#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

[bixiaoshi]

[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 2009

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)

[honeydixonn]

Back to Friends, Myung-Gi

one, salesman

2042 words

summary

Ha Nari had always believed that the night she spent with Myung-Gi wasn't just a moment between friends. It felt like something deeper—an unspoken connection, an act of longing and love. In her heart, she thought that they might become something more. But when Myung-Gi disappeared without a word after his crypto investment failed and he lost everything, that hope shattered. Every text she sent, every call she made, every letter she wrote—none were answered. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth, leaving nothing but silence in his wake. She was left to wonder if it had all been a figment of her imagination.

She needed answers. Why had he left without an explanation? Was it because of what happened between them? Had it all been a mistake from the beginning? The questions haunted her, gnawing at her every waking moment.

As the months passed, Nari's situation worsened. The money she had left after her failed attempt to follow him into the world of crypto ran out. Her debts piled up, and with no way to move forward, she grew desperate. She used the last of her savings in a futile attempt to find him, following every lead, every whisper, hoping to understand what had driven him to abandon her and everything they had shared.

But hope seemed like a distant memory, and as the weight of her mounting debt crushed her spirit, she was ready to give up. That was when a salesman appeared at her feet, offering her the chance to play a game. He promised it would change everything—an opportunity to win enough money to replace the life she had lost, to fix what had been broken. What she didn't know was that this game would lead her straight back to Myung-Gi, to the man who had disappeared without a trace, leaving her with more questions than answers.

Unknowingly, she was about to step into a world of uncertainty, where the past would collide with the present and force her to confront the man who had haunted her thoughts for so long.

The bold, red negative number glared at her from the screen, the phone's glow casting harsh light on her tear-streaked face. Nari stared at the figure: negative two million won. Her hands trembled as the reality set in. Her bank account was empty—no, worse than empty. The endless automatic bill payments had drained every last won she had.

Her credit score? She didn't even dare check.

Tears welled up in her eyes as her breath hitched, each gasp echoing the ache in her chest. All of this—this suffocating debt and misery—was because of someone who hadn't even had the decency to say goodbye. Myung-Gi. The man she once trusted had vanished without a trace, leaving her to clean up the mess he'd made.

And then came the others. The ones Myung-Gi had swindled with his flashy promises and bogus cryptocurrency scheme, Dalmatian Crypto. Broke and bitter, they had come for her.

Nari didn't understand how they knew about her connection to him, but they knew. Three men had shown up at her door, demanding restitution for their losses from MG Coin. And when she explained she didn't have the money, they gave her no choice.

For six agonizing months, they bled her dry. Every paycheck, every tip, every single won she managed to scrape together went to them. If she didn't deliver the payment on time, their threats would escalate, forcing her to give up even the small savings she set aside for food.

Her life was no longer her own. She lived in constant fear, moving from couch to couch, staying with anyone kind enough to take her in for a night or two. The weight of it all crushed her, and yet, if someone asked her if she hated Myung-Gi for abandoning her, her answer would sting even more than the debt.

Because, despite everything, she still loved him.

Every sleepless night, she worried. Was he dead in some back alley, taken out by the same men who now tormented her? Was he hiding, suffering, just like she was? All she wanted was one last conversation. An explanation. A chance to forgive him face-to-face.

But forgiveness wouldn't erase the 83 million won she now owed. And it wouldn't change the fact that she was sitting alone on a cold bench in a crowded metro station, trying to disappear in plain sight.

The station was her only refuge tonight—too public for the men to find her, let alone hurt her. She sighed, holding the power button on her phone until the screen went black, the glow disappearing from her face. Her head fell back against the wall as the distant murmur of footsteps and chatter filled her ears.

Then came a soft tap on her shoulder.

Nari's eyes snapped open, meeting the warm smile of a man dressed in a sleek gray suit. His polished briefcase rested by his side.

"Hello, miss. May I have a word with you?"

She blinked, her exhaustion clear. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any money," she replied sincerely, assuming he was trying to sell her something.

His smile didn't falter. "Oh, I'm not here to sell anything. I was wondering if you'd like to play a quick game of ddakji."

Nari frowned. Ddakji?

The man opened his briefcase, revealing stacks of neatly folded red and blue squares of paper alongside bundles of cash.

"Each time you win," he said, "I'll pay you 100,000 won. " He grinned back at her.

He watched the way her eyes flickered between him and the money, how her lip was taken between her teeth as she traveled into thought.

He noticed the short black dress she wore that complimented her makeup well. If she wasn't a client he might've asked her to accompany him at dinner.

"So, you would pay me... to flip your ddakji?" He chuckled at her expression, pulling 10,000 won from the briefcase.

"Hard to believe, but yes. I'll even give you 10,000 won to start. Sound fair?" Nari nodded her head as she gently took the money from his hand, bowing her head in thanks as she put it in her hand wallet.

"Shall we?" The salesman stood, extending his callused hand out to her with a gentle smile.

She placed her hand on his standing from the bench as she straightened herself out. "How about you play first, darling? Pick the color you'd like." Nari took the blue ddakji from his hands and followed him a few steps away so they could play.

She hesitated, her gaze darting between the paper squares and the crisp bills. Her lips parted, her teeth catching her lower lip in thought. It was absurd. And yet, 100,000 won was more than she'd seen in months.

"I'll have you know I'm fairly well at ddakji," she said finally, her voice laced with playful curiosity. The two moved from the bench, a more spacious area for the children's game.

What began as a harmless game soon spiraled into something darker.

At first, the man kept his promises, handing her money each time she successfully flipped his ddakji. But when he won a round, his demeanor shifted.

"If I win," he said with a sly grin, "you'll pay with your body."

Nari froze, her breath hitching as her smile vanished. "Excuse m—"

Her protest was cut short by the sharp sting of his hand striking her cheek.

"I don't play for free," he said casually, as if the slap were just part of the game.

She stared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Every fiber of her being urged her to walk away, but the crushing weight of her empty wallet and overwhelming debt rooted her to the spot. Desperation had a way of drowning out reason.

As she began to bend down to pick up the ddakji, his hand gently stopped her. "You're wearing a dress. Allow me—I'm still a gentleman, miss." He offered her a polite smile, crouching down to retrieve the blue ddakji. With care, he dusted it off before holding it out to her.

By the time their game ended, Nari had earned 510,000 won—but at the cost of her dignity and a cheek burning red with humiliation.

As she sat on the bench, attempting to conceal the marks with her makeup, the man leaned in closer.

"You know," he began, "there are bigger games you can play. Games where you could make far more than this."

"I'm not sure..." The salesman stood from his seat looking down at her with false sincereness in his eyes. "Miss. Ha. You are currently paying back debts that aren't yours. Your name is Ha Nari." Her eyes widened as his name was spoken from his lips.

Had they found her again?

Before she could speak he continued telling her information.

"You're twenty-seven years old. You studied at Ewha Womans University. You currently work at Jungsik Seoul as a hostess. You're paying back the debts of a few men who lost money from following MG Coin, a channel by a friend of yours. You work day to day to pay the men off with nothing left for you."

Nari shakily stood from the bench staring him in his eyes as she stepped back from his reach. "How do y- Who are you?" He smiled back at her as if the situation was humorous for him.

The man pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. It was tan with black lettering, marked only by a triangle, square, and circle.

"There's an opportunity waiting for you," he said. "Think it over."

Before she could question him further, he walked away, leaving her with nothing but the cryptic card and a gnawing sense of unease.

Later that night, as she walked back to the place she was staying, her mind raced. The card burned in her wallet like a secret too heavy to carry.

She pulled out her phone, staring at the wallpaper—a photo of her and Myung-Gi during happier times. Her throat tightened, tears threatening to spill again.

"I'll fix this," she whispered, dialing the number printed on the back of the card.

173-333.

The dialing tone rang in her ear as she placed the phone against her cheek. "Hello, who's calling?" A man's voice filled her ear, yet it wasn't the same as the salesman from earlier.

"Oh, is this the man from the metro?" She waited for an answer yet she was provided with instructions instead. "Do you wish to participate in the game? If you'd like to participate, please state your name and date of birth."

Nari took a sharp breath before clearing her throat. "Ha Nari, April 24th, 1993." She heard breathing on the other end of the phone as it filled the silence.

"Details have been sent to your phone. Follow the instructions. Say the password upon arrival."

When the call ended, her phone buzzed with a message containing the location.

Twenty-five minutes later, she stood trembling on a desolate street corner. A silver van pulled up beside her, its window rolling down to reveal a masked figure in a pink suit.

"Ha Nari?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Password?"

"Red Light, Green Light," she whispered.

The van door slid open, and she climbed inside and into the back away from the man, the sharp hiss of gas filling the air before darkness consumed her.

She should have never made the call.

[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.

[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.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Being scammed is a horrible experience, but it’s interesting seeing where the pain comes from.

The money isn’t the big thing, oddly enough. Not even for me, someone living so close to the edge that every single penny counts.

I didn’t lose so much that I can’t keep going. As long as I remember it’s less than what my bank charges me in maintenance fees in a years or all the times I’ve goofed up and done something (ex. like ordering that damn oven part) that wasted money, I can live with it. Oh, I will suffer from no wiggle room for luxuries, and knowing a month’s worth of money saved through food rationing was erased, but I had saved enough it won’t do me inThat souring on the human race, realizing that people out there are so horrible they would deliberately target someone so vulnerable, isn’t the big thing either. Even though I had never fallen for a scam before, I knew all too well a lot of people were like that. Lots and lots.

See, I’ve always realized people tend to be tangles of self interest.

You don’t need to jump on me for not seeing the good in people. I do. That selfish absorption can be a good thing. We can see others as part of ourself, the “we”, the “us”.

I know there are good people, and don’t completely hate the human race. But allow me to lean towards thinking the horrible might just outnumber the good for a bit, as I sit her wounded. My natural tendency to the benefit of the doubt and hopefulness, to look to the good, did me in here, and I need to admit it.

The embarrassment and shame aren’t the biggest thing that will linger. I have spent my life feeling exceptionally sensitive to both, so this incident gets tossed into a pile. A mountain. Yes, sure, it’s worse than calling someone by the wrong name, but is it really as bad as in elementary school wetting myself in class? I don’t think so! It won’t be the top ten things I dwell on in attacks of self loathing. It will have to work hard to squeeze into the top twenty!

Facing my own stupidity isn’t the big take away either. Oh, yes, I was exceptionally stupid, and that hurts my pride. That’s without question. I saw things in all this that felt weird and wrong, but I let my goodwill and hope over ride my brain. It’s less I was stupid, and more I let my emotions hit the override switch. Besides, despite growing up being called “smart”, I’ve always been acutely aware if the limitations of that. i was always telling folks I wasn’t THAT smart, and here I have proof. Oh joy! LOL

No, I think the biggest scar I will carry is an awareness of how worn down I’ve gotten that I could be such easy prey.

My life has been crumbling away beneath my feet.

My ability to survive has become precarious to the point the very physical basic infrastructure of my life (food, shelter, transportation, heating, etc) has become dangerously eroded.

I have been worrying so deeply about so many things I forget if there is any other way to feel.

And then I’ve felt under assault, in very personal way with thieves and vandals, and in a much bigger than me way with the recent election

I’ve been grieving for so many and so much. Family. Pets. A life. Most of all right now, a sort swelling anticipatory grief my Mom who is failing fast.

I’ve been fearing the bleakness of my future and the uncertainty I can possibly continue to survive.

I’ve been utterly exhausted and chronically sleep deprived.

I have a body collapsing in on itself with injuries, illness, and neglect. I am, quite simply, rotting away.

And I deal with all if it alone.

What lured me in?

It is true money was involved, and I am about as poor as a person can get** so an offer of money for something that seems reasonable was going to tempt me. This is especially true now with this onslaught of bills I hadn’t expected and can’t afford.c

But, honestly I suspect the real hook was in the flattery.

I spend most my time alone and ignored. I post my stuff on Tumblr, and get a handful of likes, mostly from the same (MUCH loved) regulars. I think the stuff is kinda blah, especially since I have no time or energy for making things. So someone saying “Hey, I love this thing you made!” was going get me. Every time.

“OMG, someone likes my stuff! And they want to give me money for it!” is the perfect attack for someone struggling with an extreme lack of money and appreciation. I need money to live, and I need love to want to live.

The scam itself is utterly obvious to a clear eye, but unfortunately I was so worn down my eyes were anything but clear. They were the blurry eyes of sleep deprivation and tears in the middle of a very bad night. It’s like stumbling to the bathroom in the dark and seeing a shape by that wall. You tell yourself it’s a coat, muzzily forgetting you have’t a place to hang a coat there until it is too late.

I had swatted away countless scams, endless scams, and probably quite a few legit opportunities, over the years. By my nature I am very cautious. And yet, when I could least afford to do so, I fell this time.

Because I had already fallen. Fallen apart. Fallen down. Fallen into hard times.

Oh, the scammer did a good job, putting a nice bit of effort to make the scam convincing. Not astoundingly so, not without plenty of things I even saw in the moment. But they also got lucky. Any other time in my life, anyone else I could have bounced it off of, I wouldn’t have gone for it. But, I was a starving fish, and yes that bug in the water is shaped odd and has a strange hooked bit, and I was so hungry…

On the plus side, they didn’t gut me. Unfortunately, I swam away with a chunk torn out. I’ll live, but I’m scarred.

I know now how pathetically weak I’ve become, how compromised my thinking is, how helpless and alone. I realize the foolishness of thinking anyone would ever pay me for the stuff I make. My self confidence around people, always rather fragile, is shattered. I have become a broken thing.

The scam only worked because this was all already true. Without noticing I’ve turned into the limping gazelle the lion dines on in all those nature docs.

I have learned an expensive lesson.

But fuck ‘em.

They didn’t screw me out of as money as the tax office increasing the car value, tripling my bill. They didn’t make me hate myself as much as thieves breaking into the shop without me noticing. They didn’t mess up my life as much as losing both the microwave and oven in about a week. They didn’t exhaust me as much as piano moving or the hearth bricks falling through the floor. They certainly didn’t grieve me like Hera dying and my trip to Mom being cancelled or…

Being scammed is awful and traumatic, but it’s even the worst thing to happen to me this month!

Still, I dunno how many more of these things I can take….

**remember, I pay to care for things here, but I don’t own any of them…I’m like a caretaker that doesn’t get paid a living wage, offered funds for costs of the job, or even get provided a lawnmower.

[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! 💓

[divine-death2]

Hello lovelies! I am stoked about this one, might be my best work yet. I am going to give you a little background to the whole thing. This will be a series; I have no idea how many chapters there will be. I am just going with whatever comes to mind, as I go. I am also planning on posting all the chapters at once, because I don't like keeping people waiting. The chapters will be uploaded in a single post, to make things easier. Alright then, that's everything I guess, if something changes, I'll let you know at the beginning of the chapter. 💕xoxo

Chapter 1

WARNINGS - soulmates, p.i.v. , cigarettes, alcohol, angst, fear, love, romance, smut, praise kink, roughness, degrading kink, dirty talk, choking, jealousy, fighting, mentions of blood, blood, bruising, pain, protected sex, unprotected sex, uncertainty.

Your POV:

I can’t believe I’m finally here. After years of dreaming about this moment, I’m standing front and center at a Motionless in White concert. Growing up, this always felt impossible. They never toured anywhere near my small town, and traveling wasn’t an option—money was always tight, and then came college and work. But life has a funny way of surprising you. I got offered a job at USC, and now here I am, living a dream I thought would never come true.

The pre-show setlist is already playing, and I’m singing along while snacking on some chips I picked up earlier. I didn’t even have time to go home and change after work. My job requires me to look like a complete normie—corporate, polished, and perfectly packaged, just the way society expects an educator to appear. My tattoos are hidden under makeup and carefully chosen outfits that scream “professional.” None of that matters right now. I’ve got the best spot in the house, as close to the stage as humanly possible. If I stretch out my arm and stand on the metal bar of the barricade, I might even grab a rose from Chris, if he does the roses thing tonight. God, I hope he does.

The venue is getting more crowded by the minute. It’s already hard to move around, and I know it’ll only get worse. Might as well conserve my energy for what’s coming.

An hour later, the place is packed to the brim, and the countdown has started. Twenty minutes until showtime. My heart is racing, and the excitement is bubbling up, almost impossible to contain. I can’t believe this is happening. In my 22 years, I never thought I’d get to experience this. This band, their music—it’s been my lifeline. Motionless in White helped me survive so much and shaped who I am. They’ve guided me to embrace the real me, tattoos and all, even if I have to hide it at work.

Ten minutes left. My mind is already spinning with thoughts of meeting them after the show. The idea of standing next to Chris for a photo, maybe even having his arm around me—it sends a jolt of excitement through me. Of course, I know it’s just a fantasy. He’s famous, older by sixteen years, and totally out of my league. But hey, a girl can dream, right?

I’m still lost in those thoughts when the intro to Reincarnate blasts through the speakers. The crowd erupts. And then—there they are. One by one, they walk onto the stage, Chris being the last. My breath catches. He looks absolutely unreal. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover it. His makeup is flawless, his pitch-black hair gleaming under the lights. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest that shows off his tattooed arms and black skinny jeans that cling in all the right places. My knees feel weak just looking at him, but I hold it together and scream along with the crowd.

As the song starts, the energy in the room is electrifying. People behind me are going wild, shoving me into the barricade. Each hit drives into my ribs, just below my chest, but I don’t care. I plant my feet on the bottom bar, holding my spot, and scream-sing every word. I’m completely lost in the music when I suddenly feel it—like someone’s staring straight into my soul.

I open my eyes, and there he is. Chris. His eyes lock with mine. For a split second, everything else fades away. It’s just him and me. He holds my gaze, and my heart nearly stops. Then, as if realizing it’s rude to stare, he flashes that crooked smile that everyone loves. My breath hitches as he finishes the song.

The music fades into the next track, but I’m still reeling. This night is already more than I ever could’ve hoped for.

Chris' POV:

I am walking out on stage, getting ready for the first verse, when my eyes caught her. She definitely stands out against the crowd. She is the only one dressed like a, dare I say, teacher. Not entirely formal, her black hair is loose, hanging freely and moving with her as she jumps. I can't seem to keep my eyes off her. I try hard to keep my thoughts at bay, so that I don't forget the lyrics or my cue to sing. Her eyes are closed, she is clearly enjoying herself and the song, because it looks like she is putting her soul into it. I keep my eyes on her and then her eyes open, locking with mine. I can't make out her eye color, but she the way she is staring back, makes my stomach do a few flips. I tear my eyes away from her, smiling, because I have been caught staring at her.

A brief thought of pulling her backstage after the show to meet her goes through my mind. I hope she stays afterwards to do photos and signatures. I finish the song, and I know the following song requires me to behave more sexual on stage. I hear the intro to Rats starting up, I can feel the vibrations in body. Before I can stop myself, I am on the other side of the stage where she is. I can see her eyes now, they are like mine, brown and harboring the same signs of someone who has been through too much in one lifetime "Well Mrs. Pharmacist, I insist. Fix me up with something quick. I've been a bad little boy and i think I'm getting sick..."

I sing the lyrics while looking into her eyes, I am singing this to her. I don't know why, but there is something pulling me to her. I can't control what my body does or what thoughts go through my head. As I am singing, all I can think about is, how her body would feel under my own, how her lips would taste. I have to peal myself away from her side of the stage, so that I can "spend time" with the other side as well. In order to not make it obvious that I am infatuated with a fan. We have to go offstage, after this song, to do a quick wardrobe change. Besides this vest is becoming itchy as fuck, and I wasn't wise to wear this thing without anything underneath it. I am pretty sure my nips are raw at this point.

We quickly rush backstage to change, and it's then when Ricky decides to ask me. "Dude, why are you staring at that girl?" i run my hands through my hair, and pick up my shirt. Shaking my head I reply, "I don't know, there is something pulling me to her, I can't describe it. I feel like if I don't look at her, she might disappear forever". I see Ricky and Ryan smiling at me like the knows something. "What?" I ask, frowning at them. Vinny puts his hand on my shoulder, causing me to look at him. "Dude, that is what it feels like when you have met your soulmate", he says ever so casually. I can't find a reply, so I just stare at him. I never thought I would find a soulmate, I mean I am this close to being 40, I had Gaiapatra but she found her soulmate and she broke it off with me. I made peace with it that I would never find mine.

We all head back out and continue with the show, and with every song, I can't seem to stop the longing I feel for her, I can't stop looking at her.

Your POV:

I am slightly freaking out. They are doing my all-time favorite song, Rats! I am shaking with excitement. Suddenly Chris is in front of me, looking at me while singing the lyrics. It hits me hard; he is singing the song to me. I feel like my heart could either burst or melt. I freeze up, the words to the song, not coming to mind. I just stare back at him.

Then he is gone, he moves to the other side of the stage. I let out a breath, that I didn't even realize I was holding. I try to register what just happened, but my brain doesn't seem to want to catch up and make sense. I feel butterflies in my stomach, and I feel this weird pull to him. Like I must get closer to him, feel him. Thoughts of him kissing me, touching me floods through my mind. It is like I need him, a craving I have never felt with any of my previous partners. It's not just sexual attraction pulling me to him. It runs deeper. I crave the feeling of being close to him, knowing his past, his dreams, knowing him behind the scenes. I am probably going crazy, because let's be realistic, that is never going to happen.

He'll be in my dreams and burned into my memory, but that is it. There is no way he will ever go for an average person like me. I mean, I am pretty sure he wouldn't go for someone that much younger than him, or even someone who doesn't have a status like him. I mean even his ex has a higher status than me.

I am definitely going crazy. I can't be having these thoughts; it's not like it will ever happen. Maybe I am just his target for the night, someone he is using to create a few nice pics for him to post later on, as if he is interacting with fans, right. It has to be that he loves riling the ladies up with some of his posts, where he is close up with a woman, looking like he wants to fuck her brains out. I shake my head, trying to get rid of these thoughts.

As the show starts coming to an end, the familiar song, that is close to my heart, "Eternally Yours" starts, and it is a tell-tale sign that he will soon start tossing roses when the song comes to an end. My heart bursts with joy. He starts singing and it's like the world fades away and it is just his voice flowing ever so softly over my ears, my heart, my soul and my body. "I'm ready to bury all of my bones. I'm ready to lie but say I won't. So, tell me your secrets and join me in pieces, to rot in this garden made of stones", he sings and looks at me, singing the words to me. He is standing in the middle of the stage, his head tilted slightly as his eyes remain locked on me. His mic stand has a bouquet of roses hanging upside down. I take in how beautiful this man is, zoning in on every part of him.

The crowd is still bumping and going wild, causing the barricade to continue to jam into my ribcage. I am pretty sure it is bruised by now, giving my scorpion tattoos color. I don't even sing along, I just admire his voice, how his body moves, how his muscles move under his skin. How perfect his tattoos are. I let my eyes linger on his face, seeing his eyes hold some level of vulnerability when he locks them with mine.

The song is nearly coming to an end and he starts throwing out roses into the crowd. They scream and jump, trying to catch one, causing me to get shoved into the barricade harder. I flinch at a particular hard shove, and it feels like all the air has left my lungs. I gasp closing my eyes, trying to gain control of my breathing.

I manage to calm down and regulate my breathing and when I open my eyes, I see Chris jumping down from the stage and walking in my direction, holding a single rose. I feel the heat rush to my face as he gets closer. He is soon right in front of me, he is still singing. He gets close to the barricade, even if I am standing on the bottom bar, he still towers over me. He holds the rose out to me and I take it, my hand shaking due to the adrenaline coursing through me. He leans down, closer to me, holding the mic between us. My body knows what to do before my brain can catch up. The music slows down and I sing the last lines with him, "I'm ready to bury all of my bones. I'm ready to lie but say I won't. So, tell me your secrets and join me in pieces to rot in this garden made of stones."

He nods at me, and I take over, "I'm ready to bleed to make amends. And sleep in this dirt we call our bed. So, tell me your secrets and join me in pieces. To fall and rewrite the bitter end", now he joins me. 'Eternally yours". We keep our eyes locked on each other, and it's like everything around us just disappears and it is just us two. I can smell him, sweet and spicy, like cinnamon mixed with sweet vanilla. I forget where we are, when suddenly the loudness of the crowd throws us both back into reality. "What's your name?" he asks in a whisper. "Y/n", I softly reply. "Everyone, give it up for Y/n and her beautiful voice!", he shouts into the mic. The crowd erupts once more, cheering.

Chris' POV:

I jump down from the stage, making my way to her. I hand her the last rose. I don't even have to tell her to sing, she just joins in. The second her voice mixed with mine, I nearly melted. Her voice along with mine, is like an angelic melody flowing through the speakers. I nod at her, and she takes the lead, her voice alone, is like heaven is having a party in my ears. Being so close to her right now, I know she is the one. The one I have been missing in my life all along. I know for a fact that this will be all over the internet by morning, but I don't care. I have found my soulmate, and I don't plan on letting her slip through my fingers. I ask her, her name, and when she said it, i felt like my whole body was tingling. Her voice is so soft, delicate and smooth. I feel my dick twitch in my pants, I can only imagine what it would sound like when she is moaning or screaming my name.

I thank the crowd; we bow and leave the stage. "Dude, that was intense! I mean, you could feel the chemistry radiating", Justin says as he takes out his earpieces. Smiling I say, "I hope she stays for pictures, maybe I can get her over the barricade and get to know her". I can see how happy they all are for me; their smiles are giving them away.

When we go back out, to sign autographs and take pictures with the fans, I glance around for her. I can't see her anywhere. I keep looking and then finally, there she is, she is last in line, but she doesn't look too great. Her arm is wrapped around her middle and she looks like she might pass out. It's probably the adrenaline leaving her body. The photos and signings go quick, and before I know it, she is in front of me. She has a small smile on her lips, "Hi, you guys were great up there tonight", she says, her voice wavering a little bit. She looks pale, sweat glistening on her face. I feel a wave of concern wash over me, but reply, "Thank you, and you, I didn't expect that voice from you, you were a natural." I see her blush, but it is barely there. We sign her jacket and that is when everything goes south.

One minute she is still standing and the next she is on the floor. "Fuck", is all that leaves my lips as I jump over the barricade, kneeling beside her. "Y/n, baby girl, wake up. Come on, wake up." I hear Ricky and Justin call out for a medic. I softly tap her cheek, and I see her eyes flutter open. A sigh of relief leaves my lips. "There we go, welcome back. Are you okay?", I ask looking into her eyes. She nods, then shakes her head. I help her sit up, that's when I notice her wincing in pain. "Where does it hurt?" She places her hand below her breasts. I am still a gentleman, so I will not look under her shirt, until she gives me consent to do so. I slowly help her back up to her feet, just in time as the medic arrives. "I'm going to help you over the barricade, so the medic can take a look at you, okay?", I say-ask. She nods again. I get over and she steps up, her back facing me. I gently lift her under her arms and place her on her feet.

I explain to the medic where she feels pain and that she might have hit her head when she fainted. "Alright, I am going to need you to lift your shirt, so that I can see", he says. I turn around just as she goes to lift her shirt. She nods and moves to lift her shirt, but she can't lift very far. I hear the medic ask her what happened, and she replies, "It's from the barricade, I got shoved into the top bar, throughout the whole night". I just blink at her words.

"She'll be fine, she just bruised her ribcage pretty bad. In a few days the pain should subside, I would recommend, getting some painkillers and a lot of sleep", the medic says. I thank the medic and turn to look at her. "You are sleeping with me at the hotel tonight".

Your POV:

"N-no, you've done so much for already tonight. I will be fine", I blurt out. He just scoffs and proceeds to pick me up, bridal style, and he walks to the green room. "Put me down...put me down!", I protest, writhing in his arms, only to be met with a sharp pain in my ribs. "Fuck!", I exclaim, tears falling down my face. "Will you stop, you're only going to hurt yourself more if you keep that up", say says, his voice calm but firm enough to make me actually listen. The way he spoke, made caused goosebumps all over my body. I am a girl that loves to be dominated, in the sense of my partner takes full control and I have to obey, or else.

I tighten my arms around his neck ad rest my head on his shoulder. "Good girl", he whispers, and I feel a sense of pride bubble inside me and at the same time I can feel my panties getting wet, as his words shoot to my core.

We enter the green room, and he sits me down on the couch. "I'll be right back, I am just going to grab my stuff, then we'll head for the hotel." I nod and make myself comfortable on the couch. The rest of the band moves through, all of them checking in on me. Ricky sits down by my feet, "What happened out there?" His hand rests on my foot, looking at me with concern written over his face. "It was my first show, I-I was standing on the metal bar of the barricade, and the crowd was pushing and shoving," taking a deep breath, I continue, "My ribs took all the abuse from that bar, but me being the stubborn ass that I am, I ignored the pain, until I... well, passed out", I reply, wiping my tear stained face.

I see Ricky and Justin shaking their heads, and Vinny chuckles from the other side of the room. "She is definitely going to work on his nerves", Vinny remarks just as Chris walks in. "We'll see, I think she might just be more submissive to me, she has already been a good girl for me", he says ever so calmly. Those two words, they do things to me, and yes, I have been a good girl, I have listened to his orders. I am already starting to feel the need to be good for him, but right now I am craving a cigarette, I haven't even gotten the chance to buy a pack on the way here. "Uhm... Ricky, can I bum a cig from you?" He nods and pulls out his pack and I take one out, thanking him. Chris doesn't even smoke, he just like to play with lighters, watching the flame dance in front of him. He holds a light ready for me, unexpectedly. I smile up at him and I can see confusion written on his face. I know why he is confused, but he doesn't ask the question, instead he smiles back, that crooked smile. I smoke and then we are on the move again.

I kindly asked Chris to let me walk, because he still had a few things to carry in his hands. He allowed me to walk, and soon we were on the bus.

Chris' POV:

After putting her down in the green room, I started gathering the makeup cases and our extra wardrobe. I go to put them in the bus and now I just have to the smaller stuff from the green room. There she sits, the guys around her, all chatting away. I hear Vinny's comment, and I shoot back at him.

In her soft voice she asks Ricky for a cig, and him being the nice human being he is, gets his pack out and holds it to her. Her hands are shaking as she takes one out. I am slightly confused; I didn't think she would be a smoker, and my thoughts start to wander a little. Ricky started smoking as a way to cope with life, if she is doing the same, then who or what hurt her. Before she can ask for a light or fumble for one in her bag, I hold my lighter, lit and ready for her. She thanks me and the smile I receive almost made my knees buckle. I smile back at her.

Once she finished smoking, we were on the move again. I wanted to carry her, but she asked so nicely, giving me a shy smile and looking at me from under her lashes, to walk on her own. How can I refuse this woman when she asks me in that way.

[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.

[valleymyristica]

Okay, so I just read your fic because a friend of mine recommended it to me, and I thought it was really deep and well-written. However, I have a question: did Dale ever love Dev? Or did he even think it was possible to love Dev? If it's even possible for Dale to genuinely love someone.

Love is quiet a big word for someone who has yet to love themselves But he does care for money, money keeps him safe

In that way, Dev is great A great addition to help in what Dale does To help make sure his dream comes true

What dream you may ask? Oh worry not He forgot It's better to forget then dwell on the past

HE FORGOT. Yes. All his mind can hold is work. That is all there is.

He forgets the memories that he can not hold. Heh, maybe he's growing old?

Though, maybe that's for the better? It's not anything worth remembering Nothing. Nothing from there is worth remembering.

The sad part here is, a little bit of him does care Memories of his past, that push past the static He wants to give what he never had But, it's not like he ever learned how to be a good dad So, is it really a surprise that his teaching is somewhat bad?

And sometimes he finds that Dev should do better, With all theses opportunities that the kid holds in his hands Why isn't Dev strong and independent? And richer than the average man? It's hard for Dale, he can't understand.

Family can't keep you safe Only money can.

Just think a simple thought, of the experience he had And then you may wonder, maybe Dev doesn't really have it that bad? (Though, that doesn't mean he has it any good) (Dev has it far worse than any kid should)

Also, do let me share a peek of what's to come,

""" Dad tells him how to pose and to smile and he does his best and dad looks so happy! So, he smiles a little extra. He just knows dad loves him when dad looks at him as if he’s worth a million bucks. """

So, maybe it's best to say, that there was no one? No one to give love, no one to give care

For, You can not share, what you never had Not give, what you never got And not take, what you never brought

The only thing he needs, is money I fear But who's to say he can't get better?

Who's to say he doesn't deserve the chance?

Then again, what reason does he have for change? Chance means something new will come And something new means uncertainty

We can't have that, can we?

But to answer it proper,

It's hard to say, but as of right now there hasn't really been true love More just caring about something you have to keep alive Like caring for the pet of another

He does it, but sometimes it's hard And sometimes he sees himself and for a moment want to give what he never had

There is not malice, just muddy waters

He needs to learn to love himself Before he can learn to love someone else

What a delight!

It's so cool to hear that you got it as a recommendation

I can't believe someone recommended it! Someone though it so good as to recommend it! That's just wild, who could it be? Oh, do give them a dear "Thank you!", it's so nice!

And it's nice to hear that you find it so deep and well-written, Thank you! Brings me glee! So happy!

I do want to try my best to make it worth the read You're supposed to have fun indeed

[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.