#and to my most loyal follower I’ll offer my own body and loyalty

[lyrebirdgore]

The god complex is trying to convince me that I need worshippers. I want a cult. I need a fucking cult. Some worship me or I’ll start killing. If someone doesn’t start fucking worshipping me.

I am a divine presence and you my lowly followers, and even as such I’ll give up my body, soul and mind for the first follower to pledge their loyalty to me

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Could write a Beast Boy x reader one-shot based on Good Fight by Unspoken please ?

Good Fight

Pairing: Garfield Logan as Beast Boy x Reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any.

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: I am so so sorry this is so late. I really hope you like it.

Keep fighting the good fight (never give up, never give up) Keep letting your light shine (holding it high as long as you live)

The life of a superhero was gruelling. It was blood and fists and chaos most of the time. To Gar, every day out in the field passed by him in a blur. When he was fighting the supervillain of the week, he was reduced to base instincts, taking orders from Dick and fighting alongside the others. He knew who his team was and he remained loyal to them.

That was how all of his friendships were forged, in loyalty through battle. If he was able to risk his life with these people and trusted them enough with himself then he should be able to get through a meal with them. Sometimes he felt extremely thankful.

But sometimes it felt like he was running towards something with no end. How long was he going to keep burning himself from both ends to try and save the world time and time again when people keep trying to wreak havoc across it anyway?

It was another fight that the team was unprepared for. Some deranged super villain that called out the cities heroes to come and stop him. They weren't prepared, they were caught by surprise, but even then, they couldn't let down the city.

That was why Gar was currently getting thrown around like a rag doll. For those few seconds of his life when he felt pain, he wanted to quit. He didn't want to fight this fight anymore; he didn't want to be a superhero anymore. Why should he fight just because he could?

A whimper from his side brought him out of his subconscious haze. It was troubling him to open his eyes but he finally focused on the person beside him through shaky pupils.

You were whining slightly when you moved because of the pain you felt. Blood was running down the side of your head. Your body was spasming slightly from the amount of hits you received and Gar could make sure without even looking that there were multiple bruises underneath your clothes.

It pained him even more than the hits he received. The love of his life was in pain and he felt concerned seeing your features twisted in agony. He wished he could pull you into his arms.

It was at that moment he wanted to pack up and leave. Never look back to this superhero life. Get an apartment with you where you would wake up in the same bed and eat breakfast and laugh. A life where fights would be verbal and would end in apologies and kisses and make up sex.

He didn't want to fight for others anymore. He wanted to be selfish for once in his life. He wanted to be selfish for you. His lungs were burning, joined searing and head throbbing when he was thrown to a wall. For a second, Gar saw white and his ears were ringing.

You turned to him, still panting and offered a smile, "Just a few more seconds."

He sent you a lopsided smirk, "I've heard that before."

You laughed, taking a few breaths before getting up, groaning unapologetically. When you finally stood with stability, you held out a hand for him to take, "Let's go babe. Let's keep fighting the good fight."

He gave you a smile that made your heart skip a beat and grabbed your hand to help haul himself up. The fight had moved downtown and so he spared a second to peck your lips lightly before turning into a tiger and sprinting away, with you following closely.

Even in the road blocks, Even through the rough spots When you're feeling you're giving all that you got

***

''Cause I'm never gonna leave you Always gonna see you through to the other side

I'm with you in the next step, givin' you the next breath I'll be the voice saying "You're gonna make it" When you're out there on your own you are never alone

It was those days when he returned back to the tower, beaten and bloodied. Everything in his body was burning and he dragged himself to the showers even though he just wanted to lose consciousness in his cosy bed. But he could smell the stench of blood and dirt, amplified by his animals’ senses.

The hot water rained over his bed, red went down the drain and he tried to drown out the smell by using the most fragrant thing he could find; apple body wash. When the sweet smell hit his nostrils, he was filled with a sense of comfort.

It was your body wash.

Suddenly he wanted to be right in bed beside you, with you curled up in his arms. So, he intentionally rushed through the shower, not letting the hot water soothe his joints for long before hopping out and wrapping himself up in your thick bathrobe.

When he got into his room, you were sitting on his bed and applying lotion to your body. Cocoa butter. You raised a brow at him when you noticed the frilly bathrobe he was wearing and he shrugged cheekily, sitting in front of you.

You took a silent cue and began rubbing lotion on his back, taking the time to gently massage his muscles. You didn't need to say anything, it was silent but your actions were speaking waves to him. You were comforting him. You were rejuvenating him. You were home.

This was essentially aftercare except the before wasn't that fun.

Gar got dressed quickly after that, feeling his eyes droop shut with every second before he crawled beneath the covers right beside you. By habit, you curled into his side, throwing a leg over his waist and he sighed, smelling how clean you were.

"Feeling okay?"

Was he feeling okay? To be quite honest, he really wasn't, he felt unfulfilled. But way too tired to discuss it with you. He turned his body towards you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and feeling slightly full from the contact of your skin on his and murmured something incomprehensible.

"I'm always going to be here for you, my love." You mumbled, flitting in between consciousness. Gar kissed your forehead and that was the cue for you to fall into a deep sleep and he chuckled hearing your soft snores. You were always so quick to fall asleep. Maybe it was because you always felt so safe with him.

That's why he had to keep fighting the good fight. So that he, and others like him, could fall asleep like this with you, or others like you, in their arms.

The joy will be your banner And my love will be your anthem And you may never know What your tomorrow holds But you can know that I am holding your tomorrow

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

[thero0ks]

My Most Treasured Items

Reiner receives a letter from someone in his past.

No happy ending, just angst.

Season Four spoilers

Trigger Warnings: Detailed description of death/corpses, brief discussion of childhood abuse

The detour had never been in the battle plan. Hanji and Levi would probably be pissed if they knew she’d taken an alternate route. She had studied the map for weeks to know the layout of the city, so that this detour would only add a couple seconds to her time. That’s why she took off a few moments earlier than everyone else. Her feet landed in the alleyway. Peeking her head out to check the Main Street she found it was empty. Rushing to the lone mailbox she pulled out the crisp white envelope. Having taken great care to avoid any wrinkles in the delicate paper she gave the envelope a soft kiss before placing it in the mailbox.

Four years later she would be able to speak her peace. Her shoulders relaxed. A weight lifting off her as she took off in the air once more to rendezvous with the rest of the squad.

* **

They sat around the table discussing Zeke’s betrayal. Reiner proposed an immediate counter attack. They left the meeting agreeing to think on the matter.

Entering his own barracks he found a letter placed on his bedside table. The flowing script pulled at something in his memory. Amber eyes flickered over to the name of the sender and his heart stopped. Y/N L/N.

His legs gave way as he sat on the edge of the bed tearing open the letter. Another Devil from his past had come back to haunt him.

To my beloved Reiner,

What would I do if I had 13 years to live? I’ve thought about the question for four years now, and I still don’t have an answer. By my calculations you only have a year, maybe two left?

I know your love for me was forced, and I truly apologize for the turmoil I caused you. A devil like me is hard to love for someone like you. The bitter truth that you were always enough for me, but I was only another sin that stained your hands is a hard thing to bear. I guess I have a knack for loving the wrong people. Perhaps that’s my punishment for the sins of my ancestors? Isn’t that what you Marleyans say?

You said a lot of things four years ago, but I didn’t get to say a word. I just watched you leave, and dealt with the aftermath of all my friends dying. For the record, I never wanted any of this. I think all this death is senseless, and I meant what I always said that this world could use more love.

I guess this world doesn’t have a place for dreamers.

I wanted to hate you for choosing them over us, but I realize that’s your home. It's easy to hate something you hold no attachment to. Loyalty is a strong trait, and it’s something I wanted to curse you for. I looked at you leaving me as a betrayal, but how can you betray something or someone you were never loyal to in the first place?

I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I forgive you for not choosing me, but I also ask that you forgive me for not choosing you anymore either. There is not a decision either one of us could change that would have put us on a different path. For both of our sakes I wish to allow you a glimpse into my dreams.

I choose to believe in a world where we made all the right choices. One where we ended up together, happy, and surrounded by all our fallen comrades.

Maybe you have no desire to see me in that way. Perhaps every stolen moment we had was nothing more then something you did to pass the time. I want to believe the man you showed me exists, because everything I showed you was real.

Even after four years I cannot hate you. I hope your heart softens when you think of me too.

With love,

Y/N L/N

A tear splashed on the cream colored paper. Reiner’s hand moved to his cheek trying to recall the moment his eyes leaked water. His heart ached at her words.

Every time he recounted his time on Paradis to other Marleyans internally he always ended the statement with “except her.” Never had he said it aloud, but never had he lumped her in with the rest of them.

He remembered the night when she finally opened up about herself. Growing up in poverty, her abusive father, and the inner turmoil she felt about loving the man that abused her. He’d been so angry when she recounted the abuse to him, and the confusion he felt when she expressed empathy for the monster.

Gripping the letter he realized he had been a different monster to her. Wasn’t that his goal? Make the Devils of Paradis suffer? Then why did he want to beg for forgiveness at her feet for the sins he committed against her?

Running his hand through his hair he straightened the letter. Rereading it, hoping for poisoned words to jump out of the page. He deserved every verbal lashing she could bestow upon him, but he knew they would never come.

He wanted to write back to her. Tell her there wasn’t a moment he regretted leaving her on that island to rot. How her heartbroken look still haunted his dreams. Mostly he just wanted to assure her that he too wanted desperately to believe that in some alternative universe they would be together forever.

Here he was encouraging a full scale attack on the island. “Forgive me for not choosing you anymore either.” The hope of a relationship between the two had been crushed with that statement, but love still lingered in their hearts.

She was exactly what he needed. His bed felt cold without her. He still had issues going to bed alone, because she wasn’t there to coax into bed. Knowing her soft heart would melt if he told her he couldn’t sleep without her.

It was such a strange thing that someone so small was friends with the dark. She often told him she found peace when darkness coated the earth. Perhaps that’s what made it easy for him to fall asleep in her arms. He’d tried to tell her he was a monster, but she’d always kiss his forehead, and assure him that he was a good man, and that she would love him no matter what.

A knock on the door pulled Reiner out of his thoughts. “What is it?”

Porco poked his head through the door, “we have all the Devils bodies. Magath wants you to take a look,” Porco said, gripping the door knob. “See if anybody essential to their military is among them.”

Reiner sighed, folding the letter up and tucking it away before following Porco down to the yard where the bodies were being kept. The gate guards gave them a nod of acknowledgment as they passed.

Several rows of bodies were laid out and Reiner inspected each. They were all new faces. The attack on Paradis they launched four years ago had wiped out the scout regiment.

Reaching the last row he caught sight of a female corpse. The (dark/light) hair looked familiar. His feet seemed to echo off the pavement. Stopping in front of the body he took her in. Her soft curves had grown cold and stiff. Several bullet holes littered her body, and her neck was twisted in an odd angle. Bile rose in Reiner’s throat as he took in the soft cheeks, and her eyes that once held so much warmth were nothing but an empty abyss devoid of life. The color now dull the light long gone out.

Tears streamed down his face as shaking hands reached out to her. Nothing felt like her as he touched her cold skin. He hadn’t felt the sting of pavement as he fell on his knees to grip her hand and brush the hair from her face.

Porco remained silent. Taking in Reiner’s actions. Porco couldn’t find it in his heart to judge the man for falling in love with a devil. Especially when he had watched the woman die.

“I should have taken you back to Marley.” Reiner babbled, amber eyes fixed in the past.

“Reiner, she chose to attack Marley,” Porco tried to reason.

The large man rounded on him. “You know nothing about her,” he seethed. “She never wanted any of this.” Running his fingers through his hair. “All she wanted was to find something more out there than hell she was living in.”

“You can’t blame her death on yourself.” Porco reasoned.

“She would never have come here if it was not for me,” Reiner stated, as he removed a leather pouch that was strapped to her thigh. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he pulled a small stone out.

* ** “Hey L/N!” Reiner said tossing the small stone at her.

A squeak escaped her lips as she lifted her hands to block her face. The stone making an audible thud against her ribs. “You didn’t even try to catch it,” Reiner said, picking the stone back up.

“Well I’m sorry, I grew up with an older brother who would have just pelted me with the rock,” she huffed. “It was a natural reaction to go into defense mode.”

Reiner let out a laugh at the thought of an elder L/N terrorizing her. “It’s a lucky rock,” he said offering the rock to her. He held the perfectly round stone between his index finger and thumb and her fingers brushed against his to pluck it out of his grasp.

“What makes it lucky?” she inquired. Curious eyes flickered up to catch his gaze.

He simply shrugged, “it’s perfectly round. That’s gotta be lucky.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. “If I make it through our next mission without dying I’ll believe it’s lucky,” she said tucking the stone away in her leather pouch she kept secured to her thigh.

“What’s in your pouch?” Reiner asked, his head tilted as his gaze focused on her legs.

“My most treasured items,” she said with a shrug. “Tell you what Braun if I die before you, you can have my pouch and whatever is in it.”

Reiner ruffled her hair. “You’re not going to die as long as I’m by your side.”

* **

“The only time she wasn’t suffering was when I was lying to her,” Reiner murmured, the guilt washing over him at the sin he most regretted. The luck in the stone had finally faded Reiner thought numbly, or maybe it was the belief in the luck that died.

Perhaps he should be honored that a piece of him was counted among her most treasured possessions. A black and white photograph was the next thing he pulled out. It was a portrait, and Y/N was dressed in Marley’s finest. Joy seemed to be radiating from her face. Reiner’s guilt seemed to lessen. It was possible she had found a way to move on in her daily life.

The next thing he pulled out was a love letter. Reading through it he was surprised to find a small hand drawn portrait enclosed. The letter and portrait signed by Jean Kirstein. By the letter it was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love made for slow mornings, and gentle hearts. It was built for smooth sailing, but was never meant to survive the storms that life threw. Perhaps she knew that, and cherished the safety Jean had brought her for the period of their relationship.

The fact was that Reiner’s relationship with her had been built to weather storms, but he had set sail without her, so she was left to weather the waves without a life preserver. Somehow she’d clawed her way to the shore to try and rebuild what he had taken.

The last thing he pulled out was a small leather journal. Flipping through the pages he found some entries dated to cadet training, and her last entry was the night she died.

“Magath is going to want to read that journal,” Porco stated. Breaking the silence that he had given Reiner to go through her belongings.

Reiner tucked the items back into the satchel. “Can you give me the night to read through it?” Reiner’s downcast eyes took her corpse in one last time.

Porco nodded, “yeah just give it to Magath tomorrow.” Porco gave Reiner’s shoulder an awkward squeeze before leaving him.

Reiner tried to figure out how to say goodbye to the last thing in the past he cared about. The soldier was officially gone, and the only thing that remained was the warrior. All he wanted was more time. His thirteen years were almost up, his best friend and the love of his life didn’t have as much time. Perhaps they would be waiting for him. All he wanted was to see their smiles at the end of all of this. He was tired of fighting, and he was tired of being alone. “We’ll be together again soon,” he vowed, closing the door on death one more time.

[ushiwakatrash]

On your knees, King!

Bakugou x reader, Todoroki x reader

Fantasy AU

!Warnings!: Swearing, betrayal, lil dash of angst, shitty writing

Synopsis:

Bakugou is the esteemed King of the Kingdom of Barbarians and because he succeeded in ruling the lands that were once governed by the Yuuei Kingdom, an offering must be made for the peace of the people. As the so-called ‘black sheep’ of the royal family, the King of Yuuei a.k.a. your father, offered you--naming you the most precious thing he could give; but you know the truth behind his words.

PART I

Part 2 →

“All hail the Barbarian king!”

Chants roared throughout the fallen kingdom as the last palace on the hunt list fell to the hands of the barbarians. The leader of their army, along with his trusted dragon, stood tall as they basked in their hard-earned victory. 

The dragon who could shapeshift into human form kneeled at the foot of his master. “At long last my king, Yuuei is ours. This glory is because of you.” 

“There, you are wrong, Kirishima. This victory is ours. TO THE BARBARIANS!” the king cheered. His soldiers followed suit with their own cheers of victory but in the castle of Yuuei, a family shuddered in fear.

Since the king couldn’t govern all of the kingdoms he had conquered all at once, he usually appointed the royal family to do it for him but one wrong move may cost their heads.

That fear was enough for the other kingdoms to pledge loyalty, knowing how the Barbarian king would definitely hang their heads on the palace gates if they ever displeased him.

The same feeling emanated in the walls of Yuuei. They knew of the new King’s ways and now they were the newest set of prisoners of the Barbarians. The king however needs a token, one of the most worth in the former king’s possession.

Other nations brought forth their best quality gold, finest jewels, the smoothest cloths of silk, but only this kingdom had a princess--and that was worth more than any of those other gifts combined.  

(Y/n) was called a weight on the family name by her own kin. She was far from what you would call an elegant lady. During the daytime you would see her sparring with the knights. Other times she would go hunting with her commoner friends.

She knew her way with swords and weapons. She is also very skilled with the bow. One of their best knights, Iida Tenya, taught her to wield these things even if it was against his will at first.

She was the princess of the people and all the commoners adored her. Her family on the other hand frowned upon her actions calling it ‘unfit for a lady and a princess’ but she could care less. 

Raw strength was not a problem for this princess and accompanied by her smarts, everyone looked up to her. The royal family could careless for their people but the heart of (Y/n) was just like that of a commoner.

She knew of their struggles and accepted criticism they had which earned her the respect of almost all of the people. She sometimes would sneak out of the castle to give food to those who have nothing on their plates or give medicine to the sick.

The only person who knew this was her childhood friend, Prince Shouto. They were introduced to each other when they were young as political marriages often happened between royal families; they were engaged.

And because their kingdom had also fallen in the hands of the great King Bakugou, their engagement had been called of because even if they remained in their respective palaces and continued to govern their own land, they were royals no more.

She lacked finesse and grace but she never lacked in heart and compassion. She was the only princess born in a royal family and because of her attitude and crass behavior, the King found her useless and an embarrassment.

 What other way to get rid of her than to give her as an offering? Surely she would refuse the offer so the king had to plan on how to break the news on his only daughter.

The queen refused to give her daughter away but if they did not comply, all three of their heads will be chopped off from their body. It was the only way to survive in their lost kingdom.

The only lucky thing that they could happen to have right now is that their daughter would be at the age to marry. She was.

-- 

The sun was out and the weather was nice--the perfect time to catch a wild boar. The town folks will surely enjoy the meals that could be made with it. She reached for the red tooth that was attached to a slim piece of rope wrapped around her neck and touched it for good luck before hunting.

When she was only starting to get into hunting as a young girl, she wandered off to the woods by herself. That’s when she met a blonde with piercing red eyes. At fist he was hostile towards her but after a few more visits, they became friends.

He taught her how to skillfully shoot a pigeon with a bow, and they would have that bird for lunch. He taught her how to climb trees and distinguish poisonous berries from edible ones. 

One time, after they had finish catching fishes in the river to roast, he shyly handed her the necklace, telling the princess that it was a price from defeating a beast of the forest. In her state of happiness, she tackled the young boy into the hug and unknown to her, it was the first time he had felt affection.

She had no idea what was going on in the palace. She was busy finding food for the poor families she had recently talked to. A knight from the castle rushed to her, scaring the animals away.

“Why would you make so much racket in the middle of our hunt?! This better new you have better be worthwhile or I’ll have you running laps around the town!” the princess complained. 

“I am truly sorry, your highness but his majesty has summoned you in the throne room right this instant so we better get a move on and not let the king wait.” the knight swiftly said.

-- 

“My daughter, I have some important news for you. For all of our sakes and for our people’s sake, you are to be given as the token of our loyalty to the Barbarians.” the king stated with no emotions.

You scoffed at this. “Why me? You have tons of gold and brilliant stones! I do not get why it must be me that is given. How about what I want?! How about my say in all of this?!” 

“You will obey your father whether you like it or not! For once be useful to this family you ungrateful child! You will be given to King Bakugou and you will be taken as his wife. Resistance is futile because I have already sent the signed papers” the king stated, more aggressively this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Is my freedom and happiness too much to ask from you? A loveless marriage for the sake of who, yourselves?! I doubt this is for the sake of the people. I’d rather die!” her voice started to shake.

“You will do no such thing as to kill yourself. Your wedding to King Bakugou is absolute and I will hear no further complains. Please my loyal men, escort the princess out of here.” 

“You fucking old man! Mark my words I will come back for you, not in joy, but to have you punished!” She screeched. 

--

The night was quiet for the sulking princess and no other thing could lift her spirits up other than to visit Prince Shouto. She snuk out of the castle once more and was warmly greeted by the guards in the Endeavor Palace. 

The ruler there, Enji, took care of business outside the town so only the princes and princess Fuyumi were in the castle. 

She was quickly escorted to Prince Shouto’s headquarters and she flung the door open and hugged the prince, finally letting the tears fall. “Shouto I am getting married to a man I don’t love! My father is the worst I fucking hate him. He is always against me!” 

Shouto understood the feeling of resent towards their father. That was the thing they both strongly had in common, dealing with the fathers they wish weren’t theirs. 

“It cant be that bad (Y/n)” Shouto said while trying to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face and asked “To whom are you to be wed anyway?”

The prince’s world stopped when he heard her answer. 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lotus Pier was always loyal, aware in the way that objects only are after hundreds of years, and she expected to disappear after she was destroyed. Instead she wakes up, rebuilt in both place and spirit, stronger than ever, at the hands of a grieving Jiang Cheng.

The Lotus Pier always loved the bright spirits of the world, the free and unrestrained; she held them cupped in her hand like birds, ready to fly away, to go where their whim takes them, to return because they loved her. Her cultivators reflected that, shining bright, standing against the world and attempting the impossible.

But they were only humans, their lives short and too easily cut shorter; when the invading armies came to the Pier, she tried her best to help her people – help them fight, help them flee – but the enemy was already invited inside her gates.

There was nothing she could do.

Her walls were thrown open, her treasures taken, her children killed – her very core, layer upon layer of arrays painted by all the Jiang sect disciples through all the years, violated.

The Wens sought to make her their own, in their blunt, stupid, grasping way. They didn’t know what she was, of course. No one knew. Only the Sect Leader – each one learning about her from their predecessor at the moment of their accession, the secret as well as a set of vows, an oath of mutual loyalty, and those who refused the oath were killed at the very moment of their supposed triumph.

Her children were good to her. In return, she was good to them.

When the Wens tried to seize control of her, to make her nothing more than a fortress, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to disappear – to die, destroyed in both body and soul, rather than allow herself to be used by those who killed her children.

She did not expect that anyone would be able to reawaken her.

Who could? It was impossible. Only the Sect Leader knew her secrets – and he was dead, dead long before he could pass along his knowledge to his heir, and of course it wasn’t written down anywhere.

Awakening, therefore, came as a surprise.

It was even more of a surprise to realize that she was still herself, still the Lotus Pier of old; she had half-expected the Wen sect to have cracked open her arrays and found a way to make her obedient.

But no.

It was not the Wens.

It was a single man, little more than a half-grown boy, kneeling in the center of an array painted in his own heart’s blood, his chest still wet as the bandages slowly soaked through.

He was wearing her purple, embroidered with her lotuses.

“My name is Jiang Cheng,” he said, and her heart thrilled: of course he was a Jiang. Only her children would be brave enough to attempt something as insane as this. “Great Spirit, I come to you as a supplicant. I need your power to help me protect my home.”

He did not know who she was.

It amused her not to tell him – meaning only to hide it for a little, only at first, of course. He was a Jiang, and Sect Leader; they were bound together, the two of them, like the Nies and their sabers.

It was fun at first.

Jiang Cheng was rebuilding her body, each plank and each joint fitting together, the wood from the best of trees, the arrays hidden within the walls. He spoke to her about it, sometimes – it took him a while to get used to her dwelling inside of him, her presence at the back of his head, but in time he got used to it.

It didn’t seem as if he had anyone else to talk to.

He loved her, dearly. She could see it in the way his hands were soft over her, the way he worried over small details, the way he insisted everything had to be perfect.

He did not think she loved him.

She didn’t find that out until some time in: he was proud, her little Jiang, full of pride, but his shoulders were weighed down with grief and responsibility. He was not spontaneous, preferring rules that he could understand and implement – he had been a disappointment to someone once, and it had sunk into his bones. With a rule he could do the right thing and hope to please; without, he was on his own, and he had no faith in himself. He knew himself to be no genius, knew that all he had to offer was his hard work – and oh, he worked so hard. He tried, so hard.

And he thought that it meant nothing.

“Wei Wuxian knew the motto better than me,” he said once. “The impossible was easy for him, a snap of his fingers…impulsive, reckless, free. A proper Jiang. He always said he had a mother and a father, that all the rumors about my father being his were false, but how would he know? Was he there when he was conceived? Or maybe it’s just easy enough to understand, so easy that someone else’s son can do it, and only I fail to even grasp it.”

The Lotus Pier did not pay much attention to the bright sparks that drifted above her, certainly didn’t know them by name; she did not know who Wei Wuxian was. Still, her heart hurt to hear her Jiang speak about himself like that.

You did the impossible, she reminded him. You survived. You revived. You returned. You summoned me.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I only did it because I’m the only one left. Anyone else would have done a better job than me, but there was only ever me.”

She argued with him, confused as to how the Jiang sect motto had been so perverted – it didn’t matter if he was stiff and stern, if he liked rules, if he liked winning, if he was grumpy and rude and prone to yelling, expressing affection through his scolding rather than warmth; it didn’t matter if his first thought each morning was of his obligations and what he needed to do, rather than what he wanted, that he put his sect first in his heart over all other matters; it didn’t matter that he needed to think about what was right and what was wrong rather than simply knowing immediately in his heart what he should do.

That was who he was, the boy he was born and the man he’d become. That was fine.

All she’d ever cared about was that they be resolute and determined, brave enough to do what must be done without flinching.

Her little Jiang Cheng – he did the impossible every day, all alone, and he never once realized it.

Eventually, she told him who she was.

He did not take it especially well. But then, she’d expected that – he was most sensitive to matters of deception, tender in only the way a boy who had been a little too trusting could be. She regretted that she’d hurt him, that she hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t enjoy her teasing the way some of his ancestors did – but in the end he had bound himself to her, body and soul, so it wasn’t as though all his storming around could really have an impact.

He did leave, for a while. When he came back, he had a small child asleep in his arms and a beatific expression of sheer joy.

“My sister’s child,” he explained, having apparently completely forgotten how she’d hurt him. He’d remember later, of course, in the dark of the night when he counted all his grievances, but right now he needed to tell someone and she was, very sadly, the only person he knew. “Jin Ling. When he’s older, I’ll introduce him to you.”

She reminded him that her presence was usually a secret kept to the Sect Leader.

“What good does that do? If I get killed, won’t you just disappear again? Besides, he deserves to meet you. He deserves everything I can give him, and more.”

It turned out the sister was dead, too. Dead, like his parents, like Wei Wuxian – he’d had an old grandmother who’d come to help for a while, but she hadn’t long survived burying her black-haired daughter.

He only had the child – and her.

Time passed quickly enough, and the Lotus Pier flourished under Jiang Cheng’s control. He indulged her just as he indulged his nephew, building her more bridges, more buildings, another pier or two; she was pleased by it, spoiled by it.

Used to it.

And then something came and nearly destroyed it all. Someone.

She wasn’t aware all the time, spending much of her time simply being the Pier, and so she only saw a small part of it – Jiang Cheng screaming (not new), sobbing (not especially new), and then running around like a maniac, begging for people to try to draw a sword from its sheath (new and a little disturbing).

He retreated to the room that held her core and collapsed on the array.

“It’s not mine,” he said, his face covered. “It’s all been him. Everything I’ve done – all his. Same as always. I’m always second to him –”

He said more than that, too. Not very intelligently, or coherently, but in time the story came out.

He gave you nothing but power. You did the rest. You were the one who build me back up from nothing, alone; not him, you. He left. You stayed.

“Just wait,” he said. “Just wait. He’ll come back, one day, and then you’ll see – he’s just like what you like best. Better than me. Everyone likes him better. Even Jin Ling – you’ll see.”

The Lotus Pier did not keep people by force: she let her birds fly free, following their hearts. She did not consider herself abandoned when people left, no matter how good or bad the reason. And yet…

“He loves him,” Jin Ling told her, curled up in his room. “Uncle loves Senior Wei so much. He gave up everything for him. Did he tell you?”

I live in his mind. I know.

“I don’t know why he won’t make up with him!”

Wei Wuxian followed his heart. Jiang Cheng followed his. Their paths conflicted; their hearts broke. Who is to say the path chosen by one, trying his best, is better than the other’s attempt to do the same?  

“But they’ll both be happier if they make up. Senior Wei is – I don’t know. I like him. It’d make Uncle happy to have him back. Even if only sometimes, if only for a little. I wish there was something I could do!”

Your uncle is competitive. Remind him that you love him best. It will help calm him.

It wasn’t clear to her what exactly Jin Ling did – it wasn’t at the Pier – but somehow Wei Wuxian came to visit, his husband in tow, a wary but hopeful expression on his face. They had dinner together, all of them. It was awkward and awful, Jiang Cheng alternating between snapping and biting his tongue, Wei Wuxian making light of things he shouldn’t and dismissing past pain, Lan Wangji looking as though he would rather be dead and Jin Ling with his head in his hands more often than not.

Bring him to see me.

“Absolutely not!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

Wei Wuxian, who had been in the middle of complaining about eating nothing but vegetables at family feasts, stared.

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Jin Ling clarified, but that didn’t help; if anything, Wei Wuxian looked even more concerned.

He won’t understand. Bring him to me.

Jiang Cheng swallowed, his fingers clenching in fear; she has told him time and time again that she would never abandon him, couldn’t, but he still didn’t believe her.

Still – he loved her. He loved her best.

He stood up.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?” Lan Wangji asked, suspicious.

“The ancestral hall.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed there,” Wei Wuxian said with a nervous laugh.

“I need to show you something,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just you. There’s – someone I want you to meet.”

[blossom-hwa]

To Find Solace in Your Arms - JANGJUN

Well uh. Here it is. Guard jangjun written in five days :D I’ll accept some blame but refer to casey @thepixelelf​ if you want someone to beat up for introducing the assassin thing because she suggested it not me I swear! Anyway, this universe is still dedicated to casey because without her it wouldn’t have happened <3

(Reading To Bloom in the Night/Weaver (linked below) is not necessarily required to understand this story; however, it may offer explanations for certain events!)

Pairing: Jangjun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, guard!au, assassin!au

Triggers: cursing, implications of death, semi-graphic depictions of blood (reader is an assassin)

Word Count: 16.5k

Broken and lost, you find your last chance at redemption in a cursed prince’s loyal guard.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of song and music, there lived a prince who ran away. Cursed with death, he had found the only person whose life could prevail under his voice, a gardener with the sweetest song, and there was nothing he would not do to keep them close – even giving up his crown. When the gardener was arrested for accidentally learning the secret they willingly pledged to keep, the prince and his guard broke them away and fled into the night, whispering goodbyes to the loved ones they left behind.

The king and queen labeled it a kidnapping, led a manhunt for months, espoused heartbreak and sorrow for their son lost to his disloyal guard and a scheming gardener. Few believed the words of two cold-hearted monarchs, but enough did not care – bounty hunters and assassins pledged their services to the crown’s gold, resolved to kill the alleged kidnappers and return the prince alive (or dead, apparently – the palace, for all its shiny words of heartbreak, was not keen to have him back). However, one by one, they failed, either bled to death in the woods or forced to give up when all leads vanished.

One contractor was left, the most ruthless of all. Few had the coin to pay for the service of any one of his employees, but those who did were never left disappointed. With all else failed and their son still eluding capture, the palace paid for one assassin, asked for the best their money could buy. The contractor gave his due and tasked the job with his favorite employee who had recently fallen out of favor with a mission gone awry – they would have one last chance to redeem themselves.

When the guard sensed a follower, he only sighed and readied himself. The prince and his gardener had gone on further as he had forced them to – after all, he was the odd one out, the one who wasn’t truly needed. His purpose was always to protect even at the cost of his own life. He could keep an assassin off their trail for at least enough time to get away, and all of the others whom the palace had sent had failed eventually. He was the one who was still alive.

But desperation turns claws stronger, knives sharper, pain deeper.

And the guard never expected to come face to face with a ghost.

Neither guard nor assassin left the fight uninjured, both in body and in mind. Memories of ages gone, long pushed away but never forgotten, would plague them as the months passed with fight after bloody fight, knives clanging and words bantering and eyes flashing with emotions suppressed but finally brought to light –

Yet they did not stop. They had their loyalties and they had their duties, and even if they somehow felt at home with their snipping words and clanging blades, none of it mattered. None of it mattered. None of it mattered, not when the assassin learned the truth of the guard’s role in his prince’s kidnapping, not even when the guard looked deep into bladed eyes and saw into the human inside.

Until a secret came to light, and for the first time, a loyalty deeper than that of duty forced the assassin to drop their knife and lead the guard to a home he had despaired as lost forever.

And yet home was not home, even in the warm arms of a second ghost come to life, not when the curved knife of a teasing smile had disappeared in the forest, glittering eyes lost to the night. He prayed to the moon, to the watching stars, that the assassin would someday find their way home to arms that would welcome them as warmly as the ghost’s who had welcomed him.

His arms.

This is the story of a guard charged to protect and an assassin bound to kill, paths fated to intertwine once more after they first diverged, who found solace in knife-bladed smiles and laughing eyes the night they first met under the moon.

. . . . .

“Y/N.”

You turn around from the clothing stall, eyebrows furrowed. What’s Minho doing here, interrupting probably your last moments with your only friend before your employer decides to cut you off? “What are you doing here?”

His eyes remain impassive. “He wants to see you.”

So it’s time. 

You sigh, turning back to your friend and her piles of clothing. “Sorry, work calls.” An easy smile falls onto your lips, masking the anxiety that races your heart. She doesn’t know that you might be six feet under within a day, and you don’t intend to tell her. “Anyway, I left a little something at your house. Make sure to take it in.”

“Oh my – Y/N, seriously?”

But you’ve already turned away, fluttering your fingers in the air as you throw a last smile in her direction. It’s the least you could do – your little gifts will probably end after today, and with her business, she needs any bit of money she can get.

Quickly, you match your steps to Minho’s, ignoring her fondly exasperated shouts as you follow him through the crowded market. “Did he say anything?”

“No.” Minho shrugs, though a glint remains in his eyes. You mentally take stock of every knife concealed on your person. “But you can imagine.”

It takes a lot of restraint to not plunge the blade you’re twirling in your hand into his side. He’s probably expecting it, anyway – you’ve been at each other’s throats ever since you first punched him in the nose, all those years ago. “Yeah, I can.” You keep your eyes perfectly blank, even though fear of death pounds your heart as the two of you pass into the richer community, where your employer lives when he’s in the country. “Bet it’s something fun for you to think about.”

You don’t need to look to see the smile curving Minho’s lips. He’d like you dead, wouldn’t he? Of course he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a reason you remain aware of the knives hidden in your sleeve. Plus the one in your hand.

Finally, you reach the door. A servant pokes his head out. “Name?”

He knows your name. You hate having to say it anyway. “Y/N,” you reply curtly.

The door opens fully. You take a deep breath and sheathe the knife.

“Good luck,” Minho says cheerfully. Your neck crawls where his breath puffs against your skin.

The servant closes the door, leaving you alone with him in a large, open room full of light. The sun’s warmth streams through the windows, burning your skin. But even with that burn, the sunlight turning your skin to ash, you’d rather stay there than follow the servant to the back of the home, the darker rooms where your employer likes to conduct business.

But you follow, step by step, even as your fingers begin to shake and you have to clench the handle of one of your knives to keep them from trembling. You’ll fight. You’ll fight, if he orders your death – it’s all you know, fighting, and you’ll go down the way you lived – it doesn’t matter if he’s your employer, it doesn’t matter if he’ll have someone in there to take care of you when you inevitably fight back – if you’re going to die and have lived as a fighter no one can expect you to just give up –

The servant stops suddenly. You just manage to avoid bumping into him. He knocks on the door, oblivious to you. “They’re here, sir.”

“Enter.”

His voice turns your blood not to ice, but to sludge – slow, barely-moving, clogging your veins until you begin to choke, silently, barely able to move your legs to walk inside the now-open door –

Only one person is inside. You fight to keep the surprise off your face. Why is there no one here? Does he actually think you’ll go down without a fight? Or that he can take care of you himself?

“Sir.” You dip your head sharply.

“Look up.”

You do.

He sits in an upholstered chair, eyes piercing. The chair and the eyes have stayed the same, even as skin has sagged, hair has grayed, and some decorations have been moved out while others have come in. His gaze pins you down and like you’re a teen again, seeing him for the first time after all the horror stories you were told, you shrink under his attention, even with all the knives hidden in your clothes.

(Those horror stories were all true. More than once, when you were still new and hadn’t made your mark just yet, you were one of those called in to clean blood off the floor.)

Your blood is going to be wrung out of the carpets, soon. And it’ll be a lot of blood if you have anything to do with it.

He stays silent, still pinning you with his eyes. You clench your fists beneath the table. Breathe in, out.

“You disappointed me last time.”

Your stomach curdles. You only bow your head in response.

“You know what happens to those who disappoint.”

Blood seeping into carpets, staining the wood floor beneath. Small, shaking hands scrubbing dry red and black with buckets of soap and water. 

Maybe you won’t try to leave behind so much blood, after all. You have a little sympathy left after so many years of fingers and backs aching from rubbing rough cloths against the ground. Spite is powerful, but sometimes sympathy weighs more.

“If you were any of the others, you would be dead by now.”

True. Your last few days of freedom, you assumed, were just because you happened to be a favorite. A sort of last meal served before a prisoner’s execution.

Silence stretches. You keep your head low, shoulders tensed, nails biting into your palms, ready to lunge. You’ll fight. You’ll fight. You can picture it now – a blade aiming for your heart. You’ll dodge, knock the knife away, slide the weapons from your sleeves and throw, hoping they pierce dark eyes before someone rushes in and throws you to the floor, carves open your body until your blood soaks into the ornate carpet –

One hand appears in your line of lowered vision, a piece of thick, creamy paper sliding onto the table. “This is your next mission.”

Your head snaps up. Next mission?

“The prince has disappeared, and the palace now pays a large sum for the capture of his kidnappers within one year.” The paper slides closer. “A gardener and a royal guard. And the prince does not have to be brought back alive – if he was maimed by his kidnappers or caught in the crossfire…”

Somewhere deep in your mind, you understand the subtext. The royal family doesn’t care so much for the prince as it does about maintaining its reputation. But the forefront of your brain is still trying to comprehend the fact that the crown paid your employer to carry out this murder, and despite your last failure, he still chose you.

“You have one year to complete this mission. Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” your employer says, finally forcing you to look up. He looks faintly amused, almost sadistically so – he has to have known how you expected to be dead already. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

You almost question him – why are you receiving this mission and not some other assassin who may not be as efficient as you but still has a cleaner record, zero percent failure versus whatever percent that last mission cost you? But your employer hates being questioned, and more likely than not, he’d take the contract away with a cheerful, “Perhaps I did choose wrongly,” and then where would you be?

“No, sir.” You swallow hard, finally letting go of your fists. Crescents burn in your palms where nails bit into the skin.

“I suppose you are wondering why I chose you for this mission rather than one of those who have not disappointed me yet.”

You don’t dare to nod.

He leans forward. “I considered others. But you have always been the best assassin.” A smile splits his face, like a slit throat. “You remember what I have told you from the start. The best killers are not the bloodiest. They are the most efficient. You do not have to enjoy blood to become a killer.”

That’s true. You’ve always hated the feeling of sticky red liquid soaking your skin. Yet here you are, an assassin.

“Others forget. You have not.” He leans back again. “So I am giving you a second chance.” The smile disappears. “Do not disappoint me this time.”

You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die. You’re going to live to see another day, you won’t have to fight for your existence, you’ll be able to keep your friend safe and support her longer – you even have a mission. A second chance.

Tears of relief prick at your eyes and you bow, fighting the lump in your throat. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s smiling when you rise again, eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not disappoint me,” he repeats.

You swear you won’t.

. . . . .

Jangjun is once again being followed.

Internally, he groans. Seriously, after all those assassins and bounty hunters he and Joochan left dead or in the dust, he would’ve thought the palace had given up by now. Can’t they just let them all live in peace after making their lives hell for so long?

But the king and queen don’t care about any of that, and Bomin probably has only a little influence, if he even knows about the assassins in the first place. Jangjun sighs. At least he sent the other two up ahead first – Jangjun’s just the guard, the odd man out of the trio. His duty is to protect, and he’ll do that to the last. The others are more important. They need time to be happy.

He keeps walking, even as the sky grows darker and the moon begins to rise. The follower stays on his path, but by all the gods, they’re good. Jangjun can’t tell where they are, can only feel something stalking him.

Then there’s a shift in the air. Jangjun stops.

And ducks just in time for a knife to whiz past where his head was less than a second ago.

Before he even hears the blade thunk into a nearby tree trunk, a figure leaps from the foliage – almost on top of Jangjun if he hadn’t whirled away at the last second. Metal rings against the sheath of his sword and he swings it just in time to catch the long knife slashing towards his face.

You’re good. Too good. Way better than any of the others sent to kill him or the gardener, to bring Joochan back to the palace. Metal crashes and leaves fall as you dance away from his single blade, twin knives glinting like lethal stars from the sky – there’s a natural grace to your movements that almost remind him of Donghyun’s sister and the way she moved so fluidly through the air, only your grace slices deadly and sharp while hers flowed supple and soft.

But that isn’t the only familiar thing he sees.

Sharp eyes meet his, glinting dangerously in the rising moonlight. It almost distracts him into thinking – where has he seen that sort of glint before? He knows he’s seen it before, but on who, where, and when – but then a second blade slices towards his side and he remembers he can’t think, he can’t think, thinking is what gets you killed in the middle of a fight –

Animals burst out of hiding as you and Jangjun trample the forest floor. He nicks your arm and you hiss, retaliating with a two-bladed strike against his single sword that makes his teeth chatter with the reverb – and all the while he’s fighting, there’s that nagging thought in the back of his mind that he refuses to entertain, the thought that screams he’s seen those eyes or at least that glint on someone he says he’s forgotten but hasn’t really, has only pushed the memories back after so many years because they never mattered. He would never see them again, not the sharp-eyed pickpocket he fell in love with –

Them –

Oh, gods, them –

Jangjun trips over a tree root. He regains his balance quickly, but it’s more than enough time for you to duck under one flailing arm and slam him against the trunk, wrenching his sword out of his hands and knocking the air of his lungs. One knife rests against his side while the other lodges under his chin, blade pressing into his throat.

He closes his eyes. If this is how he dies, then so be it. Joochan and his partner have gone up ahead and he told them not to come back, to wait until morning and if he didn’t meet with them by then, to continue on their own. If he dies now at the hands of an assassin, he’s performed his duty as a loyal guard to one of the few good people left in this world.

“Where are they?” a voice rasps, raw with panting exertion and pain.

Jangjun opens his eyes. Racks his mind for something witty to say, something that’ll anger you and maybe throw that glint into your eye again, that glint he thought he’d never see until he died. It would be a nice sight to take with him even as he goes, even if it isn’t on the same person who’d disappeared from the orphanage so many years back –

His eyes widen. Your mask fell off at some point during the fight and now your face is bare, visible under the moonlight.

You –

You are the same person –

Jangjun tries to reconcile the images, one of a smirking teenager pickpocketing some rich man on the streets, another of the sharp-eyed assassin holding a knife to his throat. There’s no way – you have to be different – but with your mask torn away, revealing the rest of your face, all Jangjun can see are the growing similarities between the teenaged orphan who disappeared and left him alone at the orphanage all those years ago.

“Where are they?” you hiss again, pressing the knife further into his neck.

Breathing shallowly – he can feel tiny drops of blood beginning to trickle down his skin – he stretches his lips into a trembling smirk. “You don’t remember me anymore, Y/N?”

Your eyes remain blank for a second longer. Then they widen and your grip goes slack with realization –

Jangjun has barely left your hold when you shove him back against the trunk with even more force than the first time. His head hits the bark and he sighs, trying to ignore the aching pain. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You know how I feel about tree bits in my hair.”

“By all the gods –” You groan. “Of course the prince’s guard would turn out to be the most insufferable asshole in the orphanage.”

“And of course the assassin would turn out to be the slickest pickpocket with the worst mouth in the same orphanage,” Jangjun replies. The smile comes easier, now that you’re not actively pressing the knife into his skin. He missed your eyes. “I’m offended you didn’t recognize me at first.”

You snort. “You seriously expect me to remember your face after all these years?”

“I remembered yours.” Jangjun blinks innocently. Of course he did – he couldn’t forget it, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you were probably dead in the weeks after you disappeared –

“You’ve changed,” you snap, though he can see the beginnings of a smile lifting your lips. Curved, knife-like, but familiar in its snark.

Beautiful.

He smirks. “Did I become more handsome?”

“How did you become a royal guard with a mouth as stupid as this?”

“My pretty face and sparkling personality.” Jangjun grins. “Mind taking the knife off my neck? It’s a little hard to breathe.”

In response, you press it in harder, eyes growing dark. Oops, wrong thing to say. “Tell me where they are,” you reply conversationally, “and maybe, in the spirit of old friendship, I’ll kill you quickly.”

Jangjun fights for breath as more blood drips down his neck. The blade in his side is digging deeper, too. Damn, you’re good. “How about in the spirit of old friendship – ow, that hurts – how about you just let me go?”

All traces of a smile leave your lips. The glint in your eye disappears fully, leaving behind only a wild, desperate darkness that Jangjun hasn’t seen before. 

That’s different. 

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” you say. “Now, if you don’t tell me right now –”

“Behind you,” Jangjun warns.

You scoff. Damn it. “You seem to think I’m the same idiot from when we were back in the orphanage. That’s almost offensive.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He shrugs as best he can with your blades in his skin and back pressed against the trunk. “And I’m sure you aren’t all that offended. Are you going to get on with it, now?”

Your eyes narrow. You shift your stance. The knife tightens against his side, but in that one second of shifting, the other lifts just slightly off his throat –

Jangjun hooks his leg around your knee and you buckle, blade dropping from his neck just long enough for him to escape your hold and dart away, scooping up his fallen sword. You snarl, already following, but Jangjun isn’t interested in fighting. He’s only running away.

And, just as he hoped, he’s a little faster.

“See you soon, Y/N!” he yells, sprinting into the darkened forest. Moonlight barely shines through the dark foliage – somehow, he’s certain, you won’t take the risk of following. You’ll hang back, wait until day, track him, and strike when he seems most vulnerable.

He almost misses your words in reply.

“Count on it.”

They send shivers up his spine.

. . . . .

By the time of your next encounter with Jangjun, you have allowed several things to settle in your mind that you didn’t have the time to process during your last fight. You mull them over, one by one, as you walk around the marketplace, picking up the things you need.

First, and most importantly, Jangjun’s good. Too good. Not to say you couldn’t take him – if it weren’t night, you feel reasonably confident that you could’ve followed and taken him down – but you did not realize royal guards were trained to this caliber.

Not your fault. Missions rarely force you to tangle with royalty or their guards – this is a special case. But even then, to have a guard at the same level as some weaker assassins, possibly even on par with you…

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” Your employer’s words echo through your mind. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bag. You underestimated him last time. You thought he was still the same boy you left back at the orphanage. You won’t make the same mistake again.

Second, bar his fighting skills, Jangjun is still the same snarky asshole from the orphanage when you two were teens. His brand of humor is unique – it stuck with you through your early days working up through the ranks, even when you went through your grueling training – and it proves that the guard you fought with is the boy you were forced to leave, even more than the smiling eyes that still mark his “pretty face.”

Well, he does have a pretty face. You won’t deny that. That face has been pretty since you met him at the orphanage, pretty enough for your teenage heart to fall a little in love with, and it makes sense that it’s stayed pretty since then. But that same face will be six feet under by the time you’re finished with him, pretty or no, so you don’t dwell on it. You’ve been given a second chance to live, courtesy of your notoriously ruthless employer. No, in the face of such an opportunity, nothing matters, not old friends or even something more.

Your heart twists. Seriously, didn’t you lock those feelings away all those years ago? When you were certain you’d never see Jangjun again after too many failed escapes? It’s just a twist, though, not much more – hopefully the feelings have faded, even if they still exist.

You swallow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters anymore but you and your best friend – she’s all you have and you’re all she has. If she dies because you weren’t there to support her, because you let some old feelings get in the way, you… You don’t even know. All you do know is that you can’t waste this opportunity, not when two livelihoods depend on it, not just one.

The back of your neck prickles. You go back to examining threads, pushing thoughts of assassination away. This isn’t the time for murder, so which of these colors would your weaving friend enjoy?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Speak of the devil.

Calmly, you pore through a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue, trying not to tense visibly. Of course you would meet Jangjun when you’re not actively following him at the moment – yes, you technically followed him here, tracking his traces along with two others to the town, but you didn’t come here with the expectation of completing your job immediately. It’s a respectable place, not the slums where anyone will look the other way should a murder come to pass, and besides, you’d like the trio to lower their guard a little before you strike next. You’re here to watch and observe, maybe catch a glimpse of the prince and see if you can haul him out before taking care of the other two. However indifferent the palace might be, you don’t enjoy killing more than necessary. Two murders is always better than three, unless in exceptional circumstances.

If Minho was the life in limbo, for example, you might choose to make that third murder after all.

The presence doesn’t leave, even as you pick out a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue. You remember your friend saying she was running out of the color, so this should suffice for another few months. Thanking the shopkeeper, you turn around, ignoring the boy who has now begun following you through the crowd.

He catches up quickly. “You know, it’s rude to ignore people when they speak to you.”

With a sigh, you turn around. “You know, it’s weird to come up and talk to an assassin who’s been hired to kill you. Usually, people stay away.”

“You won’t kill me here.” Jangjun’s eyes glitter with a certainty that almost unnerves you – how can he be so sure of what you will or won’t do after so many years apart? “Too crowded. Too many people. Too respectable. And besides, I have information.” His lips curl. “I’m valuable.”

“Oh really?” Your free hand slips up one of your sleeves just barely, letting a small knife slip between your fingers. Jangjun’s eyes widen a fraction when you press the tip to his side. “Keep walking. Keep smiling.”

He does.

“If I pushed this knife into you right now, you’d bleed out within seconds,” you whisper, nodding your head to a few people who pass. You place a hand on his shoulder in a fashion that might look intimate to passersby, but when your thumb reaches around to press a point on his neck, Jangjun stiffens. “If I pressed here just a little harder, you’d be dizzy enough that I’d have to carry you somewhere else, maybe, oh, because of heatstroke or a migraine, and what would happen to you then?”

Jangjun doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s not mention all the other pressure points I know that you might not, all the perfect places to stab someone so that they die with minimal blood flow, all the ways I could slam you down and knock you out if I was that pressed.” You remove the knife, twirling it once between your fingers in a flash of bright metal before tucking it back into your sleeve. “Don’t get too cocky, Jangjun. You seem to have forgotten I’ve been trained in ways to kill for years.” Your eyes narrow, the genial smile sliding off your face. “I’m not exactly the same teenager from the orphanage all those years ago.”

He looks at you. Scrutinizes your face, stares into your eyes. For some reason, even though you were the one holding a knife against him just seconds ago, it now feels like he has the upper hand.

“Eh,” he finally says, a pinch of color returned to his cheeks. “Maybe in that, you’re different, but don’t worry.” He winks. “Tragically, I think you’re still affected by this pretty face. Careful – it might just distract you into letting me go one day.”

You open your mouth to say something, then only scoff. It’s getting harder and harder not to let a smile spread your lips. You might not agree with Jangjun that you haven’t changed, but he definitely hasn’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with this keen a death wish. Why are you even talking to me?”

“I think that if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye – less certain, now, but still decently sure. You’ll take it. “Why waste all this time talking?” His eyelids flutter obnoxiously. “Unless you really enjoy listening to the sound of my voice.”

“As if.” You snort. “But you’re right, this time.” A glint of metal purposely flashes from the inside of your sleeve. “I’m not planning to kill you just yet, not when it’s such a nice day, there are so many people, and most importantly, I just want to get some shopping done. So.” You look at him. “Why are you talking to me while I’m running errands?”

He looks at the bag in your other hand. “What are the threads for?”

“Threads?” You look down. “Oh, you noticed?”

Jangjun scoffs. “I was standing right behind you, it would’ve been a little difficult not to notice.”

“I have a friend who likes needlework,” you say. “She doesn’t always have the money to experiment, though, so I take her things when I can.” You smirk. “Even assassins have a little bit of a life, you know.”

Something unreadable – longing, wistful, more emotions than you have the time to decipher – flashes through Jangjun’s eyes. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, though, and you chalk it up to some old memory he never shared with you. “Well, it can’t just be murder all the time.”

“You’re right. Maybe you should’ve become an assassin instead of a royal guard,” you say. “Gotten snatched off the street and all instead of me.”

Jangjun’s face crumples. It’s fast, so fast you barely see it – even faster than that wistful longing present just seconds ago – but even though he’s mostly back to normal by the time you blink, there’s enough of a haunted look in his eyes for you to frown. “Jangjun?”

“What?” He looks at you, easy as ever.

Both of you have stopped in a sea of moving market-goers, you narrowing your gaze at him, Jangjun narrowing his eyes right back. The stare-down lasts several seconds, but when he doesn’t let up, you mentally shake your head. There’s no point in asking if he wants to hide it. Besides, you shouldn’t even care – he’s nothing but a target that you can’t kill just yet because he has information. The banter is fun, but in the end, one of you will be alive and the other dead.

You don’t plan to be the latter.

“Nothing,” you finally say. “Now go away. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, yes?” A smirk curls your lips. “I’ve got things to do, so watch that pretty face of yours before I decide to put it into the ground.” With that, you begin moving through the crowd.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jangjun calls.

You roll your eyes.

. . . . .

Freedom doesn’t last more than a few days.

Jangjun really had hoped for longer – hell, he spent a whole morning talking to you, making sure you weren’t out stalking his friends while they went on to the next town. The conversation stretched even longer than he thought it would – carried away by you threatening to publicly kill him, a thought that still makes his blood run a little cold, even if it warms with the reminder of your smile.

Your smile. Jangjun needs to stop thinking of it. Even when your lips are curved in a smirk and not a genuine grin, it brings back so many old memories he thought he’d successfully suppressed – bladed, dangerous, mischievous, like a crescent moon glinting in the sky –

(The last time Jangjun caught himself thinking that way, Joochan asked why he suddenly looked so constipated. His partner had to remind them they were on the run for them to finally shut up.)

But you’re good. Too good. And even though that knife-like smile brings back good memories, it conjures more fear than Jangjun is used to. He should expect the worst from you – it’s all you’ve shown, after all.

Still, he doesn’t expect to wake up to a shadow standing in the corner of the room in which they’re staying, blade poised over a sleeping gardener’s chest.

Jangjun leaps off the futon, silent save for the rustling of blankets. You turn around – at some point you’d gotten yourself a new face mask – but he’s already tackling you to the floor before he can register it, trying to wrench the knife from your fingers –

It whistles past his ear with a flick of your hand before thudding into the wooden wall. Jangjun freezes for the briefest second, by the gods, that came way too close to taking him out –

You flip him around, slamming his head against the floor so hard Jangjun can see stars. He struggles against your hold but you’re clearly not interested in him as a target, more focused on the gardener who’s now sitting up on the floor, eyes wide in the moonlight.

Jangjun catches your foot and pulls just as you lunge toward them, another knife flashing. “RUN!” he yells as you crash to the floor with a sharp yell, blade stuck in the wooden floorboards. 

The gardener looks at Joochan, whose eyes have just blinked open as you kick back, releasing Jangjun’s hold around your ankle – he groans as your foot connects with his face but he still locks eyes with the gardener and snaps, “I SAID RUN!”

“GO!” Joochan yells, now fully awake as he takes in the mess of the room – a knife in the wall, Jangjun on the floor, an assassin beginning to sit up, sharp metal already flashing between their fingers – where do you keep your infinite supply of blades because Jangjun seriously wants to know – and finally the gardener slams the door open and footsteps begin pounding down the hall.

A hiss sounds in the darkness. Jangjun turns back to the dark mass rising from the floor, eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight. “Interesting. Why is the prince so intent on keeping his kidnappers safe?” A knife twirls between your fingers. “Is it because you’re dead either way, with your captors or at the palace?”

Jangjun blinks. Dead either way?

“I was never kidnapped,” Joochan snarls, sword drawn even though the long blade won’t be of much use in such a small room. “Trust me, my life is better on the run than it ever was back in the palace.”

For the first time since Jangjun revealed his identity in that first fight, you look confused. The fire in your eyes fades, replaced with narrowed curiosity. “You ran away,” you state, eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s something I wasn’t told.”

Hope burns in Jangjun’s chest. Maybe you’ll stop following them now that you know the truth, that whatever the palace told you wasn’t true – maybe you’ll have sympathy, knowing that Joochan is running away from something worse –

The fire returns. “Then would you rather be dead, Prince, instead of my returning you to the palace alive?”

“Let him go,” Jangjun snaps before Joochan can respond. Betrayal buries itself deep in his heart – betrayal at what, he doesn’t know, you never promised to keep him alive or anything once you heard the true story (if you had, he would’ve told you everything within a heartbeat), but the cold detachment in your voice rubs him the wrong way – and he stands, placing himself directly in front of the prince. “Y/N, can’t you just have sympathy –”

Jangjun barely blocks your twirling knife. Metal clangs and your eyes bore into his as you bear down on his too-long sword. “Assassins aren’t trained to have sympathy,” you say, cold, unrelenting. The blade presses harder, screeching against his. “And even if I was different, my life isn’t the only one resting on this mission.”

Somewhere in the background, Joochan scoffs. Jangjun shoots him a warning look, but the prince has already opened his mouth. “What kind of cold-blooded killer protects anyone but themselves?”

All of the weight leaves Jangjun’s blade and suddenly he’s pressing against nothing but air. He falls to the floor, arms trembling, as you whirl around to face Joochan.

Jangjun should feel relief. You’re not holding the knife in a dangerous position. He’s also free from your overwhelming strength. But your voice…

Your voice drips with pure ice.

“Don’t presume to know anything about me, Your Highness,” you snarl. Jangjun rises – he needs to get Joochan away, needs to get him out of your line of vision, why did he have to say anything at all – but a blade thunks into the wood next to his hand and he freezes. You barely even looked at him. “Don’t presume that all cold-blooded killers have absolutely zero capacity for any warmth.” You take a step closer. Jangjun can only get up slowly, silently, pray that you don’t do anything to Joochan before he’s fully risen. “After all, knowing you have someone to protect makes it so much easier to kill, doesn’t it?”

Jangjun stands up, just as shouts and footsteps begin to pound at the end of the hall. “Y/N –”

“Oh, we have company,” you cut him off, eyes glittering like ice shards in wintertime. You step back from Joochan, thankfully, and hoist yourself onto the open window – shit, that’s where you must have come from. “Sadly, even I can’t fight an army alone. Mull on my words, Your Highness. It seems you have some people you’d like to protect – maybe we’ll understand each other better next time.”

“Doubtful,” Joochan snarls. Jangjun flinches at the animosity in his tone. “I don’t kill. Not if I can help it.” His words, full of anguished certainty, grate at Jangjun’s ears – he knows his prince is speaking of the curse.

It doesn’t seem to affect you in the same way. “But you would’ve killed me just now, wouldn’t you?” You turn away, letting a small shower of coins fall from your hand to the floor. “Pay the innkeeper for the damage, yeah? I’ll take responsibility – if you’d like to mention I was an assassin, of course.” Your eyes glint in the moonlight, nothing like anything Jangjun remembers. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

. . .

In hindsight, Joochan was a little too quiet while his partner was off sorting out the mess with the innkeeper, but Jangjun still doesn’t expect him to drag him away at the first opportunity and immediately snap.

“You knew them,” he hisses. “You knew them, Jangjun – you said their name. How?”

His hackles rise. All Jangjun has done this entire time is try to protect him, and now he wants to make a fuss over a name? “I wasn’t always a royal guard,” he snaps. “I had a life before I joined, and it wasn’t a savory life, either.”

“So how did you know them?” Joochan demands again. “An assassin?”

“They weren’t an assassin when I knew them at the orphanage!” Jangjun crosses his arms. Might as well give the full truth. “They just disappeared one day and I thought they were dead, but then they turned back up as… this.”

“Gods above,” Joochan mutters, putting his head in his hands. “And after all the times you’d fought them, you just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

“What – it wasn’t relevant!” Jangjun snaps. “What was I supposed to say to you? Oh, hey, I know the assassin who was sent after you because it totally matters –”

“You might’ve said something about their skill –”

“I did! Didn’t I come back injured that one time –”

“– can’t believe you know an assassin – they almost killed –”

“They’re not completely inhuman, Joochan –”

The prince snaps his head up, eyes blazing. “Really? So you bought all that bullshit about ‘protecting’?”

Jangjun feels his lips curl in anger. You may be an assassin now, but the protective streak hasn’t gone away – the look in your eyes was the same when you talked about your needlework friend as when you spoke to him, all those years ago. “No, I didn’t buy that bullshit about ‘protecting’,” he snarls, leaning forward. “Because there was nothing to buy. You never knew them – I did, once.”

Joochan scoffs. “It’s almost like you know them too well.”

Too well.

Too well.

Jangjun’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t hurt a prince, can’t punch him, can’t slap him – he’s sworn to protect –

“I’ve spent all these months fighting off assassins for you,” he says lowly. “I killed people because you wouldn’t use your voice and I respected that. I made you two go up ahead as much as I could so that I would be more likely to die than both of you. I even talked to this same assassin for a whole morning and stalled them so you could get away – and now you’re going to insinuate that I have been working against you this entire time?”

Joochan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. Jangjun itches to punch him, to knock him over and yell –

“Are things fine over here?”

The voice of Joochan’s partner brings both of them back to the present. They look between them unflinchingly, arms crossed. Jangjun almost feels chastised. “We need to move before the assassin comes back.”

Bit by bit, Jangjun forces himself to untense. They’re right. The moon is still high, the stars still bright, and they don’t have anywhere to stay anymore – they need to start moving. “Fine.,” he says roughly, spinning towards the forest. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t speak to Joochan before morning comes.

. . . . .

Meeting Jangjun the next time feels different.

He’s alone, this time. Prince and gardener have probably gone up alone like they usually do. You grind your teeth – Jangjun may not quite be your equal in fighting, but he has a knack for staying one step ahead that you really hate – but you spring out anyway, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jangjun gasps, barely dodging your slash. He rolls over and kick – you avoid his leg, leaping out of the way as he lashes out with his own sword. “Now?”

“Would you have preferred next week?” you snap. A knife tip slides between your fingers and you hold it up, watching him closely. “This has been dragging on long enough – wouldn’t you like to get out of this limbo sooner rather than later?”

“I’d say yes if I didn’t want to stay alive, but I do.” Jangjun’s lips curve, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It makes you blink – did something happen to him? “So, sadly, I’ll take limbo a little longer over death.”

“Of course,” you mutter. “That would make my job too easy.”

He lunges towards you in reply. You dance out of the way only just in time, frozen for a second because –

Jangjun doesn’t do offense. He hasn’t been on the offense, hasn’t made the first move in all the times you’ve fought.

Which means he’s now trying to kill you just as much as you’re trying to kill him.

Ah. So that’s what was different.

You bare your teeth, dodging another strike as you swipe under his arm. He hisses as your blade rips through flesh, blood dripping from his side onto the ground. “You know, you’d have an easier time staying alive if you gave up your royal duties and just left the prince to his own devices,” you say, nimbly whirling around as his sword flashes.

Jangjun’s eyes darken. You barely avoid his next hit. “He’s one of only a few I trust to help make life better for people like me.”

Blades clash. Sparks fly. You spin away, eyebrows furrowed. “People like you?”

He doesn’t mean orphans. That’s too generic. He would’ve said “people like us,” then – you fall under that category too, and Jangjun hasn’t forgotten. People like me…

Another person flashes through your mind, a seamstress forced to put her skill into peasant shirts and clothes when her fingers should be flying through colorful threads and shimmering silks, weaving stories into cloth and tapestries.

“I wish you didn’t have to hide,” you say. “Your art is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

A bitter smile, fingers deftly embroidering a small piece of silk even as she looks at you. “People like me will always have to hide.”

People like me…

A memory returns of Jangjun, looking at the threads in your bag like they were something precious.

Your eyes widen. Gods, how did you not put it together before? “You’re a weaver.”

Jangjun freezes halfway across the clearing you two have torn up in your fight, fingers clenched so hard around his sword that you can see his knuckles turn white. “What, just another reason to kill me?” He laughs, cold, desperate – it chills your spine even more than your employer’s deadly gaze. Jangjun never laughs – laughed – that way. “Collect an additional reward for the murder of a weaver?”

You school your features. “All are equal in the eyes of death,” you quote, readying your knives. “And what makes you think that prince of yours will do shit to help you? His own family killed yours.”

He doesn’t move, though his jaw tightens, the rest of his body tensed to spring. “I don’t,” he finally says, voice sharp but with the slightest wobble at the edge.

The old urge to hold him close itches in your fingers. You clench your knives harder. The urge doesn’t leave.

“I don’t,” he repeats, “but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to hope. And…” His eyes meet yours, cold, betrayed. Any trace of a smile on his face has gone. “He’s one of the few who never left me.”

One of the few who never left me.

Who never left me.

Never left me.

You almost take a step back as the words pierce your chest. “You – you think I meant to leave? You think it was my fucking fault I disappeared?”

Jangjun doesn’t flinch. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt when you left?” he snarls. “It might not have been your fault, but you still left – and you know that my sister disappeared too, how do you think I felt when I’d just convinced myself you were dead and then you came back like – like this?”

“You think it was all sunshine and rainbows for me?” you spit. “Seriously? You think I didn’t nearly get myself killed all four times I tried to escape? You think I didn’t try to convince myself that you were dead too just so I’d give up that stupid hope that you were still alive – and then I come back to see you as one of my targets, someone I’m supposed to kill – you think that was fine for me, too?”

He holds your gaze. “You honestly never seemed to have a problem with it.”

Shit. Gods, why did you say anything at all? Why didn’t you close your mouth – now he knows, now he fucking knows how much it initially hurt to realize just who you had to kill in order to keep someone else alive –

Too late. The words are already out of your mouth, Jangjun has interpreted them, and you don’t know what to say in response. “I do have a problem with it,” you finally say. “But I have a new life now.” You stare into eyes that once used to keep you alive. “And I’m not going to give it up for anything.”

Not for anything.

Not even for you.

Jangjun laughs, short, brief. “You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

This time, it’s your turn to hold his gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Wind whistles through the trees. Then Jangjun breaks the silence, his voice low, fractured, almost broken. “There was a time when you would’ve died for me, I think.”

Your heart twists. Yes, there was a time, a time when you were younger and more naïve, just another orphan of many at the overcrowded orphanage, when you would’ve died for Jangjun. But such a time never came, not until now.

When it’s already too late.

“We’ve both changed, Jangjun.” You raise your knives. “We both have different people we want to protect.”

His gaze shatters for a moment before it turns flinty, cold. “For the record,” he says softly, “there was a time when I would’ve died for you, too.”

Blades meet in a crash of metal and sparks.

. . . . .

The gardener’s song isn’t as strong on wounds as it is with plants, but Jangjun welcomes any last bit of respite from the pain that he can get. At least the blood has stopped flowing, even if the cuts still sting.

His head hurts more than the wounds do, anyway.

Jangjun sits awake in the alley, staring at the sky of stars. He only barely got away from you, leading you out of the forest and into the town before ducking into the first open place he could find, some old tavern full of seedy people. No one gave him a second glance – people walk into bars injured and bloody all the time, apparently – and he’d waited with his heart in his throat, praying his instincts were right, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him outside and that you wouldn’t follow him to where Joochan has promised to meet him, an alley they’d found when the prince had had to come here to visit one time.

You didn’t follow, as far as Jangjun knows. You never popped out of the shadows to ram a blade through his chest, never dropped down from a roof to slit his throat. For all your bravado, you always seem to take the hard way of killing him – was it that foolish of him to believe you didn’t want to kill him?

But if you weren’t lying, knowing that you have him as a target hurts you, too. You just have other people you care about more.

Jangjun doesn’t think you were lying. That’s not the type of thing someone says as a lie in the middle of a fight. But now, as he’s beginning to realize just how different you are from the teenager he remembered at the orphanage, how can he trust what he thinks?

Gods. Jangjun buries his head in his stinging hands. One of the cuts has probably opened up again.

Why is it so hard to accept that you’ve changed?

Something shifts. Jangjun’s head whips up, ready to dodge a flash of silver in the dark –

It’s only Joochan, startling awake from some nightmare or another. His eyes blink open with a gasp, glittering in the moonlight, and then he winces, rubbing his neck. Jangjun hears a hiss of pain and meets Joochan’s eyes out of habit.

Discomfort crawls up his spine. They haven’t spoken much since that last night at the inn where his gardener nearly died (they would’ve died, definitely, if Jangjun hadn’t woken up at the sound of light footsteps), and neither of them has apologized. But Jangjun doesn’t look away and Joochan doesn’t either.

The prince speaks first. “I’m sorry, Jangjun.”

Jangjun blinks. “Come again?”

“I’m sorry,” he says louder.

A mocking grin curves Jangjun’s lips. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“You –” Joochan scoffs, exasperated, but Jangjun detects a little bit of fondness that lightens his heart. “Gods, you’re a nightmare.”

“And yet you keep me around.”

“For some reason, yes.” Joochan smiles slightly. “But really. I am sorry.” He swallows visibly, eyes still meeting Jangjun’s even if he can tell how hard it is. “It was out of line for me to say that you were anything but loyal. I was angry that they’d almost died, but… that doesn’t excuse it.”

“It doesn’t,” Jangjun agrees. “But I get it. And I’m sorry, too.” The grin falls off his lips as memories of a bladed smile, sharp eyes glinting in the moonlight flash through his mind. “It obviously doesn’t look good that I know an assassin, of all types of people, especially the one who’s after us.”

“You don’t need to apologize for knowing someone.”

Maybe I do, because I cared about them.

Cared.

Jangjun swallows the bitter taste in his throat. He still cares about you. It’s just…

What would he do if it was a choice between you dead, or Joochan?

The answer comes immediately. Joochan. For all the reasons he told you and more – Joochan is good, a truly good person. Even though he technically holds no royal status anymore, he has hope that the prince will be able to bring about some change for weavers, or at least provide a safe haven for him and any others he might find. He deserves Jangjun’s loyalty and more. Jangjun knows he would die for him.

His heart thumps, painfully. There was a time when he would’ve died for you. But…

“You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Maybe he’s changed more than he thought, too.

“Even then, they’re still out to kill us.” He looks up at the cold crescent moon, previously a comfort, now a reminder of your smile. “And you have to know that my loyalty is to you, not to them.”

Regardless of how much I care for them.

Joochan looks like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. His eyes rove over Jangjun’s face, leaving him feeling too open, too vulnerable – what if Joochan sees his struggle? What if he sees that even though Jangjun speaks the truth, his heart screams that it’s a lie?

But nothing comes of it. The prince just dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

On any other day, Jangjun would just flippantly say no problem. He doesn’t like to deal with sensitivity and emotions the way Joochan does, after all. But there is a problem. A lot of them, actually. So he just half-smiles and says, “You’re welcome.”

There will come a time when you two will fight again. Jangjun has never wanted to kill you before. He still doesn’t now.

But if he has to, he will. He will.

Because he has other people he needs to protect, too.

. . . . .

You’re back home.

Or almost. You weren’t born here, if the orphanage owners were telling the truth (they had no reason to lie, you’re pretty sure). But since the day you were snatched off the street, this has been where you spent the majority of your time. You don’t know why the prince and his little posse have come out here to hide, but at least it gives you a chance to see your friend before you have to move on again.

“What happened to you?” is the first thing she says when you swing by her stall. Her nose wrinkles in mock disgust, but you can see the concern in her face when you drop your bag of things on her counter, wincing when the strap digs slightly into one of your cut fingers.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Is that the kind of greeting you give a friend who’s brought you all this nice stuff?”

“Y/N, honestly,” she says, eyeing the bag. “You don’t need to spend all this on me, it’s really fine –”

“Just take it,” you say, half-smiling. “You know I’m not going to stop giving you stuff no matter what you say.”

Because it’s an apology. An apology for keeping so many truths from her – what you do, who you really are – and for putting her indirectly in danger. Most assassins know to stay far, far away from here or you’ll rip them limb from limb (literally – Minho once tried to mess around with you and that was the only time you’ve ever seen him scared of you), but there’s always a chance that someone whom you’ve wronged will come back for revenge. And what then?

But you haven’t told her. You can’t – all the breath disappears from your throat the second you even think about it. Because what if you lose her, too, the only constant you’ve had since Jangjun, all those years ago?

Your lips twist. Don’t think about him.

“Y/N?”

Too late, you realize you’ve been staring into the distance for a while. “Sorry.” A smile plasters itself back onto your face, only slightly forced. “Zoned out. Thinking about work.”

The concern comes back in full force. Even if she doesn’t know exactly what you do, she knows it isn’t exactly legal – the stuff you buy her, the money you leave at her doorstep doesn’t speak of perfectly lawful causes, after all. She knows it’s dangerous, knows it’s not easy work, but you can handle her concern as long as you don’t have to explain the truth.

“Hey, it’s not bad.” You smile wider, crinkling your eyes to make it genuine. “Just a little rough, recently.” That’s putting it lightly. “How have you been?”

“I mean, I’m not bankrupt yet.” Her lips curl sardonically. “Thanks to you, really. But I’m staying afloat.” She looks around cautiously, then down at the several spools of thread and lengths of cloth sitting at the bottom of the bag. “Weaving… it keeps me sane.”

The gratitude shining in her eyes makes everything worth it, the lies, the pain. She deserves to be this happy and so much more. “Always glad to be of service,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief when your voice doesn’t crack at the end. “Do you have time to take a short walk?”

She looks up and down the small marketplace, whose activity has begun to wind down with the approaching end of the day. “Probably? Give me a moment, let me pack up a little.”

You weave through the thinning crowds together, talking as the sun sets further. Words come and go in waves, natural, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself relaxing as you finally put your mind to things other than murder and boys you knew at orphanages in years past.

But then her eyes fix on a spot in the distance and she stops talking mid-sentence. You furrow your eyebrows, following her gaze – she never stops talking about her latest miniature tapestries or clothing designs –

Your eyes comes to rest on a familiar head of black hair as it rushes through the throng.

All of a sudden, the thoughts of murder and boys come back, pounding every corner of your skull. But that’s normal, and you can deal with it – you can’t not expect to see the people that you’re stalking in the same town, after all. 

What isn’t normal is how your best friend looks like she’s seen a ghost. 

You call her name once, twice, three times before she finally shakes her head and responds. “Sorry,” she says, voice thin. “I saw… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

You look back, pretending like you didn’t see the exact same person. “Who?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I just…” A short laugh falls from her lips, bitter, broken. “I thought I saw my brother. Well, a grown-up version of him.”

Brother. She has a brother – you already knew that – but she never described him, never told you his name. All you know is that he was a weaver too and that they weren’t blood-related, her family took him in when his was killed and after her parents were executed, they somehow got separated and she never saw him again. Your heart broke for her the first and only time she ever told you the story – it breaks again, even now, to know that she thought she saw her brother in Jangjun’s face.

Unless –

Your eyes widen.

Jangjun had a sister. He had a sister who disappeared when he was young, after his parents were killed – he never saw her again –

No. You try to breathe. No, it’s not possible, it can’t fucking be possible – there is no way Jangjun is your best friend’s long lost brother, the brother she thought was dead all of these years –

He’s a weaver. He’s a weaver. It’s half the reason he’s stuck by the prince for so long even when he decided he’d had enough to do with royal life – Jangjun is a weaver and your best friend’s long lost brother was a weaver too.

“What – what was your brother’s name?” you ask softly, trying to keep the shake out of your tone. You pray for a name that isn’t the one pounding through your head, the name that gave you the courage to attempt four escapes before you convinced yourself the owner was dead, the name that’s haunted you for the past few months as you try to kill its owner and the two others he’s trying so hard to protect –

“Jangjun,” she says softly, eyes sparkling in the last glow of afternoon sunlight. “His name was Jangjun.”

Your heart drops like a stone.

. . .

You’re not exactly sure when you start breathing again, but luckily, it’s before your friend has the chance to see that there’s something wrong with you, too. She’s preoccupied with her own thoughts, which gives you a bit of time to compose yourself. “Hey, are you all right?” you ask, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. “Maybe we should go back.”

“I – yeah. Sorry.” She looks down, shoulders sagging. “I was just rattled. Sorry that this got cut short.”

“Hey, shut up.” You nudge her slightly, curving the corners of your lips slightly even as your heart drags down, down, down. “If you’re not feeling well, it’s completely fine. I’ll hopefully be back in a couple of months, anyway – we can talk more then.”

You help her pack up the stall, walk everything back to her small house. At the door you bid her goodbye, and after tossing a pouch of coins inside, you run off into the forest, laughing as she yells fond obscenities behind you.

The laughter dies away the second you know you’re far enough away that she can’t hear you.

Jangjun is your best friend’s brother. Your best friend is Jangjun’s sister. They’re long lost siblings, siblings who loved each other, who miss each other like the earth misses the sky, who both believe the other is dead…

Your back hits a tree and you slide down against the bark. You don’t know. You don’t fucking know. You could be wrong. All of this is speculation, none of it might be true, she could have spoken of a different Jangjun with black hair, someone who isn’t your Jangjun, loyal guard to the prince, one of the targets you’ve been assigned to kill because you kill to keep yourself and your best friend alive –

Your head snaps up. She needs to stay alive. She has to. She’s all you have, no one else – there’s no one else you have, no one since they took you away from Jangjun and made you into this –

You have to kill him. You have to, or else you’ll be dead and there’ll be no one to support or protect your friend. Her business will fail and she’ll be forced to go into the dirty lines of work you dabble in, or worse, people who hated you might go after her. This is your fault – you cared about her so much that you couldn’t leave and now people know she’s precious to you, so you have to stay alive just to protect her from dangers she doesn’t even know, like assassins –

The thought of Minho getting anywhere near her makes you shudder. 

You have to kill Lee Jangjun, her brother, in order to keep her alive.

A dry, strangled sob escapes your lips. Who’s more important? Sister or brother? Both mean things to you, one a lifeline when you were a teenager, the other a lifeline now, one whom you loved as in a romance, the other whom you love as a dearest friend – who do you choose? How can you choose?

Your fists clench, nails digging into your palms. You’ve come so far, fought Jangjun so many times – even though you slipped up once, you’ve made it clear you will kill him for this best friend whom he doesn’t know is his sister. He’s tried to kill you, too – his loyalty to the former prince outweighs whatever he might or might not have felt for you.

You’re on even ground. Even ground, you tell yourself, even as the crescents in your skin begin to burn with blood. One of you will kill the other, no matter what – so all you need to do is keep this secret to yourself.

Another secret. It burns on your tongue. Another secret you’ll have to keep from your best friend, besides your job and how much danger it puts her in.

You swallow, staring up at the sky. It doesn’t matter. Once Jangjun is dead, it’ll only make true the false certainty she has in her mind. Jangjun doesn’t even have a clue his sister is alive – he’ll never know. Only you will know, and even if the secret eats you alive, you’ll keep it until the day you die. That way, it only hurts you. No one else.

The crescent moon hears your silent vow.

I’ll kill him. I swear I will, or I’ll die trying.

I have to.

. . . . .

Everything hurts. Everything either aches with a sore muscle or stings and burns with a bloody slice but instinct drives Jangjun to block your two knives as they arc down towards his chest, glinting coldly in the moonlight –

His teeth rattle in his jaw at the impact, the sound of metal against metal screeching in his ears. It takes all of his strength to keep his stance, to push back against you bearing your blades down even harder. Your eyes glint as they stare into his, wild, feral – he’s never seen you look like this before, not even when Joochan insulted you so many months ago at the inn.

Has it only been months? To Jangjun, it feels like you’ve been back for years, chasing him with your two twin knives, smaller blades flying from your fingers and ripping apart his skin –

You whip your blades away and Jangjun collapses from the sudden lack of weight. One stabs down, down and he rolls away, barely avoiding it as it plunges into the ground. Dirt stings one of his open wounds but Jangjun grits his teeth, rises on one knee to stand up again – he can do it, he has to do it, he has to because Joochan barely got a head start and if Jangjun doesn’t keep you occupied, you’re going to catch up and kill him –

His head slams against a tree trunk so hard he sees stars. Pain blooms from the back of his skull and he groans involuntarily, eyes closing as his sword slips out of limp fingers, falling to the ground.

Cold, sharp metal rests under his chin. Panting breaths puff against his face. “Tell me where they are,” you hiss, “and I’ll make it quick.”

Jangjun almost laughs. This is like déjà vu from the first time you fought, the first time he saw you since they took you away from the streets all those years ago. Only this time, there’s no banter. 

He could change that. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he whispers, the corners of his lips rising briefly in a smirk. “Don’t you know how much I hate tree bits in my hair?”

Your eyes look shiny. Jangjun would almost believe they were teary if he didn’t know for certain you would kill him in a heartbeat, even if it hurt. You might cry later, but not now. Not now.

But does he know even that? Both of you have changed – all of his intuition could be wrong.

He’s right, this time. If those are tears in your eyes, they don’t fall. “Don’t worry.” Your voice doesn’t even shake – if you hadn’t said it yourself, Jangjun would have no problem believing you truly didn’t care that you had to kill him, your childhood best friend. “I’ll pick them out of your scalp when you’re dead, just so you look nice at the funeral.”

“Would you cry then?” Jangjun asks, voice barely a whisper. The knife is too close. “Would you?”

Your gaze shutters. Maybe you’re about to cry. Maybe you’re holding back tears. But you don’t cry, don’t sob, don’t even say anything, so Jangjun doesn’t know, and he’ll never know, anyway, because that knife is going to be stained all over with his blood in seconds. “Tell me where they are,” you repeat. “I’ll find them, anyway – you might as well give yourself a quick and easy death.”

The pain in Jangjun’s head is making it increasingly hard to think. “No.”

That wild, feral look comes back into your eyes, splintering your pupils in the pale moonlight. The blade presses in deeper and your lips thin, no longer stretched in the knife-like curve Jangjun fell in love with – is still in love with –

Deeper. Deeper. Jangjun fights for breath. “Why won’t you just get it over with? Is this your idea of making me suffer?”

Deeper. Deeper. “Seriously –” he gasps – “come on, Y/N.”

Deeper. Deeper. He’s surprised you haven’t broken skin. “I’m not going to say shit –”

With a sound that’s more animal than human, a sob mixed with a guttural cry, the knife begins to drag and Jangjun gasps, ready for the searing pain of skin ripping beneath metal –

The blade drops to the ground and Jangjun follows its path, sinking down without your weight to hold him up anymore. You stumble away, not even flinching when the knife falls dangerously close to your foot, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you take another step back, and then another. Your eyes glitter in the moonlight, the wild, feral look replaced by something even scarier.

Broken, bloody glass. Shards of something completely beyond repair.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, words wheezing, half air.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Both reasons he gave so many months ago in a crowded marketplace under the sun, just before you pressed your knife into his side to show him just how much you’d changed. He didn’t want to believe it then – didn’t allow himself to believe it then – but now he does. You’ve changed.

But you bought thread – blue thread, he remembers – for your needlework friend. Spoke of her with a familiar smile. Something’s stayed the same, that protective streak. That giving streak.

His lips curve into the trembling semblance of a smirk. “You sure those are the only reasons?”

You snatch up your knife with a grace that belies your broken gaze, positioning the blade between your fingers. But you don’t throw.

“Go.”

Jangjun blinks. “What –”

“Go.” The word rips itself from your throat, grates in Jangjun’s ears – it roars and shrieks all at once, some unimaginable pain flaying his bloody skin. “Before I change my fucking mind.”

He scrambles up, pressing a hand to the wound in his side. You don’t move as he picks up his sword, sheathes it – not a muscle twitches even as he stumbles away between the trees, fleeing the unknown pain in your voice.

Your shattered eyes follow him into the dark.

. . . . .

There are only two knives up your sleeves today, another two sheathed in plain sight at your waist. You lean against the trunk of a tree, fingers clenching a folded, crumpled sheet of paper. Your tired eyes slip shut as the sun begins its descent into the sky.

You couldn’t kill him. You thought you could. Swore you would.

But three months ago, in the forest bordering this very town, you proved yourself wrong.

Your eyes squeeze even more tightly closed. Even though only paper rests in your hand, you can feel the handle of a blade against your palm, pressing it into his neck as blood began to bead on the skin. Moonlight glinted off the metal, off the red streaks painted on his skin – wounds that you had wrought with your own hands. You’d already caused so much pain. Why couldn’t you just end it right there?

“You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Bullshit, even to your own ears. But you didn’t want to say the truth, didn’t want to reveal anything more than you already had by admitting that one time that it hurt you to know he was your target.

“You sure those are the only reasons?”

You take a long, shuddering breath. It’s been three months and those words still haunt you.

How differently could that conversation have gone?

No, maybe you’d say. No, they’re not. There are too many more.

And then, bloodied and exhausted, Jangjun might still give you that tongue-in-the-cheek smirk as best he could and say, like my pretty face?

Or maybe not. You swallow. Maybe you’d have hurt him too much for him to joke like that.

But if he did, you’d shake your head and say no. Not his pretty face – or at least, not just his pretty face. The person who lies beneath that pretty face means more to you than the eyes, the nose, the lips all by themselves.

Then why?

Because…

Because you hurt him. You hurt her. In the process of trying not to hurt one, you hurt them both and even yourself, because all you know how to do is cause pain. All you know how to do is hurt. You slice skin and plunge knives into throats and watch blood drip from cold bodies because that’s all you know, even if you hate it. That’s how you live. It’s all you know.

No, it isn’t, some little part of you tries to argue. Maybe that’s the part that wants you to be the same as that teenager at the orphanage, the teenager Jangjun wanted you to be. You know how to care.

Your first instinct is to deny it. No, you don’t know how to care – if you did, you wouldn’t hurt people so much, would you? But you do. You even told the prince you did. You do know how to care – it’s just that the way you care brings pain to those you love. Always. Without fail.

You care. You fucking care. You cared about your friend so much that you couldn’t stay away even if it would keep her safe. You cared about her so much that you tried to make up for your inabilities with gifts of thread and silk and money. You cared about her to the point that you resolved to kill her brother so you would stay alive to keep protecting her from the danger you keep putting her in.

But you cared about her brother, too. You cared about Jangjun enough that you couldn’t kill him even for her, couldn’t kill him to keep you alive, couldn’t kill him to keep her safe. Somehow, you still cared for that stupid royal guard even years after you first separated, enough that you couldn’t do what you’d been trained to do at all costs. Murder.

You bury your head in your hands. Gods, life would be so much easier if you didn’t fucking care.

But you do. You care. Deeply. Just in all the wrong ways.

And the only way to distance yourself from that is to remove yourself entirely from the equation. No matter whether you live or die – and it’s more likely that you’ll die – you need to be gone.

Or you’ll only hurt them more.

You open your eyes, glancing up through the trees. The orange of the afternoon has finally dipped below the horizon, the first stars begun to twinkle in the sky. Hm. Maybe he isn’t coming. Not that you can blame him, thought – after all you put him through, no wonder he doesn’t trust you.

Then leaves rustle under soft footsteps, and Jangjun appears in a halo of hazy orange-gold.

You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips drawn, shoulders tense. Even if he’s here, he definitely doesn’t trust you. It hurts, a little bit, but you suppose it’s what you had coming. After all, you were the one who was trying to convince him this whole time that you were dangerous. That you could kill him.

“I got your note,” he says flatly. His eyes glance over your figure, take in the two knives belted at your sides. “Almost thought you’d given up, honestly.”

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow. You almost want to say something like I’m not here to commit murder, but even in your head, the words fall flat. After all you’ve done, you wouldn’t even trust yourself.

But if he thought you were going to do that anyway, why show up in the first place?

Doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to ask the rehearsed question. What was your sister’s name? The words sit on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill into the evening air –

“Do you think you could have killed me?”

Jangjun blinks. His eyebrows wrinkle further, though not with mistrust – just confusion. Then something else. But he doesn’t say anything.

You curse internally. “Never mind,” you mutter, turning away. “That’s not what I wanted to ask.” Even if I wanted to know the answer. You swallow. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.” You dare to glance back. “Just the first name.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a familiar name falls from his lips, edged with pain.

You close your eyes. Confirmed. “She’s alive.”

A sharp intake of breath. More silence. “You’re lying.” Two words composed of disbelief, anger, betrayal…

Hope.

The corners of your lips lift, just barely. Jangjun deserves a bit of hope. “No, I’m not.”

“Is this your idea of a game?” he snaps. “Because, Y/N, this hurts more than anything you’ve ever done to me already.”

Ouch. But deserved.

You open your eyes. “I’m not lying,” you repeat. “And I didn’t know she was your sister until several months ago.” Before I broke down and tried to kill you for the last time.

“Fine. Let’s say you aren’t lying.” Jangjun crosses his arms. The betrayal in his face cuts deeper than any knife you’ve ever handled. “Why are you telling me? What kind of leverage do you want?”

“I’ll take you to her.” You pause, watching his eyes widen. “On one condition.”

His gaze immediately narrows. “I’m not saying shit.”

“You don’t have to.” You lift up the folded piece of paper that’s been slowly crumpling itself under your sweaty fingers this whole time, tearstained, messy, but truthful. You’ve only written the truth in its lines. No lies.

Your fingers shake the longer you look at the letter. She’ll hate you after reading it. She’ll hate you for everything you’ve done, even if it was for her, and the thought of your best friend hating you so much makes you want to rip the paper to pieces –

No. It doesn’t matter if she hates you. You’ll be gone by the time she’s thought of anything to say to you – if she wants to say anything at all.

You hold out the letter. “Give this to her. Don’t read it unless she allows you.” You force yourself to hold Jangjun’s gaze. “And when she’s done, take her somewhere far from here. As far away as possible.”

His eyes narrow. “You didn’t hurt –”

“Never.” At least, not in the way you think.

Jangjun takes the folded paper between two pinched fingers and slides it into a pocket. “Where is she?”

“Are you going to do what I said?” you ask.

A moment passes. Then he nods. “Yes.”

You turn around and step out of the trees, into the town. “Follow me.”

Evening dims to night as you walk through empty alleys and streets, Jangjun several paces behind. Not once do you turn around to make sure he’s following – you can hear his footsteps, and somehow, instinctively, you’re sure he won’t lose this tentative, temporary trust in you, not now.

Or so you hope.

You weave through the final buildings, emerging on a dusty street lined with dry, wild grass. The street ends not far ahead, but you push through the overgrown grass until you stand in front of a small house, windows boarded shut in a way that makes it look abandoned, but the faintest glow of warm light peeks through cracks in the wooden slats.  

You stop. “She lives here.”

Jangjun pauses beside you. Enough moonlight shines from the sky that you can see the painful hope in his eyes. “How do you know?”

What will he think if you tell him the truth?

You clench your fists, hard. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter what he thinks. He’s not going to see you again after this. “She was my friend.”

He’s looking at you. You know he is. His gaze bores into you like one of your knives digging into skin – he wants you to look back at him.

You don’t. “Go.”

One foot steps forward. Then another. Slowly, step by step, he walks up to the front of the house, as though in a trance, until he stands in front of the door.

And doesn’t do anything.

By all the gods. “Maybe you should knock,” you hiss in a carrying whisper. “You know, the thing where you hit the door with your hand.”

He looks back. It’s too dark to see his full expression, but it doesn’t look hateful, like you expected. Instead, he just lifts his hand and knocks.

Warm light spills onto the ground, darkened only by a figure in the doorway. She freezes – so does Jangjun –

Then she pulls him into one of her tight hugs that you’ve been on the receiving end of several times. You watch as Jangjun’s arms wrap around her too, slowly but with no less strength, and two figures twist into one with a love and care that you know you can only dream of.

Bittersweet coats your tongue. Yes, you can only dream of giving such care, much less receiving it. But at least you’ve done a little to alleviate all the pain you’ve caused, whether it be intentional or not, and there’s nothing more for you to do. Except stay out of their bubble of happiness.

You pull your hood over your head, turning away. This isn’t your happiness to partake in. Neither of them will notice you leaving, anyway, not even Jangjun – they’re still in their own world.

A little smile spreads your lips as you walk forward into the night.

By the time either of them looks back, you plan to have disappeared.

. . . . .

For the first few weeks, Jangjun tries to find you. You can’t have gone far, at least not in several days – he scours the town for you, then when they move, he searches the next town again and again until his sister sits down and makes him see reason, that if you don’t want to be found, you won’t be found. Besides, if you were still hiding out here, he would’ve at least glimpsed you already.

So he gives up his search. His sister is right – whatever happens, until you want someone to find you, no one will. Instead, he spends the days, weeks, months learning and relearning his sister, watching and accommodating and teaching himself how to be an older brother once more. Jangjun tries not to make the same mistakes he did with you – they’ve both changed, of course, even more so than you considering his sister was a child when they were separated, not even a teenager – but he still messes up, inevitably. So does she. Still, though, they learn. Together.

It’s more than anything Jangjun ever could have wanted.

But there’s still an emptiness in his chest, an emptiness he tries to fill with teasing his sister and laughing as she snaps back at him, learning new weaving patterns at the loom by her side. Joochan tells him he looks happier several months later, and Jangjun feels happier, too. There’s no denying that. But something eats at him as time passes. He knows what it is. He just doesn’t want to say it.

He’s waiting for you.

Jangjun doesn’t get it, not at first. He doesn’t understand what drives him out into the town to search for you from dawn to dusk, until someone finds him and drags him back. You tried to kill him – got close several times, too close – and you knew about his sister for three months before saying anything. You’re not the same teenager Jangjun fell for back at the orphanage, you’re someone different. More dangerous.

Yet he still wakes up from dreams of your curved, knife-like smile, and is disappointed when only a cold crescent moon meets his eyes instead.

When his sister finally lets him read your last letter, though, he understands. Through the tearstains and blurred words that mark the paper, he understands your motives, your actions, your apologies. He understands why you did what you did, he understands why you hurt people for the sake of helping others, he understands your overwhelming urge to protect those who’ve shown you kindness because that’s what he does, too, just in a less destructive way – a way that you could learn, if you ever came back.

“They meant a lot to you,” his sister says when his eyes finally lift from the letter. “Didn’t they?”

Jangjun can barely choke out the words to say you still mean a lot to him. Because even now, with all the parts that have changed, Jangjun still loves you, every part of you.

He doesn’t look for you, though, only waits. You don’t want to be found – your last apologies make that clear. You don’t even say goodbye in the end. It’s obvious you don’t expect any of them to want you back. 

Jangjun does. He wants to take your scarred hands between his, lace his fingers with your own, tell you that he forgave you a long time ago and that he loved you, still loves you, with everything he has. So he waits, hoping you’ll return – because if the gods forced your paths to meet once after they diverged, there has to be a chance they’ll let it happen once more.

Then, one day, you return.

He almost misses it. It’s the middle of the night, only a waxing moon spilling pale light through the window, and if Jangjun hadn’t woken up to get some water, he wouldn’t have heard the soft thump of something hitting the ground just outside the house.

Frowning, he pokes his head outside. No one else is awake, so it couldn’t be any of them –

A familiar figure freezes in front of a small package placed by the door.

Jangjun’s eyes widen. It’s you but it can’t be you, you didn’t have that scar under your eye and you weren’t as thin as this –

“Y/N?”

You spin around and sprint away.

Jangjun stays still for a moment, blinking – you came back, you came back –

And now you’re running away.

He sprints into the trees, crashing through fallen leaves and branches that seem to materialize out of nowhere. You’re up ahead – he can hear your footsteps thudding over the fallen grass, see your faint outline in the moonlight – and he’s calling your name but you don’t reply with anything but panting gasps and – are you crying?

It’s almost comical how easily he catches up. Just months ago, you probably could’ve beaten him in a sprint, but now he grabs your arm before you’re even that deep into the trees, spinning you around so he can look at you, just look at you, look at a face he’s been waiting to see for almost a year –

You fight. You struggle in his grip, sobbing now, hitting him with your free hand until he takes that one too, wraps his fingers around yours to stop your fight. “Y/N, please,” he begs, trying to calm you. “I’m not going to hurt you, just –”

“I know that!” you yell, twisting in his grip. “I’m the one –”

A knife slips out of your sleeve, probably loose from your struggle. Its tip digs into Jangjun’s wrist before it drops to the ground.

Beads of blood well up on his skin, glistening in the moonlight. Jangjun stares at the tiny cut, at the thin river of red beginning to trickle down his skin.

You wrench yourself away from his slackened grip, tears blooming in your eyes. Jangjun reaches out again, tries to take your hand – “Y/N, it doesn’t even hurt, it’s fine –”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell. “It doesn’t fucking matter! All I ever do – you were never going to hurt me.” Your breath gasps, heavy and uneven. “I’m the one who’s only ever going to hurt you.”

Jangjun’s heart cracks at your broken voice. “Y/N, stop.” He takes a step closer and tries not to feel hurt when you take a step back. “Please, just – are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” you snap. “I tried to kill you for over six months!”

“But you didn’t kill me,” he says, holding your gaze even as you try to look away. “You didn’t.”

“So what? I still tried –”

“I did too,” Jangjun interrupts. “I tried to kill you too.”

“But I’m worse,” you snap, words almost a sob. “I’m worse – I’ve killed so many people and some of them I don’t even regret, I try to care but when I do I only hurt the people I’m trying to care for –”

“That last time, you asked me if I would’ve killed you.” Jangjun reaches out. You flinch, but you don’t fight him this time when he takes your hands. “At one point, I swore I would’ve. But now I know I couldn’t.”

Something like a laugh rips itself from your throat, but it sounds more like a wheeze and a gasp and grates at Jangjun’s ears. “Are you stupid? Why wouldn’t you?”

“The same reason you couldn’t kill me.” He squeezes your limp, scarred hands. “Am I stupid for being in love with you?”

“Yes!” You try to tear yourself away again, but he keeps his grip. “Yes, you are, Lee Jangjun – I’m a murderer, a killer for hire, gods, I shouldn’t even have come back, this was such a fucking mistake –”

“Why did you come back?”

You bite your lip hard, as though debating whether or not to say something. Then steel flashes across your expression as you stare into his eyes. “I tried to find you,” you reply, voice tight, “because of that package I left by your door. Thread. Money. Gods, I don’t even remember what I put in there – I didn’t want any of it.”

Jangjun blinks. “Then what were you going to do?”

“I was going to just… leave. I’m a loose cannon.” You laugh, a cutting, brief sound. “I had a year to kill you. Then I didn’t. I’d failed my last assignment – it was either succeed with this one or die.”

His blood freezes. No wonder you were so set on your mission. “Y/N –”

“They’re dead.” Your voice is bleak. “I killed my employer. And several other assassins. Or they would’ve gone after you. And me. Again.”

Jangjun just stares. By all the gods, just how much did you go through in this past year?

“Now you know.” You try to tug your hands away again. “Why aren’t you letting go of me?”

That brings Jangjun back to the present. “Why would I?”

“You really are stupid,” you mutter. “Why do you want someone with all this blood on their hands to be anywhere near you?”

“You seem to think, that just because you’ve killed people and hurt others while trying to protect them, you’re evil,” Jangjun says slowly.

You snort. “Bingo!”

“You hurt yourself more.”

That takes you aback. “So what? I still hurt other people – I hurt you –”

“You’re not evil.” Jangjun forces you to look at him. “You’re just lost.”

“Broken,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But not unfixable.”

You fall silent.

“You’re not evil,” he repeats. “Not even unforgivable. I forgave you a long time ago. So did my sister. She misses you, you know.”

“Why –”

“You were there for her when no one else was,” Jangjun interrupts. “Not even me. You only ever tried to protect her, even if you didn’t always tell the whole truth.”

“Your prince probably doesn’t want to see me ever again,” you retort. “Doesn’t he mean something to you, too? He was there for you when I wasn’t.”

“He read the letter.” Jangjun runs a thumb over a thin line of scar tissue on your hand. The movement seems to soothe you. “And he said something that made me realize how lucky I really was.”

“Lucky?”

“I had people to care for and who cared for me,” he says. “Joochan, the second prince, several servants and other guards around the palace. You didn’t have anyone, did you? Except my sister, and even that was sporadic.”

A beat passes. You shake your head.

“He’s trying to understand,” Jangjun continues. “You know your struggle better than me, so you know better, but I think he’s at least on the way. His partner, the gardener – they already forgave you, too. Joochan’s just harder to crack, sometimes.”

Both of you fall silent, then, you probably trying to work through your thoughts, Jangjun trying to figure out what you’re thinking. Finally, you open your mouth. “What if I hurt you again?”

Jangjun’s heart crumbles at the waver in your voice. “You might,” he says. “But I might hurt you, too. We’re both learning, you know.” The corners of his mouth lift, slightly. “I’m still trying to transition from being a royal guard.”

“What are you now?” you ask.

He purses his lips, thinking. “A wood chopper. Gardener, occasionally. Cook. Weaver.”

“Your food is edible?”

Jangjun feels his heart lift at the slight teasing bite in your tone. “Probably more than yours,” he snipes back before continuing. “A brother, too. And…” Tentatively, he tangles your fingers with his. You don’t flinch this time. “Someone who loves you. If you’ll let me.”

The tiny smile that was growing slips off your face, but the broken glass look in your eyes fades slightly, less shattered than before. “What could I be?”

“I could teach you to weave or sew.” He looks at your tangled fingers, at the scars that cover your skin. They’re deft and you’re smart, you could pick it up quickly. “Even if you can’t tell stories the same way we do, there are other arts you could learn. Joochan’s partner might teach you to garden – you’ve never heard their song, it’s beautiful.” It might help you heal. “No cooking, though.” Jangjun smirks. “You’d probably burn down the kitchen.”

Your lips curve slightly. He soaks in the sight, the knife-like smile he loves so much, sharp and bladed but protective and somehow sweet. “Would you let me love you, too?”

Jangjun folds your hands in his. Your eyes sparkle – broken glass, yes, but shards on their way to mending, to becoming whole.

He smiles. “My heart is already yours.”

. . . . .

The palace was in fury. There was no trace left of the last assassin who had been sent, and upon investigation, little left of the original company at all. Money had been spent and havoc wrought, and nothing of it. Few cared enough anymore to find a lost prince rumored to be dead, much less the kidnappers who had taken him, and though the king and queen gritted their teeth in anger, there was nothing they could do.

The last assassin found a home in the guard’s arms, a steadiness in the heartbeat of his chest. Though they were hesitant to love at first, knowing how much they had hurt not just him but those who around them too, but the guard was gentle in his voice, patient in his care. Slowly, as the days, months, then years went by, the assassin allowed themselves to live again, to love, to care in the fiercely deep way they had learnt over years past, enough to give their heart to the guard.

Few would have noticed anything strange about the group of five that lived peacefully at the edge of the woods in a small town far from the capital. Certainly no one would have guessed there were two weavers among them, as well as a former prince, palace gardener, and trained assassin. This is where their story should end, with a motley family and their chaotic beginnings.

But someone knew of at least four of the five, and in time, he would ask them to risk their safety once more to bring about change. To topple a regime. For as those around him left to walk their own paths, he sought to find his way too – though in a world of peace and prosperity, not the iron rule of two monarchs whose voices pained more than they claimed to heal.

The words of this story now come to a close, with a furious palace and a tentative love. But the world is not over, not all ends reached. The lives told within still have years left to live.

After all, where one story ends, another only begins.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for whoever’s story comes next <3)

[spiffyspuffy]

My Mystic Messenger Opinions

(That no one asked for)

Zen

Character: 8/10 I know a lot of people think Zens annoying but I find him endearing. One of the best things about this game is the complexity of the characters and I love that Zen’s cockiness is actually how he hides his insecurities. Even though he’s egotistical about himself, he’s never shallow with MC. He says multiple times that he doesn’t care about MC’s looks. He loves her for who she is and shows this in how he makes an effort to get to know her and be her cheerleader everyday. An underrated thing about Zen is how emotionally intelligent he is. He’s great at helping the RFA members when they need emotional support (Yoosung’s grief over loosing Rika, Jaehee crying from the stress of her job and MC’s shock at almost being kidnapped). 

Route: 2/10 Zen is a great character and he deserves a better route. The false rape accusation plot is horrible and offensive. Also, his route functions as an introduction to the game’s plot, so it’s exposition heavy and lacks action. The creators said that the lesson of his route is that when our insecurities are handled in a healthy way, they can push us to be better people. I love this message and I wish it had been highlighted more in his route.

Romantic Potential: 9/10 Zen is arguably the most dateable of all the characters. He’s a bad boy without being sketchy. He’s protective without being possessive. He’s kind without being a pushover and he’s smart without being pretentious. His biggest drawbacks are his overconfidence and and how busy he is with working. There aren’t any glaring red flags. 

~ More under the cut ~ 

Jeahee

Character: 7/10 I love this adorable theater nerd! She comes across as formal and stuffy at first, but reveals herself to be passionate and funny the more you get to know her. I gave her a lower score because she does have a strong personality that rubs me the wrong way sometimes (her jealousy of MC in Zen’s route, her lack of sympathy towards Jumin in her own route and her general rudeness towards Yoosung). She is the most mature of the RFA though, so her exasperation is warranted. Being mature and grounded also makes Jaehee the least complex Mysme character. I’ve got a lot of respect for her though!

Route: 5/10 Getting to engage in discourse about capitalism and the patriarchy? Amazing and hands down the best part of her route. It’s really inspiring to see Jaehee stand up for herself and choose to follow her dreams. I think it’s important for every young person to hear that they should have a positive work/life balance and demand that their employer supports that. Other highlights are Seven helping Jaehee by making the Power Point presentation for Jumin’s cat project, getting to fangirl with Jaehee over Zen and the creepy stalker plot. I thoroughly enjoy her route and the only reason the score is so low is because some of the other routes are seriously incredible.

Romantic Potential: 8/10 Jeahee doesn’t have any red flags either. I think she’s perfectly capable of having a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. The biggest issue standing in their way is Korea’s bias against lesbian relationships. As a fellow coffee lover and theater enthusiast though, I could definitely see myself or someone similar having a happy life with her, even if it might have to be in secret.

Yoosung

Character: 6/10 I can’t stand people who aren’t competent. Yoosung is a terrible cook, he barely cleans and he doesn’t pay attention to his studies. On top of that, 80% of his personality is that he’s a gamer AND he’s in love with his “dead” adopted cousin. Yuck. ~ But ~ I understand that he’s depressed and depression can seriously effect someone’s executive functioning. Taking all of those negatives away, we’re left with a young man who’s trying to his best to be taken seriously, which is something I can relate to. It’s nice to see imposter syndrome represented and I admire his loyalty to his friends. 

Route: 8/10 This route is sooo good! Who can forget the night when the RFA starts being aggressively stalked by Minty Eye? And the pic Zen takes of a believer looking at him through his apartment window...chills. His route only gets better from there when he infiltrates Mint Eye with Seven. This is the first time we get to see the twins interact and damn, is it confusing. But in a good way!!   The biggest drawback is that MC is stuck in Rika’s apartment and doesn’t play much of an active role in the story. 

Romantic Potential: 7/10 Despite all the negatives I listed about Yoosung, I do think he’s capable of have a healthy, romantic relationship with MC. Yoosung is also the only true sub of the RFA men, which is a definite plus for some players. Yoosung’s yandere side is a huge red flag though. MC better watch out if she doesn’t dote on him as much as he wants. Once he falls for her, he’s all in. 

Jumin

Character: 5/10 Unpopular opinion, but I hate Jumin. I understand that he’s some people’s guilty pleasure though. Jumin’s good aspects are that he’s intensely loyal, an animal lover and has a dry sense of humor. I appreciate how devoted he is to the RFA and it’s members. He offers to help Zen multiple times (albeit rejected), sends everyone body guards in his route and pays the hospital in the SE to keep Saeran’s identity top secret. What I’m not a fan of is the way he obsesses over MC and traps her in his house. This isn’t the first time he’s shown obsessive tendencies either. Seven explicitly states that Jumin acted this way with Rika in the past. Huuuge red flag.  

Route: 3/10 His entire route is fraught with rich people problems. I’m supposed to sympathize with him for an arranged marriage? All he had to do was say no. His father couldn’t force him. He’s possessive of MC because women have only ever wanted to be with him for his money? Not an excuse. Elizabeth going missing was a vaguely interesting story line, but Jumin’s relationship with his cat was cringey enough to overshadow the drama of it for me.

Romantic Potential: 3/10 Jumin has some serious issues. He’s never had a good female role model which has given him a deep seeded hatred of women. Remember when he tells MC that respecting women goes against his core beliefs? Yikes. Then, after meeting a woman who respects him and he actually likes, he locks her up and tries to change everything about her (cutting her hair, buying her a new wardrobe, teaching her the ‘proper’ way to walk, etc). We’re supposed to believe Jumin learns to be better by the end of his route, but he still proposes to MC after only a week of knowing her! I’m having a hard time picturing Jumin in a healthy relationship. 

Saeyoung

Character: 10/10 I’m not saying Saeyoung is a good person. Far from it actually. But he IS very well written and extremely interesting. In the other routes, Saeyoung is energetic and funny, bringing much needed humor to heavy moments. It’s always a joy being in a chatroom with him. Then you have the reveal that he actually hates his job and that he was faking his personality, all to a sad and slowed down version of his theme song. This plot twist shook me to my core. What makes him so well written is that the devs did a good job dropping hints to his real personality in the other routes that players might not notice during their first play through. 

Route: 9/10 This route is a wild ride from start to finish. This is when the plot threads from the other routes come together and start make sense. This route has secret agents, assassins, a deadly bomb, kidnapping, an evil twin, a powerful cult... It’s action heavy while still carrying enough emotional weight to make me cry every time. Saeyoung’s route is heavy and emotional and sooo worth playing. 

Romantic Potential: 6/10 Saeyoung has a shady job and a complicated past. Choosing to be with him means putting your life in danger every day. If you’re okay with that, he’d be a decent romantic partner. He’s a little rough around the edges, but I do think he has potential to become more like his ideal self (God Seven) after reading his AE. He’ll always have that mean and serious side to him, but I don’t think he’s hopeless. 

V

Character: 4/10 He’s low-key the worst. I sympathize with his trauma from being abused by Rika, but I don’t understand why he feels the need to fix everything by himself. Rika might be the source of most problems in this game, but V is partially responsible for standing by and letting her get away with everything. 

My first issue with him comes from encouraging Saeyoung to join the agency. I know Saeyoung didn’t have many options, but how was encouraging him to train to become a hacker and assassin the best option?! On top of that, he stalked Zen per Rika’s request and took creeper photos of him, failed miserably at protecting Saeran and don’t get me started on how he loves Rika unconditionally. V has some good characteristics but I really don’t care about those when he’s so terrible otherwise. 

Route: 10/10 This route is *chef’s kiss* the BEST. I wouldn’t call it a romance since Vs barely in it but damn is it riveting. Saeran is the perfect amount of loving and unhinged, MC get’s to know Rika on a personal level and V finally gets to be active instead of just reactive like he is in all the other routes. It’s also  satisfying to find out how much V has been keeping secret and to get a glimpse into Rika’s psyche. But what really makes V’s route stand out among the rest is that there are spy action scenes like in Saeyoung’s route, but the player also gets to spend time in Mint Eye.

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I’ll be honest. I don’t think V will ever be able to move on from Rika. He’ll always love her, as evidence in his AE. Besides that drawback, I do think he’d be a good romantic partner for MC. V was never the issue in his past relationship with Rika. She was the abusive one and he was 100% the victim. I think he would treat MC just as well in their relationship as he treated Rika. 

Saeran

Character: 7/10 I know I’m not the only one who loved the suave and cunning Saeran of the main routes who, after getting the therapy he needed, became an adorably shy and awkward man. Sadly, that’s not the character we got in AS. Instead, we met Ray, the split personality of Saeran’s psyche. Ray is charming and sweet as well as possessive and manipulative...which is something I’m into. But it’s not for everyone. Saeran’s real personality in AS is revealed to be angry and abusive and not at all similar to who he was in the main routes. I’ll give Cheritz props for writing a fairly accurate portrayal of disassociative identity disorder, but I think Saeran’s characterization is inconsistent. I get the impression Ray was an afterthought when creating AS. 

Route: 7/10 A mixed bag for me. I really enjoy any chatroom/scene with Ray. He’s undeniably creepy, but those scenes were entertaining in a dark romance kind of way. On the other hand, the Saeran scenes had a lot of unrealized potential. Abuse is never cool. All his route needed to fix this was a scene where Saeran explained to MC that he was pretending to hate her to appease Rika and the other believers. While this fake hatred is implied, I think it needed to be outright stated. It’s also hard to believe that Saeran overcame his DID in the course of one night. I know all routes are limited to 11 days, but this one needed more. Highlights of this route are Saeyoung being kidnapped by his father and of course, dark Yoosung with Elizabun. 

Romantic Potential: 7/10 I truly do believe that Saeran could go on and live a happy life in any of the endings where he escapes Mint Eye and receives therapy. While we only get a glimpse of what an emotionally stable Searan looks like, we know that he was kind and attentive with MC. Saeran is a giver and would do anything to make MC happy. Red flags are that Searan is still clingy at the end of his route. Yoosung makes a comment that he’s always holding MC’s hand when he sees them together. Also, his DID is something that will occasionally return and that’s something MC has to go into their relationship knowing. 

[alexis-vaughn]

“  i know you’ll do the right thing in the end.  ” (from Shane)

You know the vibes from here

The right thing. The right thing. Alex didn’t even know anymore what the right thing was. Selling her soul for her girl and coming back to a battlefield she created, or dying before she would ever see her daughters eyes again if she stuck to her morals by not betraying this group. Nothing seemed right in this context but wasn’t her life less worth than the lives of many? Less worth than her renewed relationship she built with Shane? Wasn’t it selfish to want something to work so desperately?

Many times he offered to go with her to the CRM, help her get Trixie back, but in this case she had to calm his new found loyalty. The CRM didn’t know these kind of morals neither did they care and bringing him with her would have made it obvious where she saw her future. No, she had to play their game and even if she informed Ricks group about everything, the plan they made could go wrong anytime and they could lose everything. They probably still doubted if she wasn’t tricking all of them, selling their lives for her own good and she couldn’t even blame them. Shane was the only one trusting her and Rick probably only followed his opinion cause he was secretly playing after his own rules already. Of course she hoped the leader wouldn’t be that blind, but you never knew with these kind of people after all. There was so much distrust between all of them and still Shane looked and talked to her in that same loving way that brought tears to her eyes.

“I don’t know if you’re fucking naive or if your trust is just the cutest thing someone ever brought up for me.” she suddenly sobbed, burying her face in his chest while the sun was rising outside the window. It had been their last night before she left and of course they didn’t sleep nor talk but took their minds off by heated intimacy Alex didn’t want to end. Whenever Shane tried to say something, she went for another round and she didn’t even sleep for one second despite the exhaustion that came over them mercilessly. The last hour they had been silent, Alex laying in his strong arms that brought her comfort by caressing her skin and Shane kept kissing her head from time to time. But now they were here. And he said what was the only thing she wanted to hear. That there’s one person trusting her. One believing her. Just one being loyal when no one ever was before. And in this moment she realized she didn’t only owe her own loyalty to her daughter, but also to him.

The tears rolled along his skin, her hair clinging to her wet face and his body while the sobs didn’t want to stop. In this moment she felt weak, like a little girl who just wanted to scream after her parents, but she didn’t. Instead she allowed herself to cry, allowed him to comfort her until she calmed and sat up to catch her breath. “I’m sorry. I promise… I promise I won’t disappoint you. I won’t let anyone destroy what we have here. What we did here.” She laced their hands with a broken smile and rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes to inhale his scent for the last time. “I’ll come back to you. And then you’ll meet the most precious girl you’ll ever see. So precious that you can’t even imagine she’s mine.”

Now she had to chuckle herself and shook her head in disbelief about how far they have come and slowly her free hand closed around his chin to squeeze his jaw fiercely. “Don’t you dare to have another one while I’m gone. You’ll wait for me like the loyal man you’ve become, you promise me that.” And he did promise her that like he always did before when they talked about this day coming. “And you’ll love my girl like she deserves it. Cause she needs someone like you. Someone I needed too. Someone she can rely on. Can you give that to us baby?”

He could and he was willing to since the following kiss was tasting like a promise. It was a sincere and slow promise she was never able to forget again and would always remind her of the day she told him that she loves him, never stopped loving him despite him probably knowing it all this time.

@wexarethewalkingxdead

[chimtaesty]

Dark Creatures | part 1

pairing: OT7 x reader | 1,5k words

warning: gore, angst, swearing

plot: leading the biggest mafia group there is, is a job for a woman. So is living through things no one should witness. After keeping those secrets to stay alive it’s time to bring justice upon the ones who deserved it.

a/n: hi there! I’m finally back after a big writingblock. I’ve been thinking and thinking about what I would like to write and to be honest, I’ve been hit with so much sexism nowadays that I thought that this account needed some feminism content. So here is the starter to a two or three parter story. If you like my work, please let me know in the comments or like my works! Thank you a lot for your support and encouragements. I’ll be taking time to write new stuff and update u more frequently now :) - love ellie

masterlist

Loud grunts wake you from your nap. A knock on your office door let’s you sigh “Miss Y/N, there is someone here to see-“Open the fucking door” a low voice interrupted the poor bodyguard. You know who this voice belongs to, Kwon Mark. The son of a bitch who owed you a shit ton of money and snitched you out to the government a year ago.

“Let him in” you shout as you get up to get a glass of water. The door opens with a creek and a grumbling man enters. You text the rest of your team to immediately arrive in your office since you might need someone who stops you from ripping this bastard apart. “Sit down” you demand and he huffs with his eyes rolling in disrespect.

The connection you share with the seven of them is something special. You were the one to save their lives and change them to the people they are now. They owed you their lifes as much as you owed them yours.

Namjoon and Yoongi are the first to arrive. “Everything alright, Y/N?” Namjoon asks as you take a seat on your desk. Was everything fine? No, nothing was fine.

This bitch here owed you so much money that killing him wouldn’t be efficient at all. But letting him live came with a damn headache, he is associated with Joon-Hyuk and you didn’t like that connection. After Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok. Jin and Taehyung arrived as well, Mark took it as the start for a conversation.

“Now that the men are here the secretary can leave and someone can tell me who the boss among you boys is” Your eyes widen in anger. The last thing you needed right now was a sexist man barging into your home. Men don’t fit the position of power.

With two steps towards the disgrace of a man you punch him square in the face. He jumps up trying to get a hold of you as you once again give him a punch to the throat.

“For starters, I’m not a fucking secretary you motherfucker. I’m the fucking boss, I’m their boss. So if you want to talk to the boss, you’ll have to talk to me, you piece of shit.” He gasps for air as you push him up onto the couch. Jungkook chuckles as you kick Mark’s shin in frustration.

“I’m gonna make things very clear for you, okay” he nods his head in a frightened manner as his wide eyes stare at you “You owe me a lot of money and I don’t like being called a secretary so here’s the deal. You get me my money by friday and I won’t chop your dick off” a gasp of air leaves his mouth

“My-y d-dick?” He whispers with tears in his eyes. “Yes, your fucking cock, Mark. So it’s really your choice, my money or your dick” he nods. With a shove you let Jin get him outside.

You turn around to sit yourself down at your desk. Jimin reaches out for the gin bottle and gives it to you, you take a sip and let your head fall back. “His dick, huh?” Hoseok laughs. “That’s something new, I haven’t done that yet” you chuckle.

“I can’t believe he didn’t know who you were,” Jin states as he re-enters the room. “Me neither, do I look like a fucking secretary?” Yoongi laughs as he takes the bottle from your hands “You? With that look? You look like you slash throats for a living not type emails for a rich bastard” you are satisfied with that answer.

“Alright boys, we need to meet Choi Joon-Hyuk in half an hour. Let’s see what this whack job has for us” you stand up just to be followed by the boys. The car outside is ready to take you to the location. “Jungkook, please enlighten us with the basics of Joon-Hyuk” he nods and starts to explain

“Joon-Hyuk, the right hand of Kim Lucas. He’s meeting us, technically Y/N but she insisted on having us all at the gathering, to discuss weapon and drug exchanges. Joon-Hyuk is an excellent sniper and very well trained in hand to hand combat. He has been working for Kim for about ten years now, so we know his loyalty lies one hundred percent with his boss” that’s what people like to believe, in all honesty, he’s a twisted motherfucker.

“What did you do?” The room was quiet. The only sound which could be heard was the sound of blood dripping to the floor. He was hunched over a little girl. She was whimpering, silently pleading for help as he raped her. You couldn’t breathe. At least ten more bodies were splattered over the white tiles.

Without thinking you grabbed the broken off leg of the ruined chair next to you and with all the strength you had in you, you struck it over his head. He fell over with a loud thud and you could see the only one alive. Her hair was wet with blood. Her skin cut and bruised and her pants ripped apart. You took the girl into your arms as carefully as possible and kissed her forehead. “No one will ever hurt you again, I’ll make sure of it. You’re save now” she was barely ten years old.

You nod and with the end of the explanation you all leave the car at the location Choi wanted you to meet him.

The door is opened by two packed men. You follow the waitress to a closed room where the man of the hour waited for you. “Ah, Y/N. How beautiful you look” he tries to pull you in for a kiss on the cheek but Jimin is faster to pull you away from him “Watch it” he threatens him and he backs off with a chuckle.

Your eyes narrow at the table in front of you. There is one chair on your side, but you are eight people. “What the hell is that?” You curse at Joon-Hyuk. “Now, now. No need for language. Take a seat, I’m sure your guard dogs can endure standing for a while” your face changes from confusion to anger.

“If there is one thing I hate more than men who think I’m a secretary are men who call my boys guard dogs. These men are the most loyal and skilled men you can find and they belong to me, If you like it or not. For the love of god, treat them with respect and get them chairs or I’m not sitting down”

Joon-Hyuk sighs and signals his men to arrange some chairs. “They are coming right up so please sit down” you take a seat and you start to discuss business over the very delicious dinner. “So what do you say to the offer?” You look at the man and think for a moment. “The offer is shit and you know it” his eyebrows fasten up and he is about to say something “We are not selling your stuff for this price let alone are you getting in our area on your own” Taehyung says as he takes a sip of the very sweet wine.

“And what would you prefer?” He asks carefully. He knows not to mess up. Lucas needs his stuff to be sold in our area and he has to accept our offer even if he doesn’t want to because having someone else’s stuff here would be unacceptable for him. “We thought about 30/70 for starters. If your stuff sells we can talk about changing things up” Jin smirks at Joon-Hyuk, he knows damn well that he has to accept. “But isn’t that a bit cruel?” You laugh “I could give Lee Ji-Won a quick call if you fancy that” he grunts in frustration. “Alright, I’ll mail you the contract.” You chuckle and eat one last bite of the steak. “Good, let’s go boys”

Joon-Hyuk is fast to stand up „Why are you leaving us this early? Not to mention that I actually invited only you, I would like to spend some alone time with you, Y/N. Catch up on the last years“ you close your eyes in frustration. Hoseok sighs and grabs your arm „Absolutely not.“ you signal him to simply  just wait a minute. You push yourself through your boys to the other side of the table

„Let me tell you something, Joon-Hyuk. Men like you don’t attract me. You’ve been serving Lucas like a little rat.  treating this man like god in hopes that the guilt you feel because of what you did to those kids might diminish. But the truth is that what you did is in no way ever forgivable and Lucas is just as much a piece of shit as you. You’re a disgusting cockroach, a nasty little leach. And if you don’t stop acting like he shouldn’t have decapitated you then I’ll change my mind and put your penis in a blender. Do we understand each other?”

He was about to say something. „And don’t talk back to me, I’m not your mother“

You grabbed Namjoon’s and Jungkook‘s hand and left the restaurant. In the car Jimin carefully started, testing te waters “Y/N, what exactly did he do?” You closed your eyes for a second to recall the tragedy.

“We were supposed to work together..”

[silenceofthecookies]

Bleach matchup for @stooch-betch​

Match up for either One Piece or Bleach~! I’m Biromantic Demisexual; although I tend to lean more towards guys. Age: 20 General appearance - most striking features, your fashion style, etc. Answer: I’m 5’2.5ft with a petite hourglass build, I have long, thick dark brown hair that reaches a little past my butt. My fashion sense is a mixture between Goth and Punk with a smidge of Grunge; mainly anything black with hints of fishnets, skinny jeans, chains, boots, and corsets. I tend to wear shirts that compliment my bigger than average chest due to trying to bring up my already low-self esteem but in a classy manner. I tend to hold a very hard RBF expression that people tend to believe I’m glaring at them when really I’m lost in thought. I tend to wear mainly winged eyeliner with mascara whenever I plan to go out, but on special occasions, I’ll do a full face of makeup with a cosplay-y flare. I have a couple of tattoos on my arms and scars scattered around my body from being a bit of a tomboy growing up.

MBTI, western zodiac chart, etc. Answer: INTP (The Logician), Scorpio, Year of the Dragon. My MBTI is pretty spot-on for the most part followed by being a Scorpio. My sister is an astrology nut and tells me that I’m a true Scorpio by numerous descriptions.

Personality, how you perceive yourself, and how people around you perceive you.* Answer: How I perceive myself is pretty much kind of all over the place. I’m really stubborn when I want to be and tend to be pretty aloof. I’m naturally apathetic but very understanding of emotions due to having a knick for Psychology. I tend to observe more than be the first to approach someone. Although I have low self-esteem, I try to build up my confidence by performing self-care days whenever I get a chance. It takes me a while to warm up to new people but once I can get a feel of a person, I slowly start to open up, which shocks most people. I’m very animated and pretty chatty once you get me going, I’m pretty sarcastic and tend to make a crap ton of references (while subconsciously expecting people to get what I’m talking about lmao). I think pretty fast on my feet, which sometimes gets me into some trouble due to accidentally hurting peoples’ feelings in which I don’t try to hurt anyone. I have so many walls built up due to past trauma that when people get to really know me, they say I have a soft interior that I try so hard to protect myself. Due to the walls I have built, I’m quick to anger and a bit of a hot-head. So whenever it comes to social interactions, I tend to overthink and silently bottle everything up. When it comes to friends, I have the bad habit of hiding my issues from them and putting them before myself. I’m told I give really good advice and an excellent listener, but I give almost too blunt of responses. I hate sugarcoating things and I’ll tend to say what is on my mind, that too gets me into problems. I am incredibly loyal to the people I’m close to, but I tend to show my love to them in a tough-love type of way. I have extremely dark humor with a dash of memes into the mix; which is one of the reasons why I tend to have a tight-knit friend group.

Hobbies, interests, life goals, etc.* Answer: I absolutely love creative writing! I tend to draw while dealing with writer’s block to make up the creative outlet. I adore doing cosplay makeup, I cosplay but I still have troubles styling wigs, sewing, and keeping on budget. When I’m really stuck on either drawing or writing, I watch anime, eating, and even napping. On the rarest occasions, I’ll play video games such as Pirate Warriors 4, Jump Force, and Sims 4 (Boy oh boy, I lowkey miss doing all-nighters on Sims 4). I'm heavily into Psychology and Criminal Psychology, both are just so fascinating to me that I love to know how the human brain works. I tend to ramble a lot when it comes to Psychology and makes jokes referring to it, although rarely anyone understands what the hell I’m talking about. I have a burning passion for the Paranormal, Cryptids, Urban Legends, and some Conspiracy Theories! I’ll never mess around with an Oujia Board, I’m more than happy to go into a haunted house for the thrills! But because of my love for horror, horror movies don’t really have an effect on me anymore- I tend to laugh at them which makes me a horrible scary movie buddy. I strive to become a Criminal Psychologist or even a therapist that specializes in Personality Disorders. But as a realistic goal, to become a voice actor while being an author on the side, but my vocal range is too low for most female characters but too high for male characters.

Favorites, likes, dislikes, pet peeves, fears.* Answer: I love food~! Mostly Asian and Mexican for the most part due to what I grew up within my family. But my favorite has to be the meats, any kind at all! From cow tongue to prime rib (Unironically Prime Rib is my all-time favorite food as long it’s cooked rare.). I’m very open to trying out new foods as long I don’t have a clue what’s in it or the smell is divine! My dad is the cook of my house, thus while I’m cooking, he tends to take the wheel because it gives him anxiety. But I can cook a mean steak. I love listening to music of any kind; mostly alternative, rock, dubstep, and whatever Ashnikko has going on. I will go crazy if I don’t listen to music throughout my daily life. I like hiking and going on adventurous walks, taking in the scenery while it helps me relax my mind. As much as I am a heavy introvert, I enjoy shopping and a bit of a shopaholic. I also have a fascination with death! Not in a necrophiliac manner, but the whole entire concept of it! I also love animals, I have a big soft spot for them but I really like it when they know I’m the alpha- In other words, when it comes to domestic pets, I love the well-behaved ones. I yearn to have a pet ball python and/or ferret of my own! I hate rude arrogant people who think they’re holier than thou. Especially when it comes to the workplace and they expect you to do everything for them, then continue to talk to you as if you’re below them. I really dislike impoliteness and people with no manners whatsoever. One of my major pet peeves is uncleanliness anywhere, I’m a bit of a germaphobe and cannot stand messy people. With this pandemic going on, it made my germophobia skyrocket even more. I have this irrational fear of being alone, having the thought that everyone around me just tolerates me and doesn’t actually like me flows through my mind a lot. I tend to overthink this a lot to the point it puts me in depressive states, but with some reassurance, I can bounce back. Another thing I fear to death is cockroaches and giant moths; of any kind to be entirely honest. I’m not scared of spiders (I adore them), beetles, ants, etc. but when it comes to these two, I’m either screaming and dipping out or trying to fistfight a moth.

Any additional info you would like to share, fun facts, etc. Answer: I pretty much summed what I had in a nutshell up above. But I got a few more things I can mention for some trivia: I used to be an alto back in my school’s choir, I still sing on occasion but only when I think I’m alone. My friends and sister like to compare me to other characters such as Loki from Marvel, Diva from Blood+, April Ludgate from Parks & Rec, Edward Elric or Envy from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, etc.; They’re not entirely wrong. I cannot dance for the life of me, so anyone who offers to dance with them, they’re going to be dancing with the 90s Barbie doll. I’m an insomniac that gets the midnight munchies, I’ll never in bed but expect to find me rummaging through the kitchen for a snack. There are some things about a relationship that can be a make it or break it for me. I have massive trust issues due to past experiences as well as a fear of commitment. I struggle with anxiety and depression that is overshadowed by my anger, so someone who is patient enough to take the chance to understand me. Reassurance is another big thing I hold because there are going to be days where I start to believe I’m no longer desirable. Loyalty and consent are another two big things with me, I cannot stand toxicity in a relationship. It’s either you’re all in for it or just dip out. I also value someone who can make me laugh and understand I’m not a very affectionate person. I’m kinda like a cat, I like having space. Cheaters, Narcissists, and pathological liars are what keep me away from relationships. I already have enough self-esteem issues and trust issues that my standards in relationships are nearly unrealistic. Little white lies can slide because of surprises or pranks, but when it comes to lying compulsively will really piss me off. Man up to your shit, that is all I’m asking. My Love Language is quality time and words of affirmation, although I don’t mind some cuddles and physical touch. I’m honestly so touch-starved that I internally freak out when someone I like hugs or touches me, but I’m not opposed to it. Honestly, just spending time with that person whether be sitting in the same room doing two completely different things or just watching a shitty YouTube video. I want someone who isn’t afraid to admit I’m their lover, they’re proud to say I’m theirs and to go in public with me. Dates, coffee dates, going out running errands, late-night adventures, going to cons with me, and sharing hobbies! I’m all down for that!! I want a best friend as well as a lover in the relationship.

I match you with... 

Sado Yasutora

Chad may be a scary-looking person to those who don’t know him, but his still waters run deep. He is a very loving and passionate person and most of all, he’s perceptive of the people around him. Once he’s taken an interest in you, he’ll patiently wait for you to open up to him, getting to know you by just being around you. He is in no rush since rushing a relationship is rarely a good thing and he wants to do it right or not at all.

Because of his thick skin and his understanding of people, there’s very little you can do that will scare or hurt him. He will take your blunt responses as a sign of honesty and you speaking your mind, two things he greatly values. Even your dark humour won’t faze him.

Chad may be a silent person in general, but that changes when it comes to the people he cares about. He becomes a bit more vocal and always speaks his mind, but it may come across a little weird because he is not too used to expressing his emotions. His does however make his words of love all that more impactful, and he’ll make sure to chase away any doubts you may have that he loves you. His calm and understanding personality is a great help when you’re feeling down.

Chad’s main love language is quality time. As long as you are around, he doesn’t mind what you are doing. No matter how much he likes his friends, there are times when he just wants to spend time with you alone. He greatly enjoys hiking and adventurous talks, much like you, so that’s a common date plan. He’s also a pretty good cook, with his specialty being Mexican food, as he grew up there. Cooking and eating together is his idea of a perfect night in.

When it comes to you, he’ll never be ashamed to admit you’re his. It doesn’t matter if his friends try to tease him about having a girlfriend, he doesn’t see any reason to be embarrassed about it. If anything, he’s a little happy to say it out loud. Being secretive about being a relationship would just make him insecure about it being real or a joke, so he prefers to be open about it.

Chad’s main focus in the relationship it you, what you’re comfortable with and what you want. He is a highly loyal friend, and just as loyal as a boyfriend. Despite him being friends with all different kinds of people, you will never have to worry about him cheating on you. Consent is also a very big thing for him. If you leave it up to him, new steps in the relationship will come very slowly and are spoken about beforehand, just so he’s sure you are comfortable with it.

Chad, much like you, doesn’t get too hung up on physical displays of affection. He enjoys a hug every now and again, but he’s not the clingy type. When you are in the mood for a hug though, Chad gives the absolute best ones.

[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 11

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Story Master List

Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Support my Patreon and get access to exclusive stories.  CLICK HERE

-

“What are you doing?” 

You freeze in place with the  blade to your throat, turning to find Sam staring in simmering anger. After his initial shock, he closes in on you, grabbing the knife and twisting it from your hands. 

“You were going to slit your own throat?” He’s fuming, fury seeping from his pores as his nostrils flare. When you don’t respond, his face sets, jaw locking. “Answer me now!” 

“Yes,” you admit, tears falling as you begin to sob. “Let me, please, give the knife back to me. I beg you. Let me leave this world!”

“What’s wrong with you!” he yells again, stepping back. His hands clench into fists at his sides. For a moment you’re sure he’s going to hit you, but instead, he runs a hand over his face and turns away toward the fire. He’s fighting to regain control of himself. Sam takes a moment, his back rising and falling with the intensity of his breath. Turning back to you he places a hand on each of your shoulders, moving backward, forcing you to sit in the chair as you cry harder, shoulders jerking while you sputter and choke. “Stop crying,” he barks. 

You both know it’s a ridiculous command. You’re in no state of mind to follow orders or control these sorts of emotions. Your hands shake at the thought of the repercussions for further disobedience as you look up at him with wide, wet eyes. “I-I c-can’t.”

With hands on his hips, he waits, watches you heave and cough and then slowly collect yourself. It takes a while but you do find a way to calm down. You wipe your cheeks with the sleeves of your dress.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest,  waiting until you’re staring at the floor, seemingly matched in a silent standoff. 

“Tell me why you had a knife at your throat.”

“I told you. I want to die,” you whisper, unable to look at him. Your voice shakes, tremors of fear shooting from head to toe. “Please don’t be mad at me. I tried to stop crying, I couldn’t-”

“I don’t care about that.” He crouches down, placing a hand on your thigh. You nearly jump out of your skin. “Why do you want to die?”

You sniffle, wringing your hands together in fear and anxiety. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

“You don’t have a choice. Tell me.” Sam’s Alpha leaves no option to remain silent. 

“What sort of life will I have?” Your eyes flutter up, sneaking a glance. “Before all this, my life was nothing special but I was a person. A human being. I was allowed thoughts and emotions and opinions. Here I am nothing more than what’s between my legs.”

“You would rather take your life than be an Omega?” His eyebrows shoot up as if he’s realizing for the first time just how desperate you truly are. “You’d rather end your life than lie in my bed?”

“It is what comes after you that I’m more frightened of,” you admit. 

His head tilts to the side, interest piqued. “What comes after me?”

“Other men, other Alphas. Your brother told me about the plans. When you’re done with me Dean will take his turn and then I’ll become a prize for the Alphas, likely at your father’s discretion. I would rather die than subject myself to that.”

Sam is quiet, sighing deeply and getting up to take a seat in the chair across the table from you. He thinks for a spell, studying his palms before responding. 

“My brother told you these things?”

“Yes. And I know what happens with the other Omegas. What their lives are like. Tilda has soured, I can hardly stand the smell of her, she’s rancid. When we’re mistreated we...rot. I don’t think I would survive it. I wouldn’t want to.” 

“I see.” He pours himself wine, before sitting back to watch the fire. “And what if there was no after me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“My brother spoke out of turn. I know I’ve made a comment when I wanted to keep you in line, but the truth is I have no plans to give you to anyone else. You’re mine and I intend to keep you.”

Barely able to wrap your mind around this new revelation, you stare at him. Sam Winchester, a sworn enemy of your family, a man who vowed to slaughter every member of your family, wants you for himself. 

“You want me?” you ask again. Perhaps you’re delusional.

“I do,” he explains calmly. “You’re a perfect Omega. Your scent, your body. You obey orders, keep your mouth shut. No one else will have you as long as I'm alive. If you are loyal to me then I will return that loyalty.” 

“Will you claim me?”

“One day,” he nods in confirmation. “I’ll marry when my parents find a suitable match. Once that happens, I’ll claim you. It’s part of the Gilead wedding ceremony. No Beta will be able to do what you can. You’ll take my knot, give me children. It will be the best life of any Omega in Gilead. It might not be your old life of milking cows and making bread that you seem to miss so much, but you’ll have a place. Your rightful place. I’ll let you decide what you want.” He gets up, laying the knife on the table in front of you. “Slit your throat, or take your clothes off and come to bed.” 

And with that, he strips down and readies himself for the night. You listen while he washes himself, the water in the basin sloshing over the sides. You could do it, end it all right here and now. But that would mean giving up on hope, the hope Sam has just offered. Life could be bearable and perhaps someday down the road you might be presented with a chance to escape. To find your way back to freedom. 

And then there’s Sam, as much as you hate to admit it you've grown accustomed to him. His scent, the feel of his hands, the heat of his skin rubbing against yours. While given the option to go back home or stay, you would certainly choose your home. But right now he’s your best option. 

The decision is seemingly already made. 

Pulling your dress off over your head, you walk naked to his bed. Sam is on his side, watching you in curiosity as he pulls back the blankets to allow you to slide in beside him. 

“Let me see your neck.” He props himself up, finger trailing over the thin line left by the blade. It broke the skin but barely. It’s little more than a cat scratch. “You could have done irreparable damage.”

His finger carefully moves over the clammy skin, pressing down gently around the edge of the mark. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whisper in the fading light. Your body takes over, excitement fluttering fast as his skin brushes over yours.  

“Take care it doesn’t get infected.” 

“I will,” you confirm, gazing up at him. “Thank you for taking care of me.” 

From time to time you forget who he is and where you are. Tonight for instance, you nearly reach up to caress his jaw. It would be such a comfort to be able to give and receive easy touches, gentler affection than he seems capable of.  

“You’re no good to me broken,” he grunts. His fingers splay out, wrapping around your neck but not squeezing. “If I catch you trying to hurt yourself again, you’ll be punished. It will be painful, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you confirm. 

“I’m glad we’re clear.” His eyes dart to your breasts before relinquishing his hold and rolling onto his back. He yanks the blanket away from his cock. He’s hard, standing at attention as he strokes himself. “Come here and sit on my cock.”

You do as you’re told. The night's events have drained you of every last vestige of energy. But it’s important, now more than ever, to ensure he’s happy with you. If taking his knot once a night is the price of your life, it’s one you can pay.

Climbing on top you stroke his cock a few times before guiding the leaking head of his manhood into your cunt. You sink down slowly, letting your body stretch for him. Sam’s eyes flutter, big hands and strong fingers curling into your hips. You try to ride him but he holds you down.

“Stay like this,” he instructs and brings his thumbs to your clit. 

“Alpha,” you breathe, eyes closing as you concentrate on his touch.

For what seems like a lifetime you sit straddling him as he rubs you soft and slow, building pleasure from a quivering foundation into bursting sparks that threaten to take you over the edge. 

He’s quiet, watching and touching, grunting softly at each moan and whimper that falls from your lips. Just when you're getting close to your peak, his hand falls away and you feel him shift, sitting up with you still his lap. 

You open your eyes to find his face unnervingly close, his breath warm on your cheek as he reaches around to hold your backside. 

“My great-grandfather married an Omega, back when it was still acceptable. She died before I was born but he talked about her all the time. He told Dean and I how special she was. That there was no one that could compare to her in any way. I remember him explaining the bond between them, he had to make sure she was satisfied, that they were connected in order for her to flourish. She didn’t belong to him as much as she was an extension of him.”

You look at each other and he carefully lifts you up only a few inches before letting you slide back down his length. You draw in a breath and his hand curls back around your throat. 

“I’ve never met an Omega like you, little bird. Most are nothing more than bitches in heat. But I could see from the moment my brother dragged you into the tent that you were different. I can’t have you souring like old Tilda. If we need to bond to keep you healthy, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He lifts you up and down again. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his cheek while his cock splits you open. He moves faster and you can barely handle the sensation, gripping his shoulders tightly. 

“Alpha,” you moan. Your eyes flutter, head lolling back as the pleasure builds. At this moment there is no fear or pain or worry, there's only your body and the Alpha who’s making you feel this way. 

“I’ll ever be able to give you the kind of bond you desire. I’m missing that piece of myself. But we can have this...physical closeness. It should be enough.” 

Your body hums with pleasure as you look into his eyes. What sort of man walks around without a soul? Is it possible to have any sort of moral compass when he’s hollow inside? Will this be enough?

You don’t have the answers to any of these questions. 

“Do you like the way this feels?” he asks, scraping his teeth along your throat. 

“Yes,” you hiss long and low. Your clit is throbbing, aching as his hand wedges between your bellies, rubbing up and down over the swollen bud. 

“Open your eyes and look at me.” Snapping to attention, you find him right there, so close you can feel his breath on your mouth. “Now ride me, up and down, nice and slow.”

You lift yourself up slightly and lower back down feeling the drag of his cock. Breasts crushed against his chest as he holds your hips, keeping you close. 

Eyes crinkling around the edge, he breathes in hard through his nose. Two hands slide under your backside again, helping to lift you up and down on his dick. 

“Alpha,” you whine loudly. Ultimate pleasure is coming like a rush, you’re teetering on the edge. This is a wholly new experience, wrapping up in his scent and skin and pleasure. For these moments the outside world fades away and you’re safe in the arms of a man who should do nothing but terrify you. 

You cum the instant his knot pops. It's the coming together of two bodies in perfect timing. You shudder against him, trembling while your cunt is still squeezing around his cock. One hand holds tight to the back of his neck, the other wrapping around his shoulders, not willing to let go of him or the moment. It’s hard to imagine that amidst all this sorrow and desperation you’re able to feel such intense pleasure. 

“Will you hold me for a moment longer?” you ask as your lips brush over his ear. 

Sam doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t let go. He sits with you in his lap until you’re the one to pull back and away. And when you lay down he curls around you from behind. You fall asleep surrounded by a man’s animal heat and the fragile idea that this space is a safe one. 

[maruzzewrites]

hello ~ could i request #6 for risotto? or diavolo who ever works best! maybe nothing too nfsw if that’s alright?

what about both, my good sir? also i dunno what you meant with nsfw bc i don’t really write smut? i assume you meant gore, so it’s not as bloody as i could i have made it

6. “I think they might bea problem. Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of them for you.” 

Content warnings: yandere content, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, stalking, implied mindbreak, implied violence, abuse, being used in these two fellows’ feud.

Diavolo had to keep tabs on everyone, his eyeshad to see everything. When it came to his own group, his own empire, he had tohammer the thought of constant control and surveillance in order to discourageany and all attempts to rebel. He didn’t care if his underlings would kill eachother for foolish greed or any revenge-filled sentiment of resentment, until hestayed at the top and no one tried to tear apart his carefully built life.

He was cautious, bordering on pointless paranoia,when it came to anything to do with his goals. No underdog could hope tooverthrown him, no matter how brave they thought they were. On the other hand,those loyal subordinates who would bow down, figuratively show their throat tohim as an act of submission, gained his favor and his calm more easily that he’dlike to admit. Diavolo wasn’t one to indulge in typical emotions, toocontrolled and isolated to really understand other people, but he could appreciatethe coddling provided by people who obeyed him almost blindly. Like his Doppio.

Or like you, a mere courier. You wereinsignificant, you were an ant in his vast world of crime and illegality. You weren’tan assassin or a guard, you just run around the city with averted eyes to carrypackages, often of little to no value. Yet, you talked with reverence of theDon, of the man you claimed allowed you to eat at the end of the day, to wrapyourself in a soft blanket and sleep peacefully in the safety of your own home.Diavolo never really thought about other people unless it was to manipulate or monitorthem, but the small admissions you gave to anyone asking why you were acceptingof the low rank and lousy treatment made his mind feel softer when he had todeal with you.

Despite the growing, reluctant fondness he hadfor you and your reverence, he wouldn’t reveal himself or contact you directly;Doppio was often sent to talk to you, offer you a bit more money than necessaryfor a simple delivery, yank you away from situations his boss didn’t approveof. You were grateful, that much he could understand, but that sentiment seemedto quickly diminish with each passing day. You were refusing, again and again, anytype of help from the Don. When before you would accept without thought hisgenerosity, now you step back a little and bow your head, trembling at thetentative rejection.

Diavolo could feel Doppio shake a bit, tension inhis muscles. His underboss’ voice was still sweet, if strained, when heextended the envelope with cash towards you, a clear invitation to take it. Youstepped back again, looked around you, whispered your fear to the man who wasin front of you. You accused him with a small voice; of following you, ofspying you, you saw the pink hair everywhere and his gift of affection wereleft behind so, so often you were afraid to go back home most nights. At themention of your spending nights of utter terror with someone else, Doppio’smind melted away and you watched as his eyes turned green.

“How dare you,” it wasn’t a question, it wassimple indignant vitriol dripping from Doppio’s soft lips. Before you couldeven question what was happening, he charged you and backed you up against thewall behind you, his arms seemingly growing too large for his minute body. Youhit your back painfully, letting out a moan of agony, but didn’t have thebravery to struggle against the man holding you against the wall, on your toes.Was he always that tall, was he always that strong; your head buzzed withquestions as he spoke again, “Don’t betray me. You wouldn’t like what happens.”

He kept your head in place as he got closer, crashinghis lips into yours without much consideration for your whines and whimpers,your body froze solid for the fear. You were left without breath by the length ofthe greedy kiss, your lips swollen and aching when he was done torturing them.A light squeeze of your arms was the last wordless warning he left you, beforeletting you stumble to the ground and watching as you walked away with quick stepsyou were obviously trying to contain so you wouldn’t displease him.

The following days were filled with dailyencounters with Doppio, soft and polite again, as he let you have anything youneeded or wanted, even when you didn’t voice your thoughts to him at all. Diavolocould feel you slip away from his grasp, but he would tighten his fingersaround your throat as you were trying to leave just to keep you subservient anddocile. Yet, he couldn’t have eyes on you all the time, not on a constantbasis, so you managed to get your glimpses of freedom that made you get closerto someone.

Risotto Nero was his best assassin, the boss ofhis hitmen team, and he knew everything about him; he was an asset, but also aliability with the sheer cruelty and greed his group showed every single day.He approached you when Diavolo’s eyes couldn’t observe, offering you protectionand safety if you gave in to his affection. Softness wasn’t something he hasever accustomed to, but you showed a great amount of it even to the strangerson the streets; you wouldn’t let your job dim your light, your tenderness,despite working for the ruthless ranks of Passione.

He knew of the link you had with the Don, initiallyhe kept researching you for the sole propose of finding a weakness in theshield of the boss he hated so much. But, with time, his heart softened andchanged, a sick obsession to follow you and claim you pushed him to leavetraces. And that made you accuse the boss’ underdog of Risotto’s action, articulatingyour dread at the attentions. He was glad your contempt was directed at theother man, but his stomach dropped when he watched further and you were seizedin his arms, weak and passive like a kitten.

Risotto felt a roar die in his throat, at thedisplay of your fragility. Everything was out of focus, except your delicateface and your trembling steps as you run away. You were so breakable, and hecouldn’t bear the thought of you crumbling for anyone but him. Another challengeto the boss wouldn’t be his death, he thought, as he dragged you under his wingto protect you, claim you. Under his fingers, your blood turned cold and yourstrength left you with the drop of iron in your bloodstream. A little doll,prized, in the hands of two puppeteers.

You found yourself between a rock and a hardplace, pulled back and forth in their attempts to get you. A pawn in theirendless game, it didn’t matter if your arms would come off because of thetugging. They would kiss with hunger at the scars, demanding to open new oneswhere the other left them on your skin. They’d claw, and tear, and shape yoursoft soul until you were only left with edges and cold flesh, perfect in yourform and limping at their side. It didn’t matter if you were yourself, untilyou could be theirs. Then, one day, one of them would disappear and leave youin the punishing hands of the other man, ready to atone for your split loyalty.

“The boss and his right-hand man. I think theymight be a problem,” Risotto’s voice was burning as ice on your skin, draggingthe words over your back while he held you close. The promise of torture at themere thought of rebelling against his affection, the threat of being left aloneto face the Don if you didn’t comply. Diavolo spit out words as bright as acold flame, making the venom stick to your eardrums like a plague you could never hope to cure if you wanted to live another day, “Don’t worry, love, I’ll takecare of them for you. Soon, they won’t bother you anymore.”

[dejayoonw]

part 13 : loser | loser baby

drabble

faction lock-in

“baby i’m a loser yeah, yeah, yeah, just like you, just like you.”

yn honestly hadn't meant for her temper to get the best of her, really. but when you've got arguably the douchiest guy on earth pushing every button until he finds the right one it's hard to keep your cool. 

"You know if you were more loyal to your faction maybe some of us would like you." jaesun said, sticking to the loyalty troupe for the last fifteen minutes, as if they hadn't hated yn from the beginning.

"I could never get my head that far up my own ass." the words were coming out before she could even stop them. 

"Clearly you got a little too much of that fortis bravery from your wannabe mother." he said making all his friends laugh like he'd really done something. 

"You're going to have to step up your game if you're going to go for the dead parents jokes, I mean even the humans gave it better than you." yn said keeping the same unbothered look on her face while her tone stayed as neutral as if she was talking to a friend. instead of saying anything jaesun opted to leave the conversation, bumping yn's shoulder with as much force as possible. yn could take the snide comments, but the physical contact was her weakness. she couldn't just leave it alone. 

"Touch me again and I'll rip your tongue from your throat and force feed it to your little sidekick." yn said catching the attention of everyone in the room. her tone remained cheery, but her eyes held something else warning everyone of just how serious she was. 

"You'll regret that." holding his hand up jaesun fired back. yn's throat began to tighten up as if someone was choking her, her lungs quickly beginning to ache. her mouth fell open as a silent gasp escaped her lips, trying to get air to her lungs anyway possible. with a slow blink she slowed her mind down, regaining control of the situation with one wave of her hand. in that instant he was flying back into the wall across the gym they were locked in for the night. before she really had a moment to catch her breath her name was being shouted, as most of the students and staff ran to check on jaesun one teacher was headed her way. before the teacher had pulled her out of the room she caught a glimpse of one person watching her instead of checking on the golden boy, with a smile on his face yoongi sent her a wink making all of the shit she was about to get from the teacher worth it. 

-

"So what'd you get, detention? Expelled? Are they going to call your parents, shit sorry I meant your aunts. I swear that wasn't on purpose." yn sent a half smile and an eye roll in yoongi's direction before sitting down in the spot she'd claimed earlier on that night. 

"In school suspension. Five days." yoongi gave her a look of sympathy before nodding towards his older cousin. 

"You really did some damage over there. I don't think I've seen someone fly that far, he's lucky the wall was there to catch him." yn let her eyes fall on the boy in question, ice pack resting on the top of his head with some scratches and already forming bruises adorning his body. he was surrounded by students all whispering, probably about yn, to him while shooting her glares. the school nurse was doing her best with the crowd but it was obvious she was annoyed. 

"He shouldn't have choked me. He's lucky I didn't do worse." yn said feeling her anger stur back up at the memory of his eyes and smug grin, thinking he was getting the best of her. 

"Are you okay by the way? I mean they're not going to acknowledged that he did anything but I can sneak you out of here to see the other nurse if you need to." yoongi offered catching yn's attention. she wondered why he was so nice to her, she'd literally just sent his cousin airborn into a wall and yet he was here, checking on her. 

"I'm okay, Jeongguk's favorite trick is choking so I'm used to it." yn told him thinking back to the days before they moved here when they'd practice fighting in jeongguk's back yard with his dad playing referee. 

"That's really not something I needed to know." yoongi said looking disgusted to say the least. it took yn a minute to realize what he was even talking about when she nearly gagged at the thought. 

"Oh my god! Not like that, what the fuck." yn said trying to shake the thought out of her mind. "Jeongguk and I are a thousand percent just friends." 

"Oops, my bad. I just assumed I guess." yoongi tried his best to hold his chuckles in at her reaction but it proved to be impossible. yn was cute and it made it hard for yoongi to act like he didn't care like he usually did with the other people in his faction. the difference was he didn't have to act too much with his other classmates. 

"So not that I'm not like, grateful or whatever but can I ask why you're so nice to me? I mean literally everyone else in this faction either hates me or just doesn't care enough to get condemned for talking to me, so why you? Is there some kind of vendetta you have against your cousin that you're using me for?" yn asked almost feeling bad for the accusation. who was she to question friendliness?

"Wow, I'm hurt that you think so low of me." yoongi teased, gripping his chest on the right side. yn reached up moving his hand to the left where his heart would actually be not really thinking about the fact that they might not be that close yet. "I'm nice to you because I've been there. I mean maybe not quite to this extent but, it wasn't that long ago that people were isolating me." 

"Why?" yn hadn't meant to pry but her curiosity often got the best of her. plus, it wasn't like he didn't know practically everything about her. 

"Well Jaesun and I have never gotten along. His mom and my dad they kind of hated each other before she died and the family feud was kind of just passed down to us. I don't even know the reason really, my dad always says it was just some shit from before I was born but I think Jae knows the story." his voice was deeper as he spoke about his family, yn almost regretted asking. he didn't seem to be upset but his mood had shifted slightly. 

"I didn't know his mom had died." yn said her eyes finding the boy sitting against the wall opposite to them. 

"Sometimes I wonder if that's why he's so bitter. He never really knew her but he grew up with his dad and his older sister. Jisun was my uncle's favorite so that could have something to do with it too. Honestly though I think he just gets off on being an asshole, likes to put people down so he can forget the fact that he has a tiny dick." yoongi said, his voice becoming angrier as he watched sympathy forming in yn's eyes for his cousin. he wasn't sure why he got so frustrated but he couldn't really help it. why was she feeling sorry for someone who treated her the way jaesun had?

"Oh, does it run in the family then?" yn asked a teasing tone to her voice. yoongi shot her a defensive glare but he wasn't angry, if anything he was glad she felt comfortable enough around him to poke fun.

"I guess you'll never know." yoongi said shooting her a wink, pretending not to notice the blush on her cheeks. 

"Oh, darn." she joked back, not able to hold back the yawn following it. yoongi smiled softly at her for a moment before realizing that he probably looked like a psycho just staring at her. she didn't appear to have noticed thankfully but yoongi hadn't missed the way her blinks were becoming slower, clearly growing tired quickly. she'd shifted positions slightly so that she was laying down, her head resting on her makeshift pillow aka her jacket.

"I'll leave you alone so you can sleep, I just wanted to make sure you were alright." yoongi told her. he was about to get up when her hand found his wrist, having more of effect on him than he was ready to admit. slowly he turned to look back at her, regretting it almost instantly when she let out the cutest yawn keeping her eyes closed. 

"Will you stay? I feel like I'm less of a target with you here." yoongi knew she didn't specifically mean him, she just didn't have any other options but it was easy to pretend that she did only want him there, that he made her feel safe. he smiled down at her, already almost asleep, he knew it was dangerous but how could he say no?

[morallygreyprompts]

Villain Forced to Work for the Heroes Continuation

Previous Post here

Leader clenched their fist. “Why the hell do you think you can undermine everything that I say?”

Villain stomped their foot. “Because you treat me like shit and expect me to do what I tell you! That’s why. I’m not going to respect someone that’s punishing me for trying to save their whole team’s life. You’ve got a contract and a collar over me but you don’t control me,” they retorted.

Villain braced as Leader glared at them. “Yeah, I do.” They pushed the button and Villain dropped to the floor with a curdled scream. They convulsed, their back arching and their muscles tensing so much that they burned. Tears came to their eyes but they refused to try to beg. They were too proud to try and receive mercy.

“[Leader], that’s enough!” Hero exclaimed, snatching the remote from them. Villain gasped for air, scrambling to get on their hands the knees, trembling badly. Their limbs shook with exertion.

“Come on, man,” they continued. “They’ve never done anything to jeopardize us all this time, maybe we should trust them. After all, they’re going to know a villain best.”

“So you’re siding with them?” Leader hissed. 

“Yeah actually, and as a leader, you should be open to the opinions of others. Whether we like it or not, [Villain] is part of the team now. It’s time we started treating them like it- I’m only sorry it’s taken so long for me to see that.”

Villain flinched as Hero crouched down beside them, sitting them up and letting them lean against Hero. “Deep breaths, sorry, [Villain]. Geez, has that burned your neck? Okay, okay, I’ll patch that up before we go. ”

“Fine,” Leader growled. “You go through the back doors, see how long you last. I’ll take the vents.” Villain croaked, “S.scan them. For god’s sake scan them first.” Leader didn’t answer them. “And what about you two?” Leader asked the rest of the team.

“I’ll go with [Hero], make sure they’ve got reliable back up,” Hero2 said.

“[Hero3]?” Leader asked.

They nodded, “I’m with you, Chief.”

Leader stared at Hero and Villain before huffing out a breath and walking away.

_____

Villain rubbed their neck again, feeling the cream Hero had applied to their newly burnt and blistering skin.

“You ready?” Hero said quietly. Villain nodded. Hero was the boss now, but at least they were willing to show a little more decency. They weren’t sure if they hoped Leader was alright or not though, and right now there was no point deliberating it. They needed to focus.

“Lead the way,” Hero said.

Villain covered their face with a half mask to filter the air. Hero and Hero2 followed suit. They went in their bag for several small altered smoke grenades, filled with sleeping gas. They tossed one out right next to the door and it silently emitted a thick gas. With the door blocked they threw a few more. One guard dropped, and it was only then it became clear they were under some sort of attack. One guard tried to run away, but Hero2 made chase and dragged them back, making them take a gulp of the gas. They fell limp in their arms.

“Nice work,” Hero remarked to the two. Villain bowed their head and set to work on deactivating the code-lock. They worked quickly and Hero was rather amazed to see it unlock and swing open. “You really are good at this,” they breathed. Villain ignored them and slipped inside, shutting the door most of the way behind them.

Villain had studied the plans, they knew where they were going and made their way through the hallways without making any noise. The two heroes followed cautiously.

Other Villain’s bedroom was easy to find, two guards stood outside, but Villain ready. A smaller vial of sleeping gas and they both crumbled to the floor. “What do we do about [Leader]?” Hero2 whispered. Villain waved it off for now and put a finger to their lips. They slowly tried to open the door but it was locked with a key. Villain dropped to their knee and began to pick it with their tool, listening closely to the tumblers.

The door opened thanks to Villain, and Hero swooped in to grab Other Villain from their bed. A sharp grip around their throat registered them silent as they woke in a panic. Villain and Hero2 helped to restrain them, grabbing them by the arms and legs to stop them from fighting. Hero released their grip and put a knife to their throat to be sure they were quiet.

Other Villain relaxed their body, getting the message. Hero2 switched on a lamp and Hero was quick to turn them over and bind their hands behind their back. Then they sat them up, the knife still close to them. 

Other Villain raised an eyebrow seeing Villain there. “Hello, turncoat,” they murmured.

“I’ve got no say in the matter, my friend, I’m trying to save my own skin. I hope there are no hard feelings, and I do apologise. Prison’s a bitch.”

Other Villain smirked. “So that’s how you got in here. Hero-proof, not Villain-proof.”

Hero gagged them and Other Villain retched behind the cloth but Hero didn’t move it. “Silent,” Hero warned. Then they looked up to Villain, “Well done, though I hope you wouldn’t backstab us that quick.” 

“Maybe not, but I’m betraying the villains by doing this, They’d kill me without hesitation for this, y’know?”

Hero sighed, “Sorry. Look, I’ll make sure things are easier for you now. [Leader] will warm up to you soon enough. Man, I hope they’re okay. They should be here by now.”

The team escorted Other Villain out the room and led them down the hallway where they’d come from. After rounding a corner they were halted in their tracks. Villain’s Sidekick was there with at least two dozen armed henchmen and Leader and Hero3 as their prisoners. They were in a bad way, bruised, bloodied, and burnt. Villain wasn’t sure how they were even still alive. Hero pulled Other Villain closer to them and pressed the knife against the throat. Hero2 raised their fists and Villain put their hands in the air. They wanted no part in this.

“Were the air vents rigged like I said?” Villain asked sarcastically. Leader mumbled for them to shut up and their legs gave way. The henchmen held on tight to their wrists, letting them hang limp from the floor. Other Villain grinned from beneath the gag. 

“Take the gag off them!” Sidekick demanded. “Now, or I’ll slit [Hero3]’s throat!”

Villain looked to Hero who nodded. They slowly inched toward them and pulled the strip of material out of their mouth. Other Villain coughed wildly.

“So even with a knife to your throat, you hold the cards, huh?” Villain assumed.

“Indeed I do. And if this runt doesn’t unhand me, I’ll give the other to kill [Hero3] as Sidekick has already threatened. Sidekick reiterated the fact by unsheathing their blade and pressing it against Hero3’s throat despite Hero shouting in protest.

“[Hero], there’s no point,” Villain advised. “They’ve got two prisoners, we’ve got one, and they know you’ve got more morals than them. They know you’re not gonna kill them. Make this easier for everyone. [Other Villain] isn’t going to yield.”

“Well said,” Other Villain smiled.

Hero snarled but moved the knife away. 

“[Villain], take the knife and untie me.”

Villain slowly held out their hand for the knife, and Hero gave them it. Villain was quick to cut them free and could do nothing to stop them taking the knife out of their hands and walking away, cutting the gag from around their neck.

“Good.”

“Boss, we found this in [Leader]’s possession. Not sure what it’s for,” Sidekick reported. Villain took the small remote from Sidekick. Villain tensed and stepped back, bringing a hand up to their neck. “Please don’t,” they blurted.

Other Villain was quiet, acknowledging their fear, the collar over their neck and the redness beneath it. “So this is the means they use to keep you in line, hm?” “T.That and getting me out of prison. Please just don’t. I’ll do what you ask.”

Leader looked wide-eyed at Villain, as though they only just realised how afraid of that collar they were.

Other Villain nodded, giving it to a henchman. “Lock this away safe. We’re not going to need that, are we?”

“No, sir/miss,” Villain gulped. “We’re hardly in a position to bargain, but… perhaps there’s room for negotiations or at least a request.”

“You‘re not being in charge of something like that,” Leader growled.

“Gag them,” Other Villain ordered. “I’m interested in what [Villain] has to say for themselves.”

“Are you willing to let them all go- you can have me in return? I. I can do as you say, work for you and be loyal?” Villain said.

“[Villain],” Hero began, “Are you sure- for us?”

“Hush!” Other Villain hissed. “No... At least I won’t give up all of them. I want you and your loyalty of course, but [Leader] doesn’t get to leave so easily. Don’t worry, [Villain]. I’ll take good care of you- you’re just a victim to these crimes. I understand that. Nah, I want to offer you recompense. I’ve no need for the others, they can be entertainment for another time. They can walk away from today… Or hobble rather.” Other Villain took a long look at Hero3’s sickly condition.

Villain looked at Leader, waiting for some sort of opinion. They nodded slowly with haggard breathing. Villain bowed their head toward Other Villain. 

“Then...Deal. Thank you for your consideration.”

[mythologyfolklore]

Trusting the enemy - Pt. 04

Sigyn – Devotion

(A/N: Set right before Ragnarök.)

In the beginning she hated him.

It was easy.

She knew at first sight, that he was a foxy jerk, with that stupid effeminate and freckled face, the stupid bright green eyes, the stupid gaudy red hair and especially that stupid, insufferable smirk, that made her want to bash his face in.

She still can't believe, that her father made her marry this man!

And to add insult to injury, he called her tiny! She isn't tiny! Just … vertically challenged.

She hated him and he hated her. Simple as that.

But when she found out, that he already had a family and children … maybe she hated him just a little less. Of course he would wish to be with them, rather than with an arranged wife, with whom he fought every day.

Sigyn knows, that she can be a colossal bitch, but she is understanding and she loves children.

In retrospect she knows, that this is what won him over.

When she met Loki's not-so-little ones, she adored them, still does, like they're her own.

Sigyn finds it really sad, that so much shit needed to happen for her and her husband to grow together.

When the triplets were taken away, it broke the trickster's heart and she remembers, how he cried every night … and how she hated it.

She still doesn't know what exactly happened, but something clicked in her head.

Something, that prompted her to go and travel all nine worlds, just to find them and ask them for a token. And that she got: a curl from a queen, a fang from the wolf of wolves, a scale from the world-encompassing serpent.

Loki has never said thank you, nor has he ever told her, that he loves her.

But she knows, knew from the very moment he first kissed her.

And when they finally had children together, she finally realised, that they were meant to be – and that she would follow him to the end of all worlds and back.

Sigyn is nothing, if not loyal.

All nine worlds know this.

Even when she hated Loki, she took her wedding vow seriously.

She has sworn to be his faithful companion in joy and grief, for better or worse, to share happiness and grief, to easy his suffering and to be true, no matter what.

Loki is a pathological liar and the biggest slut she has ever met and now he is also a murderer and a traitor. Of course she would never condone, what he has done. She would never attempt to excuse or even defend his actions.

But she will also never desert him. He is all she has left now, really.

This wily shapeshifter, who slowly but surely has won her love and devotion.

She will be by his side until the end, even if it means wasting her life away.

Breaking her word is not an option.

Defeat is not an option.

She, Sigyn, Bringer of Victory, daughter of the Father of the Slain, goddess of fidelity and constancy will be her husband's protector as long as she lives.

For she is Loki's wife and she holds a basin over his head, because this blasted snake up there is not allowed to cause him unbearable agony, not on her watch!

He may be a foxy jerk, but he is her foxy jerk.

.

Loki has never told his wife, that he loves her.

He doesn't know why.

But love her he does, has loved her from the very moment she accepted his children with Angrboða as her own. Seriously, it was comical; she was cuddling the Niflheim out of the triplets and fawning over how cute they were – and he blushed. And that after centuries of loathing each other and leading a marriage neither of them had wanted.

And when she gifted him what to this day is his most priced possession, he fell for her completely.

Loki doesn't know, what he has done to earn Sigyn's unwavering loyalty, but he has it.

He never says I love you, but he has a way with gestures and words.

When he calls her a diamond and she asks why, he laughs and tells her, that she is just like one – precious, beautiful and the toughest natural substance there is. And she chortles and tells him to quit being sappy.

It sucks, that it has taken him centuries to realise it, but she is the best thing that ever happened to him. If he wasn't currently chained to three rocks with the entrails of their son, he would even say that he's very, very lucky.

Wait, scratch that.

He actually is very, very lucky.

Because even after all he has done, she is still by his side, easing his suffering significantly and keeping him from losing his mind completely. Even now, that he is a murderer and traitor, even as he's chained to three rocks with the entrails of their own child.

She has been offered to stay in Asgard and live a halfway ordinary life as a de-facto divorcee … and refused. She chose to stay with him, even though they both knew that it would mean wasting her life away, even though she has every reason to hate him.

He doesn't deserve her, he knows.

And she knows it too.

She knows him.

Always has.

Sigyn is not a Pollyanna, not someone to see things through rose-tinted glasses.

She is realistic and intelligent, impossible to fool or deceive and she has seen him for what he is right from the start. His sparkling wit, his silver tongue and charm never worked on her. No wonder she hated him at first – and to be fair, he made it pretty easy for her too; Loki remembers how he never was home (because she was too shrewish to handle), how he had more lovers than he has freckles on his face … and how he always lied.

Sigyn's attitude hasn't changed much since, just because she's fallen in love with him.

But love him she does and he hasn't the faintest idea why. It makes literally no sense.

But he is grateful for it, even though he never says so.

This petite, starry-haired goddess, small but strong, volatile but kind, quick to chide him but never untrue, never breaking her word in all the millennia they have been married.

Dear, poor Sigyn, so full of sorrow, who unlike him has no more tears to shed.

His long-suffering wife, who has watched her own children die most cruelly by the hands of the Æsir and gets reminded of it every time she looks at the chains binding her husband.

Loki is rarely moved by someone else's suffering, but his family is the exception.

Often he has asked her, why she is still here.

Her answer is always the same: “Because I love you, because you need me and because we only have each other left.”

She really is all he has left.

And he trusts her.

His trust in her is as unwavering as her loyalty to him.

So what if she still calls him a foxy jerk.

He is hers.

.

“Hey Sigyn.”

“Hm?”

“Wanna hear something funny?”

She rolls her eyes, but humours him. “I'm all ears.”

“I don't think I'll be able to shake my chains off, when Ragnarök comes.”

“How is that funny?”

“I hope my little ones come to pay me a visit, when Fenrir gets out of Gleipnir.”

“I still don't see, how-”

“Remember how they called you 'Sigyn of the Starry Hair'?”

She smiles fondly; of course she remembers. And how Jörmungandr liked to snake around her body and rest his serpentine head in her curly black and star-spangled hair, hissing about how soft it was.

“And you, Loki? Remember how they took human shapes that one time, for your birthday? And Fenrir another time, for Týr?”

He giggles: “They were so adorable!”

That they were, she agrees.

The goddess of loyalty wonders what the Midgard Serpent looks like now, if he takes human shape. He probably has a scar on his head, where her half-brother Þórr hit him with his hammer. And the Fenriswolf surely looks ferocious.

“And they loved you”, Loki whispers, “I'm sure they still do.”

The feeling is absolutely mutual; Sigyn doesn't care how enormous they are now.

“You're beautiful.”

Where the Niflheim did that come from???

“Shut it”, she mutters and blushes. Loki chuckles, but complies.

Sigyn isn't beautiful, at least not as beautiful as she once was.

Her black and starry hair has lost its lustre and is completely dishevelled, she has grown very pale and thin and she is ageing. And the rejuvenating apples they still have won't fix this, because those grey strands and lines on her face are the result of her sorrow. Probably she has dark rims under her eyes too.

She must look hideous.

Loki knows her train of thought. “You're still a diamond to me”, he consoles her. “You're just one in the rough now.”

She snorts, but gives him a fond look.

He grins, but it fades quickly and his head sinks back onto the rock.

He's so tired.

Just a century earlier, he got to take a nap, because of Óðinn's short visit, but that was a few hours of rest. Apart from that …

“It feels like I haven't slept in millennia”, he groans.

“I don't think you have”, Sigyn replies. “In fact I'm quite sure, that you haven't slept at all, since you … were imprisoned here. Apart from that one nap a hundred years ago.”

Loki looks up to her again. “You're tired too, my Sigyn. You can't convince me, that you have got any more sleep than I have.”

“You're right, I haven't”, she confirms.

And she isn't just exhausted.

She is dying, both of them know this.

Century after century of being in this dark cave, holding this big basin and scarcely eating, drinking, sleeping or even getting fresh air, her incredible strength is waning and her life energy is slipping away. At this point she is so weak, that it's inevitable.

The thought makes Loki's heart shatter. The only thing he can do is hope that he will be free, before this happens. Not just because he doesn't want the venom to drop on his face non-stop. If she has to pass on before him, at least she should die in his arms.

Sigyn knows, how her husband feels about the prospect of her dying before him.

But she has sworn to last as long as he needs her and Sigyn will be damned, if she ever fails to keep her word!

At this point, it's probably pure obstinacy, which keeps her alive, because like Niflheim will she be defeated by something as minor as death!

“Hey, Sigyn?”

“Hm?”

“You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” She knows, what he means, but it's funny hearing him say it.

Loki grins: “That thing, where you think about how death can kiss your arse as long as I need you. I can tell by the way your jar clenches and the way you frown and glare.”

She giggles: “You know me so well.”

“And you know me, my better half”, he purrs.

Damn right I'm your better half, she thinks drily.

But he made her laugh and she is so grateful for that. Loki is so good at making her laugh, even now. It's one of the things she loves about him.

They sink back into silence for a while.

Then something unexpected happens and Sigyn is so surprised, that she nearly drops the basin. She manages not to, but decides to tell her husband of what just occurred.

“Loki?”

“Hm?”

“Guess what just happened.”

His head is directly below the basin, so he doesn't see what's above it.

“What is it, my wife?”

“The snake just bit the dust.”

The trickster's eyes widen. “No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way. Give me a moment to empty the basin and then I'll see, if I can find something to open those fucking chains.”

“Try the teeth of the snake”, Loki advises.

“Will do”, Sigyn says and goes to empty the bowl.

When she comes back, she has a sharp rock and a few herbs.

“Alright, let's see, if this works”, she mutters and cuts the dead snake into pieces. Then she uses the leftover teeth and finds that, yes, they do cut through the chains.

The now free trickster tumbles from the rocks to the ground.

“Holy shit, am I free at last?”, he groans.

“Yep”, Sigyn nods. “It's finally fucking over.”

Loki would stand up and laugh triumphantly, but he is just so tired and everything hurts. However, they both really want to get out of this damn cave and so she helps him outside, carrying the bowl full of snake meat and herbs.

They both blink at the bright light, but manage to drag themselves to a nearby river, before slumping against a tree, both groaning from exhaustion.

The trickster leans against his wife's shoulder. “Darling?”

“Yes?”

“I'm in no condition to start Ragnarök”, he admits.

She laughs: “Obviously. Come on. I'll cook us a nice snake soup and then you'll take a nap.”

He smiles. “Sounds good, my diamond.”

They have themselves the soup and then she lets him rest his head in her lap.

“Sleep”, she coos. “I'll be there, when you wake.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, knowing that she will indeed still be here, when he wakes up.

No one is truer than Sigyn.

-

“It takes courage and strength to make a man depend on you, but it almost always pays off.”

[inu-jiru]

Tomoe, The Eastern Tigress - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen - To Shiga!

“Ahh…!” Reika sat up, her heart fluttering in her chest as she caught John’s scent. “Hiro…! Hiro, it’s John!” “John?” Hiro forced himself up, his eye wide. The other dogs perked, smelling the combined scents of Tomoe, Ken, Kagetora, a few strangers, and, most importantly, blood. Quickly, the soldiers began piling outside to see what was going on. Hiro got to his paws, grunting a bit from his wounds. Reika, of course, stuck to his side, providing whatever support she could. Once outside, everyone joined Weed and Jerome as the small party arrived. The Ohu soldiers gasped at the sight of John, who, despite his tattered and torn body, stood tall. A body rested on his back, Tommy’s. Hook carried Lefty while Ken carried Rossi. The group stopped before their comrades, John looking down at Weed. His eyes widened slightly. His resemblance to Gin was remarkable… “General!” both Reika and Hiro cried joyously, making their way to the front of the group. A smirk appeared on the old Shepherd’s face. “What?” he scoffed. “You two still haven’t figured it out? A guy like me wouldn’t just die, heh.” “We’re so glad you’re alright, sir,” Reika cooed, her tail wagging. Taking notice of Tommy’s body, Reika’s tail then slowed to a stop. “They didn’t…?” “No…” Hiro said, his heart sinking as he looked between the three dogs who’d selflessly died to aid in their escape. He hung his head, his teeth gritting tightly. “Dammit. Godammit…” “Those were friends of yours…?” Weed spoke up, looking at Hiro and Reika. “They helped us,” Reika explained, tears flowing from her eyes. “Without them, Hougen’s dogs would’ve followed us here…” “Hougen…” Rocket growled to himself, his eyes clamping shut as he remembered his past loyalties to the tyrant. Had it not been for his and his brothers’ efforts, no one would’ve had to sacrifice themselves in order to help Hougen’s prisoners escape. He spoke again, this time, loud enough for the others to hear him. “We need to bury them. It’s the least we could do.” “You’re right,” John agreed, looking over at the Borzoi. Lowering his body, he allowed Tommy to slide gently onto the soft, white snow. “Tommy, Rossi and Lefty were loyal Ohu soldiers. They deserve a proper send off.” There was a silent agreement. The following 30 minutes or so were devoted to the digging of three large graves. Everyone chipped in, clearing away the snow, dirt and rocks. When each hole was deep enough, Tommy, Lefty and Rossi were each laid to rest, soil being placed over them. Tears flowed during the burial. Though the three males hadn’t been known by any of them for very long, no one could deny the tragedy of the situation. Hougen’s cruelty took the lives of the three males, and he had to pay. “You were a spy in Hougen’s ranks, right…?” Rocket quietly asked Hook, who sobbed beside him. The Labrador mix sniffed, blinking away his tears as he nodded in reply. “My brothers...Jet and Missile...are they alright…?” “They were your brothers…!?” Hook’s eyes widened in horror. Immediately, Rocket began to feel the icy sting of dread. “What happened…?” The Borzoi dared to ask, though he already knew the answer. “Hougen had them executed…” Though Rocket should’ve been prepared for the news, he still felt his legs grow weak. His heart ached, and his breath caught in his throat. As grief took over, the male felt himself stagger. This caught the attention of the dogs nearest to him. “Rocket?” Jerome began. “Are you alright?” “...I knew that Hougen was cruel,” Rocket responded slowly. “...But to think he’d go so far as to punish them for my actions…! Jet...Missile…! I’m so sorry!” Rocket had suddenly taken off for the nearby ledge. Everyone turned towards him in surprise. Upon reaching the ledge, Rocket threw back his head, unleashing a mournful howl into the mountains. His heart and soul were poured into it, and it reached the heavens. Gritting his teeth, Hook followed suit, joining the howl. One by one, the dogs of Ohu came to the cliff, lending their voices to the sky. It was a requiem for the dogs who’d fallen to Hougen’s selfish desires. It was a battle cry, ensuring that justice would come and that Ohu wouldn’t fall. Lastly, it was a reminder to each other that they had a bond as warriors. Tomoe stood at her father’s side, secretly hoping that her voice reached Hougen’s ears. Before spring came, Hougen would die by her fangs. That was a promise. What little remained of Hougen’s army had regrouped at the base. Once having a hundred soldiers at his command, the tyrant now had thirty-one tired, wounded, and defeated males. The Great Dane hobbled up the steps of his hut, the remainder of his sliced hind leg dangling in the air. The six dogs who’d joined Matsu whispered to each other, staring at the injury in shock. As if feeling their eyes, Hougen stopped, glaring over his shoulder. The soldiers looked away immediately. Feeling a surge of bitterness course through him, Hougen threw himself down the steps, sprinting at the males as best as he could. Even with his new handicap, his rage fueled his movements. He bit down on the first dog he’d gotten close to, his fangs locked on the base of his neck. With a sharp twist of his head, he ripped open the unfortunate soldier’s throat, blood spraying all over his body. The other five dogs backed away, throwing themselves on their bellies and begging for forgiveness. “Anyone else wanna stare at me?” Hougen demanded madly, allowing the dead soldier to fall, pitifully, onto the ground. The Dane’s soldiers shook their heads quickly.Kicking away the carcass, Hougen spat irritably. “This isn’t over. Those Ohu shitheads haven’t won yet. My brother still has his own troops. One of you bastards go and tell him that I want him to claim Gajou. Now!” “Sir…!” replied a male, quickly rushing off to do as the tyrant ordered. With that, Hougen returned to the hut, making his way inside and slamming the door shut. His nostrils flared, catching the fading scents of John and Reika. How he longed to tear those two apart. He didn’t give a damn about Reika anymore. As far as he was concerned, the bitch was just as worthless to him as any other pathetic Ohu dog. The rage Hougen felt against Gin far outranked what he felt for Reika and John, though. That technique...that motherfucking technique…! “HRAAAAAAAAAH!” Hougen’s demonic yell shook the walls of the hut. His eyes turned bloodshot, crimson tears flowing from them. Outside, Hougen’s followers took to the woods, hiding themselves in case the tyrant reemerged. Despite their terror at the monster that lay behind those wooden walls, they were all incredibly grateful that none of them were the ones Hougen truly wanted to kill. When the time was right, the forest would echo with the screams of the righteous. SPLASH! Julius lifted himself from the stream’s waters, the scruff of Gin’s neck gripped tightly in his jaws. With a grunt of effort, the young Shepherd dragged both himself and the Ohu Leader out onto the bank. The mountains loomed behind them; they’d successfully reached the base of the Alps. Setting Gin down onto his paws, Julius shook out his fur, gritting his teeth against the cold. “W-We made it…” the youngster gasped. “Shit...we really made it…” “Did you have any doubts?” asked Gin, running his tongue along his coats in hopes of drying it somewhat. “Maybe a little, heh,” Julius admitted. “That water’s freezing. I dunno how I managed to keep our heads up for that long.” “You have a lot of willpower,” the Akita looked at him with a small smile. “The will to not submit and die, no matter what situation you’re in. All great dogs have that kind of strength. It’s what makes Ohu soldiers Ohu soldiers.” “Boss…?” Julius’ eyes widened in disbelief. Ever since he was a puppy, he’d dreamed of becoming an official soldier of Ohu. For Gin to say that...could it really mean…? “You’re saying I’m...an Ohu soldier?” “Well, not officially.” Gin’s smile grew a bit. “You haven’t leapt across the gorge yet, if I’m correct. But there’ll be plenty of time for that when all of this is over.” Julius' eyes began burning with a newfound inspiration. “Heh, I bet I’ll jump farther than Uncle John did.” “Hahaha, perhaps.” Gin gave Julius a playful bump with his flank. “But now, we need to head to Shiga and meet with the others. We need to go to the Kouga Village. There’s hot springs there that should heal my wounds in about three days.” “Mmm,” said Julius with a nod. “Alright, let’s get going.” Together, the two males began their journey. The sky was brightening as dawn approached. The sun slowly appeared behind the peaks of the mountains, bringing warmth after a long night of wind and snow. Far from Gin and Julius’ location, back at the abandoned shed, the Ohu Army had gathered together near the graves, silently reflecting over the night’s events. No one had really gotten any sleep; their souls blazed with too much passion. Weed gazed up at the sky, watching morning approach. He stood, looking around at his comrades. Noticing his moments, Jerome sat up. “Weed?” he barked. “What’s going on?” “I think we should start moving,” replied the Akita mix. “If we’re going to stop Hougen, then we need to find Kyoushiro and Tesshin and convince the two of them to join us.” “Tesshin’ll be easy,” John spoke up. “He’s like family; of course he’ll help us take Hougen down. Not sure about this Kyoushiro, though.” “I’m sure he’ll help if we explain the situation to him,” Rocket said. “From what I hear, Kyoushiro’s one of the few dogs who’s resisted Hougen’s recruitment strategies. Even when being threatened with Hougen’s entire army, that guy never submitted.” “What a guy…” Kagetora murmured in awe. “Sounds like a bit of a hardass. Will talking even work on a guy like that?” “Maybe I should give him a good whack on the head,” John offered jokingly. “That should make him listen.” “We’re not going to fight him,” Weed reprimanded, flashing John a serious stare. Tomoe began snarling. “It’s just a joke, you little pipsqueak,” the bitch spat. “Get the stick out of your ass.” “Watch your mouth,” Jerome warned. “Who said you could talk to my daughter that way?” John suddenly stood, glaring daggers at the other Shepherd. All harmony that had been felt between the dogs was shattered in that instant. “Oi, oi!” Ken tossed himself between the small feud. “What’s going on? We shouldn’t be fighting each other like this! If we keep butting heads, then we’ll never beat Hougen.” There was a silence. Tomoe and John both tried their hardest to glare through Ken’s body at the two males, to no avail. During their journey back to the shed, Tomoe had vented a bit about Weed’s soft nature and general naiveté. John had figured it was because Weed was still growing, after all, Gin didn’t start off as some great leader, either. But Gin was never this sensitive. Perhaps last night’s grief was still getting to him. It was the only thing John could think of, anyway. But Ken was right; Hougen was the one who needed to be fought. He was a lot like his father, that Dane. “Whatever,” Tomoe broke the silence, her tail lashing as she turned away. “Let’s just get to Shiga already.” “Mmph,” John agreed with a nod. “There’s nothing left for us here.” “Sheesh…” GB whispered to Hook. “One of these days, I think Tomoe’s really gonna knock Weed’s head off.” “Right…” Weed continued, before lifting his muzzle to address the entire group. “If everyone’s ready, let’s get going. To Shiga!” A cry of agreement filled the air as the soldiers got to their paws. Weed gave Rocket a nod, and the Borzoi began taking the lead, guiding the pack in the direction of Kyoushiro Shirogane’s territory. Tomoe, like always, kept her distance from Weed and his self-proclaimed bodyguard. John ran alongside her, keeping a decent pace despite the state of his body. “I can’t stand that brat,” Tomoe muttered under her breath. Her father laughed. “Funny,” John replied. “I remember thinking that exact same thing about Gin when he was a kid.” “But Uncle Gin was a natural born badass. Weed? Tsk, I’m surprised he hasn’t banned hunting because…” Here, Tomoe put on a whiny, falsetto voice. ““The poor animals are soooo scared of us dogs!”” “I doubt he’s that’s clueless, kiddo,” said John. “And don’t forget; the war’s just begun. He’ll understand soon enough.” “And if he doesn’t?” “Then I’ll hold him down while you beat him. That Jerome bastard, too.” As the father and daughter Shepherd shared a laugh, further back in the group, Hiro leaned a bit closer to Reika. “Reika,” he whispered to her. “You don’t have to come with us, you know. You’re safe now; you can head back home.” “No,” Reika replied with a shake of her head. “I’d like to keep traveling with the army. I might not be a fighter like the rest of you, but I’m just as angry as Hougen as you are. I’d like to help stop him however I can.” “Reika…” Hiro felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t explain the effect Reika was having on him. He’d known her for about half a day and yet he could already feel a strong connection with her, one that was, perhaps, even stronger than the bond he’d formed with the rest of the Ohu males. His eye grew gentle the longer he gazed at the female. Even with the wounds Hougen had given her before, Hiro had to admit: Reika was still quite pretty. “I’d...er...we’d like that a lot.” “Then it’s settled,” the bitch chuckled, a smile stretching across her muzzle. She suddenly sped up a bit, flicking the Pyrenees’ muzzle with her tail. Hiro grunted in surprise, his cheeks blazing beneath his thick, tan coat. He heard a light snickering beside him. Turning, Hiro could see some of the other dogs staring at him, giving him knowing looks. His blush deepened as he barked at them. “What are you punks looking at?” “Attack of the Serpent! Ran Daryushin-Battōga!” Ohu’s six remaining young Kais soared across the Ohu Army base, their bodies moving about wildly like the heads of an orochi. A few yards away from where they were once standing, Smith and Wilson were keeping a large, hollow log in place. The wood was old, aged to the point where no normal fangs could cut it easily. That made it the perfect tool for training the techniques of the Hakkenshi. The six youngsters each landed their mark, their fangs boring into the wood and shattering it. Their bodies began rotating, a standard technique for taking down bears and other large enemies. With the added power to their fangs, the log was quickly reduced to strips of bark. “Well done, boys!” Kurotora called, having watched from Gajou’s maw. Some of the other Veterans, like Ben and a fully recovered Akame, were also observing the progress of the young fighters. Ben’s ears flicked at the sound of splintering wood; he nodded his approval. “You’ve trained them well, Kurotora,” Ben said. “Of course,” replied the Kai, licking his chops. “There’s no way in Hell I’d let any of them go into battle without being at their best.” The dark male paused for a moment, before speaking again in a softer tone. “Chutora wouldn’t appreciate it if those boys of his died because I didn’t teach them well enough…” “Kurotora…” Akame murmured, recalling the Kai’s middle brother. While everyone knew the story of Akatora’s bravery against Akakabuto five years ago, only a few were told the story of what happened to Chutora. The brown Kai and his mate had returned to the land of Kai in order to start their family. Things were fine, until a horrible accident occured. Kurotora had come to visit with his own sons, only to find the dead bodies of Chutora and his wife, alongside the boar they’d dragged down with them. Shouji, Shigure, Buru and Dodo were alone, surviving on the boar’s flesh, but unable to understand why their parents wouldn’t wake up. They were only a few months old; their ignorance was to be expected. Since then, Kurotora raised his nephews as if they were his own. Every day that passed, he could see more of his brother’s likeness in the four of them. “He’d be proud of you,” Ben assured his friend. “Akatora, too.” “Mmph…” the black Kai grunted, sniffing a bit. Kurotora was one of those males who hated letting himself appear vulnerable, but when it came to his brothers, he just couldn’t help himself. As a tear ran down his cheek, Kurotora lifted his muzzle, barking towards Moss and Musashi. “Find another log, you two. They’re gonna try again!” “Later,” Smith grumbled, yawning to get the feeling back in his jaw. “We’ve been dragging logs up here for hours, Kuro. With no help from you, I might add.” “We’ll take a break for now and get back to this later, alright, Kurotora?” Wilson added in a far politer tone. “Your boys could use a rest, too.” “Tsk, fine.” Kurotora snorted in annoyance, though as he looked at his boys, he could see them sitting and panting, The ground was also littered with the remains of logs that’d been broken before. Kurotora sighed; maybe a break wouldn’t hurt. “Oi, boys. Go on; take an hour or two and cool off. You all deserve it.” “You meant it, Uncle?” Shigure asked hopefully. Kurotora chuckled slightly and nodded. The Kais all smiled at each other, and eagerly headed off to go and get a well-deserved meal. Not long after they’d entered the woods, young Mel arrived at the base, his tail wagging and his eyes bright with excitement. “Sergeant Ben!” the Golden Retriever puppy chirped. “Uh?” Ben perked, looking in Mel’s direction. “What’s going on, youngster? Danger?” “No, no! Ms. Jiyū’s come back with the dogs from Mutsu!” “Oho!” Kurotora’s tail wagged slightly. “Been a while since I’ve seen those bastards. I hear Kisaragi’s had nineteen kids. Sheesh!” “I doubt they’re all his…” Akame murmured. “I never even took Kisaragi to be that sort of male…” Not long after Mel’s announcement, Jiyū arrived at the scene, followed by what had to be fifty-seven dogs. At the front was Kisaragi himself, though neither Kurotora nor Akame could see his brothers. There were six other Huskies with him. “Oi,” Kisaragi called. “Long time no see, uh?” “Kisaragi, you old shithead,” Kurotora chided playfully. He leapt down to meet the old Husky. “Heh, so,where’s the rest of the crotch dumplings, eh? “Kuro!” Jiyū scolded. Ben rubbed at his face with a paw. “The first time you see Kisaragi in years and you say that?” “Tch, lighten up, Jiyū. What’s a little playful banter between old comrades, eh?” Kurotora threw a foreleg around Kisaragi’s shoulders. The Husky, meanwhile, was rolling his eyes. “Ok, let me explain this,” he began bluntly. “They’re not all mine. I don’t know why everyone thinks they are.” Akame couldn’t hold back a smirk at being right. “I have six boys: Izou, Shūsaku, Shinsaku, Kogorō, Kichinosuke, and Shintarō.” Each of Kisaragi’s sons bowed their heads as their names were spoken.” The other thirteen are at home. With their fathers.” “Tch,” Kurotora scoffed. “Well that’s not very exciting.” “Anyway,” Kisaragi said, shoving the Kai off him with a paw. “I figured that this Hougen guy wouldn’t be nearly as difficult to beat as Akakabuto, so I brought half of the Mutsu pack to help defend Gajou. I hope that’s enough.” “Of course, Kisaragi,” replied Ben with a dip of his head. “We really appreciate your help. We’ll have other reinforcements soon. For now, make yourselves at home.” “Mmm,” the old Husky grunted with a nod. Turning to his dogs, he barked to them. “You all take a load off, but be ready. If any of my old comrades ask you to do something, do it, understand?” “SIR!” the soldiers responded obediently. Jiyū padded to Gajou, hopping up on one of the bottom stones and lying down with a sigh of content. After several days of traveling, it was nice to rest her paws. Gazing up at the sky, her thoughts traveled to Tomoe. How was she? Were she and the others alright? Had they found John and Gin? The panda Shepherd couldn’t be sure. But her hopes were high. She believed in all her heart that peace would return to Japan, and that her family would be together again. The day carried on, morning fading into noon. Weed and his group of travelers had reached the Gifu mountains in Shiga. The faded scent of dogs lingered throughout the snow-covered forest they were currently traveling in. Rocket was certain that this was the territory of the infamous Kyoushiro Shirogane. All they had to do now was find him. “Stop it, Daddy! Please! I’m sorry!” The sudden screaming of a young dog cut through the silence of the forest. It caught the attention of the Ohu Army, and quickly, they came to a stop. John looked around quickly. “What the hell…?” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Daddy!” the voice wailed again. “Please!” “That’s not something you hear everyday,” an unnerved GB murmured. “It sounds like it’s coming from that way,” Weed said, looking up towards a snowy slope. He ran to it, beginning to climb up to the higher stretch of land. “All of you! This way!” “Not so suddenly, Weed!” GB cried. The rest of the army were quick to follow the Akita mix, following the yelling and screaming. Not too far away, a shed lay abandoned in a snowy clearing. Inside, a young puppy, no older than three months, was thrown into the wall. The puppy squealed in pain, feeling the splintering wood piece at his shoulder. He slid down onto the floor pitifully. “You stupid, little shit!” the puppy’s father, a brown, floppy-eared mongrel with a scarred face, spat. “Daddy, please stop…” a pain-filled choke escaped the youngster’s maw. “Shut the fuck up!” The puppy flinched as his father stepped over him, the light pouring into the shed making him look more like a monstrous, dog-shaped shadow. “Saying sorry won’t fix anything! I told you to watch my food, and you say someone stole it!? I’ll bash your fucking brains in!” “He was so big and scary…” the puppy tried to explain as tears formed in his eyes. “I didn’t want him to hurt me…!” The older mutt narrowed his eyes, studying his son for a moment, before snarling violently. “You little liar! You ate it, didn’t you!? You’re just trying to pass the blame on someone else, aren’t you!?” He raised a paw to smack the pup again, but was stopped by a voice. “Oi.” The mongrel glanced over his shoulder, seeing a white Kishu Inu covered from head to tail in old scars. “What kind of parent just blames his problems on his son?” the Kishu scolded coldly. “Are you really that pathetic?” “Who the hell are you?” the mutt demanded. Seconds later, a new scream had filled the air, not of the young puppy, but of his father. The Ohu soldiers, were were quickly approaching the scene, could spot the mutt racing towards them. Weed skidded to a stop, his eyes wide in surprise. “He’s gonna kill me!” the male was crying. “Help me! Please help me!” Behind him, a white figure shot into the air, sailing down towards him with his fangs ready. The mongrel forced himself into Weed’s pack, hiding himself behind Tomoe. The scarred Kishu landed in front of Weed, snarling in frustration. “Don’t let him touch me! Please!” “Get your flea-bitten hide away from my daughter, asshole,” John barked. “Please!” The mutt whined, clinging onto Tomoe for dear life. Feeling the clearly older male’s paws against her, Tomoe reached back, grasping the mutt by the scruff and slamming him down on the ground in front of her. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she warned. “Or I’ll be the one killing you.” The Kishu was trying to push his way past Weed and get at the mutt, but Weed kept stepping in front of him. Finally, the Akita mix pushed against him roughly, knocking him into the snow. The Kishu lied still for a moment before slowly sitting up, giving Weed a hard stare. “You’re going way too far,” said Weed firmly. “What gives you the right to try and hurt him?” “Weed,” Rocket warned. “We don’t wanna get on this guy’s bad side, remember…? This is Kyoushiro.” In reality, Rocket couldn’t say he was surprised that Weed would do this sort of thing. So much for just explaining the situation… “He tried to hurt someone,” Weed shot back. “I need to know why.” “Oi, Weed,” John called with a frown. “Try to have some respect when you're in some other dog’s territory. You’re lucky that guy hasn’t tried to rip your throat out yet.” Kyoushiro had slowly stood up, glancing between the faces of each of the Ohu dogs. It seemed he’d calmed down enough to properly assess the situation. Clearing his throat, he spoke somewhat calmly. “You all are travelers?” he barked. “Didn’t mean to drag you into this. When I get angry, I don’t really care about what’s in my way. That guy really pissed me off.” The mutt whimpered as he was referred to. Tomoe shot down a glare at him, forcing him to hide his head under his paws like the sniveling cowards he really was. The bitch was a bit surprised, though. One second, Kyoushiro was dead set on murdering the bastard. Now, it was as if he was chatting about the weather. “Talk to me, then,” Weed then suggested, a little softer in tone, though his body was still prepared in case the Kishu tried to act violently again. “The best way to solve a fight is by talking. You and that dog back there can easily work things out.” “Tch…” Kyoushiro’s nose scrunched in annoyance. “You don’t even know what’s going on, yet you think you can tell me how to deal with things? Get real, kid.” “This kid’s got spunk, I’ll give him that,” Ken observed. “Yeah,” Kagetora agreed. “And he kinda reminds me of someone.” At the same time, both males looked at Tomoe, who was studying Kyoushiro with interest. “If you’re gonna come here and tell me what to do,” Kyoushiro was continuing. “Then I won’t show you any mercy. Watch!” HOOOOOWL! Kyoushiro’s voice echoed to the farthest corners of his territory. Everyone looked around, hearing a low, rumbling sound. It grew louder, and Rocket soon noticed movement on the mountain ledges looming over both sides of the snowy path. “Shit!” he cried in alarm. It was Kyoushiro’s pack! They ran along both ledges, howling fiercely, ready to protect their leader. When they reached the scene, they began rushing down the slope, towards the much smaller Ohu Army. “Goddammit, Weed!” John shouted angrily. “What the fuck were you thinking!?” “Calm down, old man,” Jerome said fiercely. “Weed’ll handle this. You’ll see.” “Don’t “calm down” me, you jackass! Weed caused this fucking mess!” “See what the rest of us had to deal with…?” Tomoe sighed. “Hiro…!” Reika cried, pressing herself against the Pyrenees. “Just stay beside me,” Hiro told her gently. The cowardly mutt saw this as his chance to get away. He tried sneaking off, stepping quietly against the snow to avoid catching anyone’s attention. Noticing his movements, however, Tomoe looked down at him. “Where the fuck are you going?” she demanded. Kyoushiro glanced around Weed. Putting two and two together, he growled. “Don’t let that old shit get away!” The mutt, squealing with terror, began sprinting away as fast as he could. The Ohu Army looked back to see some of Kyoushiro’s dogs pursuing him. He didn’t get very far; three young dogs pounced on him, dragging down. “Christ…!” Ken exclaimed. “Rocket was right. These guys don’t fuck around.” “Stop it!” Weed tried to order. He raced past his allies, trying to insert himself into the situation. With an irritated growl, Tomoe reached out, catching his scruff and holding him still. “You’ve done enough, you idiot,” Tomoe spat, though she wasn’t sure the puppy had heard her, as he was struggling and ordering for her to let him go. Jerome advanced towards Tomoe, but was quickly stopped when John stood in front of him, his fangs bared in warning. Seeing that the interfering Weed had been stopped, Kyoushiro slowly joined his comrades. “All of these males are only a year old,” the Kishu explained. “But they’re all as strong as five year olds. None of us have ever felt the love of a parent, and we have no mercy for those who hurt their children.” “So that’s it…” Reika murmured. Her ear then flicked. She could hear the pitter-patter of tiny paws. Turning, she could see the small, bleeding puppy who’d been screaming and crying before. He padded between the paws of the Ohu soldiers, shying away whenever anyone looked down at him. “Oh, Hiro…! Look!” “Eh?” Hiro obeyed, also seeing the little one. His eyes widened. “Ah...so that’s…” “Come here, sweetheart,” Reika called to the puppy, beckoning with her paw. Though the puppy continued to shiver, he slowly did as he was told, his nose quivering and taking in the bitch’s scent. Reika leaned forward, licking the top of his head. “Oh, you poor, little thing…” Kyoushiro watched the interaction for a moment, blinking, almost as if such a display of affection was foreign to him. “Hey, boy,” the Kishu then spoke. The puppy looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Come over here. Let me talk to you.” “You wanna let him get near that bastard?” said Hiro, cocking a brow. “He’s restrained,” Kyoushiro assured. “If he even thinks of trying to move, I’ll tear him apart.” “It’ll be alright,” Reika said, nuzzling the puppy. “They may be rough, but they have good intentions. I don’t think Kyoushiro would do anything to hurt the boy.” Hiro grunted, though he said nothing more. The puppy gulped, before taking a few steps towards Kyoushiro and his group. “Teru…” the mutt wailed his son’s name. “I’m sorry! Please say that you’ll forgive me!” “Fuck off,” Kyoushiro snapped at him. “You’re only saying that to get out of trouble, you piece of shit. You lie there and take your punishment.” Hearing his father being held accountable for his horrible behavior, Teru felt a bit of confidence. He approached Kyoushiro a bit faster. The Kishu, meanwhile, turned towards the Ohu soldiers, explaining the situation. “The bastard accused his son of stealing food, and beat him. The boy would probably be dead if I hadn’t stepped in. This guy...he did something a father should never do.” I get it… Tomoe thought. She’d tuned Weed out by now, and she was certain everyone else had done the same. Sheesh...what kind of guy does that to a little puppy? I wish I’d killed that bastard myself. “Teru,” said Kyoushiro as the puppy finally reached him. “Do you still accept that guy as your dad?” Teru hesitated to answer, stealing a glance at her father. The pathetic male looked at him with pleading eyes, but there was no sign of remorse. There was only the fear of being pushed. Teru narrowed his eyes. “No…” he answered. The mutt began glaring at him, but Teru continued. “That guy...that guy’s not my dad…! He’s not my dad!” “Mmm.” Kyoushiro nodded, before signaling his dogs to act. Teru’s ex-father screamed as he was lifted by his legs, four dogs carrying him off. The Kishu joined them to oversee the punishment. The mutt continued begging for help, but was ignored as he was brought to the edge of a cliff. He was thrown off, crying as he fell into the river below. SPLASH! “You’re not Teru’s father anymore!” Kyoushiro shouted down once he saw the mutt reemerge from the water. “Get out of this territory! If I see you again, I’ll kill you! You hear me! I will KILL you!” A silence fell over the land. The Kishu, feeling calm now that justice had been served, returned his attention towards his guests. They’d all been watching in silence. Even Weed had finally shut his mouth, dangling from Tomoe’s maw in defeat. It wasn’t their place to interfere, and even if it was, no one aside from Weed really had any objections. “As for all of you,” he began. “I’ll ignore that brat’s disrespect. You’re all free to pass through my territory if you wish, but if any of you bother my packmates, I won’t forgive you. Got it?” No one responded, not that the Kishu waited for an answer. With a nod to his allies, Kyoushiro Shirogane was off, his pack of fifty males close behind him. Teru wanted on, gazing after the white male in awe. Kyoushiro looked back at him over his shoulder, giving him a smile. “Come with us, kid,” he offered. “We’ll take care of you.” “Ah…!” Teru chirped, before eagerly taking up the offer. He followed Kyoushiro’s packmates, and soon, they had all vanished into the distance. The Ohu dogs were left alone in the silence. “Well that could’ve been handled better,” Kagetora grunted, to which several other dogs nodded in agreement. Tomoe finally released Weed, tossing him carelessly towards the ground. Landing on his paws, the Akita mix suddenly launched himself at Tomoe. This had completely caught the bitch off guard. She’d been prepared for a lecture, but not this. Tomoe felt herself being pushed onto her back with a grunt, Weed’s fangs at her throat. Everyone else froze in shock. “Why would you do that!?” Weed angrily demanded. “He was hurting that dog for no reason! I was going to stop him!” “No reason!?” Tomoe echoed in disbelief. “Get off her, you brat!” John ordered. “Weed, have you lost your mind!?” asked GB frantically. This was far different from the puppy who’d selflessly tried to save him long ago… “You braindead idiot!” Tomoe pulled in her hind legs, aiming kicks at Weed’s face. She heard a sharp whine as one of her claws poked his eye. Weed backed off, pawing at his eye as Tomoe got to her paws. Her eyes had grown bloodshot from the rage burning within her. She couldn’t take it anymore. With a monstrous roar, Tomoe leapt at the puppy. “I’ll fucking KILL YOU!”