Y/N). 

(Y/N) shrugged. “It’s mutually beneficial. I still get nightmares and so does he. We sleep well and if anything happens during the evening we can get away quickly.” 

Simon looked down at his food silently as he just picked at his eggs, he didn’t say anything.

“And I care about him. More than ever before.” (Y/N) leaned on the table, his eyes trailing down König who rightfully blushed. (Y/N) licked his lips. “Though, what are you getting at?” 

“N-nothing, sir,” König said, practically squirming in his seat. 

(Y/N) chuckled. “Well, that’s too bad.” He turned to Simon and tilted his head. “Ghost.” Simon looked up at him, his eyes trained directly at (Y/N). “Don’t feel intimidated because of a past that is further in the past than my last case.” 

Simon nodded and swallowed hard. “Yes sir. Of course sir.” (Y/N) gave him a court nod and looked towards König. 

“And you,” König looked towards (Y/N). “Don’t think that we are anything anymore, I loved you back then but we both knew that we would never be able to work out. Your priorities and mine are completely different and that is okay Arthur, I care about you, but I have duties to my father now and Ghost here is tied into that in whatever way I deem fit. Do you understand?” 

König nodded. “I understand.” 

(Y/N) gave both men a nod. “Good, now if you will excuse me, I will go draw, you two will make friends and then come model for me, we are stuck here for a while.” (Y/N) said and left.

König looked to Ghost and offered a hand. “A truce.” 

Simon shook it with his good hand. “A truce…” 

König tilted his head. “So you two are not together? Why not? I see the way (Y/N) looks at you, you are his whole world. If you gave him permission I am certain that he would do anything you asked him.” 

Simon leaned back and looked König up and down. “I know, I would want nothing more but I am not that person for him. I am a simple bodyguard and my role is to take any bullets for him that will undoubtedly come.” 

König nodded a bit. “That is… sad for you. I hope one day you both accept the care you have for each other.” König stood up and grabbed their plates. “I do believe we have been forced into being models.” 

Simon chuckled. “Well, I am not complaining one bit, even if I have to share his eyes with you.” 

König chuckled as he put the dishes in the sink to soak. “You will come to tolerate me soon, mein Freund.” 

Somehow, Simon didn’t doubt that. 

They made their way to the small corner (Y/N) had sat in and for the next few hours, they simply sat and chatted about everything as (Y/N) drew them, occasionally moving positions. 

By the time dinner rolled around and was over, Simon could honestly admit König wasn’t all that bad. He still didn’t like the man nor trust him as far as he could spit, but he had a modicum of respect for him. 

Simon sat on the bed and watched as (Y/N) walked towards the doorway and leaned against it. “So, wanna tell me what all the jealousy is about?”

Simon felt his blood run cold, and he froze up. 

“I… am sorry sir.” He said, not taking his eyes off (Y/N). 

(Y/N) walked over and tilted his head up, holding onto his chin with two fingers, simultaneously depriving Simon of any meaningful physical touch and making him crave it even more. “You are so desperate and for what?” 

Simon’s lips parted, and he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs as he stopped himself from moving from the position. 

(Y/N) chuckled a bit. “Oh how pitiful, a man such as you, depraved of any love. I barely treat you like anything but a plaything and yet you are more addicted to me than a junkie to his meth.” (Y/N) slid his hand so it covered Simon’s cheek, his thumb brushed against it softly. “We have many months without the watchful eye of my father, it doesn’t have to end in love but I think I can speak for us both and say that I desire you, Simon, carnally, beyond that, so much that even god himself couldn’t stop it, and you… you desire me the same, do you not?” 

Simon nodded, his mind both going a thousand miles per minute as the faint smell of expensive yet comforting cologne washed over him. (Y/N)’s words made his senses sharpen. There was a desire for Simon, not Ghost, Simon, was more intoxicating than any touch from (Y/N). Simon had never had anyone desire him for him, only ever Ghost. The idea that potentially (Y/N) may come to love Simon for Simon, it made him lose himself truly and utterly to the charms of the younger man. Simon would forever be his, in whatever way he wanted. Carnally, lovingly or a simple attack dog. 

Simon licked his lips and looked into the others eyes. “I am yours, truly yours. Please don’t throw me away.” 

(Y/N)’s eyes darkened at the idea. He reached up and took off a silver chain necklace around his neck and held it up in front of Simon. “May I?” 

Simon nodded wordlessly. (Y/N) moved behind him and placed the simple yet thick silver chain necklace around Simon’s neck, it was a bit tight around his neck, not choking him but forever a reminder of it being there. 

(Y/N) gently kissed Simon’s neck, causing electric sparks to be sent down Simon’s spine. His eyes fluttered close as (Y/N) sucked a bruise onto the back of his neck. “Si, when we get out of here in a week, you will be my most trusted man. When or if we ever return home to England, I will have you as my protector. Where I go, you shall go.” 

Simon, still with closed eyes, leaned back against him. “I would want nothing more.” 

tag list:

@rasberry-jupiter @one-green-frog

[steve0discusses]

Episode 47 S5: Mana Runs too Slow and it Kills 2 People

Tumblr decided to change the way it does image posts so this is going to be my hell. I can only have max 30 "blocks" of images (yikes) and uploading all your images at once and then just adding text in between is actually not possible! (least it's a nightmare on browser. I have not figured out how to drag my text in between images, so I'm just uploading every image one by one and hoping I don't forget one)

thanks, I hate it!

Peeking up at us over the horizon, our end of the world apocalypse has reached the next step of his rampage: which is to shoot glowing missiles out of it's Dragon crotch until Egypt is destroyed.

Seto is doing his best to look productive, but unfortunately this is Sad Seto, who is still buffering.

Just uh...give him a minute. He has to remember how to be Seto.

(read more under the cut)

I'm pretty sure Kissara told him straight up to call her whenever, and considering how few words they've ever said to each other, you'd think he'd remember the words she said like half an hour ago. Then again, he was kind of...sleeping when that happened. Or hallucinating, or dreaming, or all three.

Bakura and Yami are watching this pan out from the Shadow Game Zone, Bakura kind of nodding slowly while Yami becomes overwhelmed with embarrassment over how much everyone around him is screwing it. This is not meant to be funny, but it was very funny to me.

I have brought this up before, but Bakura does bring up a good point, that this entire arc was kind of against the grain of who Yami became over the course of the last 4 seasons.

+++++STAND BACK I'M GONNA RANT, FEEL FREE TO SKIP++++

Don't get me wrong, Yami LOVES to make bad choices that end the world. But why would he continue to go back here and destroy the world of the future he knows and loves so much? Especially since it already went SO south with Dartz the last time he opened pandora's box?

He has a new identity now, he has so many friends, last arc was just so many women throwing themselves at Yugi. His life is really good! I think they could have developed more of a line of logic between last arc and this arc, but like with a lot of things in this arc, it was rushed.

So him giving up his newfound modern identity that he made all himself through hard work and friendship first off feels kinda bad. Like I'm OK with him being a new guy, he worked hard for that! Lets not go backward now.

And then him coming here to regain his old identity is sort of like the show knew what it must do, but the characters were like "nah." and then went and did it anyway seemingly at gunpoint.

And I kind of wish there was any contrast between who Yami's new identity is in the future and who Yami was in the past. It would be fascinating to dive into the fact he's now two people yet again, even though Yugi is no longer in that bean. but eh save it for the fanfiction, because they needed to end Yugioh in a certain number of episodes.

And that happens sometimes. Stories are character driven, and when you try and drive the characters, they become less like people and more like iconic symbols. Here's our hero. He must do this because he's the hero. That's it, that's the reason. Welcome to Shonen Jump.

+++++++END RANT AKA THIS ARC HAS COOL IDEAS AND I WISH IT HAD ENOUGH TIME TO DO THEM BETTER++++++++

Problem is, Yami isn't that meta. He's dumb though, so in a way it does make a little sense why he had to open the box. He dummy thin.

Dummy thin and still can't read.

And like in case you've jumped in here after my accidental hiatus (hello!) and not realized this, I had to binge watch the rest of the season before we cancelled our Hulu subscription. There was the option of watching it for free on the Yugioh website, but I didn't want to change my Photoshop actions.

So get ready for me to talk about how the ending of this show bothered me, for like 8 episodes. I'll try to keep it in, so we can get there when we get there.

But you can't say lines like "We were meant to be together." in the context of this arc, you can't DO that, show.

Apparently the creator of Yugioh got hospitalized while he wrote this arc, hence the dick king demon. But also it got....messy. We have like 3 seasons of development in like 8 episodes, buckle up. They did the best that they could do with the resource's given, and we'll even get to meet my favorite character a few times before it's over (the Storyboarding God that occasionally guest stars on Yugioh, love that guy)

Back on the playing field, Yami is running out of options, when Isis informs us we can just go to McDonald's and get more McGuffins.

Out of basically no where, Mana zips onto the screen because she's ready to have at least one girl's night before the end of the world. The contrasting energy from both Mana and Isis is peak goth babysitter vs the parrot that hides behind the couch and bites your feet.

Back near Pharaoh's tomb, Yugi is still dueling over a deathpit with the child who these kids think is Ryou bakura.

This is not however, Ryou Bakura. It's sideways adjacent evil Bakura.

And it didn't really matter that this plot point ever happened because it's not like Yugi, Joey, or Tea ever catch on that this isn't Ryou anyway. But at least I, the audience can feel a little bit better about the weird twist by the dub there.

Ryou is still passed out on some stone steps. He's fine.

You might be wondering "Oh so what asinine thing is Isis going to have to do to get the items back?" and uh, you're wrong actually.

Turns out we could have just picked up the items in the desert at any time but I guess we forgot. I'll blame it on Shadi.

Joey Wheeler, who can punch out probably anything but a ghost, chooses to hide behind Tea because he knows she can punch a ghost and I believe it, too.

Back on the surface, is a scene that would have been emotional if it hadn't been 3 minutes. it was NOT enough time to give a proper send off to our girl Isis here, and they tried, but if you imagine the Yakety Sax song playing under this death here, that's about the speed at which this girl biffed it.

speaking of Yakety Sax theme, this is what was happening while Mana was crying her eyes out.,

And you may ask, was it really that goofy? and yes, yes it was.

and like I get it, animation and pacing are really, really hard. Parts of me wonder if maybe on paper this seemed OK. If maybe even as a storyboard this seemed OK. But something you learn quickly when doing any sort of narrative art, is that you need like 2x as much space as you think you do. Pause is an underrated godlike skill that takes a lifetime to master.

However, it still had good stills going on, it still had some lovely direction just...I mean they dropped Isis from top to bottom of that frame so freakin fast it was like she was a dropped banana hahaha.

They still have to carry these items physically to the Pharaoh, and so becuase Mana is a slow runner, 2 people freakin died this episode distracting Zorc. Which is also the title of this episode because I want to send home howfreakin funny that is to me.

Ah, back to Episode 1.

So how breathtaking and epic is the Kaiju fight you ask? Well good thing for you, I capped it.

The look on Seto and Yami's faces about sum it up.

And as quickly as he showed up to do a few silly punches, the great Exodia was cut exactly in half. Don't ask me how the card logic works for that, I have forgotten how this game works already.

Mana finally makes it to Yami, cursed puzzle in hand, and that ends this episode.

Can you imagine adding 7 characters to a story knowing you have to kill all of them individually before the anime arc is over? Breakneck deaths going on here.

Sorry for all you people that were so deeply attached to Shimon, the guy who isn't even Grandpa, by the way. A moment of silence for all 4 of you.

And we get back this thing. This horrible thing made out of thousands of dead people's souls. The thing that trapped him for 5000 years and launched him into the future. The only thing that can save mankind.

(If I have used this Mokuba joke like this before forgive me it was like a different lifetime before I caught covid, and I will not be able to regain those memories because I cannot curse myself with a rude ass puzzle.)

The abusive relationship with the Millennium Puzzle is a whole anime college essay I would write if I had half a brain, but alas I have the immune system and fatigue of a sickly gerbil or a goldfish that feels a little bit chilly. So I will not be writing that in depth episode but like...

Think about how far we've come with this jackass puzzle. And yet, I'm supposed to forgive it? Nah I don't think I have yet. Go to hell, puzzle.

This puzzle can go straight to hell.

Anyway, if you just got here you can read these recaps in chrono order at the link here:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

PS I had to do so much assholery to get that to go to my chrono link and not my main link. They would just. Change my link. They would just change my link every time I pasted it. Tumblr you have GOT to give me my old post editor back omg.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER TEN → LIARS AND LOSERS

summary: steve harrington x oc | on Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4.7k | masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

notes: the plot is plotting...

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Steve Harrington had a lot of regrets in his short life. He regretted how his seventh-grade Snow Ball was forever remembered by a botched buzzcut. He regretted cheating in his sophomore-year English class, forcing him to retake it. He regretted never asking his mother if she was okay.

There were a lot of things he wished he could take back or do over, but at the top of his list, at that moment, was befriending Tommy H. and Carol, letting the anger he inherited from his father possibly ruin any chance he had with Nancy Wheeler, and not chasing after the strange girl after she ran out of his house. 

It wasn’t his idea to spray paint the movie theater marquee, but he didn’t stop Tommy from doing it. He was angry and upset at Nancy, at Jonathan, at himself. Seeing the two of them together, seated close together on her bed hurt more than he thought it would. 

He didn’t know if there was a way for him to come back from that, any of it. He felt an instant wave of regret and shame, and he was humiliated. His face was busted up, his ego completely deflated, and he felt insanely guilty for several reasons. 

Everything was fucked up in Hawkins. Barbara Holland was missing, presumed to have run away like she was some trailer park dropout and not a shoo-in for valedictorian. Will Byers was dead. And Sunshine, the girl that refused to leave his head, was running away from something bad. 

He still couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for what happened in his kitchen before she bolted, and no matter how hard he thought about the whole ordeal, the more confused he became. He almost called the police after that, and he almost called them the day after when he couldn’t find her anywhere in Hawkins. Steve stopped himself though, maybe she was right, maybe they’d only make things worse; what the hell did he know? Nothing. He knew less than nothing, and it drove him crazy. 

Somehow, she ended up with Nancy and Jonathan, of all people, and that made even less sense to him. At least he knew she wasn’t dead or something. He thought the worst had happened when he couldn’t find her. The people she was running from, Steve thought maybe they found her, and that was his fault.

After his embarrassing loss against Jonathan Byers in the alley, he wanted to talk to her, but the cops showed up and Tommy dragged him away before he got the chance to. 

Sunshine didn’t run away when the cops arrived as he, Tommy, and Carol had. She stayed behind with Nancy and Jonathan, meaning she was probably hauled into the police station. That was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. 

“You owe me $1.20,” Tommy said, tossing Steve a can of pop and a bottle of painkillers. 

Between Nancy, Sunshine, and whatever was happening in town, he’d forgotten that his face was pummeled to hell. That was until he pressed the cold can against his split-open cheek and let out a short hiss of pain before the cold numbed his skin. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll need more than aspirin when we’re done with him,” Tommy tried to reassure Steve, but he wasn’t exactly hellbent on revenge. He wanted the pain in his head to stop so he could try to fix the mess he made for himself. 

Maybe if he’d taken the strange girl more seriously, he could have actually helped her and her sister, and they’d be long gone from Hawkins. Maybe if he did that, he could've paid more attention to Nancy and the fact that her best friend was missing, with the last place anyone had seen her alive being his house. Maybe then he wouldn’t have looked like such an asshole and maybe Nancy wouldn’t have run into the arms of Jonathan Byers. 

Steve had no idea that whatever was taking place in his hometown was well beyond anything one teenage boy could fix. As far as he was concerned, if he hadn’t been so selfish, he could've solved all of the world’s problems. 

“Yeah, if that creep ever gets out. The cops should just lock him up forever,” Carol said. “I mean did you see the look on his face?” She balled up her fists and pretended to throw weak punches at Tommy’s chest. 

Tommy chuckled. “He probably had the same look on his face whenever he killed his brother.” 

Pain flared up across Steve’s face as his anger boiled. 

“Oh, God,” Carol scrunched up her face. “I just got an image of him making that face when he and Nancy are screwing.”

Steve’s last straw broke, and he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand them, not at that moment. Between the guilt that swarmed his brain and the pain that coursed through his body, he couldn’t sit and listen to another word from the two of them. 

“Carol, for one in your life, shut your damn mouth!” he snapped. 

She blinked in surprise at his sudden outburst, like it hadn’t been simmering under his skin for a while. 

Tommy and Carol were Steve’s friends and they had been since middle school. Most of the time, he felt like they were the only people who understood him. Everyone else at school tried too hard to be someone else as they’d actually outrun the curse of their parents and get the hell out of Hawkins for good. Tommy and Carol didn’t; they knew better and knew right where they’d end up. They weren’t okay with it, not exactly, but they accepted it. They didn’t want to waste their teenage years fighting their way through school for a slim chance they’d receive a one-way scholarship golden ticket. 

Instead, they drank cheap beers and went to parties. Steve liked it. He liked being young and having money to make stupid decisions with, but he was different than Tommy and Carol. He didn’t need the scholarship to get into school; his parents had the money to send him wherever he wanted. If he wanted to leave Hawkins, he could. But, in the reality of it, Steve enjoyed pretending he was just like Tommy and Carol. He liked their mentality to an extent; he liked not worrying about the future. 

However, in his junior year of high school, he saw the future loom closer, and the possibility of what that meant or could mean made him nauseous. He couldn’t live like that forever, which was why it felt right to him to form a crush on Nancy Wheeler. Not only was the beautiful and smart, but she saw the future and wasn’t scared of it. 

As a sophomore, she already has a sticky note of colleges on the desk in her bedroom. She had their pamphlets and essays drafted. It gave Steve a little more hope. 

He wasn’t going to throw that all away because of some mistake he made with the help of his friends. 

“Hey, what’s your problem, man?” Tommy said. 

Jumping off the trunk of his car, Steve huffed in annoyance. “You’re both assholes! That’s my problem.”

“Are you serious right now?” Tommy rolled his eyes, and more anger flooded Steve’s veins. 

“Yeah, I’m serious! You shouldn’t have done that.” And he shouldn’t have let them. It was stupid and humiliating and now the cops were involved. Hell, he didn’t even mean half the things he said. The Byers family had a reputation, sure, but the words he spat at Jonathan were just hollow echoes of what his father had said about the Byers family. They weren’t even Steve’s insults which made it even more pathetic, he thought. 

Tommy stepped toward Steve, challengingly. “Done what?” 

“You know what.”

A dry laugh sounded from his friend. “Oh, you mean to call her out for what she really is?” 

Steve’s face felt hot, and his fists clenched at his sides as Tommy continued, “That’s funny because I don’t remember you asking me to stop.” 

Stepping closer, the two boys were face to face and it seemed like Steve had found himself, once again, ready to get into a fight. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut and dried blood was crusted around his wounds, making him look not nearly as intimidating as he wished. He knew that any fight he tried to start with Tommy at that moment, in his state, would only lead to more embarrassment. 

“Neither of you ever cared about her,” he said, looking between the two of them. “You never even liked her because she’s not miserable like you two. She cares about other people!” 

It was Carol’s turn to roll her eyes. She threw her arms up and yelled, “A slut with a heart of gold!” 

“I told you to watch your mouth!” 

Tommy grabbed Steve by the collar of his jacket and shoved him hard against the side of Steve’s car. “Hey! I don’t know what’s gotten into you man, but you don’t talk to her that way.” 

“Get out of my face.” He struggled under his friend’s hold. Tommy didn’t budge and Steve was pretty sure Jonathan had bruised one of his ribs. 

“Or what?” Tommy shoved Steve again, causing him to wince in pain. “Huh? Are you gonna fight me now, too? Because you couldn’t take Jonathan Byers, so I wouldn’t recommend that.” 

With another, half-hearted shove, Steve managed to shake Tommy. He shot the two of them one last look but said nothing else as he fished his keys from his pocket and climbed into his car. 

Tommy continued to yell at Steve, in some attempt to rile him up, but all of his words were drowned out by the rush of blood in Steve’s ears. 

He swallowed down the swarm of emotions that threatened to consume him and threw his car into drive. His tires spun as he pulled out of the lot and took off down the lonely roads of Hawkins in hopes of clearing his head. There were a series of apologies on his tongue and a night laid out in front of him that he hoped would make things right.

→←

Sunshine felt she was going to be sick, seated in the uncomfortable chairs inside the Hawkins police station beside a pair of teens she hardly knew. 

Her hands shook tucked into the sleeves of her borrowed sweater. She had run over an escape plan at least a hundred times in her head, but it seemed like everyone inside the station couldn’t have cared less about her.  

Or, it had seemed that way until two adults rushed right for them. 

“Jonathan?” A rather disheveled woman approached them first, with her eyes focused on Jonathan. “Jesus, what happened?”  

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, staring at the desk in front of him and not meeting her eyes. 

“Why is he wearing handcuffs?” she asked the two officers who had taken all three kids into the station. Powell and Callahan were their names, which Nancy had told her quietly when they first entered the station. 

Callahan, who nursed his nose with an ice pack, sighed before he said, “Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why.” 

Sinking in her seat while the adults conversed, Sunshine wished she could disappear from their sight. There were too many people, too many adults in authority. She expected one of them to haul her up by her arms and drag her away kicking and screaming at any moment. 

The woman, who Sunshine gathered was Jonathan’s mother by the way she fussed over him, and Callahan referred to him as ‘her boy’, was short in stature and wore dark circles under her eyes similar to her son. 

“Take them off,” she demanded. 

“I’m afraid I cannot do that,” Powell said. 

Behind Jonathan’s mother was a taller man in a similar-looking uniform to the other officers. His face was set in a stern annoyance, with wrinkles across his forehead from how he pinched his eyebrows together. 

“You hear her, take ‘em off,” the man said. 

Sunshine should have run after the fight. She felt backed into a corner and treading in dangerous territory. 

“Chief,” Powell stated, “I get everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.” He nodded his head in the direction of the front door and the chief followed him outside. 

Sighing quietly, Sunshine rubbed her thumb over the fabric of the sweater that covered her tattoo. She watched from the corner of her eye as Jonathan’s mother held his face in her hands and examined the scraps and bruises that littered his skin. 

The sight caused a sense of longing within Sunshine; she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was out there somewhere and if the woman was still looking for her after all this time. Sunshine didn’t even know how long it had been since she had been with her real family. 

They only existed in fractured and blurred images in the very back of her mind. She remembered someone holding her hand and leading her across a road, the color blue, and flowers. 

The Lab had done a good job of erasing whoever she was before. They made sure she was almost completely scrubbed clean of the normal life she led before, but they couldn’t erase everything.  

The two men returned after a couple of minutes and dropped a heavy box on the desk in front of the three teenagers. It was their box of monster hunting supplies, and it was followed by a narrowed gaze from the man everyone called, Chief. The look filled Sunshine with even more nerves, which she didn’t think was possible at that point. Her hands balled into fists that were held in her lap in an attempt to stop them from shaking.  

“What’s this?” Jonathan’s mother asked, gesturing to the box. 

“Why don’t you ask your son? We found it in his car,” the Chief replied. 

Jonathan shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. “Why are you going through my car?” 

The chief looked pointedly at Jonathan and said, “Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” The boy stayed silent. Frustration bloomed across the chief’s face. “I want all three of you in my office.” 

Sunshine’s eyes widened before they met Nancy’s. 

“You won’t believe us,” Jonathan said. 

“Why don’t you give me a try?”

The group, which consisted of the three teens, the chief, and Jonathan’s mother, piled into an office not big enough for all of them. It smelled like smoke and bitter coffee. 

Nancy stayed close to Sunshine’s side, sitting right beside her on the small couch up against the far wall of the office. On the other side of Sunshine sat Jonathan’s mother. 

The mother’s leg bounced, and her hands shook with a persistent unease. 

Nancy and Jonathan launched into a full explanation of what they encountered in the woods the night before. From the deer to the hole in the tree, to see the monster face to face. 

Nancy skipped over any mention of Sunshine’s abilities, which she was grateful for. 

Even without the light that Sunshine was able to create in her palms and the bad men she told them were after her, their story still sounded insane. She was sure everyone in the room knew that. 

Sunshine had lived most of her life in the insane and the impossible for as long as she remembered, but everyone else inside the office had not, from what she had gathered. The normalcy of the sleepy town was slipping out of their grasp faster than they knew how to handle, and they were only scratching the surface of how sinister their hometown was. 

There was a long stretch of silence as the chief and Jonathan’s mother soaked everything in. 

Finally, the chief asked, holding the photographs Jonathan had of the monster, “You said blood draws this thing?” 

Nancy shrugged. “We don’t know for sure; it’s just one theory.” 

Leaning back in his seat, the chief’s gaze fell onto Sunshine for a moment, and she felt panic coil tighter inside her chest, but he didn’t say anything to her, yet. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh and ran his hands down the length of his face. 

“And you guys…what? You were going to test this theory out on your own?” 

That time, Jonathan shrugged and said, “We just wanted some answers. We didn’t know how else to get them.” 

Their plan wasn’t well fleshed out, and the two adults in the room picked up on that right away. 

His mother stood up from the couch and pulled a cigarette from the pocket of her shirt. “I need to talk with you, outside,” she told Jonathan. He didn’t argue and slipped out into the hall with her right behind him. 

It was just the chief, Nancy, and Sunshine left inside the room. The tension seemed to rise along with Sunshine’s heart rate. 

“Is he in trouble because of the fight?” Nancy rushed out. “I-” 

She was cut off by a wave of the chief’s hand. “We’ve got bigger problems than that right now.” Nancy sank back against the couch as the chief’s attention fell back onto Sunshine. 

She tried to keep her gaze fixed on her hands in her lap and avoid his scrutinizing gaze. 

He knew she didn’t belong there; Sunshine was sure of it. He was going to send her back to the Lab, she could feel it. 

“What’s your name, kid? How’d you get wrapped up in this?” 

Sunshine's eyes snapped onto Nancy, pleading for some kind of help. 

“Sunshine. Her name is Sunshine. And she, uh, well, she’s new…?” Unfortunately, Nancy wasn’t a great liar and she stumbled over an unconvincing answer. 

The chief raised his brows. “You do know that I’m a cop, right? I know you’re lying.” 

Nancy rolled her lips into her mouth and apologetically glanced at Sunshine. Whispering, she said, “Maybe he can help.” 

Sunshine knew better than to believe that. In her mind, there was no difference between the men inside the Lab and the men outside of yet. No one had proven her wrong, yet. 

There were less than a handful of people she trusted, and most of them were dead by that point. She had started to trust Steve, despite the events that had transpired between them, and she started to trust both Nancy and Jonathan, even if she had just met them. She trusted them because they were all kids, like her. She’d never been hurt, lied to, or betrayed by a child; they had always been a safe place, as opposed to adults who were nothing but cold stares and cold hands. 

“No,” Sunshine said, her voice sharp.

The chief folded his hands on top of the desk and visibly tried to soften his approach. 

“Look, kid, whatever kind of trouble you’re in, we can help. But you’ve gotta help us out first, okay?” Sunshine stayed silent, causing him to sigh. “Is there something, anything, that you’re not telling us about this…this thing?” 

“No.” That was the truth. She had no idea what the monster was or where it came from, but she did have a hunch that the Lab was behind it, somehow. But she couldn’t tell him that without opening up a whole new can of worms. 

The chief’s eyes drifted onto where she dug her fingernails onto her exposed tattoo. She noticed the shift in his gaze and quickly rolled down the sleeve of her borrowed sweater, hiding her inked wrist.

“Okay, what about this,” he began. “Do you know anything about another kid I’ve been chasing all week, thinking it was Will Byers? A little girl with a shaved head who’s robbing convenience stores and shattering doors. Sound familiar?” 

Sunshine felt her stomach plummet at his words. Her expression gave her away instantly, and the chief opened his mouth to ask more questions, but he was interrupted by the sound of yelling from the front of the building. 

He groaned and looked pointedly between the two girls. “Stay here. We’re not done.” Then he left. 

Eleven was still in Hawkins and people were starting to figure that out; Sunshine needed to find her. 

Tugging on her hand, Nancy pulled her to her feet and right out of the chief’s office, despite what he had just told them. Together they crept down the hall and stopped just before they could be spotted by the officers at their desks. 

Jonathan and his mother had finished their conversation and joined the girls. All of them watched the chief confront a yelling woman and her frowning child. 

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked the two officers that had taken Sunshine, Nancy, and Jonathan into the station.

The yelling woman gripped her child’s arm, the one that wasn’t resting in a sling, and seethed. “These men are humiliating my son!” 

Officer Callahan shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s not true.” 

“There was some kind of fight, Chief-” 

“A psychotic child broke his arm!” 

“A little girl, Chief. A little one.” The lady shot daggers at Callahan as he spoke.

“That tone! Do you hear that tone?” she scoffed. 

Sunshine glanced at the clock on the wall and held her breath. With each second that passed, she grew more and more anxious. Her eyes darted between the small group gathered around the young boy and the entrance of the station. 

As much as she did want to help Nancy and Jonathan, she needed to help Eleven. Her sister was still there, but the more people who knew of her, the shorter their window was to escape before they hauled both of them back into that awful place. 

“I’m just trying to state a fact!” Callahan defended, throwing his hands up in defense. 

The chief rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled before looking between Callahan and Powell. “Will you please take a statement?” They nodded and he moved to return to his office.  

“What’d this girl look like?” Callahan asked, opening a little notepad he pulled from his pocket. 

The young boy didn’t meet the officer’s eyes and stared at his shoes instead. “She had no hair and was bleeding from her nose, like a freak.” 

Sunshine felt herself sink further down into the rabbit hole was that Hawkins. Too many people knew about her, too many. They weren’t running out of time; they were out of it already. She needed to find her and get the hell out of there before they never escaped.  

Any plan that involved helping those strangers slipped from her mind. Maybe it was selfish to abandon her promise, but she had only agreed to help because she thought maybe Eleven had been taken by the same creature. There was more at stake for the two of them. There were people out there who knew about them, and what they could do, and Sunshine could feel the Lab’s looming presence hanging over her. They were closing in; they had to be. Sunshine made a promise to Eleven long before she made one to the residents of Hawkins. 

“What’d you just say?” the chief asked, returning to the child and his mother’s conversation. 

“I said she’s a freak.” 

“No, her hair. What’d you say about her hair?” 

The kid glanced at his mother, who silently urged him to speak. He sighed and his cheeks flushed pink. “Her head was shaved. She doesn’t even look like a girl. A-And…and she can do things.” 

Sunshine's hands shook, despite one of them still being held by Nancy. She felt the brunette’s gaze burn into the side of her face, but Sunshine couldn’t pull her eyes away from the kid with a broken arm.  

“What kind of things?” the chief asked. 

“Like make you fly. And…” he paused. “And piss yourself.”

Callahan sorted, “What?” 

Stepping closer to the kid, the chief asked, “Was she alone?” 

“No, she was hanging out with those losers.”

“Losers? What losers? I need names, kid. Now.”  

With another sigh, the kid listed off a set of four names. “Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, and Mike Wheeler.”  

Beside Sunshine, Nancy’s eyes widened before she muttered, “Oh, shit.” 

She hardly heard Nancy over the heating of her own heart. Sucking in a shallow, uneven breath, Sunshine allowed her own panic to cloud her rational thinking. The only thing on her mind was finding her sister. So, she did the one thing she hadn’t stopped doing since she escaped the Lab that week; Sunshine ran. 

Bee-lining for the front entrance, she shot out into the parking lot and bit down on her tongue, hard, to stop herself from crying. Her sore legs burned, and her eyes stung; she wanted to scream. Everything inside and out of her ached. 

The bottoms of her feet her still nastily cut up, not allowing her to move as fast as she needed to. Before she was even halfway across the parking, a hand clamped down around her wrist and pulled her to a harsh stop. 

A startled gasp fell from her lips as she spun around to meet the police chief and the rest of the group close behind him. 

Sunshine struggled to pull her wrist from his grasp, yelling, “Let me go! Don’t touch me!” Her voice was laced with an unnerving amount of fear; so much so that it caused him to drop his hold. She stumbled backward and held her arms close to her chest which heaved with each breath she took. 

“I need you to calm down,” he said, but her whole body trembled. Sunshine's mind raced too fast for her to keep up with. Once again, she felt held underwater with no hope of reaching the surface.  

“That girl the kid was talking about, you know her, yes?” 

She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting past him and onto Nancy and Jonathan. “I have to find her. B-Before they do.” 

“They? Who’s they?” the chief asked.

Nancy stepped closer to the two, eyes full of sympathy and worry. “The bad men, right?” 

“S-She’s in trouble,” Sunshine croaked out, on the verge of crying. “We’re in trouble.” 

“All of those kids are in trouble until we find them. But we can’t do that without you, understand?” Sunshine frowned. “We’re on the same side here, kid. We’re fighting the same people.” 

He sounded unsure of his own words, and she knew why. He had no idea who exactly they were dealing with. None of them had a clue, aside from her and Eleven. They had spent nearly their entire lives entangled with the Lab and the bad men inside. They knew the lengths they’d go to in order to cover up their series of mistakes.  

Jonathan’s mother offered Sunshine a careful smile, but her eyes remained wary. “We aren’t going to hurt you, sweetie. He’s right, we just want to help and find my son.”

Looking between the two adults with eyes full of skepticism, she frowned.  

Sunshine didn’t believe them, but she did need to find her sister in a town that she was a stranger to, with all of the odds stacked against them. If they could just lead her to Eleven, she wouldn’t have to follow through with whatever the rest of their plan was; she could grab her sister and leave. 

She didn’t like the idea of going with them, but she knew her odds were better. 

With slumped shoulders, Sunshine mulled over it as she ran her hands down the length of her face, smearing the makeup Nancy had used to cover up the new and healing bruises that adorned her face.  

They knew Hawkins; they knew how to find the group of kids Eleven was with. That gave them an advantage over Sunshine. 

“Okay,” she sighed after a while. 

The group visibly relaxed at her agreement. 

“All right,” the chief said before he turned to Nancy. “Now, where is your brother?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably at home?” 

“Then let's go.” 

Tagged list (let me know if you would like to be added!)

@sattlersquarry @suniloli @lovefrom-theother-side

[bloomeng]

Mondstadt characters headcanons: when they go to bed (and when they get up):

Jean: if she had it her way she’d be in bed by 9/ still she’s fairly diligent about being asleep before midnight (she gets up super early in order to have 20 mins to herself)

Lisa: goes to bed at 10 no matter what— she values her beauty sleep— she learned from her experience as a student that staying up super late was actually less productive; she will lay in bed reading for at least an hr tho (ideally she gets up around 9-10, don’t talk to her before coffee)

Klee: Jean set her bedtime, 8:30, and she does everything in her power to fight it/ she is always asleep by 9/ can’t sleep without dodoco (she’s awake as soon as the sun is)

Albedo: the most fucked sleep schedule you’ve ever seen, his logic being “well technically i’m not human so i don’t need sleep” which isn’t really true/ will literally go days without sleeping and then just pass out/ turns out yes he does need sleep just less of it but even then he’s still not getting enough (wakes up whenever something finally disturbs his nap)

Sucrose: goes to bed late-ish/ tries to be good about going to bed but often gets wrapped up in her work/ generally gets tired around midnight and is asleep by 1/ gets cold easily so she sleeps with multiple blankets/ i get the feeling she’d love asmr but alas… instead i think she would leave the window open to hear the sounds of the city, which is ironic bc she gets cold (gets up at a reasonable time but not exactly happy to be up either)

Kaeya: runner up for worst sleep schedule in Mondstadt/ often falls asleep working and will wake up hrs later with a sore neck/ at home he sleeps on his couch more often then his bed/ has accidentally been found asleep at his desk the next morning more than once/ it’s not healthy but he’s learned to function on only a couple hrs of sleep each day (if left undisturbed he typically wakes up around noon)

Diluc: ideally he’s in bed by 9/ the only thing that keeps him from his bedtime is his vigilante work which he tries to wrap up before midnight so that he can be asleep by 1/ not immune to the “falling asleep at his desk” disease/ usually Adelinde finds him and makes him go to bed/ requires his eight hours/ gets hot easily but likes the weight of the blanket so he will sleep with his feet sticking out/ sleeps in the middle of the bed (usually the sun wakes him up/ has a hard time sleeping in)

Rosaria: often stays up late, though she doesn’t fight sleep/ usually manages to sleep around 1-2 in the morning/ is a light sleeper and tends not to sleep very well (gets up late/ it’s pretty much expected at this point that she isn’t going to make it to any early service)

Barbara: has a bedtime that she strictly adheres to/ also has a whole nighttime routine/ is asleep by 9:30 (gets up extremely early to work on her own personal projects, like song writing etc.)

Mona: horrible sleep schedule/known to go bed at 4am/ often takes naps in the evening which ruins her schedule/ gets invested in projects and will work on them through the night/ has a lengthy nightly routine that she will do in the wee hrs of the morning (wakes up in the afternoon/ do not make morning plans with her she will be there but she will be a nightmare to be around)

Fischl: would go to bed later but she still lives with her parents/ they force her to be in bed by 11/ reads in bed until midnight and is fully asleep by 1 (generally awake by 9)

Eula: goes to bed ridiculously early so that she can get up ridiculously early/ has a nighttime routine and cannot sleep with any light/ wears one of those sleeping masks (typically uses the morning to exercise)

Amber: goes to bed around 9-10 usually/ super sound sleeper, very hard to wake her up/ has a tendency to move around a lot in her sleep (is a morning person)

Bennett: everything I said about Amber but also he drools/ often falls off his bed (his dads have learned to be up before him so that he won’t attempt to cook breakfast by himself)

Razor: goes to bed when the sunsets wakes up with the sunrise/ very diligent about this schedule/ light sleeper/ tends to prefer harder mattresses/ gets hot easily so he usually discards his blanket (wouldn’t say he is particularly a morning person not that he’s grumpy it’s more that he literally can’t sleep with the sun out)

Noelle: goes to bed early bc she has to be up early (has to be at work but also bc she trains beforehand)

Diona: doesn’t have a bedtime, or at least not one that is enforced/ she usually is asleep by 11/ tends to be a light sleeper (gets up around 8-9 but is not a morning person/ very grumpy for the first hr of being awake)

Venti: does he need sleep??/ sleeps for fun whenever he wants to/ naps often so he has no schedule/ nobody knows where he goes after the taverns close (a morning person/ loves watching the sunrise/ ppl hate being around him in the morning bc he’s far too energetic)

Mika: strict schedule/ whole day is thrown off if his sleep schedule is not maintained/ has a hard time getting to sleep bc his mind loves to supply him with awkward memories (wakes up early/ does not like sleeping in)

+ Dainsleif: he wishes he had a bedtime/ he used to but that fell apart when khaenri'ah fell/ was always a light sleeper but his sleep is worse now bc of the curse/ sleeps in small spurts/ not-so-secretly misses his fancy fluffy white bed (not exactly a morning person but enjoys being up early and the peacefulness of the morning)

[omegapheromone]

I think the worst part of the heat is over finally considering I was able to actually go to the store to get some food... still felt super anxious around other people and felt like I was sweating and overheating the whole time still, but at least my condition wasn't that bad. It's still definitely there, the heat itself isn't over- but it's calmed down a lot from the initial onslaught so I can actually function fairly normally now.

I also took a shower right before I went to wash off any potential scent still clinging to me after hiding in my nest for so long so I imagine I probably wasn't too much of a nuisance in terms of an overwhelming scent either. I felt very irrationally worried about it though- logically I know that people can't actually perceive any pheromones from me (because, 'real world' vs misce identity brain) but I was constantly thinking "what if" regardless.

(More rambles/complaining under the cut, all sfw, just putting the read more here for the sake of post length)

...I felt like people were staring at me, so that made it worse- even though that is almost certainly just because I have a fairly distinctive "look". Still, I imagine that if those people actually COULD sense my pheromones/omega scent for real, I'd have caused some kind of a scene bc I felt like my anxiety must've been like. So obvious. I couldn't even look up from the floor at all aside from when looking at which products to buy. Note to self to NEVER grocery shop while still in heat ever again, because it will be a nightmare. Too bad I actually genuinely needed to get some food because, you know, I'm trying to keep my flesh vessel fueled with enough nutrition.

Idk. It's such a weird thing to get so anxious about. I felt a bit crazy, like... logically, nobody is going to be able to tell that I'm in heat because, you know, non-misce people don't generally even consider that a possibility for humans. And even if people could sense my anxiety- which is entirely possible if not likely from just my body language alone- it's not like they'd know why being at the store would be so stressful for me. I wasn't ACTUALLY in danger. Even so, I constantly felt like "everyone can tell, I must be such a nuisance to everyone, I wish I had a scent blocker or heat suppressant at hand, I feel so bad and guilty for being in public like this because it must be really annoying for everyone else". That type of thing. I guess it didn't really help that I definitely noticed some people glancing at me a bunch, even though it's almost certainly just because I have a pretty distinctive and noticeable look (unnatural hair colour, etc). A kid was pointing me out to their parent in a foreign language I happen to understand a bit, and another very young kid was very openly staring at me for a good while. Kids tend to do that to me all the time, because I look interesting to kids especially, but today it just felt. Bad. And of course, when kids point me out, the parents look too. There was also this (potentially fellow queer) person who definitely did glance at me a good few times, most likely because they just wanted to do that "shared glance of acknowledgement" people tend to do when they notice another obviously Not Very CisHet Person in the wild, but god did it make me feel more anxious to know that they were continuously glancing at me in hopes of our eyes meeting in order to do that "nodding in acknowledgement except with your eyes only" thing gays do. I kept noticing it from my peripheral vision and the sentiment was very nice and everything but I was genuinely on the verge of a panic attack in the store so like, it just. Made me feel worse. Which in turn makes me feel guilty bc I must've seemed like I was avoiding them or something.

I guess I'm just like... frustrated? Because there's no "actual logic" behind any of it, aside from trauma and heat causing my emotions, esp anxiety, go kind of haywire. Also it feels silly to be genuinely paranoid of "oh god everyone can smell my heat can't they, I feel so awful for causing an inconvenience, I'm scared someone will try to hurt me" when. Absolutely nobody can tell.

Hnnng anyway... I still have to decide if I go out tomorrow since I have a therapy appointment. I really should, I haven't seen her in person in a while, but gosh, if my heat is still ongoing I'm going to feel so terrified all day again. But I do need to run other errands too... idk I'm just very. Don't know what to do.

[balladetto]

major arcana headcanons / accepting / @nihlkahn

the fool: what are link's thoughts on new beginnings? does it frighten him or excite him?

he tends to take new beginnings as something old ending. when applied to himself, as someone who has a part of him that wishes to leave the past behind more than he'll ever actually be able to, the idea of them certainly gives him hope! or at least something like encouragement? "even people like me can move on."

faced with an actual one, i'd say his feelings would depend on the circumstances — with where he's at now, he's at once eager to create something new for himself and very afraid to let go of what he might already have. he's lost a lot! even if it might be better to let go of in the long run, he can't so easily put anything familiar down for good. it kind of all relates back to his issues with identity, vulnerability, intimacy, and the act of essentially Unshelling himself.

in the more general sense, i think he'd be wary of them because he's already tried making a whole new beginning for an entire timeline. it certainly worked, but not without a cascade of consequences...yet i can't even call it a lesson learnt right now because he'd still go back and try to make a fresh new beginning if he secured the opportunity to.

the magician: how does link feel about fate? does he believe he can change his own destiny?

he has a mixed bag of takes on this. one: he sees fate and/or destiny as something he can definitely change for others by way of being the chosen one — just not for himself.

two: he thinks of himself as so entangled in destiny that anything that happens to him is as much a product of something predetermined and his own fault ( as the "fated" one, the one with the means to alter it in the first place. he doesn't quite see the ill logic or unintentional arrogance in this ).

three: there's a sort of security in feeling that everything happens for a reason and no matter how hard you try, fate will lead you to a set outcome anyway. it's a damaging safety, for sure, but link doesn't want to acknowledge so when the damage brought by the opposite — that things didn't have to end up like this, that there was even the sliver of a chance for something different, something better — would hurt so much worse. like. he can be brave about so many things! letting it get worse in order for it to get better is not one of them.

the high priestess: how does link make decisions? does he trust his instincts or would he rather trust his heart/his logic?

his journeys have shaped his decision-making process to revolve almost entirely around how it would impact or make others feel. sometimes, that comes from his instincts. other times, it comes from the heart! most of the time though, particularly if they're Important decisions, he'd follow the logic first — then try to make room for anything else. some of this comes from oot, most of it comes from mm.

oot's time-travel system fucks with him, yeah, but the time-travelling in mm is just. on a different level of taxing. i do think he spent the first few cycles trying to do everything — clear all the curses, help all the people — despite knowing the impossibility of it with the limits ( counting the time limit, his physical limits, his emotional limits, etc. ) placed on him, and ended up tormenting himself so bad there was a whole cycle where he didn't do anything meaningful. or anything at all.

between wanting to give in to the pointlessness of saving a world he's beginning to suspect isn't even real ( is this a dream? is he even here? has he even woken up from his sealing sleep with the master sword, or has this all been some elaborate nightmare? ), fighting with well, it feels real and that's enough ( it has be enough ), and being paralysed by the shame and weight of, like, everything — his logic is what gets him into the rhythm of i will do what i can without letting him fixate on feeling like he's dooming a world of people to their ends over and over again.

( and tatl. tatl is a huge help. )

the hanged man: how open is link to new opportunities? does he constantly look for them or does he simply take whatever comes his way?

depends on their nature. like new beginnings, he can be wary of these. too good to be true, there will always be some form of consequences, etc. etc.

also depends on what is meant by "opportunities". he isn't exactly the most driven person outside of what few concrete goals he's strung together ( see: finding navi ) or that've been given to him ( see: saving the world ). he's inherently curious, just not. ambitious? i think that's the word? he's not the most ambitious kid around when it comes to personal development. at least, not anymore! i think he's experienced Enough from the world that he's often just happy to take what he can get or whatever opportunities come his way nowadays. plus the whole thing he's got with fate/destiny.

the moon: what does link long for? is it a realistic desire?

oh gosh. as i write him in his main verse, a lot of things! sometimes contrary things. he wants navi, he wants a home, he wants to belong, he wants to go back to the past where he didn't have to be the hero of time, he wants that past to have never happened entirely because of what he now knows about it, he wants to rest, he wants to never need to rest because this is all he knows and what will he be without it...a common thread for almost all his desires is that they're not framed as realistic in his eyes. and the ones that are are so far removed from feeling actually attainable for him that he's subconsciously set himself up in a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure.

he's still got his whole life ahead of him though!! he's still got so much time to heal. and with the dynamics i've got going on in so many places, there are canons where he does, even if his life ultimately ends in tragedy. augh. where's that post. "the love was there. it didn't change anything, but it was there. it mattered that it was there." he just can't see it right now :')

[inkspiders]

“I don’t want your copy ‘n paste endearments.” - Ayumi, The Dream and the Weaver

This May, The Dread Machine released their second anthology Darkness Blooms. I was one of the lucky authors to have their story featured and, as imagery was a key theme for me, I wanted to do a mini-blog series about what inspired me alongside drawings of the characters and machines 😊

The Dread Machine’s call was for dark sci-fi stories with themes about identity, community and security.

The Dream and the Weaver follows multiple characters in a future where productivity is lauded and sleep is no longer seen as a basic right. Workers have installed in their brain a ‘Cricket’, which sits next to the amygdala. This nub processes our emotions and is connected to how we retain memories, learn new things and experience sensations.

Should someone start to fall asleep, the cricket shocks the user to induce a heightened state of anxiety and keep them awake. The humans in The Dream and the Weaver have had to adapt, but, just as the Weaver Mashoka warns:

Drain a battery too much and glitches occur. Messages ping that do not really exist. A logical outcome is not arrived at. A stutter. A freeze. The rule to protect human life cannot be properly or consistently followed if systems have slowed down.

Because of this. People have forgotten how to dream their own dreams.

Sleep is sold back to consumers. Dreams and nightmares are treated like any other form of media entertainment.

Dream sharing is managed by two machines: the Dreamer and the Weaver. The Dreamer links up to a database of pre-designed dreams. The Weaver acts as a firewall. They stop dreams from becoming nightmares and help users ease into sleep, as most no longer know how to access it naturally.

Alongside this is the Web.

Society’s tattered webs drape moonscrapers, dulling stars into embers. Thoughts and store discounts travel through membrane-clotted wires. When a child is born, they are held aloft on the roofs. A strand reaches out, tucks itself in an ear and forms a shawl, just as muslin was thrown over cradles to keep away the scary things beyond. Now the Dreamer holds us all, only masking what screeches past the city’s defenses. Nanites squirm in the folds.

Society is connected via the Web, a satellite system linking everyone’s Crickets. Advertisements are blasted into our minds. Politicians pretend they’ve been hacked when a stray, unpleasant thought is picked up by the public.

While what awaits beyond this cloak doesn’t get a mention in the story, it does appear in a future tale that will hopefully see the light of day - Gulls Are Her Crown - once it escapes my work in progress drawer.

Even though the Web links everyone in the city, isolation and loneliness is at its highest. Why waste precious time interacting with others when the good and ugly thoughts of the mass thrum under the skull?

For someone in mourning, with the roar of the mass making it even starker that one dear voice is lost, it must be maddening to live in such a society.

Ayumi, titled the Widow in this story, has found another use for the Dreamer. After the loss of her wife, she travels through the dreamscape searching for her wife's final moments with the help of a malfunctioning Weaver.

Those grieving are barred from accessing sleep in a misguided belief focusing on the waking world, the living, will heal them. Ayumi has to access sleep illegally.

Ayumi wasn’t the first character I created for this story. She was actually the third after the nameless itinerant worker in the Nightmare section and Mashoka. The Dream and the Weaver was inspired by two old drafts that were collecting dust on one of my flash drives.

The first draft, Dream at A Price, was a much darker story without the hopeful ending of The Dream and Weaver, and focused on the entertainment section. Fight clubs where users plugged into Dreamers, which were then called Dream Sharers, so injuries wouldn’t show on the body. The most extreme of battles could take place, while what the mind went through was left to fester.

The main character was the spirit of the Dream Sharer’s creator. She burrowed into the minds of those accessing the devices, setting out to destroy a machine that had originally been created to cure traumatic memories and had instead been cruelly distorted.

In The Dream and the Weaver, the living reaches out for the ghost.

Dreams were imaginations with the collar snapped off or corrupted memories turned strange and cruel by fear. The machine grasped them in its claw, tore a seam open and invited people to peer inside. All at affordable subscriptions, of course. - Old, scrapped scene from Dream at A Price

The other draft was called Dreamweaver. Humans were put under an eternal lockdown, so machines could protect and nurture the flowers A.I. had deemed superior to flesh.

Characters used Dreamweavers to hack into the machines, travelling the dreamscape to reason with the evolved A.I. in the hopes of freeing humanity. This plotline will hopefully be revived in Gulls Are Her Crown.

“They needed a new flavour dream to keep you here. That is why they installed me. I went to the place they dare not let humanity near. To the great oak tree. You saw it within me. You searched and hungered and kept calling, no matter how many times the Observers separated us.” “Trees no longer exist.” There are bone shards in my throat. The more I swallow the harder they pierce me. “We're still waiting for the miracle.” For the land to forgive us. - Old, not so scrapped scene from Dreamweaver

In The Dream and the Weaver, I wanted to focus more on the breakdown of humans/sleep as well as weaving in an emotional connection. This led to the creation of Ayumi.

For this character, Darkness Blooms' themes are shown through the loss of security and community. Her grief has caused her to break her Cricket. Ayumi begins to lose herself in the identities of the Dreamer's past users. The further she dives, the greater the risk her mind will be overwritten by second hand memories. All so she can see her wife one final time.

Throughout Ayumi’s sections, the symbolism used for her are things – machines, advertisement jingles that are near forgotten – which are dying but still have one final spark, and if that spark was nurtured it would blaze into life again.

The Dread Machine have also put up a reading playlist on Spotify. I think, out of the songs, Ayumi most relates to Homecoming – Makeup & Vanity Set and Six Feet Under – Billie Eilish.

I think it’s probably obvious what anime movie inspired me. I watched Paprika when I was around 13, which is a long, long time ago now!

Did I have any idea what was happening? No, but I loved how vibrant the film was alongside the beautiful imagery and suddenness of the ordinary being transformed by surreal imagination. I wanted to see if it was possible to get the wilderness of dreams across in the written word.

Ghost in the Shell’s aesthetic was another influence, particularly the download/upload of the ghosts (although all I’ve currently seen is the first movie and a few episodes of S.A.C. A Modest Rebellion – Android and I is my favourite one so far).

As I wanted to focus on the dream/fantasy elements of my story, I decided to research myths and tools related to sleep throughout the ages, particularly dream catchers. Also, because I am absolutely terrified of spiders, but slowly trying to get used to them by writing about them, spider imagery is common throughout my stories.

Considering spider webs are believed to be able to protect against evil forces, I thought it a good pairing: the sinister effect of a creeping spider along with dreamcatchers that are meant to soothe and protect.

Pixels flutter. Silk cocoons crack, budding with moths. The spider twitches and leaps to the window, packing webbing into its abdomen, until it squats alone in the corner. It drops, legs tickling one another as sticky string spills out. The trap is strummed, luring the moths back. They’ll never escape. I tear the web, wisps hanging from my nails, but it’s no use. The web glitches to the beginning and the spider weaves anew.

The Weaver knows what to do. It curls its remaining fingers around its face. A soft twangy noise, stilted at first, forms a basic tune. The Weaver plays itself like an instrument. Do flies hear such a song, when they come too near the web?

My next post will feature sketches of several Dreamer and Weaver models. After that, I’ll write about the second voice in this story: Seb, the magpie. His section deals with the cost of sacrificing your identity in exchange for community and security.

The Dream and the Weaver, alongside sixteen other great stories, can be read in Darkness Blooms. It is available direct via The Dread Machine’s website – ebook, print or hardcover – and I have to say the hardcover version I received as an author copy is gorgeous.

The Dread Machine | Where nightmares are manufactured.

[metalsongoftheday]

Wednesday, January 3: Power Trip, "If Not Us Then Who"

R.I.P. Riley Gale (1986-2020)

“If Not Us Then Who” benefited immensely from Arthur Rizk’s slamming production, which presented Power Trip in the best possible light and enabled them to transcend metalcore/crossover conventions.  As it was, the track recalled Pantera without copying them, with an intensity in the vibe even though the instrumentation was straightforward (other than the effects at the end).  Riley Gale’s bark was straight crossover, but he enunciated clearly and injected just enough metal to give his vocals a distinct personality.  Power Trip was right on the cusp of something huge with Nightmare Logic, and everyone including the band knew it, but Gale seemed to have a healthy sense of perspective that would’ve gone a long way towards helping him and the band navigate their way towards bigger pastures without losing their sense of self, which was why Gale’s untimely passing was felt so deeply by so many.

[duckapus]

It's the middle of the night at Glitch Productions, and all is dark and quiet as all the staff have long since gone home.

That is, until the monitor of one very special computer suddenly turns on on its own, and a certain supervillain eggplant peeks from off-screen out into the real world before hopping out onto the desktop (of the computer, not the actual desk it's sitting on).

"All clear, perfect."

"And why are we here again?"

"Just a sec, gotta find it first." As he says this, Garyboy hops around the screen, looking around all the icons for one in particular.

"Well, I say we, but I really mean you, seeing as despite our alliance I am STILL TRAPPED IN THIS SUN-SCORCHED NIGHTMARE!!!"

True enough, the great virus Ozymandias is not actually present. Instead, Garyboy has managed to finagle the camera, microphone, and speaker in his suit to allow his new boss to see what he sees, hear what he hears, and speak to him, even with the entire internet between them (though in certain high-traffic areas the connection can get a bit spotty).

"Well, yeah. If I let you out now, you'll just do exactly what got you caught the first two times!"

"...Fair enough. I suppose this is meant to be my first lesson in these "strategy" and "subtlety" concepts you mentioned?"

"Exactly. Ah, here we go!" He opens a folder, revealing two other folders inside, "Alright, within these folders are the files needed to run the two candidates for the next SMG universe. Now, if you were here, what would you do?"

"Destroy them utterly, of course. Along with everything else in this place."

"Right. Now, I don't want to do that. While destroying two entire universes would be satisfying in the short term, there would be too much evidence tying it back to me and I'd be hunted to the ends of the multiverse and deleted with extreme prejudice."

"There is logic in that, I suppose. So what will you do then?"

"I'm glad you asked!" He extends his prehensile Super Suction Ears to manipulate the window's controls, explaining his actions as he goes, "First, I create an empty folder with the same name as one of the existing folders. Normally you can't do that, but I'm using a bit of my venom to trick the system. Not enough to cause real damage, but that also means it's a small enough amount to not be traced. Then, I put the original folder inside the other game's folder, and use the same trick as with the names to fudge the memory values. And now that I'm done, I close the window so it's like I was never here."

"...That's it? What did that even accomplish?"

"Well, nothing right now, but when it's time to install the SMG Mod it'll be an absolute disaster!"

"How so?"

Garyboy leaves the desktop to return to the portal he'd used to get here, speaking as he goes, "With how I've set things up, one of two things will happen. Either they'll try to install the Mod in the empty folder and the SMGs will fade away into nothing without an Avatar to anchor them, or they'll try to install it on the other folder and...well, I don't know what'll happen. No one knows what happens if you try to add one set of SMGs to two games at once. No Admin is stupid enough to try. But I bet it won't be anything good."

"Fascinating. Perhaps there is something to this whole "subtlety" thing."