#and worse of it all is this uncertainty comes from not having money!!! like if i had the money im sure i would've been able to check out

[dokjaism]

[gay-dorito-dust]

Ngl the ask where Stan's s/o got sucked into the portal instead made me cry a bit-

Can we have a part2 where reader comes back? Oh god imagine the emotional tension in the room as they walked in.

- 🦑

Taglist: @amms8f @doggosnoodles12 @c4ss13-bun @lucas1253 @danart501 @cherryblom @marvelous-maniac @repost-account-yall @atseoks @xprntj

Part 1 is right here

Thirty years.

Thirty long years had Stanley been forced to live with the guilt and fear that after everything he and Ford did to put in place for your welcome home would be all for naught if the portal didn’t open, or worse you don’t come through the portal in time. After all there wasn’t a day that went by where Stanley wasn’t reminded of just how helpless and useless he was when you got sucked into the portal, begging for him to help you but couldn’t.

Thirty years had Stanley allowed to let Ford teach him complex maths and physics, even going so far as to teach himself during the nights where he couldn’t sleep without seeing your fearful face, nor the outstretched hand before the portal closed seemingly forever. Which made it a lot harder for him to run the mystery shack during the day as he would be found by Ford, fast asleep at the base of the portal with nothing but a flimsy blanket and a pillow he brought down from your shared his room, holding a framed picture of a younger version of you both mere months before the fiasco that costed Stanley his everything.

During the past three decades did Stanley realised that he’d be more then willing to throw away a large chunk of his life just to have you back. You were his life and without you he couldn’t bare to think about how you’d view him if you could see him now, conning tourists out of their money and just not being a morally perfect person in general, but he knew he couldn’t give up now when he and Ford had come so far already to prepare for the inevitable day that you came home.

‘We’re close Stanley I can feel it.’ Ford had been saying to him for the past week, hoping to uplift his spirit, but one look towards Stanley and Ford could see the plethora of emotions within his eyes that ranged from anxiousness, to sadness, to uncertainty as he looked at a Polaroid picture he kept of you in the breast pocket of his blazer; keeping you close to his heart like he had since the moment you took a chance on him.

‘They’re coming home.’ Ford assures his twin, feeling helpless in helping ease the heartbreak that was obviously still being felt to this day. ‘They’re coming home. You’re going to bring them home Stanley.’ He reaffirms.

‘What if they don’t love me anymore?’ Stanley asked the question that had been lingering on his mind for a long, long time, haunting him constantly that now with the day drawing closer; he couldn’t help but let it out while he had the opportunity to.

Ford sighed as he sat next to Stanley as they looked at the portal. ‘From what I could see from our brief meeting, they love you more than words can describe and would’ve done anything to keep you safe.’ He tells him as while your interactions were brief and not on the greatest of terms, Ford could tell that you were more then willing to risk everything to keep his brother safe and he appreciated you for looking out for his brother and loving him where his family failed to do so on multiple instances.

‘They’re shouldn’t have,’ Stanley said sadly, ‘if they didn’t love me as hard as they did, they’d still be here.’

‘And yet they love you as easily as breathing,’ Ford counters as he rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, ‘and I highly doubt that there is a reality where they didn’t love you as hard as they do.’ Before the twins could continue their conversation, they could hear Dipper and Mabel call for them and they were in silent agreement to continue it on a later date before going to see what the kids wanted them for.

Once the twins left the lab, the portal seemed to slowly spark to life, deciding to bring about your return quicker than Stan and Ford had originally thought. Almost as though whether you were within the multiverse, you were always listening to your Stanley and reacting to his pain as though it was your own.

Dipper and Mabel were more than aware of you due to the stories Stanley told them, he wanted them to know you the way he did in hopes of keeping you alive in some other way other than framed photos and memories that he always revisited in his dreams. They knew you meant a lot to their Grunkle from the way he’d get a distant look in his eyes whenever he sees something that reminded him of you.

Stan’s stories of only stoked the curiosity of Dipper and Mabel as they’d always ask; ‘where are they now?’ Only for Stan to reply with, ‘not here, not anywhere within reach.’

‘Are they dead?’ Dipper asks and could see Stan’s eyes become sharp as steel, his jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply as though he had been doused in cold water.

‘No.’ He said firmly without meaning to. ‘They’re just not here.’

Dipper wanted to press on but stopped when Ford, who had gone back down to the lab, came running into the living room with a wild expression on his face. ‘Stanley! It’s time!’ He cries and without question Stanley got up to his feet and followed after Ford, while Dipper and Mabel naturally followed after him with Soos tailing behind them; wanting to be included in whatever wireless they’d get into without trying.

The moment the family reached the lab, the portal was in full effect, which confused Ford as he swore he didn’t flip any switches to activate the portal and neither did Stanley. It was almost as if the portal had developed sentience but that was impossible to prove as truth as the moment Ford and Stanley realised that Dipper, Mabel and Soos had followed them took presidency over the blaring blue portal that only seemed to get brighter with every passing second.

‘Kids! Go back upstairs now!’ Stanley shouted, something he rarely did unless he thought the kids would be put in genuine danger.

‘No! You and Grunkle Ford have been hiding something from us, only for it to be a portal?’ Dipper exclaims as he looked at both Stan and Ford with confusion akin to the look in yours eyes before you disappeared into the portal against your will. Dipper, being the smart kid he was had a feeling this portal was linked to you in some way, for what would be the reason both of his Grunkles would keep this from him and Mabel unless it had played a major part in your disappearance.

Or the more likely answer being that the portal was the reason for your disappearance.

‘Well explain everything to you soon enough, me and Stanley have very valid reasons.’ Ford says as he eyed the portal as it was practically encasing the entire lab in a blinding light, however when squinting his eyes, Ford could make out a cloaked figure walking towards them with slow, hesitant steps before they picked up their pace as the figure was now breaking out into a sprint, as though coming to a realisation that this was their ticket out of the multiverse.

You were coming home, Ford knew you would as he couldn’t help but smile tearfully, the questions he has for you are endless but he’d much rather you and Stanley have the reunion that has been thirty years in the making.

‘You either tell us or we’re going to shut down the portal!’ Dipper bluffed as he knew the moment he took a single step towards the lever at the end of the lab, he’d be cut off by both his grunkles when he saw how they kept looking towards the mystery figure who was now half of of the portal.

‘We will just please trust us-‘ Stan tried pleading but it fell on deaf ears.

‘Who are they?’ Mabel asked, confused and scared.

‘They’re your great aunt/ uncle y/n!’ Stanley shouted just as you fully stepped out of the portal before it closed behind you for one final time, plunging the room in almost darkness had it not been from the ember coloured gem that hung from your neck. You removed the hood from your head to reveal your aged face and slight hints of silver that streaked your hair permanently.

You looked hardened but soft at the same time, you greeted Mabel, dipper, Ford, Soos with a look that could’ve made them into stone, but the moment you looked at Stanley your eyes widened as a gasp left your lips.

‘Stanley? Honey is that you?’ You asked as you began walking towards him, arms outstretched as though you were worried this was all an illusion from those little fucks from dimension 4.

‘It’s me alright sweetheart, I’m right here, you’re home now and safe.’ Stanley reassured as he greeted you halfway, encasing you in his tight embrace as tears streaked down his face silently as he peppered your face in kisses.

‘Oh Stan! I missed you so much, I thought you would’ve moved on or-‘ you rambled, only to stop when Stan pulled away to look you in the eyes with a serious expression.

‘You’re my one and only doll face, no one else can come close to you sweet pea as all I’ve ever done for the past three decades was try and get you back here, in my arms like your meant to be.’ Stan said as he rested his forehead against your own. ‘I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much that I thought I was going mad without you by my side. I need you and will always need you in my life now and forever.’ He confessed and Mabel gasped at how romantic her Grunkle could be, though then again wasn’t a big surprise considering how highly he talked about you and everything you did that made him fall harder for you.

‘I don’t want to be anywhere but here, with you Stanley Pines.’ You replied as you kissed his lips, weaving your lips against his as you clung on to him in a desperate attempt to familiarise yourself with the man you spent thirty years without. Kissing him felt right, it felt as though your soul was now whole as you melted further into his kiss, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth and softly groan against him before needing to pull away for air as you both looked at each other star struck.

You felt young again with Stanley holding you in his arms as you admired his aged face and silver hair, still finding him attractive as ever. ‘Lost the mullet did you?’ You asked teasingly as Stan could only pinch your side, causing you to jolt at the contact.

‘I thought you liked my mullet?’ He pouted and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you traced your finger across his bottom lip.

‘I did but I think I like this even more.’ You said lowly as you pecked his lip. ‘You look handsome as I remembered and more my beautiful Stanley Pines.’ You cooed, kissing his jawline and feeling the delicious prickle of his stubble/ beard against your lips.

‘So this is our great aunt/ uncle?’ Dipper asked as he watched as you and Stan greeted each other warmly and happily in love. He saw pictures of you but seeing you in the flesh was different entirely as he looked over at Ford who was still smiling at the reunion.

‘Yes dipper, they are your great aunt/ uncle, they were lost to the portal thirty years ago and it hurt Stanley beyond repair. so much so that he dedicated the past three decades trying to get them back.’ Ford explained briefly, happy knowing that the family was whole as it should’ve been from the very beginning.

‘We’ve got so much to catch up on.’ You told Stanley before casting your gaze towards Soos, Mabel and Dipper. ‘And you can start by introducing me to these three colourful characters.’ You add with a smile as you saw Mabel and dipper looking at you in shock and awe.

‘Those little troublesome kids are your Great niece and nephew, dipper and Mabel and that other guy is Soos, my employee.’ Stan began as he interlocked his hand in yours as you chuckled. ‘Twins, runs in the family huh?’ You said with amusement, ready to get to know your family properly this time either no portal to separate you from them ever again.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe toots.’ Stanley then kissed the side of your head, smiling widely as he finally got what he had hoped for, a family, whole and happy.

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | prologue

part i. prologue

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 6.3k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and share xoxoxox chapter 1 coming next tuesday evening! <3

*important* the flashback is pretty much the same as the teaser but keep reading because most of what comes after it is new :)

29th June 2003

Sehun was tired. His day was dragging on and the throbbing in his head only seemed to get worse by the hour. All he really wanted was to spend the rest of his evening at home with his family, to hug his wife, and listen to you talk about your day, but he was still stuck here. Lines creased his forehead as he sat across from the two men he has only ever called his closest friends – brothers – yet these days, it seems less so. 

“This isn’t what we agreed,” he said, lowering his voice.

Neither of the two men said anything at first, certainly having expected this response. Lee Han-Jae at least had the decency to look somewhat concerned by Sehun’s disapproval, reaching forward to pour himself a drink. 

“It’s wrong, we don’t do stuff like this, it’s more for the likes of the Takahashi or the Cheong’s,” Sehun pressed. “Not us, never us.”

Lee Han-jae was the first to speak. “But what if it is us?”

If Sehun hadn’t known the man for long, he wouldn’t have been able to detect the impatience hidden behind the curiosity in his tone. But he had, he’d known him for nineteen years.

Han-jae slid the drink in front of Sehun instead.“We have all the power to help these people, we can do this.” He glanced sideways to the third man in the room. 

Cold eyes and hard set features, Park Jihoon merely nodded before speaking. “He’s right, Sehun,” he said, unmoving in his seat. His eyes were focused on your father.  “And it only puts us at an advantage. Everyone will be on our side.”

“Everyone’s already on our side,” Sehun said, impatience cutting through his tone. “We don’t need this, it’s not right.”

“We’ve already spoken to all the families involved. They’ve agreed on the price and most of them are happy to proceed—”

“They’ve agreed to sell their own family into prostitution to make their debts disappear?” Sehun interrupted sharply, missing the way Jihoon’s fingers curled into his fist.

Han-jae paused, eyes flickering with brief uncertainty as his lifelong best friend looked at him in anger. “Don’t say it like that, we’re not criminals, it’s not like we’re forcing them–”

Sehun’s patience was running short. “You’re giving them no choice, it’s either this, or you kill them, right?”

“No.” Han-jae’s gaze sharpened. “We’re setting them up for a better life than those kids would ever have, and with the nightclub we can legitimize our money, that’s what you wanted, is it not?”

Releasing a sigh, Sehun leaned back into the leather couch. “Not like this. Under our names the club will be successful enough, we don’t need to buy innocent men and women from these desperate families to make it better—”

“We’re not buying them,” Jihoon cut in calmly. “Their service is owed to us.”

The nonchalance in Jihoon’s tone flared anger in Sehun. “No, the service of criminals who have wronged us is what is owed to us, not of their innocent family members,” he responded, looking between his two friends. “How would you feel if it was Jimin?” he asked Jihoon before turning to Han-jae. “Or Taemin?”

Jihoon’s expression remained unchanged, however Han-jae sighed, pouring himself another drink. No one said anything as he emptied his glass, and when he finished, he still seemed unsure. 

“They’ll do better under our watch. We’ll give them housing, an education, more money than  they’ll ever see in their lifetime if they are to stay living as they are now.”

“No,” Sehun shook his head. “If you really cared about helping them then you would give them that without asking them to live a life indebted to you.”

“So what do you suggest we do then?” Jihoon asked, only now sitting forward as he tilted his head, awaiting an answer.

“Find some other way for the men to pay the debts. We never have any shortage of dirty work that needs doing, they can be tasked to those jobs,” your father answered swiftly.

Han-jae and Jihoon looked at each other for only a brief second before Jihoon nodded and sat back again. 

“Alright,” Han-jae said quietly, looking back at your father. “We’ll try to stop it.”

“Try?”

“The kids have already been moved to a remote location—”

“Then bring them back.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh come on, Han-jae,” Sehun couldn’t help but scoff. “You speak of being the most powerful man in Seoul and yet you can’t stop an operation you’ve started.”

“Will you help us then?” Jihoon asked as though testing how far his friend is willing to go.

“Of course,” your father’s answer came with no hesitation, his heart hurting as he thought of you in the same position as those kids. “Whatever you need.”

“Very well then,” Jihoon said, looking at Han-jae and raising his glass. “We bring them back.”

It was an hour later that Sehun could tell that something was up, and it was Jimin who made him realize. 

Halfway through dinner, Han-jae received a text. “Gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. “I’ll have to excuse myself momentarily to deal with some business for the house.” He got up and looked at his son. “Taemin, come with me.”  

Taemin nodded, getting up and doing as he was told. 

As Sehun watched Taemin leave, he didn’t see Jihoon and Han-jae exchange glances, however he looked back and saw Jimin staring down at his plate, jaw tight and fist clenched on the table unlike moments prior.

No one else was paying him any attention as Han-jae and Taemin left the room, leaving Sehun with Jimin and Jihoon, as well as a few of the other Lee men. Jihoon carried on eating, his knife cutting into his steak as Sehun watched him and Jimin. 

Then, Jimin looked up and accidentally met Sehun’s gaze. 

He swallowed, eyes telling far too much before he blinked and looked away.

He said his goodbyes, allowing Han-jae and Taemin to walk him out to his car before he got in and drove off the property, but Sehun didn’t go home later that night. 

Parking off on a quiet road less than a mile out and hidden from sight, he got out of his car and went to the trunk, opening up a hidden compartment at the bottom and pulling out his hand gun. It took him no more than twenty minutes to get back to the property, evading all the security measures he was familiar with since he had them for his own home, and slipped into the back of  the courtyard.

He stayed quiet, hiding behind some of the foliage decorating the yard, and for a moment, there was nothing. Just the steady blowing of the wind through the trees surrounding the property. He didn’t know exactly what he was waiting for, he just knew it was something. Then he heard it. 

Harsh whispering and muffled sounds coming down the steps of the back entrance. One look up and his heart froze when he saw someone being dragged out of the house, mouth gagged and  hands tied yet she still fought as hard as she could. But there were three men dragging her to the car, struggling, however still succeeding to throw her into the trunk, and then Sehun saw her face. 

He felt a rush of emotions — anger, betrayal, disappointment and determination — when he realised it was Ji-young being thrown into the car.

Sehun always had his suspicions that Han-jae cared little for his step-daughter from his late wife who he also cared little for, especially considering he isn’t Ji-young’s father, but he never would have expected his friend to do something like this. 

At that moment, he knew that his friends lied to him, and Han-jae was meaning to send Ji-young away to the same fate as those others.

So Sehun did what he had to do, unknowingly sealing his fate, and that of your family by saving Ji-young behind Han-jae’s back.

It was easy enough to take out the first two men as they made their way back into the house, unaware of their surroundings. He used his pocket knife, a clean cut to the throat so they couldn’t cry out and draw any attention. He shoved their bodies onto the grass before trailing alongside the car to get to the third guy climbing into the driver’s seat. 

With great force, Sehun pulled the guy out of the car, slamming him into the side of the vehicle. The man had some weight on Sehun but not much skill. As he tried to grab his gun, Sehun jabbed him hard in the neck before taking the gun and slamming the butt end into his face a few times. 

His body fell to the floor with a heavy thud and Sehun was well aware that the sound of the scuffle would have grabbed the attention of someone nearby – he needed to hurry. 

Wiping the spattered blood from his face, he rushed to the trunk. Ji-young trembled, wailing into the cloth tied around her mouth as she looked up at your father. Relief instantly flooded her features as she recognised him.

“It’s okay,” Sehun shushed her gently, working as fast as he could to untie her hands. “Get in the back of the car, I’m right here, okay? We need to get you away from here.”

Ji-young nodded frantically, tears staining her cheeks. “O-okay.”  She wiped her tears away, pulling off the last of the bonds as Sehun rushed to pick up the first of the bodies from the floor. 

He struggled while dragging the first to the trunk, but as he started shoving it into the car, Jiyoung was there helping him. He paused, looking at her warily. She simply nodded, averting her eyes away from the dead body in front of her to finish shoving the man’s legs inside the trunk. 

Together, they got the bodies in the trunk and within a few minutes, they were driving off the Lee property and into the night.

present day

The loud bang echoes across the space but you don’t wait for the sound to settle. Pushing your index finger down, you take another shot, and another, and another. 

Time passes quickly when you're here, ten minutes quickly turning into an hour. You stay for as long as it takes for you to feel lighter, more sure of yourself. 

Lowering the gun onto the table, you let your shoulder relax as you try to scrutinise the target fifty yards ahead of you, before turning away to head towards the door leading out of the range. However, before you even get there, you pause.

Yoongi stands ahead of you, leaning against the wall. He gives you a small smile when you look his way, but there’s no hiding the solemn expression his face shows. Letting out a small sigh, you nod, motioning for him to walk out with you. 

Once out of the range, you pull your ear defenders off while Yoongi takes the gun from you to safely return.

“You’ve improved,” he muses, nodding in acknowledgement to the staffer who checks off the weapon. 

Slipping into your jacket, you glance across at him. “You think so?”

“Mhm,” he nods, stepping towards the exit and placing his hands in his trouser pockets as he faces you. Yoongi has always been one to dress smart no matter what the occasion. “You always used to miss the mark by half an inch, now you’re almost there.” He smiles again, this time a bit brighter.

Shooting him a playful look, you respond while grabbing the last of your belongings, “I’m just out of practice, it's been a while.”

“Ah, well it’s a good thing you’ve started again,” he says, this time his voice is lower, making you look up at him. He’s no longer smiling and he doesn't try to disguise his concern. Your expression falls in response and a silent exchange passes between you.

“Not here,” he mutters, nodding towards the door. 

Less than fifteen minutes later, you find yourself seated outside a convenience store with him, sipping on some chocolate milk. You take long sips, wondering what it could be; truthfully, you’re not sure if you really want to know. Yoongi says nothing until you ask him first, so with a quiet sigh, you place your half full carton down on the table.

“Tell me,” you say quietly, “What is it this time?”

Yoongi lowers his carton too, fingers twiddling with the straw. “The Cheong’s are back on the street,” he says, cutting to the chase as he always does (and you prefer it that way). “They intercepted a cargo shipment that was meant to dock at Gwangyang Port for DK Pharmaceuticals yesterday.”

“What was in the shipment?”

“Opioids.”

A sigh escapes you. That’s the last thing you hoped it was; you would’ve preferred it to be a shipment of handguns. Opioids back on the streets only means that the rich are preying on the weak and vulnerable again. 

“Is anyone doing anything about it?”

Yoongi pauses, looking at you in apprehension. “I thought I’d come to you first.” You’re about to say something but Yoongi quickly continues. “I know you’re trying to get out of it but you helped me out a lot last time and I could really use your help now. No one knows you’re back in Seoul and that puts us at an advantage.”

“No one except you,” you note, watching your friend steadily.

“No one except me,” he repeats. “I’m taking your secret to the grave with me.”

You nod in acknowledgement, picking up your carton to take another long sip. “What about your people?” you ask. 

Yoongi gives you a weary look. Despite how close the two of you are, Yoongi is especially secretive about who he works for – you know that they’re no doubt linked to the life you grew up in, the one that you’re still evidently caught up in, but you don’t know who. You never press him to know though; you understand the need for secrecy and in some ways are grateful for it  –  there’s a lot Yoongi doesn’t tell you and it’s his way of protecting you. 

“There’s other stuff going on,” he answers quietly. “It’s a lot.”

The statement naturally piques your interest.  “Like what?”

A small smile appears on Yoongi’s lips. “You’re trying to get out, remember?” he reminds you. “It’s best not to ask questions.”

You frown at him in indignation. “You’re the one who said it’s stupid to try and get out, but now you’re agreeing with it?”

He shrugs. “No harm in trying.”

You smile amusedly. “I’m a small cafe owner who visits a shooting range in her free time to stay sane.”

Yoongi‘s smile widens. “No one said you’re a normal cafe owner. You might’ve changed your last name, Miss L/N, but you’re a Han. Always will be.”

“I know.” Your gaze falls to your lap. “I’m not trying to hide who I am.”

“I know you’re not.” Yoongi’s expression changes to a soft one. “If you were, you wouldn’t be out here living a double life at my request.”

“Well, like you said, I’m a Han. It’s what my dad would do.”

“Ah.” Yoongi stretches. “Cafe owner by day, vigilante by night.”

You chuckle softly. “You make it sound like I’m doing something good… there’s not much good in the life we’re living, Yoongi.”

There’s a quiet pause in which Yoongi sighs, a thoughtful expression passing over his face. “It’s not all bad, at least not what you’re doing.”

“Honestly, it keeps me going and it’s the least I can do to help.”

Yoongi smiles, and a brief silence full of thoughts passes between you as you finish what’s left of your chocolate milk. “So,” you place the empty carton down, “where are they keeping the shipment?”

“The same warehouse off highway 46 from Jung-gu. They’ll have several guards on watch surrounding the place.”

“It’s the same place as last time?” you ask, frowning.  “They’re not very smart.”

“Well they have tried stealing drugs from a legitimate pharmaceutical company,” Yoongi says pointedly. “I don’t think they’re very bright. But,” he adds, “they’re powerful.” He sits forward, pulling out a car key fob from his inside pocket and places this on the table.

You look down at it. “Same drill as last time?”

“Yep. Everything you need is there. You’ll also find a burner phone in there. Once it’s all done, text me from there. The police will come and seize the drugs.”

“Why don’t they just deal with it themselves?” 

Yoongi frowns deeply. “The Cheong’s have been dealing with the Takahashi’s. If the police get in there first, they’ll detain the guards and any evidence which includes their phones. If that happens, the Takahashi's get brought in…” He lets out a slow sigh. “That can’t happen. They’re under our protection for a while.”

You don’t ask any further questions. Picking it up, you turn the fob over in your hand, your thumb sliding over the metal print of the Mercedes sign. Letting out a small breath, you look up at Yoongi. “No holding back?”

Expression somber, he nods. “No holding back.”

You know you should feel something in those words, maybe a little bit of guilt, or at least fear for what you have to do, but you don’t. It’s hard to, when you know what will happen to innocent victims if you don’t do this. 

Instead, you see an opportunity. “I need something in return.”

Yoongi lifts his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”

You nod, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”

At this, Yoongi’s expression changes to one of concern and he hesitates. 

Meeting his gaze, you say his name. “Please.”

“Alright.” Yoongi shifts, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”

The car is exactly where Yoongi said it would be. You don’t bother looking at what he’s given you until you’re parked in close proximity to the warehouse but distant enough to not be seen by any of the guards.

There’s two cases in the trunk, one significantly larger than the other. You open the small one first, smiling when you see two handguns sitting snug in the case. A FNS-F9 Longslide – your weapon of choice – and a Glock 17 – Yoongi’s personal favourite.

The larger case contains magazines, two thigh holsters, a waist strap, a bulletproof vest, and a smaller case sheathing two double edged, partially serrated hand knives – Gerber Mark II’s. 

Strapping the holsters around your thigh, you slot the guns in and arm yourself with the knives too, just in case, and tuck a spare magazine into your side pocket, as well as a silencer. You choose not to wear the bulletproof vest – although it’s light, it’ll still slow you down.  

Closing the trunk, you quickly grab something from the front of the car that you brought with you from home. In a silk pouch, you keep a vial of chloroform and multiple napkins – you pocket these before making your way towards the warehouse. It’s surrounded by a patch of trees, making it the perfect place to hide such crimes, but it’s also advantageous for you to approach easily without being seen. 

You quickly scout the place from the outskirts, noting a total of eight guards outside; three at the front, two at the back, two on the east side, and one on the west. You’re well aware that as soon as any of them realise you’re here, they’ll send a call out for more, so you need to be strategic and quick.

West is where you hit first. A man walks slowly along the concrete wall, kicking at stones with every step. You observe him silently from the shadows and note how young he looks, at least definitely younger than you. Yoongi’s words echo in your head  –  “No holding back” – but you can’t forget that some of these guards aren’t here by choice. Besides, killing them only protects the Takahashi’s and that’s of no interest to you. Sometimes, collateral damage happens, and you know Yoongi knows that.

So, you sheathe the knife you intended to use and instead pull a napkin from the pouch and douse it in chloroform. It only takes a few careful steps for you to reach the guard from behind, and with a swift movement before he can reach for the gun at his waist, you pull him into a secure headlock and smother his face with the cloth. For a second, he almost has you, struggling and resisting your arms, but the chloroform works fast and he slows. 

Seconds later, you’re lowering him to the ground. You take the gun from his waist, disabling it and tossing it somewhere into the trees before taking his phone and stowing it away into your pocket. Before you move on, you drag his body out towards the trees so no one who comes looking will be alerted to your presence. 

You begin moving fast along the warehouse wall, only slowing down when you approach the corner to the back. Back pressed against the wall, you peek slowly around the corner only to draw back almost immediately – another guy has joined them making it three men now, one of whom is peeing just a few feet away from where you are, facing away from the warehouse, while the other two stand on the other end, out of earshot.

Again, you come up with a way to avoid a kill – you wait until the man is doing up his zipper before taking a firm hold of the glock and walking right up behind him. Then you tap his shoulder.

He turns around and meets your smiling expression, looking visibly confused. “Huh?”

Before he can look past your face to see the weapons in your holster, the butt end of your gun is hitting him square in the jaw followed by you hooking your hands behind his head and bringing his head down to meet your knee. 

You feel the pain in your knee as his unconscious body drops to the ground. “Ouch,” you grumble, rolling your shoulders too from the force with which you hit him. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, it would’ve been a good idea to stretch first. 

Crouching down, you quickly take the guy’s gun and remove the bullets before moving him into the tree line like you'd done with the other guy. Then you cautiously move towards the other two. As you get closer, you pull out the silencer and attach it to the longslide while listening to the idle conversation between the two. 

“It’s been almost a month since I’ve been back there and I swear I’ve never been happier,” the shorter of the two says, taking a drag of a cigarette.

The taller guy laughs. “Bet you emptied your pockets too.”

The short one laughs too. “Spent at least a million won but it was worth it. You should’ve seen those girls and the one I had in the private show, fuck,” he exhales, smirking grossly. “The tits on her. I got a fucking semi just by looking at them.”

You cringe upon hearing that, hurrying up as you check the bullets in the barrel. 

“Would’ve spent all my money too then. Where is this place, huh?”

“It’s the Lee’s place, the best place for this shit in all of Seoul.”

“I heard about that, they’ve been running it for years now, apparently they keep the girls–”

Standing up, you unhesitatingly shoot both of them in their dicks. 

High pitched groans fill the space surrounding you as they keel over onto the ground, blood staining their jeans rapidly. 

You step out from where you are and walk over to stand between them.  They both look up at you, still rolling over in pain, their teary-eyes wide and red. 

“You fucking bitch,” the short one rasps, heavily breathing as he tries to reach for his gun. 

“Nu-uh,” you tut, taking it from him before he can and taking the other guy’s too. You remove the bullets from them both before dropping the guns right over the men’s crotches. “Oops,” you pout sarcastically. 

They cry out, the sound too stilted to be able to be heard from anyone else unless they’re close by.

“The fuck d’you want?” the taller one hisses, grabbing onto your ankle.

You shoot him a dirty look, pulling your ankle free and digging your heel into his crotch. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out as his body curls up.  

“Nothing, at least not from you idiots,” you answer, removing your heel to do the same to the shorter guy, watching emotionlessly as they both suffer in pain.

Sighing, you drag your heel in the ground to remove some of the blood and take a look at the time on your phone. 1.07am. 

“I guess you’re lucky. I'm short on time.” 

The two barely have a chance to look at you before you’re putting a second round of bullets in them and dragging their bodies closer to the trees. 

Adrenaline is starting to course through you now, coming at the perfect time as your patience runs low after killing those last two guards. You don’t bother hiding as you walk along the east side of the warehouse, approaching the two guards walking towards you.

“Hey!” One of them calls out as they both draw their guns. You already have yours cocked and ready in your hand hanging by your side.

The two men look at each other before turning back to your figure as you approach, their faces expressing confusion when they see you; you have no doubt that they only haven’t shot yet because they can see you’re a woman. But then they see the longslide in your hand and the glock at your thigh. 

“Oi! Stop right now or I'll shoot!” The same guy warns again but you don’t.

You don’t stop until you’re only a few feet away so you can have a better aim at the man’s chest.  A second later he’s on the floor and his friend is bewildered, aiming his gun at you.

“What the fuck?!” He exclaims, his gun shooting in your direction but you’ve already ducked and rolled out of the way having expected the shot. As you straighten up with one knee still on the floor, you steady yourself by outstretching a leg in front of you, placing your foot firmly on the ground and getting a perfect shot to the second one’s chest. 

Six down, two to go. Well, for the guards outside at least; there’s no telling how many are inside.

The last two go down as easily as the rest and within a few minutes, you’re approaching the huge rusted metal doors of the warehouse. One has been left slightly ajar and you press your back close to the metal as you approach it, straining your ears to listen for any voices. You can make out at least three and your judgment tells you they’re around twenty feet away from the entrance where you stand. 

Ever so slowly, you edge closer until you can peer inside. The space ahead of you is mostly obscured by tall shelves carrying scaffolding poles — it’s the same set up as the last time you were here. The warehouse is disguised as a unit for scaffolding materials with aisle after aisle of tall shelves. This works greatly to your advantage so you can enter unseen. 

However, although you’re confident in your skill, you know that you can’t take on three armed men at the same time, so to make things easier for yourself, you draw them out. 

One hard knock on the metal door is enough. 

“The fuck was that?” You hear one voice say. 

“Oi, go check it out.”

“You go check it out, you pussy,”

“Who the fuck you calling pussy?”

“Prove it then, go fucking look.”

“I will, fucking idiot, don’t call me pussy.”

You hear a few more mumbles but you’re not paying attention as you draw the small Gerber Mark II from your thigh. Moving behind the door that’s slightly ajar, you wait with bated breath as you hear the sound of a gun cocking just a few feet away from you. 

Seconds later, the door is being kicked open further and you move steadily with it, careful not to make any noise behind the creaking metal. 

The door being pushed open further gives you better space to hide and as the man raises his rifle and steps out, aiming at the space around him cautiously, you quickly step out from behind the door to make your move. 

One hand clamps over his mouth as you press your chest against his back as close as you can to protect yourself if he tries to shoot. He doesn’t get much of a chance though, only managing to shoot one stray shot in a second of panic before the sharp edge of your knife is slicing his throat. 

He drops to the ground, body writhing and his gaze meets yours — your chest tightens and you have to look away as you shoot him once more in the head to end his misery. 

With no time to spare, you grab his phone and throw it hard against the warehouse wall. You know that the men inside will have heard the shot which means you need to hurry before they realise the rest of the guards are dead and call for more help. 

Hurriedly, you slip into the warehouse and move to hide behind the closest shelf while you hear the sounds of footsteps coming closer.

You hold your gun up towards the sound of the footsteps, ready to shoot as soon as someone comes into view. Finger hovering over the trigger, you wait patiently in your obscured position, and then the first man appears. 

Bang. Bang, Bang. The shots fire from your gun and before his body even hits the floor you’re stepping around the corner of the shelf and moving fast behind the next one to change your position before you get caught. You’re grateful it’s mostly dark here so you can move more freely. 

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” A harsh voice bellows from where you just were. 

Of course you don’t respond, instead rushing down the length of the aisle. You reach the end and cautiously peer around the corner to see one of them by the entrance. He’s facing away from you, standing still with his gun raised. Without hesitation, you aim for his chest and pull the trigger. 

He drops to his knees first, his rifle dropping to the concrete ground before he falls. 

Your mistake is watching — from right next to his body, a man steps out with his gun raised right at you. He shoots and it misses you by a thread as you step back just in time. 

“Go around the other side!” You hear his voice call out and footsteps fill the space around you. 

Fuck. There’s two more men and you have nowhere to go from here, so you do what you have to do. 

Looking around the corner again, you see the man approaching. He shoots as soon as you stick your head out but this time you shoot back in his direction, noticing your advantage as he walks towards you out in the open. But you know that there’s the fourth guard coming in your direction so you have to be quick. 

You step back after every shot you take and after the third, you hear him swear out loud. One more look and you see him clutching his shoulder as blood drips down his arm. 

Before you can even shoot again, you’re alerted to the presence of someone behind you and just as you turn around to aim, a hard kick meets your ribs and your gun gets knocked out of your hands.

The pain shoots through you and your hand instinctively raises to the source as you stumble back, your other hand reaching for the glock. 

“Not so fast, pretty,” the guard says, grabbing your arm and pushing you against the shelf. He’s the same height as you with an average build — you reckon you can take him but you’re still aware that the other guard is still alive and more importantly, armed. 

However, this guard is your first concern. He reaches for the glock himself and you let him. It gives you the chance to discreetly reach for the knife at your other thigh and stab him in the first place you can. That happens to be his hip. 

He grunts loudly, grip on your arm tightening but with one hand still holding your glock, you quickly use his strength against him and push into his body, stabbing him again in his abdomen and once at his wrist so he drops your gun. 

With no time to pick it up, you kick this out of the way just in time before his strong hands grip at you again. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, throwing a punch to your face which you manage to block with your arm but it still hurts. 

Teeth gritted, you struggle to get free of his grasp this time so you bring your knee up but he jerks backwards in time. This only angers him more and he throws you harshly to the floor. 

You feel nothing as your knees and elbows hit the concrete, adrenaline surging through your fight response kicks in – kill or be killed.

The guard comes closer and you look around quickly trying to figure out what to do. You spot your longslide that was knocked out of your hands just a few feet away from you.

“Wait!” you say instinctively, eyes rounding in false fear as you look up at him. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He pauses, eyes trained on your frightened expression and for a second you think you have him. Then he shakes his head and reaches for his gun.

In a split second, you use all your upper body strength to push yourself off the ground while sweeping out one of his legs from beneath him. 

He’s stumbling forward as you lunge for your own gun but just when you’re about to grab it, his hand is on your left calf and dragging your body towards him. You spot another gun strapped to his right thigh.

“Hey, I got her!”

You try to kick free from him but he’s stronger and has you on your feet, body restrained by his arms in seconds. As the other guard comes around the corner with his arm bleeding thanks to you, an idea suddenly comes to mind. 

Using only a fraction of your strength, you try to resist the man holding you and watch carefully as the other one approaches with his rifle aimed at you despite his bleeding shoulder. 

“Who are you?” he questions. 

“Answer the question,” the guard holding you says, squeezing you harder. 

“Just kill me,” you mutter, slowing down in the other’s arm. 

“I will, after you tell me who sent you,” the guard spits, pressing his rifle into your chest. 

Kill or be killed – it doesn’t have to be as a simple gunshot or the throw of a dagger… 

Faking a fearful expression, meeting the guards sharp eyes as you answer, “I didn’t want to, they made me do it.”

The two guards exchange wary looks.

“Please, I’ll tell you everything just don’t hurt me.”

The one holding you nods at the other one and he lowers his gun.”Who sent you?” his voice comes from behind your ear.

“It was Takahashi,” you answer shakily, bracing yourself as you feel the man’s grip on you loosen further.

The one holding the rifle lowers it completely. “Takahashi?” he asks, confused. “Why the fuck  would he send someone here?”

“I-I don’t know.” Your right hand slowly moves towards the man’s thigh behind you. “They said something about teaching the Cheong’s a lesson.”

“Why did they send you?” the one holding you questions. “You work for them?”

“No,” you fake a whimper, head lowering as your hand closes around his arm as though in fear.

“Then why’d they send you?” he asks again, except this time you note his voice is softer. Time to move.

Your hand closes around the gun at his thigh and you shoot once at the ground to disorient them both before immediately pulling on the man’s arm to have his body in front of you as a shiel. 

He takes the bullet that his friend fires in retaliation to yours, straight in the chest  – the man holding you goes slack, his hold on you weakening as a result of the shot his friend just fired at him. “Shit, Jung!”

Using Jung as cover, you shoot the space three times ahead of you and then there’s silence. 

Jung drops to his hands and knees, groaning as he clutches his abdomen and slowly looks up at you. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks.

You glance at his friend’s dead body, blood pooling from two fatal wounds. “No one.” You look away before you put a bullet in his head.

Weariness catches up to you as you walk out of the warehouse and into the cover of the trees back to where the car is parked. Pain is starting to spread through your sore muscles and you have no doubt you’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow. 

Once you reach the car, you find the burner phone Yoongi gave you and text him a simple ‘it’s done’. Two words which should weigh heavy on your mind as you remember there are men who just lost their lives tonight. 

But you know that this is how this works, so tonight, you go home and sleep as though none of this happened. 

author's note. thank you so much for reading! <3 chapter 1 coming next week sunday! pleeaaase share your thoughts with me :) xoxoxo

[matan4il]

in a community i'm in, someone sent a message about getting asks from gazan fundraisers and not being sure how to vet them. in reply, someone said "you can just say you vetted it"

Nonnie, thank you for sharing this.

I think this could be a good rule for everyone: if someone says they vetted a Gaza cause and it's legit, ask them how did they vet it.

Because TBH, I'm suspicious of anyone claiming they even can. Under Hamas' rule, Gaza was a dictatorship since 2006. ANY foreign organization, no matter how seemingly respectable, that wants to openly operate in a dictatorship HAS to collaborate with the dictator to some degree.

So anyone who openly operated in Gaza up until Oct 7, 2023? Likely collaborated. Their word is suspect. Maybe they only collaborated to a small degree. But none of us can know that, not until Gaza is truly freed from Hamas.

Currently, it still isn't. What exists there now is chaos, with pockets of control of various players, where Hamas still is a major one, to no small degree through the violence and even murder that it's still willing to exact on its own people. The ability to know anything for sure in Gaza right now is very small, to say the least.

And where there is chaos, where there is uncertainty, there will always be people willing to take advantage of that. There will always be scammers trying to make money off of this. But worse, the scams can come from members of Hamas or people affiliated with this terrorist organization, no matter how "legit" they seem. After all, a Peabody award winner turned out to have ties to Gazan terrorism and she ended up stealing lots of money from trusting foreigners, who just wanted to help, and we may never know what that money ended up funding... Where terrorism is involved, it very well could be the murder of even more people.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[monkishes]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⸻ ✧˚ · . 𝓻esidue 𓈒 𓈒 02

After witnessing a murder, you expect to be killed on the spot. Instead the killer demands for shelter in your home. The only way out of the clutches of death, is to let him stay. Fear and uncertainty ripped within your body, but you had to comply.

warnings: murder, death

word count: 1384

extra: find me on wattpad @joyfuii or ao3 @monkishes

back — next

Around ten minutes had passed (ten minutes which had felt like hours), and the water was still running. You weren't usually a patient person but in this instance keeping your patience wasn't much of a problem, in fact you were quite grateful for the stranger in your bathroom for taking a while. You dreaded the thought of what he would do to you when he came out, and could only pray for the best. He could take everything and anything that belonged to you, just not your life.

The entire time you hadn't changed the position he had left you in, your legs stayed close to your chest and your eyes remained fixated on a random spot on the wall. It would have been easy to get out, and you eyed the exit once more but didn't make any attempt to escape. He had your phone and your wallet, after all, running away would only make things worse.

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to fall out, your bottom lip quivering, and somehow you felt dehydrated despite the litre of water you had already drank earlier. Licking your bottom lip in an attempt to moisten them, you tasted the remnants of bitter, dry blood that the killer had left when trying to shut you up earlier. Your eyes crinkled up in disgust, but you couldn't bring yourself to rinse out your mouth. You were too afraid.

Thousands of thoughts whirled through your mind. Why did he kill that poor old man? Who was he? What did he want with you, and why didn't he just take a shower in his own home? Another thousand of possible answers accompanied these thoughts, and you could feel a headache forming.

The sound of the shower stopping suddenly caught your attention, making you snap out of your daze and look up, waiting for him to come out. Another minute or two passed and the door opened, revealing the killer with his top half on display and your eyes scanned over his chest before landing on his face.

He held your wallet in one hand, ID card in the other and read it aloud. "Y/N.." you heard him mutter, his eyes running along the words before he placed it back into the wallet.

You immediately stood from your position on the floor, standing up tall and trying to appear as strong as possible, but it was no use. The killer read you like an open book, instantly catching on to how you fidgeted with your fingers and were unable to hold eye contact for more than a couple of seconds.

"D-Do you need anything else?" you question as you watch him open your wallet and assess its contents, him taking your money the last thing on your mind. When he saw there was not much to find in there, he quickly snapped it shut and faced towards you.

"Speak up, I cant here you."

"...Do you need anything else?" you repeat after an abrupt pause, taking a deep gulp to try and get rid of the lump that was forming at the back of your throat.

The killer's gaze flickered briefly away from your face, leaving you standing awkwardly under the weight of his presence. Your heart drummed a frantic rhythm in your chest, and your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides, unsure of what to do. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken tension. As he scrutinized your apartment, you realized he was in no hurry to leave, and that filled you with a dread that made your stomach churn.

He finally spoke, his voice low and detached. "Where's your bedroom?"

You hesitated, throat tightening as a chill ran down your spine. "B-Bedroom?" You wanted to sound confident, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He didn't answer your question, only raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for you to move. When you didn't, he let out a soft sigh of impatience, his hand flexing as if he were remembering the grip he had on you earlier. "Lead the way."

You had no choice. Your feet felt like lead as you turned and walked toward the small hallway that led to your bedroom. Each step you took felt like you were walking towards your doom, but your survival instincts overpowered the urge to collapse or scream. He followed closely behind you, silent except for the soft rustle of his towel-draped shoulders brushing the narrow walls of your apartment.

When you reached your room, you hesitated again before pushing the door open. The familiar sight of your disorganized shelves and cluttered desk greeted you—comforting and mundane in contrast to the nightmare unfolding. He stepped in behind you, surveying the space with a critical eye.

"Sit," he commanded, his tone casual, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

You slowly backed toward the bed, your legs weak and shaky, and lowered yourself onto the edge of the mattress. He lingered by the door, his tall frame filling the space as he shut the door softly behind him, the click of the latch unnervingly final. He didn't come any closer yet, instead leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"So..." His eyes, piercing and inscrutable, locked onto yours again. "I know you saw what happened back there." There was a trace of amusement in his tone, as though this were some game to him. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

The question slammed into you, and you opened your mouth, but no sound came out at first. Panic gripped you so tightly you could hardly breathe, let alone think. Why shouldn't he kill you? You didn't know what to say, what he wanted to hear. The wrong answer could mean your death.

"I-I won't tell anyone," you managed, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. "I swear. I... I didn't see anything clearly." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you didn't know what else to say.

He watched you for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were measuring your sincerity. Then, without warning, he pushed off the door and strode toward you. Instinctively, you flinched, but he didn't touch you. Instead, he crouched in front of you, bringing himself down to your eye level. His face, now so close to yours, made your heart race even faster.

"That's not a good enough reason," he whispered, his breath ghosting across your skin. His eyes, now dark and unreadable, held yours captive. "I need something better."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it almost impossible to speak. "I'll do anything," you blurted out, desperate to cling to any chance, no matter how slim. "Please... I-I'll do whatever you want. Just don't... don't kill me."

The killer tilted his head slightly, studying you as though you were some curious creature. His silence stretched on, suffocating you, and for a moment, you were convinced that you had said the wrong thing—that it was over. But then, his lips curved into a slow, unsettling smile.

"Anything?" His voice was smooth, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the surface.

You nodded frantically, too terrified to even think about the implications of that word. Anything, you had said. What would he demand of you?

He stood up, towering over you again. "We'll see," he said, his smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. "For now, I want you to make me some food."

It was such a mundane request that for a second, you thought you'd misheard him. You blinked up at him in confusion, but he didn't clarify. He turned away, heading toward the small living area without looking back at you.

Your mind reeled as you slowly got up from the bed. Was this some sort of sick joke? He had just murdered someone in cold blood, threatened your life, and now he wanted you to make him dinner?

But you didn't question it. You couldn't. You stumbled after him, your body on autopilot as you headed toward the kitchen. Whatever this was, it wasn't over yet. But for now, as long as he was eating, he wasn't killing you.

That was the only thing keeping you going.

[aangelinakii]

LUCKY DAY.

— it must be your lucky day!

summary : when you're late to work, you meet a man just as equally late, but somehow this chance encounter leads to more.

note : very much inspired by the trope i thought would fit best with clark !!! very short but very sweet :)

rain soaked through your clothes, chilling your flesh through to the bone. without an umbrella, you'd be sitting in your cubicle dripping like an ice lolly in the sun, and, well, you didn't have one, so that's probably how your day would turn out.

the bus was late, not due for another hour, which would make you even later.

to your side, someone else seemed to be in the same boat; their white button-up clinging to the muscles of their abdomen, eyes invisible from behind the hundreds of droplets home on the lens of their glasses, raven curls drooping over their brow.

with a sigh, he looked from the digital bus timetable overhead, and over to you.

"lucky day, huh?" he asked, voice raised slightly to be heard over the rapid rain.

a chuckle brushed past your droplet-ridden lips, dripping with rain just as much as the sky, and you clutched your satchel closer to you, hoping everything inside was relatively okay.

"you can say that again," you replied, trying to sound more upbeat than you felt.

the man's mouth curled into a smile, and he seemed to really be considering it for a moment. however, before he could really say anything again, a yellow cab pulled up in front, the passenger side window whirring down to reveal the driver.

cigarette smoke flowing from his teeth as he spoke, the driver offered a lift. "don't suppose you two are enjoying standing around out there?"

with one glance the other man's way, he gave a smile and nod. "looks like it is our lucky day."

you weren't going to turn up a half-price taxi cab, especially when they deliberately went out of their way to ask if you want a lift. drivers in metropolis are hard work, but apparently they're worse in gotham.

inside the taxi was, albeit stinking of smokes, toasty, a sigh of relief coming from your chest.

when the man gave his destination, you didn't have to say another, for it appeared you both worked on the same road; blocks of offices dotted all along the boulevard.

however, as you searched your satchel, it was inevitable you had left something home. such a lucky day.

"shit..." the words came out as a seething whisper, causing the drenched man beside you to look over, his sopping blazer folded over his lap in an attempt to dry the shirt beneath somewhat. "i don't know where my wallet is."

despite the day going so bad already, and it wasn't even ten in the morning yet, the man just smiled. "don't worry," he hummed, tone genuine. "i'll pay, it's no problem."

"no, i—" but there was nothing you could do, your hand still blindly fishing around in your satchel for anything wallet-shaped, or even a couple loose coins. you knew he'd have to pay, but that didn't dissipate the guilt.

mouth screwing to the side in uncertainty, you slowly pulled your hand from the abyss and silently gave in. "do you have a card? i'll call you as soon as i have the money, i'll pay you back."

the man let out a laugh. "no, it's no problem. seriously—"

"no," you insisted. "we've never met, i can't let you just walk off without anything in return. please, i'll call you later today."

warm blue eyes looked into yours, a soft dimple etching the skin of his cheek at he watched you for a moment. his gaze lingered as his fingers fished the inside breast pocket of his blazer, but pulled away before you could ask if something was on your face.

when his hand emerged, his business card was crumpled and damp, beyond redemption, really.

clark kent, journalist for the dailey planet.

not minding the state of the card, especially after getting caught in the worst of it, you plucked it from between his fingers, gave it a once over, and tucked it into your satchel.

"thank you, clark," you smiled. "i'll call you."

[mlb-a-rewrite]

Fixing Lila Rossi

Oh boy, do I hate Lila. Not only is she a bad character, but she's a badly written character too which is a far worse crime imo.

At first, I was tempted to just write her out entirely but then I thought, "What the hell, might as well see if I could make her work" and I'm glad I did.

In the show, Lila is a conniving manipulator. She is constantly scheming, but why? Her reasons for what she does are never made very clear, but that's not her biggest crime.

Lila joins the class randomly and immediately begins lying and deceiving. When Marinette discovers this, Lila begins attacking her and when Marinette speaks up about this, everyone sides with Lila, including Marinette's best friend. For so many episodes, for so many seasons, Lila is a cruel manipulator, and that entire time Marinette and Adrien, two of the most well-liked people in the entire class, are ignored when they speak up against Lila.

I think this is all incredibly dumb and it makes me very angry to think about it so I reworked her character entirely.

The first thing I figured out was Lila's motivations. Why is she the way she is? What are her goals? How far is she willing to go to get what she wants?

The easy conclusion I came to was that Lila wants the luxurious glory of wealth. She comes from a poor family where she's been neglected and pushed to the side her whole life. She wants the power that comes from money. She wants people to look at her and envy her like she has done to others her whole life.

But the more I thought about Lila the more I realized her motivations are more than that.

Her whole life has been lived in uncertainty. She never knew if she would be getting dinner that day or if she'd be able to stay in her home. She never knew if her parents were in a caring mood or a cruel one. She never had any control over her life, and she is tired of it.

Lila wants money because it gives her control, but she also wants to control people. She befriends people to get what she wants or to gather information to force them to do what she wants. She never lets anyone have a leg up on her, because that is surrendering control.

Even if the person she is interacting with doesn't play a role in her master plan, she doesn't want to risk the chance that they might. Vulnerability and authenticity give people access to Lila, to the things that anger her and make her sad, and so she never lets anyone in.

Yes, Lila is driven by a desire to accumulate wealth and fame, but those are just pieces of the larger puzzle. Ultimately, Lila has lived a life where she is powerless and she decided years ago that she would rather be dead than continue to live at the whim of others.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Lady Liberty Through The Fog

* * * *

Thats Another Fine Mess

THE GOP IS ON THEIR ASS

TCINLA

JUL 22, 2024

Captain Befuddlepants, and his sidekick, Little Shillbilly, are quaking in their boots over yesterday’s news. (Editorialk note: these are the new official names for the idiots here at TAFM.) The captain’s so upset that he doesn’t get to debate Biden again that he is now weaseling out of debating Kamala Harris in September by saying it should be held on the “fair and balanced” Fox News. The captain went on to complain that his campaign had been “forced to spend time and money” fighting Biden and now had to “start all over again” against another challenger, posting: “Shouldn’t the Republican Party be reimbursed for fraud in that everybody around Joe, including his doctors and the Fake News Media, knew he was not capable of running for, or being, President? Just askin’?”

I guess he’s changed his mind from back in 2011, when he donated $5,000 to Harris’ re-election campaign for Attorney General.

As fucking if, you ignorant asswipe.

Captain Befuddlepants is now the oldest person to ever run for president. He talks about Hannibal Lecter as if he’s a real person. So that’s the story now, right MSM?

The Little Shillbilly is also now cagey about committing to a vice presidential debate, citing uncertainty about whom he might actually end up debating.

Trump campaign advisers Chris LaCivita and Susie Wiles put out a statement: “Kamala Harris is just as much of a joke as Biden is. Harris will be even WORSE for the people of our Nation than Joe Biden. Harris has been the Enabler in Chief for Crooked Joe this entire time. They own each other’s records, and there is no distance between the two. Harris must defend the failed Biden Administration AND her liberal, weak-on-crime record in CA.”

Every other Republican fuckwit is busy losing their shit over the change in plans.

MAGA Mike Johnson went on CNN’s State of the Union where he said that the House GOP is actually thinking of investigating the inner workings of the Democratic Party:

JOHNSON: I mean, look, I didn't want to come out and talk about personal interactions with the president, because I have been concerned about what I just said, about this projection of weakness on the world stage at a very dangerous time. But now that the cat is out of the bag, you can hear from the Republican speaker to affirm what everyone else has known and seen. They -- the Democrats have been involved in a big cover-up here. They have been trying to prevent the people from seeing what all of us in close proximity have seen. He's not the Joe Biden of even four years ago when he ran for office. He's not capable of doing it now. And it's not his fault. I mean, no one can help how they age, how quickly they age and how their faculties diminish. But that's clearly happening here, and it's something that must be contended with. TAPPER: Well, calling it a cover-up, that's pretty strong words. Are you suggesting that there's something that needs to be investigated in a serious way by Congress or even law enforcement? JOHNSON: Well, that's something we have discussed. I mean, you have seen even in recent weeks, until the debate three weeks ago, I mean, top Democrats in Congress and elsewhere were coming on to television regularly and saying, Joe Biden's running circles around us, he could -- he could compete in the Olympics. I mean, it was just comical. They all knew that wasn't true. I mean, anybody who interacted with him over the last couple of years knew that that was not true. And it was -- every time I would see one of those statements, I couldn't believe they were doing it. And that is why they went through the process and got him through winning the primary, because they put up a false pretense about his capabilities. Now the whole country sees it, and they have painted themselves into a corner because they did that.

I like David Kurtz’s analysis this morning at TPM: “ It takes time to draft and hand out the new scripts and get the entire right-wing Wurlitzer cranking out the same noise ad nauseam. You saw in the flailing response yesterday from Trump on down to Fox News that they weren’t on the same page yet. They only have 15 weeks to cement new attack lines, memes, caricatures, shorthand, and conspiracy theories. That’s doable, but it’s not a lot of time to establish a drumbeat and repeat it long enough to make it accepted truth. The top-down nature of the right-wing political apparatus makes it reasonably well-positioned to turn on a dime, but repetition is key and there’s only so much time remaining to drill in a new collective viewpoint of Harris and the race.”

Rick Wilson also sees things clearly (as usual):

“There is a sense of shock rippling through the Republican party right now, greater than anything I could’ve possibly imagined a week ago. The nervous ripple in their world worsened last night as Trump began rage-posting on his Dollar Store social media platform, clearly unconstrained and uncontrolled.

“As Trump realized he’d been led astray, his keen, feral sense for the spotlight recognized that she had become a bigger story than him and that he and his team had no real Plan B.

“He could smell how consequential her entry into the race would be and how quickly attention would shift from him to a younger, faster, smarter, and more agile, camera-friendly candidate. My friend Jay Black said it well: “The Trump campaign had no plan for Biden dropping out because, on a fundamental level, nobody in Trump's world could conceive of a man willingly giving up power for the good of his country.”

“Kamala Harris is Donald Trump‘s Kryptonite.

“She is a woman of mixed race. She is attractive. She is a prosecutor. She is smarter than him by a long mile. Worst of all for Trump, he’s already envisioning the moment when she laughs in his face.

“She is what he hates the most: a woman. Don’t under-score this point when assessing his reactions. Donald Trump loathes women to the very core of his awful being, like all sexual abusers. His hatred of women springs into life in many forms, for he is abusive to them sexually, physically, verbally, and through both action and inaction. If you draw an arc from E. Jean Carroll (and his many other victims) to the Dobbs decision, you know all you must about his view of women.

“We'll witness his rage in full effect when she laughs at his grandiosity and delusion on a debate stage. One wag yesterday suggested that she greet him by saying, “Donald, I’m glad your parole officer let you come here tonight.”

Meanwhile, we Democrats are fortunate that The Most Overrated Writer On Earth, Aaron Sorkin, has decided he no longer believes the Democratic Party should select Republican Senator Mitt Romney as its candidate in the 2024 presidential race. I’m so relieved.

And we’ll cap off with the statement from the smartest Democrat in the past 60 yesars, Nancy Pelosi: “My enthusiastic support for Kamala Harris for President is official, personal and political.”

[TCinLA]

[secriden]

I finally finished watching episode 10 of Monster Next Door and I have thoughts! I went into this episode fearful that it would be another badly written "oh no miscommunication!!" story, but I think I ended the episode more in love with the writers and the show as a whole then I was before.

Ok, lets get it out of the way: Diew's sudden refusal to communicate at the start of the episode felt like a misstep at first. Especially following on the heels of (a) how good Diew was at addressing God's behavoiur during the trip and (b) their first time having sex where the lead up and the way it's shot very much indicates that Diew feels safe and trusts God. The show even doubled down on giving us soft, understanding, earnestly caring God:

It doesn't help that they then had this whole montage of God and Diew having happy 'honeymoon phase' moments after Diew starts lying to God. Like... the order in which these scenes were edited makes no sense to me. It feels like it comes out of left field in a way that belittles the intelligence of the viewers

However, I felt that the writing, the directing choices and the acting (good god the acting!!) more than make up for this.

Firstly, I fucking LOVED God and Pee's showdown.

The completely unhinged escalation from polite friendliness to 'you wanna fight!?' that God goes to is so real and understandable given that he's been stewing in his jealous uncertainty since seeing the diary, especially compounded by Diew's withdrawal and then pretending that nothing was wrong. Pee's comments are exactly the words to push all of God's insecurity and anger buttons and I love that the show let him go there, especially with the physicality of God's massive frame adding weight to the threat.

UGH I love Big's performance here. It's so easy for actors to overact in these kind of scenes but the transition from suspicion to indignation to anger to fear (because God basically has confirmation now that Diew hasn't been honest with him), was so well handled. He embodied the scene so well in his entire demeanour: look at the difference between the first row and the second row - how Big gains all this tension in his neck and shoulders, how he holds his chin up and nostrils are flared, like the feelings are making him animalistic; hackles raised. This scene was just SO good.

Yuck, yuck, yuck, mad props to Pee's actor for being able to convey slimy so well. *shudders* I hate him and he really hasn't even done that much. I feel bad for the actor because he just has a face for it. I hope he finds a way to make lots of money off it. ^_^;;

Secondly, God and Diew's fight was perfection.

The dialogue was so, so well written?? Here it is, here is their amazing communication and the almost magical way they are able to find the right words to say being wielded with utmost precision and its working against them. This is the fruition of all the groundwork the writers have been laying down for 9 episodes.

Look at how succinct and effective this dialogue is. They're both communicating incredibly well, expressing exactly their thoughts and feelings in the moment, and yet things aren't working because both parties are missing just enough of the facts to make things worse.

I think Diew thinks he is being honest here - at this point, Pee really isn't anyone to him other than a senior. He's over Pee (I mean, he's not over what Pee did, but he doesn't have feelings for him). It's a perfectly legitimate response without the context of God reading Diew's diary.

But the problem is that they're both communicating on completely different wavelengths. Diew thinks this is about God feeling jealous of an ex, but God's frustrated because he's starting to think Diew's never fully opened up to him. And Diew is baffled because as far as he's concerned, he's opened up to God probably more than anyone else (maybe except for Game).

The bracelet becomes the symbol of their misaligned perceptions of the same thing. Because ultimately, what this is really about is that they're both coming with fundamentally different ideas and expectations for what a committed relationship looks like.

To God, knowing these things about your boyfriend is a matter of course; it's a reasonable expectation. But Diew still feels that certain precious things should be held back, even from a boyfriend. It's incredibly subtle, but look at the difference in Diew's expression before and after God reveals he read his diary:

There's a hardness in Diew's eyes, a sense he feels betrayed because this was never territory that God had the right to. When Diew walks away, it's because Diew isn't able (or willing) to tell God anything about his past relationship. It's a chapter closed, a hurt buried, that has nothing to do with God.

Fucking hell, Big, what a delivery. The way his voice breaks and the way you can hear the tears in his throat. But also, this is so valid? God has been the one most consistently reaching out throughout the relationship; partly because it's just easier for him as the extrovert, but also partly because he was willing to put in the work because Diew was worth it. But at this point it feels like he's gained zero ground whilst being gaslit into thinking their connection as real, and that hurts.

The whole premise of this show is "can two very different people with diametrically opposite personalities be together," and this show is telling us that the answer is No. Not without compromise on both sides; not without making fundamental shifts in your own thinking to accomodate your partner. God and Diew fundamentally different understandings of how relationships work, and this isn't going to go away without them talking about it.

The reason I feel so blown away is that the writers took the well-established communication both characters have and weaponised it to drive a wedge between them. This is miscommunication and misunderstanding done well; where the audience is the only one that has enough information to sympathise with both characters and therefore makes our heart break all the more because of it.

Don't touch me, the parallel shots were just so well set up and so well done.

At no point did anything in this entire fight feel unnecessary or gratuitous. The showmakers did an amazing job with this episode and I really, really want to take a moment to appreciate that.

Honorable mention to:

The simple and yet incredibly effective sound design during God and Diew's fight. The way its just their voices and the sinister, haunting piano ringing at pivotal moments.

Park and Big's amazing portrayals; like... I'm so incredibly blown away by the emotional maturity in their depiction of Diew and God and their feelings during this fight. The precision which both of them brought -- it wasn't too much or too little and I'm so grateful for what we got.

Diew's handling of being stuck in the elevator with Pee. I expected it to be more dramatic, but in the context of Diew's personality (he's actually incredibly straightforward and not prone to emotional outbursts at all) it made a lot of sense. I loved how clear Diew is about not wanting anything to do with Pee (who continues to be a slimy slug of a human, yuck). I love that he doesn't let Pee give the excuse of "my friends made me," because hell yes, you choose the friends you keep around you. Also, the flashback shows that Pee was an asshole even when his friends aren't around, so.

Anyway, yes, this episode has left me bereft.

[yandere-kokeshi]

Yandere Dabi with a pregnant darling

Warnings: pregnant reader, yandere behavior, slight talk about sex, talks about TikTok, talks about endeavor/about trauma, soft! Dabi (sorta ooc) and cursing.

A/N: this was requested and I deleted it. Yet again. On accident. Sorry :((

I'm not sure who the icon of Dabi belongs too! I found it in my gallery so if you have any idea who it belongs too, please message me so I can credit them/or you!

His first initial reaction is surprised and quiet. He's in a state of shock and slight uncertainty; you're pregnant and he's fault for it. He doesn't know what to do.

While he does remember having round after round with you, filling you up. He just didn't expect you to get pregnant.

"Whatta' mean you're pregnant? Are you sure? Two lines? Are you shitting with me? Are you positive-postitive? Fuck."

The next few days are really hard on him. How can he, a monster, raise a child? What if they inherit his quirk and get hurt? Or worse, what if he hurts them? A lot of questions and anxiety spirals into his stomach and chest.

He won't leave you. He makes sure of that. He won't be like his dad or simply leave you/or disconnect with you due to your pregnancy. However, Dabi will be distant for a bit; trying his best to wrap the fact that you're pregnant with his kid and how he's gonna continue with this.

But, when he concludes that he needs to be responsible and support both of you, he comes up to you and hugs you tightly. Whispering In your ear, comforting you with his raspy voice: "It's alright. I'll help us out. I promise you, baby. We'll get through this together, yeah?"

For the new weeks to come, he comes up with a few plans. One is that this kid can't live in a trash place; one that's not very clean, wasn't kid-friendly, and is a potential threat to them. So, he decided to do the house a makeover, making sure to buy (steal) items, clothing, and furniture.

He makes sure that the child can go to school, have fun, and run outside while making issues that are irritating to fix.

Secondly, he makes sure that his plans of being a villainess are put to the side or at least aren't as huge. While he does work on the side (somehow working as a butcher or cashier), he makes money to support you two; Dabi makes sure to spend as much time with you.

From that day, he's rarely seen leaving your side. He's always beside you, always at your call and ready to make you whatever you want.

Dabi becomes more observant, more than he already has. He reads your body language, steps on eggshells around you to make sure you feel comfortable and knows what's up before you can tell him.

This includes your hormones and cravings. While he will cook and deliver the food you crave. He doesn't understand why you're crying about the damn bed being too uncomfortable to angrily yell at him for moving your toothbrush an inch.

But, as your bump grows, so does his protectiveness and fear of being a father. The two of you will both have continuous emotional conversations, showing vulnerable sides of each other and slowly healing with these talks that Dabi much appreciates.

He loves to touch your stomach and lay on your mid-thighs, even if it's not grown yet; he loves to kiss and rub his fingers all along your tummy, kissing it and closing his eyes as he hears you heartbeat.

But, when he feels the baby kick, he feels his breath ripped out of him while he stares at your tummy in disbelief; the kid just kicked him, didn't they?

In his free time, he will read articles online that show small things to help you with your growth. But sometimes he will go onto Tiktok and watch videos that make his stomach roll in butterflies. But when he saw the video of people lifting their partner's belly, he immediately tried it; to say the least, the minute he heard you groan, then yell in anger made him smirk for a bit.

Occasionally, he will use his quirk to massage your sore muscles, making sure to rub into the deep knotted parts and use your favorite lotion; putting it on your swollen ankles while kissing them to show how amazing you look.

If you ever feel insecure, he's immediately pulling you in front of the mirror and showing you every mark as to why they are important and how they're gorgeous; "These stretch marks are signs of your growth, your power, and living of the baby. You should be proud of these, dollface. I love them regardless."

Every doctor visit, he comes with. Even if you dare to insist it's fine. Dabi makes sure to hold your hand, squeezing it when he sees the ultrasound of your baby.

Speaking of ultrasounds, he doesn't care about the gender. He would love them regardless of the sex! (Although, I do see him as a daddy's girl :])

Cuddling with Dabi is very warm and comforting. He makes sure you lay on him, holding your favorite pillow and hod hand near you; warming you up with his quirk.

At some point, it's expected to go baby-clothing shopping. Once you do, it takes three hours for you two to complete because he couldn't pick between a Stitch and Snorlax onesie (you ended up buying both!)

On the last semester, Dabi is complicated. While you do tell him he will be a good father, he can't help but overthink the facts. Cuddling and kissing scenes tend to happen after this, and while you may see him extremely vulnerable, he hates showing this side of him due to his childhood.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | teaser

chapter 1 release date ↠ sunday 13th october 2024

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

teaser word count ↠ 2.2k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, all sorts of crime (including: drug and arms trade, embezzlement, mentions of kidnapping and attempted kidnapping), frequent use of guns and knives, gore (non-descriptive), mild injuries to multiple characters including reader, death (descriptive).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ i've poured a lot of time and effort and thought into this so please enjoy and share xoxoxox chapter 1 coming on jimin's birthday! 🩶

16 years ago

Sehun was tired. His day was dragging on and the throbbing in his head only seemed to get worse by the hour. All he really wanted was to spend the rest of his evening at home with his family, to hug his wife, and listen to you talk about your day, but he was still stuck here. Lines creased his forehead as he sat across from the two men he has only ever called his closest friends – brothers – yet these days, it seems less so. 

“This isn’t what we agreed,” he said, lowering his voice.

Neither of the two men said anything at first, certainly having expected this response. Lee Han-Jae at least had the decency to look somewhat concerned by Sehun’s disapproval, reaching forward to pour himself a drink. 

“It’s wrong, we don’t do stuff like this, it’s more for the likes of the Takahashi or the Cheong’s,” Sehun pressed. “Not us, never us.”

Lee Han-jae was the first to speak. “But what if it is us?”

If Sehun hadn’t known the man for long, he wouldn’t have been able to detect the impatience hidden behind the curiosity in his tone. But he had, he’d known him for nineteen years.

Han-jae slid the drink in front of Sehun instead.“We have all the power to help these people, we can do this.” He glanced sideways to the third man in the room. 

Cold eyes and hard set features, Park Jihoon merely nodded before speaking. “He’s right, Sehun,” he said, unmoving in his seat. His eyes were focused on your father.  “And it only puts us at an advantage. Everyone will be on our side.”

“Everyone’s already on our side,” Sehun said, impatience cutting through his tone. “We don’t need this, it’s not right.”

“We’ve already spoken to all the families involved. They’ve agreed on the price and most of them are happy to proceed—”

“They’ve agreed to sell their own family into prostitution to make their debts disappear?” Sehun interrupted sharply, missing the way Jihoon’s fingers curled into his fist.

Han-jae paused, eyes flickering with brief uncertainty as his lifelong best friend looked at him in anger. “Don’t say it like that, we’re not criminals, it’s not like we’re forcing them–”

Sehun’s patience was running short. “You’re giving them no choice, it’s either this, or you kill them, right?”

“No.” Han-jae’s gaze sharpened. “We’re setting them up for a better life than those kids would ever have, and with the nightclub we can legitimize our money, that’s what you wanted, is it not?”

Releasing a sigh, Sehun leaned back into the leather couch. “Not like this. Under our names the club will be successful enough, we don’t need to buy innocent men and women from these desperate families to make it better—”

“We’re not buying them,” Jihoon cut in calmly. “Their service is owed to us.”

The nonchalance in Jihoon’s tone flared anger in Sehun. “No, the service of criminals who have wronged us is what is owed to us, not of their innocent family members,” he responded, looking between his two friends. “How would you feel if it was Jimin?” he asked Jihoon before turning to Han-jae. “Or Taemin?”

Jihoon’s expression remained unchanged, however Han-jae sighed, pouring himself another drink. No one said anything as he emptied his glass, and when he finished, he still seemed unsure. 

“They’ll do better under our watch. We’ll give them housing, an education, more money than  they’ll ever see in their lifetime if they are to stay living as they are now.”

“No,” Sehun shook his head. “If you really cared about helping them then you would give them that without asking them to live a life indebted to you.”

“So what do you suggest we do then?” Jihoon asked, only now sitting forward as he tilted his head, awaiting an answer.

“Find some other way for the men to pay the debts. We never have any shortage of dirty work that needs doing, they can be tasked to those jobs,” your father answered swiftly.

Han-jae and Jihoon looked at each other for only a brief second before Jihoon nodded and sat back again. 

“Alright,” Han-jae said quietly, looking back at your father. “We’ll try to stop it.”

“Try?”

“They have already been moved to a remote location—”

“Then bring them back.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh come on, Han-jae,” Sehun couldn’t help but scoff. “You speak of being the most powerful man in Seoul and yet you can’t stop an operation you’ve started.”

“Will you help us then?” Jihoon asked as though testing how far his friend is willing to go.

“Of course,” your father’s answer came with no hesitation, his heart hurting as he thought of you in the same position as those kids. “Whatever you need.”

“Very well then,” Jihoon said, looking at Han-jae and raising his glass. “We bring them back.”

It was an hour later that Sehun could tell that something was up, and it was Jimin who made him realize. 

Halfway through dinner, Han-jae received a text. “Gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. “I’ll have to excuse myself momentarily to deal with some business for the house.” He got up and looked at his son. “Taemin, come with me.”  

Taemin nodded, getting up and doing as he was told. 

As Sehun watched Taemin leave, he didn’t see Jihoon and Han-jae exchange glances, however he looked back and saw Jimin staring down at his plate, jaw tight and fist clenched on the table unlike moments prior.

No one else was paying him any attention as Han-jae and Taemin left the room, leaving Sehun with Jimin and Jihoon, as well as a few of the other Lee men. Jihoon carried on eating, his knife cutting into his steak as Sehun watched him and Jimin. 

Then, Jimin looked up and accidentally met Sehun’s gaze. 

He swallowed, eyes telling far too much before he blinked and looked away.

present day

“So,” you place the empty carton down in front of you. “Where are they keeping the shipment?”

“The same warehouse off highway 46 from Jung-gu. They’ll have several guards on watch surrounding the place.”

“It’s the same place as last time?” you ask, frowning.  “They’re not very smart.”

“Well they have tried stealing drugs from a legitimate pharmaceutical company,” Yoongi says pointedly. “I don’t think they’re very bright. But,” he adds, “they’re powerful.” He sits forward, pulling out a car key fob from his inside pocket and places this on the table.

You look down at it. “Same drill as last time?”

“Yep. Everything you need is there. You’ll also find a burner phone in there. Once it’s all done, text me from there. The police will come and seize the drugs.”

“Why don’t they just deal with it themselves?” 

Yoongi frowns deeply. “The Cheong’s have been dealing with the Takahashi’s. If the police get in there first, they’ll detain the guards and any evidence which includes their phones. If that happens, the Takahashi's get brought in…” He lets out a slow sigh. “That can’t happen. They’re under our protection for a while.”

You don’t ask any further questions. Picking it up, you turn the fob over in your hand, your thumb sliding over the metal print of the Mercedes sign. Letting out a small breath, you look up at Yoongi. “No holding back?”

Expression somber, he nods. “No holding back.”

Bang. 

Lowering your gun, you turn and walk away from the body as soon as you see you met your mark. 

Six down, two to go. 

Teeth gritted, you ignore the dull ache that starts to spread its way through your muscles. Just a few more and you can be out of here within an hour. 

As you approach the huge rusted doors of the warehouse, your chest rises and falls faster but you will yourself to breathe a bit slower as you lean against the door that’s been left ajar. 

Back against the metal, you strain your ears and listen for voices. 

You can make out at least three and your judgment tells you they’re around twenty feet away from the entrance where you stand. 

Ever so slowly, you edge closer until you can peer inside. The space ahead of you is mostly obscured by tall shelves carrying scaffolding poles — it’s the same set up as the last time you were here. The warehouse is disguised as a unit for scaffolding materials with aisle after aisle of tall shelves. This works greatly to your advantage so you can enter unseen. 

However, although you’re confident in your skill, you know that you can’t take on three armed men at the same time, so to make things easier for yourself, you draw them out. 

One hard knock on the metal door is enough. 

“The fuck was that?” You hear one voice say. 

“Oi, go check it out.”

“You go check it out, you pussy,”

“Who the fuck you calling pussy?”

“Prove it then, go fucking look.”

“I will, fucking idiot, don’t call me pussy.”

You hear a few more mumbles but you’re not paying attention as you draw the small Gerber Mark II from your thigh. Moving behind the door that’s slightly ajar, you wait with bated breath as you hear the sound of a gun cocking just a few feet away from you. 

Seconds later, the door is being kicked open further and you move steadily with it, careful not to make any noise behind the creaking metal. 

The door being pushed open further gives you better space to hide and as the man raises his rifle and steps out, aiming at the space around him cautiously, you quickly step out from behind the door to make your move. 

One hand clamps over his mouth as you press your chest against his back as close as you can to protect yourself if he tries to shoot. He doesn’t get much of a chance though, only managing to shoot one stray shot in a second of panic before the sharp edge of your knife is slicing his throat. 

He drops to the ground, body writhing and his gaze meets yours — your chest tightens and you have to look away as you shoot him once more in the head to end his misery. 

With no time to spare, you grab his phone and throw it hard against the warehouse wall. You know that the men inside will have heard the shot which means you need to hurry before they realize the rest of the guards are dead and call for more help. 

Hurriedly, you slip into the warehouse and move to hide behind the closest shelf while you hear the sounds of footsteps coming closer.

You hold your gun up towards the sound of the footsteps, ready to shoot as soon as someone comes into view. Finger hovering over the trigger, you wait patiently in your obscured position, and then the first man appears. 

Bang. Bang, Bang. The shots fire from your gun and before his body even hits the floor you’re stepping around the corner of the shelf and moving fast behind the next one to change your position before you get caught. 

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” A harsh voice bellows from where you just were. 

Of course you don’t respond, instead rushing down the length of the aisle. You reach the end and cautiously peer around the corner to see one of them by the entrance. He’s facing away from you, standing still with his gun raised. Without hesitation, you aim for his chest and pull the trigger. 

He drops to his knees first, his rifle dropping to the concrete ground before he falls. 

Your mistake is watching — from right next to his body, a man steps out with his gun raised right at you. He shoots and it misses you by a thread as you step back just in time. 

“Go around the other side!” You hear his voice call out and footsteps fill the space around you. 

Fuck. There’s two more men and you have nowhere to go from here, so you do what you have to do. 

Looking around the corner again, you see the man approaching. He shoots as soon as you stick your head out but this time you shoot back in his direction, noticing your advantage as he walks towards you out in the open. But you know that there’s the fourth guard coming in your direction so you have to be quick. 

You step back after every shot you take and after the third, you hear him swear out loud. One more look and you see him clutching his shoulder as blood drips down his arm. 

Before you can even shoot again, you’re alerted to the presence of someone behind you and just as you turn around to aim, a hard kick meets your ribs and your gun gets knocked out of your hands.

The pain shoots through you and your hand instinctively raises to the source as you stumble back, your other hand reaching for the glock. 

“Not so fast, pretty,” the guard says, grabbing your arm and pushing you against the shelf.

Your fumbling is useless and he grabs the gun from your holster, pressing the barrel up against your chin as his friends join him, guns all pointing right at you. 

Fuck. 

notes. i really hope you liked the little teaser and thank you for reading! please do share your thoughts with me as they help me when writing too! 💓

[ofallthingsnasty]

Cowboy croco?? 👀👀

Omg imagine him trying to wife up a cute fat darling 🙏🙏 hot

The thing is, to me he's either some ultra slimy, wicked business type who exploits people ruthlessly and gets them with debts/gag contracts or he's a Dutch Van der Linde (rdr2) guy with his own little group of outlaws (and has his fingers in pots the others do not know about...) - or maybe more like Colm O'Driscoll, but I digress...

Oh, but him having a little crisis - he is cunning and strong, has money and smarts and loyal men and all that, but he also can tell that he's in his mid-40s now. People in that line of 'work' (people in general, back then) aged worse - and I don't mean aesthetically, I mean physically. For all he knows, it's entirely possible for him to be dead this time next year; and he can feel the phantom pain in his lost hand whenever the weather changes more and more with every passing winter. 20 years ago, that quick way of living, that uncertainty didn't bother him at all, no, it added to the thrill of everything. That was the spice his 20s and 30s were made of - when the world was his oyster and the next big thing right around the corner. But now? He's richer than before, more crafty; he knows people and how they work, knows so much yet feels so empty... Going out in a blaze of glory would have been appealing just ten years ago, now it feels shallow and vain. It's not that he wants to settle down either, it's just-

Something is missing. Between almost 30 years on the road, the street, in the wilderness, the reeking towns and cramped cities and him lying and cheating and gunning his way through it all, he has been nothing but made of red-hot iron and fury. Suddenly he's more mellow; his evil oozes more than it spurts and he feels himself longing for something - someone. Someone to apply his little ointments for him, someone who cooks for him, someone who is a base for him whenever he returns from his exploits and so much more. He suddenly finds himself yearning for the comforts a wife provides, those little joys and genuine warmth money can't buy. It's strange, really. Utterly strange and out of character for a man like him. But age turns the best of them into sentimental fools and he doesn't seem to be an exception. He finds himself conjuring up someone in his mind whenever he lords over his whiskey or stares at the moon with a cigarette in hand; how nice just another presence would be, how he could afford a wife, how having someone to adore him might be more tempting than cold metal and gems in his hand. He could have both, he reasons, and experience a sliver of peace his life has never given him so far. He has heard many old men lament the loss of a woman; decades shared toiling together, building together - it never bothered him one bit before; now he wants what he can't have.

So when he spots you - widowed, all out on your own and desperate for money, fat with luxuries your dead husband could provide for you but that are now sorely missing, he sees an opportunity; someone to take advantage of. You're perfect, just made for him: desperate, soft and sweet, with years of homemaking and pleasing underneath your belt. Oh, he'll blind you. Deceive you with a front of charm and expensive clothes, with the promises of a home of your own and food on the table. You'll buy his lies hook, line and sinker - won't question him when he evades your inquiries about his work, won't even have the time to think about just where his rings come from when every day on your own just gets harder and harder because your money is running out. You've got a sweet face; the body of a fat little wife and are worn down enough by misfortune that you cling to him like a drowning cat. You'll only see that you married the devil himself after it's all said and done; that you've been dragged into the life of a horrible criminal who'll leave you widowed again - and with the wolves to come once he's been shot like a fucking dog, someday soon.

[underforeversgrace]

healing the wounds we hid - 3

title: healing the wounds we hid

words: 3,506

Finally, the sequel to broken trust and the wounds hidden behind! (Refresh here on AO3 or here on Tumblr)

Story Summary: Now that his father knows, Danny's life is changing for the better. Jack encourages him to let his friends and the rest of the family into his small word. Unbeknownst to Danny, Jack is secretly worried about how Maddie will react to the news upon her return to Amity - and how to confront Vlad once Jack learns his true identity. Amidst it all, an enemy lurks and plots their revenge.

Chapter 3 of 11: Missing You

AO3

Tumblr Chapter One

(Tumblr Chapter Four will be here)

Beta by: @probably-dead and @scarletsaphire!

Featuring art by @phantoms14! Please go check it out, it really is wonderful!

~~~~~~

“I’m so ready to come home. I miss all of you so much.” Maddie said on the other end of the line with a  sigh. “I haven’t been away from you or the kids for this long since they were born!”

“We miss you too. I can’t wait for you to come home.” Jack responded, hoping the lie wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to him.

“We’ll have to go out for a nice dinner or something! I’m sure there’s so much I need to be caught up on that I’ve missed.” Maddie jabbered excitedly.

“Ah, there isn’t much going on, Mads! I’m sure it’ll be a normal family dinner,” Jack lied. He’d talk to Danny when he got home. They needed to make a plan for telling Maddie and Jasmine. This family - after this - was done with secrets and lying and hurting each other, intentional or not.

Maddie began to say something else but her words were cut off by a yawn.

“Sounds like it’s time for you to go to bed,” Jack said.

“Yeah, it is kind of late,” Maddie agreed. “I’ll talk to you later this week, okay?”

“Sounds good, Mads. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jack. Tell the kids I love them?”

“Of course.”

“Good night! Or, well. Morning, for you.”

Jack laughed. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up the phone, returning it to its place on the wall and sighed deeply. He dropped his head into his hands as a familiar sense of fear and worry clouded his mind. He hated lying to his wife. He hated being afraid of what she’d do. He hated the uncertainty. He hated that, as much as he knew her and loved her, he still doubted if she’d accept Danny.

He hated that he’d looked into divorce lawyers, that he’d pulled a significant amount of money from their joint account and stashed it into an account in his own name. How had life come to this? How had he messed up this badly? He lifted his head, gazing at the closed door to the lab.

That stupid fucking portal. He had built it, designed it, with Maddie. How had neither of them realized they put the fucking ‘on’ button inside the portal? He held two doctorates, Maddie had three, yet neither of them thought something was off when they installed an ‘on’ button somewhere that couldn’t be reached without a fatality?

For two geniuses, they were incredibly stupid. Or arrogant, he supposed, that they trusted their own invention so much they never doubted their abilities for even a moment. Jack wasn’t sure which option was worse - stupidity or arrogance. Which was better to kill his son with? Which was a more justifiable reason?

He grit his teeth together until it hurt, returning his gaze to the floor as he grabbed and tugged painfully at his own hair. 

When the house was quiet and empty like this, Jack could hear the hum of electricity around him, could feel the permanent chill in the air that the portal caused. Did Jazz ever get too cold? Is that why she hated staying at home? Jack and Maddie had always thought the chill wasn’t that bad - neither kid had ever complained. But Maddie and Jack were protected from it by the hazmats they wore and Danny wasn’t even capable of feeling cold anymore, especially since his ice core had strengthened. But what about Jazz?

He glared below him, as if he could see the portal in the basement beneath him. He wished he could close it permanently, dismantle it, destroy it. But he and Danny had talked in the two weeks since the reveal. Danny would die without it, without the ectoplasm source to feed and energize his ghost half. Ironic, wasn’t it? The thing that spat out the enemies Danny faced was also the thing that gave the nutrients he needed to to live.

He’d wallowed in his own misery long enough. Jack forced himself to his feet and down the stairs, to his computer in the lab. Jack had been curious about Danny’s unique physiology. He’d told Danny as much, a few days after the clearing. He’d been worried Danny would think he just wanted to study him, and he’d never before known relief as profound as he got that day, when Danny admitted he was curious too. He’d done some of his own tests and studies, but would very much like an expert’s opinion, in case he ever got really hurt.

And then he’d smiled at Jack, and there had been no fear, no apprehension, no doubt in his son’s eyes. All these years, all these misunderstandings, all the time spent hurting Danny, could’ve been avoided if Jack had ever tried to talk to a ghost. If Jack had pulled his head out of his ass long enough to listen and learn.

There was nothing to be done now to fix it. All he could do was pick up the pieces their family had shattered into and try to put them back together as best he could, even if they were never the same again.

Jack settled onto his desk chair, pulling up the files. There was the information from the first day in the lab, where they’d tested Phantom’s powers. A smile tugged at his lips at the memory - the two of them laughing and learning together, Danny entirely unafraid of him. Jack wanted to test his son’s powers again in a few months, to see if Danny’s strength was growing or if it had plateaued. Even he had admitted he gained powers and abilities at an unprecedented rate among ghosts. It was a good idea to track his power progression. Plus, Jack just wanted an excuse to spend time with his son.

He scrolled further, studying the notes he’d taken from their discussions and tests since then. Danny truly was a scientific marvel, though Jack would never say that to his son’s face.

Danny’s human blood was red with bright green sparkles interspersed within, while his ghostly ectoplasm was green with streaks of crimson. His human heart rate was low and entirely silent as a ghost. Most of his vitals were like that - concerningly low if he was a normal human, and entirely absent as a ghost. His blood pressure, his oxygen saturation, his breathing rate - he breathed out of habit, as Phantom, not need. He was hypothermic as a human and subzero as a ghost.

It was fascinating and wonderful.

It was horrific and terrible.

Jack glanced through the data again, frowning. He was working on developing anesthesia or at least pain relievers that would work on Danny. He’d learned the pain pills were more to help Danny sleep, to force him into unconsciousness, rather than actual pain relief. That had been a hard conversation, asking Danny about the illegal narcotics under his bed. They still had the pills, but the bottle stayed with Jack now. Danny had grumbled half-heartedly when Jack told him that - “I’m responsible with them!” - but he hadn’t protested much, especially when Jack had explained it was because Jack was worried about him.

It might be odd that Jack was developing pain relief for his teenage son, but Jack had stitched enough wounds by now to know that Danny needed it. He hurt just as much as a ghost as he did a human.

Hours passed as Jack hypothesized about various chemical properties. He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the front door open upstairs, and he held his breath in anticipation.

Danny had agreed this morning to tell his friends about Phantom at school - after refusing to do it over the weekend - and Jack could only pray it had gone well.

The sound of three pairs of feet above him brought a wide smile to his face. He hurriedly left his seat, rushing up the stairs. The three were still in the living room as Jack made his way in, all chattering amongst each other as if no time had passed.

“Danny!” Jack exclaimed, nearly vibrating in excitement. He tried to rein in his exuberance, in case Danny hadn’t told them yet, but Jack had never been particularly good at that.

“Hey, Dad,” Danny greeted. He met his father’s eyes and answered the question he could see burning within them. “They know.”

Jack glanced over at the other two, who smiled and nodded at him. “They know?” He verified.

Danny laughed and suddenly white rings swept across him, morphing him into Phantom. “They know.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just turned and crushed his son’s friends into a hug. They both yelped in surprise, no longer used to a Jack Fenton hug after a year and a half without one. He released them quickly.

“Wait, I have a question.” Tucker piped up once he was free, eyeing Danny suspiciously.

“No, I never snuck into the girl’s locker room.” Danny said seriously, making the other three snort with laughter.

“Man, that’s the most surprising thing you’ve said today,” Tucker joked. “But, that wasn’t my question.”

“What is it, then?” Danny asked.

“Are you aware that you are the real life version of an anime magical girl now? You’ve even got the magical girl transformation sequence!” Tucker said, absolutely grinning from ear to ear.

Sam groaned and Danny cried out, placing a hand to his chest as though wounded. “I am not!”

“Dude, you even had a catchphrase earlier!”

“You wound me!” Danny said dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and falling backwards onto the couch, transforming back to human.

“You two are such idiots,” Sam muttered, but Jack could see the smile on her face at the ridiculousness.

Jack began to relax, the tenseness in his shoulders abating some. Danny’s friends were good people, and he was so happy his son had them.

“You kids hungry?” Jack asked, noticing the time. “My treat!”

“I’ll never turn down free food!” Tucker answered. 

“Everyone load up into the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle!” Jack declared, grabbing the keys from their hook on the wall.

Tucker whooped with excitement - that kid got so excited for food, he could’ve been Jack’s son too! - and they all climbed into the GAV. Jack actually drove like a normal human being for once, enjoying the sound of the kids’ chattering and laughter in the backseat.

Thoughts of Vlad tried to surface but Jack wrangled them back down. He’d never told them how much the young trio reminded him of Vlad’s, Maddie’s, and his  friendship in college.

He suppressed the thoughts as he pulled into a parking space at Nasty Burder. The four of them filed out and into the building, making their way to the counter to place their order. Jack fished his card out of his wallet and paid while the teens found somewhere for them to sit. He was on his way over to the table when Danny suddenly stood and bolted towards the bathroom, throwing a look to his father. Jack sighed and placed the table number for their order down in front of Sam, noting both her and Tucker’s worried face.

“He said there’s a ghost somewhere.” Tucker muttered, the earlier humor gone from his voice.

“Damn it,” Jack swore. “I’m going to go help him, you two stay right here. If it gets too dangerous you get out of the way, understand me?”

They nodded and Jack hurried outside as inconspicuously as possible. Luckily, he was Jack Fenton. People expected him to be weird, and when everything you do is weird, nothing is actually weird anymore.

As soon as he cleared the door, his eyes were on the sky, hand resting on his ecto blaster. He didn’t have to look hard for the ghosts; Plasmius flew in front of Jack, Phantom hot on his tail. Their words were lost to the wind as they dove behind the restaurant. Jack ran after them, pulling the weapon from its holster and clicking off the safety. He and Danny had been working on his aim and he had gotten much better!

“Come, Daniel, I’m just here to talk,” Plasmius’s voice echoed from around the corner. Jack peeked, electing not to attack yet. Danny had emphasized that he tried his best to not attack first, to try and talk it out, as even the more violent ghosts could sometimes be persuaded away. Jack knew Plasmius was one of the most dangerous and aggressive ghosts in Amity, and he didn’t want to start an unnecessary fight. He frowned slightly; he couldn’t really see anything from this spot - Plasmius’s back was to him and he could only see a part of Danny.

“And be a massive pain in my ass?” Danny said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other ghost in irritation.

“Be reasonable, child,” Plasmius said smoothly. “I haven’t even done anything.”

“Yet.” Danny grumbled.

“Come, little badger. I know your second death day is approaching - it’s just two months away now, isn’t it?”

Jack stiffened as Plasmius spoke, a sudden dread settling in his stomach like a rock.

No. His mind whispered. Little badger?

Danny had likewise tensed, unaware of his father’s presence. “How did you know that?”

“You died turning on a portal, my son. While your death may not be notable within the Realms, that portal turning on is.”

“I am not your son, you goddamn fruit loop!” Danny shouted and Jack’s knees gave out beneath him.

Little badger. Fruit loop.

Vlad.

Jack had known Vlad had to be an enemy of his son’s, Danny had let him know the day of the Spectra incident that he didn’t have any allies that frequented the human world. But Plasmius? Who had possessed Jack in Wisconsin, who ruthlessly chased Phantom down just to beat him to a pulp once a week?

Who had called Jack a bumbling buffoon more than once, who had looked at Jack with such hatred. Who had become one of Amity’s frequent fliers right after Vlad Masters moved in.

Jack would quite like for his world to stop imploding, thank you very much. How many more surprises could his heart take?

He didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, instead drowning in his thoughts, crushed under their weight.  He’d hoped Vlad was one of the more unremarkable ghosts - the ones who sometimes caused minor, harmless havoc but otherwise just existed, not even worth being hunted (back when he still hunted ghosts).

Of course Vlad couldn’t be bland or boring. Jack should’ve known better. Vlad was practically allergic to being anything resembling normal - the man had been an ecto science major because it was the most unusual major he could find, not because he’d believed in ghosts. Jack nearly snorted at the irony.

The non-believer, the ecto science student who didn’t think ghosts were real, was the one who got turned into a half ghost.

He was startled by a sudden ectoblast sounding from where the two argued. Jack shook his anxiety off as he stood, again poking his head around the corner. Danny’s hand was smoking and Plasmius’s - Vlad’s - cape was singed.

“Stay the fuck away from me and my family.” Danny growled, rage in his eyes. An uncomfortable shiver went down Jack’s back - he’d never heard Danny sound so… inhuman. His voice was more animalistic, more echoed, more eerie. It nearly sounded like static.

“Another time, then,” Plasmius said as he rose higher in the air. Green energy began to crackle around Danny’s hand again in warning. Plasmius merely sighed and flew away.

Jack waited a moment, making sure Vlad had flown out of sight, before fully stepping around the corner. Phantom’s face immediately smoothed from the rabid rage he’d been glaring at Vlad with, softening as he relaxed.

Part of Jack wanted to demand answers from Danny, demand to know what was going on with Vlad, but he found he couldn’t. These were his answers to find, his wrong to right.

“You good, son?” Jack asked. “I heard the ectoblast and saw Plasmius.”

Danny shrugged. “I’m more than a match for him, no worries.” He glanced around, confirming they were alone before shifting back to human. “Back to dinner?”

“Yeah, c’mon, son,” Jack agreed, ignoring the sense of guilt in the back of his mind. Was this lying? Technically neither of them had really said much about Plasmius, and Jack hadn’t technically lied either!

He was electing to ignore the fact lies of omission were a thing. Danny and he made their way back to the table, Sam and Tucker immediately lowering their voices to ask if he was alright, Tucker fretting slightly and checking Danny over for injuries.

Had Vlad had anyone to check him over for injuries since he’d died?

Pervasive thoughts of Vlad filled his mind for the rest of the night, even after he’d dropped Sam and Tucker off at their respective houses. He hoped his distraction tonight wasn’t too obvious as he planned his next steps.

It was time to confront Vlad.

~~~~~~

“Sir, we’ve been trying for two months,” the IT agent said, frowning. “Phantom fried the servers and we don’t have off-site backups. I’m sorry, O. There’s nothing left for us to try.”

Operative O growled, grabbing the front of the agent’s shirt with one hand and pulling him closer. “Keep working!” He shouted, spit flying into the other man’s face.

The IT agent - Agent Bit - glared at O, but was helpless to do anything other than return his focus to the computer, unable to defy a command from someone so high up the power chain. “I’ll try, but I can’t really do anything else. The servers and hard drives were fried - hell, pretty much every piece of technology in the building was. Have the scientists been able to figure out how Phantom did that? It was confirmed to have an ice core, after all.”

O was silent for a moment, looking at his other hand. Well… the experimental, robotic prosthetic that had replaced his real hand. The damage done to both him and the GIW facility in Phantom’s wake had been immense. He focused on the hand, flexing the mechanical fingers, not quite feeling it. The connections between the prosthetic and the actual nerves in his hand were underdeveloped.

“We don’t know,” O admitted, eyeing Bit. “But I intend to capture him again and find out.”

“It,” Bit corrected. “Calling a ghost a ‘him’ makes it sound like a person.”

“I intend to capture it and find out, then,” O said, rolling his eyes, though Bit couldn’t see it beneath his glasses. “I expect an update within a week, Bit.”

With that, O turned on his heel and left the room, clenching and unclenching his metal hand as memories bubbled up within him.

Operative O had been the only survivor of the explosion, at least of the people in the room with Phantom. Some had been electrocuted to death, but most had been crushed. O’s partner - Operative K - was among the dead, a fact that still ripped into his heart. They had been friends, they’d started together, gone to training together. When someone became a Guys in White agent, anything from a janitor to the director, they gave up their previous life, their friends, their family. K had become his brother in arms… and simply O’s brother.

They’d been born into their new lives together and had been partners for over a decade.

And then that damn ghost happened. K hadn’t been one of the lucky ones. He’d been partially crushed beneath rubble, forced to suffer a slow death. He’d bled out in O’s arms, had cried into and stained O’s white suit. They had known the internal bleeding would kill him before the rescue team would find them. O had been left with his corpse for hours, feeling his friend go cold and stiff in his lap.

Then… nothing. All the deceased were rounded up to be cremated, the ashes dumped like trash. The official statement of the Ghost Investigation Ward had been that it had been a gas leak explosion, that everyone was fine, only a handful of minor injuries.

There was no mourning of the lost agents. No acknowledgement of their sacrifice. They’d given their lives but weren’t given graves.

O paused as he felt a twinge of pain in his left hand - the phantom pain of a hand he no longer had - and his scowl deepened.

He’d realized when they had Phantom in custody that the ghost could feel pain at a human level. He’d almost been sympathetic until the explosion happened, until he lost the one person in the world who really knew him.

Now, he didn’t care about Phantom’s ability to feel pain. He hoped Phantom could feel it. He’d killed a dozen people in that blast. Operative O would make sure that the ghost boy paid for that with his own afterlife, if it was the last thing O ever did.

[chicagocubsreactions]

Craig Counsell Always Wanted to End Up With the Cubs

[original article]

As Craig Counsell headed into manager free agency this month, two objectives stood at the top of his wish list: kickstart what had been a fallow financial market for managers and coaches and to honor his Midwestern roots. Only the Cubs could satisfy those two objectives. That is why he is the Chicago manager today.

The results of managerial manic Monday—Counsell to the Cubs, David Ross out of a job in Chicago, Carlos Mendoza to the Mets and Stephen Vogt to the Guardians—seemed shocking in the staccato burst of news. Counsell to the Cubs seemed like the biggest shock of all. But based on Counsell’s roots and desire to get to free agency in the first place, the result makes perfect sense.

The Cubs knew this, which is why they placed a call to him on the first day he was a free agent.

Chicago was very much aware that Counsell grew up and lives in Wisconsin, played at Notre Dame, has sons playing college baseball at Minnesota and Michigan and has two daughters in high school in Wisconsin. “The Midwest [pull] is real,” says one source familiar with negotiations between Counsell and the Cubs.

As the Cubs did their homework, knowing Counsell chose to play this year out rather than sign an extension with Milwaukee, they were told by one of Counsell’s friends, “If he ever managed anywhere else, the Cubs have always been his dream job.”

Counsell became a free agent on Nov. 1, the day after his Milwaukee contract expired. The Cubs called Nov. 1, such was their interest in acquiring what one team source called “one of the one or two best managers in the game.”

By then, the Mets already had contacted Counsell. They jump-started the process when David Stearns, the Mets’ newly hired president of baseball operation, called his old club, Milwaukee, for permission to talk to Counsell before his contract expired. With the money of New York owner Steve Cohen and with the shared history of Stearns and Counsell—seven years together as GM and manager in Milwaukee—the Mets were portrayed as the most likely team to sign Counsell.

There were two problems with that assumption. Stearns did not hire Counsell in Milwaukee. He inherited him when he was named GM in September 2015. They worked well together but were not particularly close, especially as Milwaukee emphasized analytics more in game decisions. Moreover, the Mets’ advantage of money was offset by geography and where the team stands on the winning curve. It is not a plum job despite plum money.

“Over the last few days people were still writing that it looked like it was Counsell’s job,” says a source who spoke to Counsell during that time. “That wasn’t the case. He was all but out over the past few days. New York was not at the top of his list.”

Says one executive, “If you look at recent history, managers don’t come out well on the other side of that job.”

Mendoza will be the sixth named manager of the Mets in the past eight seasons, following Terry Collins, Mickey Callaway, Carlos Beltran, Luis Rojas and Buck Showalter. Going back to Jerry Manuel and Art Howe, the past seven Mets managers have not landed another managing gig after leaving Queens.

Stearns needed a manager with experience and/or a working understanding of the New York landscape. He settled on Mendoza, the former Yankees bench coach who turns 44 this month and has not managed above Class A ball. It comes at a time when the race to identify the next inexperienced managerial whiz has lost its luster as experience returns results. The ages of the past six World Series managers: 58 (Torey Lovullo), 59 (Rob Thomson), 65 (Brian Snitker), 68 (Bruce Bochy), 72 (Dusty Baker) and 73 (Baker).

The Mets were 29 games worse than Atlanta last year, the furthest they have been from first place in 20 years. The job comes with uncertainty in terms of how quickly they can rebuild. Likewise, Counsell’s free agency came just as Milwaukee is staring at a rebuild. Pitcher Brandon Woodruff underwent shoulder surgery and could be out for all of next year. Pitcher Corbin Burnes and shortstop Willy Adames could be traded this winter in advance of pending free agency.

The Cubs, however, are on the upswing, just as they were (if not quite as sharply) when the team dumped incumbent manager Rick Renteria in favor of free agent manager Joe Maddon after the 2014 season. Similarly, the Cubs liked Ross but decided when one of the game’s best managers is available and that person has strong ties to the Midwest, they felt obligated to pursue the top talent.

Chicago gave Counsell $40 million over five years. The annual salary of $8 million is a record, topping the $7.5 million Joe Torre earned from the Yankees more than 20 years ago ($13.3 million in today’s dollars). As analytics grew in baseball, executives became stars, not managers. Executives not only came to earn more than managers but they also reduced the influence of managers by relying on information-backed systems rather than wisdom.

For instance, when the Cubs hired Maddon, they paid him $5 million per year. President of baseball operations Theo Epstein was making $3.7 million. By the time Epstein left he was making $10 million, and the manager/GM balance of power in MLB had flipped.

The financial market for managers cratered in the analytics age. Terry Francona, with two World Series titles, reportedly was the game’s highest paid manager last season at $4.5 million. Maddon’s contract eight years ago (before he won a title) equates to $6.8 million in today’s dollars. Likewise, contracts for major league coaches remain stagnant at a time when the minimum player salary has risen 42% in the past eight years to $720,000.

“That’s one reason why you see so many coaches today who never played in the big leagues,” says one AL coach. “It’s almost like asking, ‘Who wants to coach for $120,000?’ There are a lot of guys who never played who would volunteer in a heartbeat. But if you’re in a big market, with taxes and living expenses, you’re almost working for free.”

The investment in Counsell is a signal that the Cubs are all in next season. You don’t hand out the most lucrative contract for a manager without consolidating that investment on the player side.

Conversely, the Brewers offered Counsell a raise from $3.5 million to $5.5 million but were never going to get to the level of Cubs money. Just days ago, they traded veteran outfielder Mark Canha to Detroit for a minor league reliever, rather than bring him back for $11.5 million or pay a $2 million buyout.

“What I don’t get is why the Brewers just didn’t pay to keep him,” says a source close to Counsell.

Based on how the teams are positioned and market resources, Counsell was worth more to the Cubs than to the Brewers. Milwaukee is scheduled to meet Tuesday morning with Pat Murphy, Counsell’s bench coach and former coach at Notre Dame, about replacing Counsell. Murphy also is expected to be offered a job on Counsell’s staff in Chicago.

Milwaukee could stay in house as it develops young players from its productive farm system, or it could try to take the public relations sting out of losing the franchise’s best manager—to the rival Cubs, no less—by hiring a “name brand” manager. Among those likely choices, according to a source, are Ross and Don Mattingly.

[loominggaia]

Is it alright if I can hear more info about Habbrene, (Sofia’s Elf slave/caretaker) did she used to have a free life or was she born as a slave? Is she older than Sofia given Elf lifespans?

I'm glad you asked, because Habrene actually has a really interesting history that doesn't come into play until way later in the series, so this gives me a chance to talk about it!

Habrene was born to a very notorious family in Mogdir Kingdom...her aunt is the leader of the Mogdiri mafia! The same mafia that has a bunch of dirt on King Oberon, and almost acts as a shadow-government in the region because of it.

Habrene's parents were heavily involved in the family "business". But one day, they got caught embezzling money from it, and the leader was not happy about this. She punished her brother by sending her personal goons to kill his wife and child daughter.

These goons were so crooked, however, they realized they could make even more money by selling the woman and child to slavers instead. They tossed Habrene and her mother to Kelvingyard, made a quick buck, and told their leader that the two were dead. What are the chances she'd ever find out the truth? Since Habrene and her mother were being sent all the way to Noalen, not very likely.

So, Habrene ended up in Kelvingyard for a time, until she was purchased by the Galanis family as a gift to Sofia Atlas. The fate of her mother is unknown.

Habrene was tasked with being Sofia's personal caretaker. She is meek, subservient, and decidedly quiet about her past, because she knows if anyone found out who she was, they would likely random her back to her murderous aunt.

She dreams of reuniting with her mother and father one day, but she also believes that dreams never come true...She has convinced herself that she's in the best position she can hope for, because being Sofia's caretaker is still leagues better than life in Kelvingyard, or being murdered by the mafia.

Habrene's biggest fear is an inevitable reality: that one day Sofia will die, and she will end up back at Kelvingyard or somewhere even worse. She regards her future with fear and uncertainty, knowing it can only end in misery.

But what if she's wrong? What if there is a better future in store? She has heard of the slave liberators running amok all over Evangeline Kingdom since the big jailbreak at Kelvingyard. She is curious about them, but also afraid of them. She has formed a bond with Sofia, regarding her as her only friend and mother-figure, so she did not join the liberators last time they attacked Atlas Farms. Instead, she hid from them while most of Sofia's other slaves seized freedom.

Will Habrene ever have the courage to abandon her enslaver? She must make her decision quickly, before Sofia dies and her worst fear comes to pass! Or maybe unforseen events will come along and push her in a direction she never imagined...

We'll see what the future has in store for Habrene going forward!

*

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Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[naoa-ao3]

It Never Rains in Southern California

Termination was an ugly business.

Ugly for the one getting the sack and the Watchers Council had little use for drawn out or contested terminations.

Wesley had gotten a letter and a phone call.

The letter had been from the Council and the phone call had come from his father. Both had been brief and each had left him with an empty pit in his stomach and no uncertainty of his own worthlessness.

His disgrace with the Council was so great that they hadn't even sent him a ticket home and he had been stuck between the rent on his leased place and affording a plane ticket.

He hadn't even asked his father for help. Hadn't gotten in more than a few mumbled words on the phone. There had been a lot about his failures and the disappointments and shame he had wrought. That had been the bulk of it.

With the Mayor defeated and the children graduated time seemed to have come to a stand still.

Cordelia had left Sunnydale almost immediately and with the school gone the others were no longer forced to include him in their meetings.

Wesley had eventually decided to leave town too.

He'd thought of stopping and speaking to Giles but in the end he hadn't seen much use in it. Giles hadn't particularly liked him and he supposed now that some of that had been his own fault. He had been pompous and rude but then they hadn't exactly made things easy for him either and Giles had been there the whole time making sure no one took him seriously.

The battle with the Mayor had been hell on earth but it had prevented a more real kind of hell from spreading and shamefully he couldn't say that he remembered more than the beginning. He'd been knocked unconscious almost immediately.

And now he was on the road, no money to rent a car and crammed onto a buss with fifteen or so other people.

The truth was he did have some cash but with no employment in the foreseeable future he was choosing to be careful with it. A bus was cheaper than a car and easier for him too at this point.

He slept most of the way and woke up outside of Los Angeles to the sound of people clamoring off of the bus.

It was dark out as he checked his watch and squinted through the grimy window at the world outside. The city was in the distance so why had they stopped?

He looked around and saw that it was just him and an old woman on the bus. Everyone else was outside.

"Have we broken down?" He asked her.

She looked at him, wrapped in a coat that didn't agree with the weather outside and didn't answer.

Curious, he rose and exited the bus, looking for the driver in the small throng of people. There was no smoke coming from the bus and he saw now they were parked outside of a small rest stop.

People were lighting cigarettes around him and stretching their legs but he couldn't tell which was the driver and it made him uneasy stopping like this. There were too many things in the night the others weren't thinking of.

The bus driver is smoking and so he heads to the rest stop and it's bathroom, ancient linoleum cracked under foot and sink hazardous to touch.

He feels humbled in a way. Like someone in the movies catching a bus into L.A..

It's not where he's ever seen himself ending up but here he is.

On the outskirts of a glowing monolith, L.A. with her Boulevards and Rows. Her Hills and Valleys.

He's too ashamed to go home.

He washes his hands despite the hazardous sink and stares at himself in the dirty mirror.

He's fucked up. He's fucked up so bad and the worst part is he'll think it again in the future and it will be much worse but right now this is the most he's ever fucked up and he feel's sick with it. Stepped on.

All of his school down the drain. . . years of studying and researching. . . of trying to prove himself and be good enough. . . he'd never felt good enough and now he knew he wasn't.

He didn't even know what he was going to do in L.A..

He doesn't dry his hands on the towel that's got what looks like a few years on it already and shakes them out as he leaves the bathroom.

Outside he doesn't see the others and looks around, feeling a tingling sensation creep up his spine.

It's dead silent out and there's no wind.

He pulls his jacket around him, finding it more suitable for the climate now and returns to the bus, seeing no one on it.

The he looks down spots a cigarette butt still glowing in the dirt. . . there's a few of them. . . all glittering like little stars.

He looks up and feels his skin break out in goosebumps as he steps onto the bus.

The old woman is still there, sitting in her coat with her hands in her lap, clutching a handbag that's nearly as old as she is. "

"What's happened to everyone?" He asks.

She looks up and shifts slightly, pointing out the window. "They all went out there." She say's in a croaked voice.

He looks where she's pointing.

Where the cigarette butts are laying.

"I afraid I just came form out there, are you alright?"

She shifts again and lowers her arm, looking at him with ancient eyes. "You're the last." She breaths.

He blinks and then realizes he very much does not want to be on the bus at this moment.

He stumbles backwards but she's rising out of her seat, coat rustling as she stands impossibly tall in the cramped, little, bus.

The doors open and he falls into the dirt and the cigarette butts, scampering away and to his feet and noticing a strange kind of blackness on his hands as he runs.

It's a demon. It's some kind of demon and it killed everyone else on the bus.

He runs for the rest stop and flings himself into the bathroom, chest heaving and heart hammering.

He doesn't know if the old woman has followed him yet but he'll need to know in a second.

Think, he tells himself. . . willing the gears in his mind to work. He knows what this is. Yes it's a demon obviously but he knows. . . he's read about this.

It's a Resamun. . . it eats travelers. . . it's a shap shifting demon. . .

He can almost picture the text book, the pages. . .

It's usually noncorporeal except when it eats. . . it hides in groups of travelers. . . it's vulnerable to Iron and. . .

Or did it haunt rest stops and places like this?

Maybe it could do both. . . he'll look it up after he remembers what it's vulnerable to.

This is a basic level demon.

He was just unprepared.

Like he'd been the entire time in Sunnydale.

He shuts his eyes and thinks hard.

The demon is weak against water. People can't travel in the rain and so neither could it even if the times had changed that some but this is Southern California. . . it never rains here.

He stares around him and his eyes land on the sink. The thing will dissolve if he get's it wet, maybe even die.

He has to get the water to the demon and his mind works furiously to devise a way. He has to act soon. The thing will be after him.

He's the last one.

He thinks of the cigarette butts in the grass and wonders if he should have known sooner. If he should have guessed at all. If those smoldering butts are all his fault.

He finds a bottle of cleaning solution under the end sink and dumps it down the drain, refilling it with water and stepping back outside.

The old woman is in the bus door, impossibly tall in her coat.

He straightens his shirt and walks towards her. "You're a Resamun demon." He says, lifting his chin slightly.

He has the upper hand now.

"You absorbed all of them, didn't you?"

The old woman steps off the bus and seems to grow a little as she shuffles towards him but she's slow and so he opens the jug.

He could warn her, tell her what he's going to do but he doesn't.

He's tired and he's fucked up again.

He throws the water on her and she stops, look of shock on her ancient face before she shivers and turns into a cloud of steam.

He's alone again and this time the wind lifts his hair.

The city is in the distance and the sun is coming up too, far away.

The butts aren't glowing in the grass any more.

His last stop before L.A. and he supposes that at least he did get the demon in the end.

He wishes he could feel good about it as he get's his bag and leaves the bus and rest stop and everything else behind.

Later, when the sun is fully up he'll find a car dealership and buy a bike and no longer footing it he'll pass into L.A., heading towards more than he can imagine.