#but I am willing to be surprised! Plus it is an opportunity to try drawing something outside of my zone of comfort.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Whatever the result is, I will attempt to recreate it as a drawing!

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[im-whatchamccallit]

Circles//Kim Doyoung (NCT 127)

Pairing: Kim Doyoung x Fem!Reader

Genre: Series/Multiple parts, Mafia/Crime!AU, Suggestive, Angst, Fluff, Potential Smut in future chapters

Warnings: Suggestive content, mention of guns and murder, mentions of the mafia and organized crime

Word Count: 4.5k

(A/N: So, like I said in one of my last post, I’m trying to start a series so that I will have a reason to post more often and not let this blog die the way I did before. Only problem? This was the first thing that came to mind and I’ve been terrified it won’t do well so please leave feedback if you like it so I know to continue it. This is also my first NCT 127 post so... Yay! Also, I recently read about how taboo a lot of people think the mafia/crime AUs are in fanfiction and I want to be cautious of their feelings in regards to this which is why I also haven’t posted it but I just want to post something while getting out of my writers block. But, again, leave feedback on whether you love it or hate it, leave request if you want, anything’s appreciated.)

Masterlist|Guidelines

You’ve seen elegance but never at this level, eyes glued to the ceiling that seemed to reach heights you could only dream of, not even thirty basketball players stacked onto one another’s shoulders able to graze the top. The sparkling from the crystal gold leaf chandeliers adding to the fairytale-like atmosphere as servers of all kind bustled around you offering food and drinks at any given chance, your hand reluctantly staying at your side as you declined their generosity. You were starving, but you had a job to do and, that job, was Song Minhyun.

He was the newly appointed Don of the Amarillo family, his father passing away from an unknown condition only a week ago but, based on how fast Minhyun made the world aware that he was now in control of all the illicit acts committed in the name of Amarillo after years of having their identity protected and undisclosed, even going as far as to threaten and betray the various families beneath him in an insane power trip, it was clear his father’s death was no accident. But you were never a fan of that man, he was creepy with a bad attitude to match, so this task wasn’t some gesture of vengeance for him, it was strictly about you and your family.

Just like the Amarillo’s, your family went under an alternative name, Nio’s, which closely resembled the name of the pharmaceutical manufacturing company masking it, Neo Tech. It always made you laugh considering no one caught on to their association, given Nio’s were the largest distributors and exporters of controlled substances in majority of the Eastern hemisphere. But joining Nio’s wasn’t a life you wanted to live, you were practically forced into it, but once you’ve engrained yourself into a life of organized crime, it was impossible to leave. You lived every day with the mindset of kill or be killed, Minhyun’s threats to expose your operations to the NIS who, after the death of Nio’s founder, Kim Dongwan, assumed your family officially ceased activity in the crime syndicate, being your main motive for taking him down. Sure, you were ordered to handle the assassination but, considering you could face life in prison simply for everything you’ve done in the name of Nio’s, you were more than willing. There was one problem though, Song Minhyun was an absolute dream.

Your thoughts seemed to fade into nothingness when you initiated conversation, going with the plan to seduce and kill him only to find he was much more enticing than you anticipated. He was a year or so older than you yet spoke like he was some immortal seer, his wisdom and life stories drawing you in and leaving your heart racing. His smile was so wide and gummy but eyes sharp and attentive, never leaving yours even as he drew you further from the crowd which, according to Taeyong, was not part of the plan. And you couldn’t begin to understand how fucked you were.

You didn’t know where he was taking you, too focused on his words while simultaneously adjusting your silky white dress to reveal more cleavage from the already plunging v-neck and your walk becoming sultrier to expose more of your leg from the thigh-high slit.

“You know, you shouldn’t focus too much on your looks when you’re naturally beautiful.” Minhyun spoke, your eyes darting to him as your hands returned to your sides, a shy giggle echoing in the now deserted hallway he lead you through.

“Can you blame me? Standing next to an attractive man can really mess with a girl’s self-esteem.” You admitted, suddenly feeling like some high schooler in a rom-com.

“Well, I can help with those insecurities. Just tell me where to start and I’ll make you feel like an absolute queen.” Your breath hitched as his body turned to face you, hand reaching to cup your neck but it was large enough that his thumb could glide over your bottom lip with ease, smudging your red lipstick against your skin teasingly but still holding your gaze.

His presence, the sheer dominance he exuded made you whimper in a mixture of fear and pleasure. You weren’t going planning to escape yet he made the initiative to hold you close to him, an arm wrapped securely around your waist making a heat rush through you that could only be described as want, no longer aware of your duties and no longer caring. He was perfect, and you wanted a piece of his perfection. Maybe for the night, maybe forever, you decided you’d choose after whatever surprise he had for you was done in the dark office he dragged you into, your excitement blocking out the burning gaze from just down the hall.

Minhyun shut the door, not bothering to lock it seeing that you were so willing and easy to remain with him. He knew who you were and what you were planning to do. You were an orphan taken in by Nio’s, trained to be a child soldier for a man who couldn’t even hold his own against Minhyun’s father, now under Taeyong’s rules and orders. But knowing that his first encounter with Taeyong was less than stellar and the sudden ultimatum to forfeit all their assets to the Amarillos or be handed over to the police for sentences that can range from 50 years to death for each and every one of his precious borgata, the only thing Taeyong could do was kill him and you, unfortunately were just a pawn in those plans.

“You know, your looks are nothing to be insecure about. You’re beautiful beyond comprehension.” He spoke lowly, inching closer and guiding you to his large desk just by the window, the moonlight that seeped through the blinds the only form of light allowing you to take in his features.

You gasped as he grabbed your hips, spinning you and pressing you over the desk. You sighed in contentment at the feeling of his hands caressing up your thighs, dress riding up and slowly revealing the black thong you had, a low chuckle leaving his lips at the sight. Not just because you were practically bare before him, but at the pocket pistol held securely in its holster that you managed to forget about. It was a Glock 42, making him proud that he did his research on you because, if he was in your position right now, and the number of murders you committed were accurate, he’d be a goner already.

“(Y/n), if only you were as smart as you are beautiful.” He said, your eyes widening at the way he spoke but, more importantly, he knew your name. Your real name. Not the one you were given for this mission.

“How’d you-Ow!” You whimpered as he grabbed your hair, pulling you upwards until your back was flush with his chest.

Tears were pricking your eyes, your breathing heavy as you felt a cool metal press to your temple swallowing hard while simultaneously attempting to reach to your thigh discretely to find your own gun, only to find it was the one in his hand.

“When I read about you, I was so intrigued. So curious. You know there’s only one photo of you online and it’s a mugshot from when you were still living on the streets?” He laughed out loud at that, ignoring the way your body thrashed against his in an attempt to free yourself, head leaning further away from the possibly cocked gun in fear that he was finished monologuing already.

“But you’re really weak. And I’d usually like that in women, especially when they’re this submissive but, them wanting to kill me is a deal breaker. So what am I to do if I have the opportunity to murder my would-be assassin?” His lips were pressed to the shell of your ear, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to silently apologize to the Nio’s. Sorry that you let your guard down, that you let some pretty face turn you into some horny teenager, the only plus side to your death being that it wouldn’t be Taeyong killing you because you knew how much he loved to torture before doing the deed. And with that final thought, you were ready to die, just hoping that someone else could finish the job you’ve failed tonight. And they did.

The sound of the door colliding with the wall was all you heard, followed by two hollow gunshots. Your eyes flew open as you felt Minhyun’s body fall limp against yours, hand slowly releasing your hair until you could move again, quickly shoving him off to adjust your dress to cover yourself before facing your silent savior, your heart stopping at the fierce, angry, “don’t move or I’ll kill you too” gaze Doyoung was giving you.

It was one thing to piss off Taeyong, you knew what to expect, but with Doyoung? He wasn’t a killer. In fact, he was the medic of your unit, coming along in case things went awry and someone needed instant care. He was a gentle person with a snappy attitude, but never one to act on his threats, so to see him with a gun in his hand, a body lying face first in blood from its skull and chest created by the man himself and approaching you with a scowl so deep you thought his baby face would finally start to wrinkle, you felt more fear than when you were almost dead.

“D-doyoung. Thank yo-“ You gasped as your head turned, eyes stinging with tears and cheek burning in both embarrassment and from the harsh impact his hand left.

You slowly peered up, afraid he’d strike you again just to see Yuta and Haechan slipping by silently, giving you a brief glance while collecting to fallen shells and your gun from Minhyun, only to leave you alone once more with the unpredictable aid.

“Doyoung-“

“Let’s go.”

Those were the only words he said before turning to head out of the office, your body immediately following close behind. He was silent the entire time, stuffing the pistol back into his waistband before buttoning his suit’s blazer to conceal it, leading the both of you through the still bumbling party and to the exit. Everything he did felt so tense despite being so normal. The way he spoke to the valets, how he entered the car without bothering to open the door for you, even his group call letting everyone know the task was done felt hostile. But you said nothing, continuing to wait idly by and praying he forgot about the situation.

You were tempted to break the awkward silence looming between the both of you on this seemingly hours long drive but, from the way he was radiating heat from how angry he was, you felt staying silent would be best. But you didn’t want to stay silent. You wanted to thank him for saving you while simultaneously screaming at him for slapping you, but also have one normal conversation with him. It was painful to admit that for the past few years you both weren’t exactly friendly with one another, no one seeming to care as “this was strictly business”, and you hated it. You never said it but you loved the Nio’s members and knew they loved you and each other as well, but for some reason the only two people that kept this family at arms length were the core members, Lee Taeyong and Kim Doyoung.

You knew Doyoung wasn’t a fan of the family ever since his father introduced him to that life, pissed he didn’t follow in his older brother’s footsteps and leave as soon as possible. He was supposed to be the heir to the family and be the boss of the 18 people living under his roof and the 7 working overseas in China to keep production there running and, as much as you didn’t want the responsibility, he was in too deep to run away. He opted to stop training for field work, developing a phony passion for medicine and surgery which led to him becoming the emergency medic for the team and no longer catching his father’s fancy for taking over their empire, leading to his heirship being rescinded. And as for the spot as heir? Doyoung’s father ordered Taeyong to fill. You knew Taeyong a lot better than the others but were utterly shocked to see him take over so easily. He was obviously a natural born leader but he had a habit of complaining about not always wanting to be in charge, using you as his unwilling therapist when he felt like reverting to his unintimidating, crybaby self. But there was no exit at this point, so what more could you do than make the most of a bad situation by befriending one another and having fun when you felt your lives were no longer in danger? And, whether they liked it or not, they were going to have fun with you and the rest of their constantly growing family.

“Y-you know, I was more scared of you then being killed back there. I’ve never seen you so mad.” You laughed, hoping to at least get a smile or something from him, your eyes glancing over to see his grip on the steering wheel tighten at your words. Maybe you should’ve just shut up.

“Doyoung, I’m sorry I put you in a situation where you had to kill, I know you hate stuff like that but, if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be dead. Besides, it’s kinda like medicine if you think about it. Except you saved a life by taking one rather than just giving drugs to- OW!” You cried out as he slammed on the brakes, the only thing keeping you from flying through the windshield being your hands on the dashboard and the seatbelt crossed over your chest and waist.

“You bitch!” You snapped at him, watching his blank expression as he removed his seatbelt and turned off the car.

“Meet me in my office. You have five minutes.” Doyoung said plainly, your eyes fixed on him in bewilderment as he exited the car with no concern for you.

You let out an annoyed breath, your fear from before mixed with anger as you hurriedly followed his lead, leaving the car and speed walking to the front door he was entering through. To your surprise, most of the guys were there, not sparing either of you a glance as they knew what had happened and knew better than to interfere, but one person didn’t keep quiet.

“(Y/n), what the FUCK did I tell you?” Taeyong growled, your body practically jumping as he cornered you in the entrance’s corridor, eyes burning with anger and panic that you knew he had no way of controlling. He was always a hothead.

“I-I-“

“I’m having the meeting with her, Taeyong. Don’t bother. You have two minutes.” Doyoung spoke, voice fading as he continued down the hall to the small office he typically frequented to buy and sell shipment for Nio’s personal and professional use.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you grabbed Taeyong’s hands, eyes wide and teary as you tried to plead with him to save you.

“You went off where we couldn’t see you and didn’t even complete the mission. You could have been dead by now.”

“I know and you can punish however you want but, Taeyong, Doyoung is pissed, and I don’t know what to do. He already slapped me, now he’s not even speaking to me,”

“He never talks to you.”

“He does sometimes, when he wants to be a sarcastic asshole! But, please, Taeyong, talk to him. Calm him down so he doesn’t hurt me again.” You tried to use a soft voice, hoping to strike a sympathetic nerve in the doe-eyed man.

“(Y/n/n),” Taeyong sighed, cupping your face and making you lock eyes with him.

“You fucked up and made Doyoung do something he’s sworn to himself and us that he’d never do. His anger is justified. But I’ll be there for you whenever you’re in danger, whether it’d be an enemy or anyone living in this house, I’ll never let you get hurt.” He gave a warm smile, your lips curling to mimic his.

“But not tonight. You put us all at risk as you need to face the consequences.”

“Taeyong!”

“I’ll visit you in the infirmary later tonight.” You whimpered in fear as he kissed the crown of your head and pushed you in the direction of the office, heels clicking against the white marble floor as you stumbled to what might be your imminent doom.

You could taste blood in your mouth from the way you bit down on your tongue to ease your anxiety, your once statue-like body moving forward with caution although the chilly air was urging you to retreat. You couldn’t turn back because Taeyong would just escort you to Doyoung himself but if you went straight to Doyoung, who knows what he’d do. You couldn’t even take a second to cry over your dilemma once you noticed the dark brown mahogany door. The office was soundproof, something you both loved and hated. Whatever Doyoung wanted to scream at you would go unheard by the men possibly showering and preparing for bed after a somewhat successful evening, but then they wouldn’t hear you scream for help. It reminded you of earlier tonight, making the situation a bit more lighthearted until you realized you could’ve died then and would possibly die now.

“Oh god,” You breathed out in a whisper, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath as your hand gripped the steel doorknob, turning it and entering the spacious and organized room.

“Doyoung.” You spoke lowly, shutting the door behind you but refusing to move any closer to him as he sat with an unrecognizable file before him.

“July of 2016, you were assigned to deliver a new batch of amphetamines to Xu Minghao who ran the Chinese operations of Sebong. Instead of cooperating with Weishen, AKA the Chinese sector of your own team, you thought doing the drop off yourself would be fine, only to let your guard down and let it slip that you were in Nio’s which promptly lead to you not only being ambushed, but Sicheng jumping in to save you and being shot in the lower back in the process.” He said blandly, flipping over the page to yet another as you swallowed hard at the memory, accidentally mentioning Haechan’s name and revealing you weren’t just a middle man in their operation but a direct asset, and Winwin payed the price for your stupidity.

“I remember just fine, but-“

“February of 2017, you knowingly entered enemy territory in Kyoto without alerting Yuta who, as you’ve always known, is in charge of our Japanese affairs. He has people over there for a reason, to handle the shit we can’t while we’re in Seoul. But you waltz over there and initiate a gang war that has only now been resolved.” He said, voice growing in annoyance and animosity that was a complete 180 from his once emotionless tone, your voice caught in your throat as you also remembered that day. You were on vacation and thought it’d be fine as long as you went in some disguise, but you were too well known and the fact you couldn’t speak Japanese only made it worse. You even remembered how Yuta refused to talk to you for months as he traveled constantly to fix your mistake.

“I-I know I fucked up that time but I tried to explain and I-“

“And that brings us to tonight! You had to stay in the spotlight with the man threatening not only your life but everyone you know in Nio’s and neighboring groups, and lead him back to the apartment we set up for you for a simple and quick execution, but you decide to go further into his mansion, expose yourself to him, and allow him to nearly murder you with your bare ass out!” His voice was strained as he screamed this time, your eyes watering as he pushed the large leather chair back to stand, making his way around the desk to approach you.

“I’d remind you about what happened in 2013, but I’m sure you’d never forget that.” He said with no emotion once more, your eyes low as you tried to suppress the urge to touch your slightly sunken head. Your our only job was to shoot if you saw someone escaping during an exchange but, instead, you were hit yourself, every medic working hard to keep you from dying and leaving you with a partially shaved head and a new metal plate in your skull.

“But I want you to tell me who saved your ass that time, (Y/n)?” His voice was playful now, emotions changing like an out of control radio station. Sometimes you wondered if he was just as mentally fucked as Taeyong.

You gasped when you felt his hand gripping your face, forcing your head up and back until your eyes met, a fire behind them that made your stomach swirl in fear but enchantment. You almost even forgot about how rough his grip on your jaw was because his hands were so soft, the warmth he let off no longer intimidating but causing you to turn to putty in his hands and wanting to fall against him in comfort and bliss. But the sudden harsh flick to your forehead made you realize he was anything but comforting.

“Stop acting like a touch starved dumbass and answer me. Who the fuck saved you from bleeding out in a filthy warehouse in the middle of fucking Daegu?” He said harshly, your eyes darkening as you tried to keep your composure.

“You did.”

“And you decided that me handling the responsibility of operating on you was some sentimental, heroic act and that from that day forth, you would make it everyone’s job to save you? That it was my job to save you?”

You felt your eyes tearing up again, lip quivering as a sob threatened to escape you and he could only let out a scoff, harshly pulling his hand back as he watched you cry.

“And now you’re crying.”

“I tried to thank you, I tried to apologize for making you save me yet you won’t let me! You slapped me! You’re screaming at me and making me feel bad when I already fucking feel bad. I know I’m fucking up and it’s hard on you guys but I-I just don’t know what to do! I’m tired and sick of having to live every second of my life knowing there is no one in this world I can trust and that I can never leave and that’s all I want, Doyoung! I just want to leave and be a normal person.”

The silence between you was deafening, almost loud in a way, but it was allowing you both to take in the words you said. You could see the look of conflict and annoyance on his face through your tears, a glimmer of what you both hoped and feared was sadness in his eyes as he rolled them to look anywhere but you. And what Doyoung saw of you was a breeding ground of trauma and dysfunction.

You were no different from anyone there, your life story was so similar to most of theirs that no one had time to pity you. You joined Nio’s when you were only 10, hair matted and filthy like the clothes you wore, hands stained red with blood and a look in your eyes that screamed frustration but hopelessness. You were the perfect tool for his father and it was sad watching yet another lost soul fall into this lifestyle. But you proved to be so capable of yourself, strong and competent but, after the death of his father, something in you changed. You were emotional, distracted, constantly agreeing to do task but never fully connecting mentally. He even noticed you screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares. Whether you remembered or not, you and Doyoung were close, so close it managed to shift the atmosphere of Nio’s into something enjoyable and worthy of being part of, but he knew it wasn’t good for you to stay. Not for any of you. So he gave you a chance to leave, a chance to live your life the way you had always told him you wanted, but you didn’t take it. Your reason? Taeyong. You never explained why he was the reason you were staying but the way you constantly clung to their leader like you were his lapdog was all the clarification that he needed. For Doyoung, the closeness you shared and the desire you both had of living normal lives was nothing compared to the same greed for power you shared with Taeyong. So he stopped trying to save you, stopped focusing on how to help you preserve what little of your sanity was left until now. Seeing you at your breaking point made it clear to him that even if this life would follow you forever, letting you go was better than having everyone killed from your mistakes. And, if you left, whatever problems haunted you would be yours to face alone, and he was fine with that.

“You will never be a normal person. And whatever life you choose to live will be as stressful as this one because you’ll spend every second looking over your shoulder wondering who’s out to get you. But, you’re dead weight now, and it’s unfair we’re the ones that have to keep carrying you. I don’t care when or where you go, just leave.” His tone was harsh and cold, the relief you felt at his words not enough to ease the pressure in your chest.

Doyoung’s no longer had power to make these decisions once Taeyong was appointed as leader, so you knew without the boss’ approval his word meant nothing. But, if you had the chance to run, why not take it? Maybe for one day, you could be free, probably take the time you needed to hide away from Nio’s and the crime world you knew all too well. You had no set plan, but sticking around trying to making one would do you no good.

“T-thank you. Thank you for everything.” You said with a small voice and deep bow, Doyoung not bothering to look at you as you hurriedly exited the room to head to yours and pack any belongings you needed for your new life.

You knew this life was hard to leave yet lived with the ignorant optimism that there was always some escape and no turning back. Unfortunately for you, you were simply a butterfly living in an airtight jar and, no matter where you turned, the air you needed was nowhere to be found and, tonight, was the beginning of your suffocation.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

35. “Why are you looking at me like that” i want to see what you do with this one

Anon, give me free reign, and I will return with some of the nichest interests to fandom. Another sourdough starter! This is for a time-travel AU with Yoichi/Sorahiko (Yoihiko) for end-game. Sorahiko's canon is set after Nana dies, and before Toshinori heads to the States.

//

So Sorahiko got punched some thirty-plus years into the past.

Fine. Typical One for All bullshit.

(He is going to punch Toshinori so hard if he ever gets back to the present. Regardless of how much Gran Torino deserved a humbling, Sorahiko did not sign up for this.)

It’s a nightmare of a time period, especially because pro-heroes aren’t exactly a concept yet. Sorahiko is unlucky enough to be picked up by some kind of guerrilla faction, and even more unlucky when he finds out they are connected to All for One. Not in a friendly way, mind.

The leader of the resistance and his right-hand man interfered before Sorahiko could be summarily interrogated and killed. To be fair to the guerrilla faction, Sorahiko had been shooting his mouth off left and right, because this whole situation was awful, and he wasn’t shy about taking his frustration out on assholes.

Things that alarmed them: his gear, his hair, and his unheard-of Quirk.

“Are you related to Shigaraki?” the leader had asked, suspicion written all over his face.

“Who the hell is Shigaraki,” Sorahiko had answered, eyeing the leader’s gauntlets.

Talks are, believe it or not, uphill from there. Once Sorahiko is confirmed to be thoroughly, passionately agreeable to using violence against All for One, he is more or less folded into the resistance. And before long, the resistance launches an all-out assault on All for One’s base.

Gran Torino is mercilessly placed on the front lines, nearly shoulder to shoulder with the leader (determinedly nameless) and his right-hand man (Sanjuro Yojimbo).

“Easier ways to take me out of the game,” says Sorahiko, checking the suction seals of his gloves. He grimaces at the loosening fit; although his time hadn’t been the best with the daily grind of patrol - villain - paperwork, its miserable characteristics did not hold a candle to the present.

These are lean times.

“Gran Torino, you’re the one who wanted to wear your shining beacon of a costume,” says Sanjuro. The man adjusts his bandana, fussing with fraying seams.

“I wasn’t going to repaint my gloves and boots.”

“And now you’ll attract all sorts of attention,” sighs the leader. The three of them are sharing one last quiet moment, staring at the hastily-scrawled map Sorahiko managed to draw up. Honestly, he has no idea if the resistance would have managed this fight without his help.

They certainly aren’t in any records.

“Sure you won’t tell me your name?” Sorahiko needles. “Dead man’s request.”

“As you like to remind us, it’s hard to kill you,” the leader says. He folds the map into squares, slides it into his jacket, and cracks his neck from side to side. “Send the signal.”

A red flare shoots up into the sky.

Gran Torino, as the fastest, hurtles himself over the gates and dodges the first slew of projectile Quirks. Nothing particularly dangerous, nothing tricky. However much All for One is in his prime, the Quirks of this era are… lacking in potency.

That, or All for One has already snatched the strongest of them up.

He supposes the real nightmare is that All for One’s followers are simply that. Followers, willing to do what the man wants, in broad daylight. Vicious, vindictive, villainous. The civilians can’t fight back, because the ban on public Quirk usage affects them the hardest. The government flounders, still is floundering by the time Gran Torino had hit the streets, so… it makes sense that this resistance appeared to fill the gap.

His entrance into the building is preceded by an unconscious woman’s body, thrown through a window. Presumably, the leader’s gauntlets will blow open the front doors, but once Gran Torino is on the move, he tries not to stop.

“Get him!”

“What the hell is he wearing?”

Gran Torino kicks that commenter in the face. He moves on. One, two, five, ten--there are more guards than he anticipated. Further down: a stairway, a hallway, a large heavy door with a spinning handle attached.

Despite knowing of the smart thing to do (wait for reinforcements), Gran Torino sets on to open this door.

It does not turn easy. But it does turn, and the door does open.

He shoves it, steadies his footing, and braces himself for a surprise attack. The light from the hallway floods into a dark room, and Sorahiko can barely discern a cowering figure on the floor, pale-haired and green-eyed.

“N-nii-san?”

Sorahiko blanches as the sound of an explosion shakes the floor above. He knows of very few people with hair like theirs, and this trembling voice does not sound like All for One. Stumbling back so his shadow doesn’t fall over the other man’s, Sorahiko has a crazy thought: whoever this relative of All for One is, he looks--kind.

“You’re not my brother,” says the man, green eyes going wide. “You--”

“Do you want out?” Gran Torino demands.

“I…”

“This estate is being attacked,” he says, trying to pick his words carefully. Shimura was always better at reassuring terrified civilians, or de-escalating emotional spirals on the verge of a panic attack. “If you need help, then… the people I’m with can provide it.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

Gran Torino exhales, sharp, and stalks into the vault. The man stays on the floor, staring up and up, except his eyes hold less fear and more fascination. They follow Gran Torino as he crouches, and then they skitter to gaze at the outstretched hand.

“I don’t need to know who you are,” Sorahiko says. “I wasn’t sent here to find you. All I know is that you’ve been trapped in this room, guarded by more goons than feasible for a hallway patrol.” He tilts his head. “Makes for easy lines of attack, I gotta say.”

“... Your Quirk?”

“Trade secret,” says Sorahiko simply. He wiggles his fingers. “This is an offer. Get out of jail free card, you could say.”

The man hesitates, but he reaches back, thin fingers ever smaller against the size of Gran Torino’s glove. They curl into a surprisingly strong grip as Gran Torino levers them back up.

“Can you run?”

“I’m not in the best of shape,” says the man, sheepish.

He considers his options. Escorting a malnourished unarmed civilian will turn them both into sitting ducks. Carrying him? That’s doable. It may also deter Sanjuro and the leader from automatically killing the man.

“Ever get motion sickness?”

“Never had the opportunity.”

Gran Torino nods and says, “I can carry you. In my arms or over my shoulder, pick your poison.” Upon seeing the flustered expression bloom, Sorahiko rolls his eyes. The man won’t see; the lenses are opaque. “If it helps, it will be faster if you’re in my arms. I can compensate for the extra weight easier.”

Not that you look like you weigh much, Sorahiko adds silently.

“Whatever works,” says the man, faint, and Gran Torino hooks one twiggy arm around his much broader shoulders and scoops him up off the floor by the knees. He’s right. The man doesn’t weigh much at all. Fingers curl in, grabbing a handful of his cape.

“This’ll work,” he confirms, and turns smartly on his heel to exit the vault. Before Gran Torino reenters the hallway, he stops and warns, “Bodies up ahead.”

The fingers tighten. “You killed them?” the man asks woodenly.

“Mine will wake up with a severe migraine.”

“Ah.”

That’s about as much as Gran Torino’s willing to throw his comrades under the bus. He forges on into the light, picking his way past the fallen unconscious bodies. Being in the past has turned him more cutthroat, but… he’s been hardwired to perform swift knock-outs. For most wannabe villains, getting kicked unconscious once is embarrassing enough to turn them onto milder paths.

Better a shoplifter than a mugger, in Gran Torino’s eyes.

These ‘guards’ had been pretty pathetic. Supposing the resistance doesn’t send a ‘clean-up’ squad, the idiots might be able to turn over a new leaf.

He would use Jet, but the hallway is kind of tight. So Gran Torino is stuck walking until he reaches the stairs, and he tries not to jostle his passenger. This effort does not go unrecognized, a fact Sorahiko realizes when he glances down to check in.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, unsettled by the shining green irises.

It looks uncannily like when Toshinori actually respected Gran Torino, instead of hating him to the point of sending him far into the past.

“You’re a hero,” the man whispers, almost giddy with the naming. “You’ve got to be.”

Sorahiko bites the inside of his cheek. His face feels too warm, a fact that he will have to blame on the floor being heavily insulated. Slowly, to better communicate a disbelief that he doesn’t actually feel, Sorahiko says, “And what makes you think that?”

“Your suit. The cape. A refraining from meting out ‘righteous justice.’” The man layers the sarcasm thick on the last two words, like he’s quoting some egotistical asshole.

“Some villains make the cut,” mutters Gran Torino.

“Exceptions to the rule?”

They’re at the bottom of the staircase. Sorahiko can hear the resistance wrecking shop upstairs, and he is keenly aware that he will be entering the fray with another man in his arms, in a one-person lift more commonly associated with bridal carries.

“When a villain promises to destroy your whole world,” he says, “when they already have destroyed a crucial part of it, with no remorse, no intention to atone... I think…”

This is hardly the time to indulge his grieving heart.

Nevertheless, the man presses his hand against Sorahiko’s chest. Sorahiko, startled, meets those fascinated, fascinating green eyes.

“I hear you,” he says, quiet in his empathy. A quick breath. “My name is Shigaraki Yoichi. It’s nice to meet you…?”

Sorahiko swallows past his trepidation.

“Call me Gran Torino, Yoichi-san,” he says.

[teshadraws]

I am the Art Anon! I wanted to know about your general art student advice but any of that is fine by me.

Gotcha! Hm...In that case, I’d say to be open to trying new things and also to try to make connections with the other people in your department!

Most people (myself included!) tend to fall in love with their first ideas and refuse to explore further and try other things even though the second, fourth, or fifteenth idea might be leagues better than the first! Be open to new ideas and input from others. A lot of exercises that professors suggest might seem bizarre or like they won’t be helpful, but usually there’s a very good reason they’re having you draw trash bags twenty times in a row or suggesting a different medium than you usually work in! Be willing to consider new and strange concepts, and try everything. You’ll be surprised what you learn!

Making connections with others in the art department is more difficult with the whole pandemic thing, but still try to reach out and get to know your fellow students and professors! Not only have I found some wonderful friends through my college courses (including a couple of my professors!), but having a wide network of people in the art field is helpful for opportunities as well. I wouldn’t have applied to graduate school at all if it weren’t for my fantastic digital art teacher encouraging me, and I’ve been brought into projects and made connections with artists across the country through my friends in the art and design programs. Plus, there’s nothing quite like bonding with other students at 3:00am when you have a project due the next day and you’re all Suffering together, haha!

Hope that helps a bit! :D

[mefd19]

Failing Forward PT 2

PT1

Two days out from Port Zoon they paused in the route to hunt and fix a broken wheel. It was good timing, according to Caduceus.

“We should probably make a plan.” Caduceus ladled soup into bowls. Caleb tasted his politely before reaching for the salts. “There are children involved, so we should be extra careful.”

“I think Beau is good with kids,” Jester grinned, “Remember how she was with her brother? It was so sweet, Beau.”

Beau shrugged and tilted her head. “I could help with gathering information I guess. And I mean, I am your first mate, so I’m happy to go in there for you.” 

“Yeah, something tells me the Matron won’t be as receptive to your brand of charm.” Fjord made an apologetic face. “At least from what I know of her she’s very protective of the children, and who she lets near them.”

“Oh!” Veth popped her head up from her bowl. “What if I pretend to be an orphan! I can change my shape and-”

Everyone shook their heads with varying degrees of intensity. 

“The kids aren’t allowed in the business areas,” Fjord explained.

At the same time Caleb said, “It would be incredibly taxing to keep you in character long enough.”

“Listen,” Fjord held up a hand. “I appreciate everyone wanting to help me, but this should be relatively easy. I walk in, I ask about business details as if I’m interested in adopting, find out what Sabien’s interest is. If he’s just trying to pay it forward, so be it and we walk away.”

Caleb set his bowl aside and rubbed his mouth. “You said the Matron is protective?”

“Yes, bless her. One of the good ones, from what I’ve heard. I hope that's true.” There’s a shadow there, under Fjord’s words and behind his eyes. A shadow Caleb recognizes when he looks in the mirror. 

Yasha tilted her head. “Wait, what if Sabien is there? Will he try to kill you again?”

Fjord shook his head. “He’s not in Zoon right now. At least as far as Kotho could tell.”

“So the plan is; you walk into the orphanage and ask about adopting.” Caleb asked.

“Yes, that’s about the long and short of it.”

“And the Matron will be amenable to that?”

For a moment Fjord paused. “Well, alright, maybe she will say no, but-”

“Oh,” Caduceus nodded, “I see what Mister Caleb means.”

“What’s wrong with me asking to adopt a child?” Fjord drew his eyebrows down and spread his hands wide, confused. “I was an orphan myself once, it makes sense I would come back to help another.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Caleb held a hand out. “Nothing at all. It’s very in character. I just think it might be better if you had a partner. Two parents are better than one, are better than none.”

“That’s very good Caleb,” Caduceus smiled and nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find any important information too.”

“Wait,” Caleb stilled, eyes going a bit wide. “I didn’t mean-”

“Suddenly I’m marrying Caleb?!” Fjord yelped, looking between Caleb and Caduceus. “Hold on just a-”

“-figured someone else would-”

“Ok ok ok!” Jester held her hands up. “We get it! Jeez. You guys don’t like each other enough to go undercover together, fine.”

Without missing a beat they both instantly started talking again.

“That’s not what I meant Caleb, I didn’t-”

“-wasn’t trying to push myself into the middle of-”

“-obviously you’re the most qualified because-”

Yasha whistled, low and drawn out. “Anyone else think they’re being weird about this?”

“Definitely.” Beau raised an eyebrow. “You two do make the most sense though, so maybe stow the panic for a second. Fjord’s got the know-how, and he talks good. Caleb talks good when he has to and he can find damn near anything that’s written down.”

“Plus he can pass messages with me,” Veth twirled the copper wire between her fingers before vanishing it back into her dress. “And it makes sense they would be at an orphanage. Newlyweds looking to start their family.”

“You can even use some of your real history in your cover!” Jester grinned and clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh how sweet, a teacher falling for his student!”

Beau grinned as she caught on. “That’s great Jess! Caleb was a teacher in, I don’t know, maybe Alfield? And Fjord went to learn magic after he got burned out working the docks.”

“And they’re coming back here to escape the war.” Caduceus nodded. “Nice and simple, I like it.”

“Great,” Fjord snapped. His cheeks were darker green than normal and he was avoiding looking at Caleb. “Now that you have my life re-written to suit your fantasy-”

“I’m sorry, Fjord.”

Caleb’s voice was so quiet, his face turned away, that it was surprising Fjord heard him at all. But he stopped and looked at the ground between his feet.

Caleb is good at something, after all. 

Fucking up.

---

Caleb’s spell components were exactly as he left them. He ran his fingers over the strange assortment of things, counting and recounting, looking for any sign that they would not perform. Satisfied, he began tucking them away again, updating his internal list of things he should purchase when the opportunity arose. Each small pouch was filled, patted. The drawstring was drawn tight, bringing the smaller compartments together and cinching the top.

“All set?”

Despite what Fjord liked to claim, Caleb did not spontaneously levitate. He was startled, because he thought his traveling companions were polite, and polite people do not sneak up and startle their friends. 

When Fjord stopped cackling to himself he leaned against the back of the cart Caleb was seated in. “Jester said you had some paperwork for us?”

“Yes.” Caleb had to lean to pull his bag out from under himself, muttering under his breath about sneaky green folk making his life harder. “Here, sign this one, make sure it looks alright.”

Fjord took the paper and his hand brushed against Caleb’s for a moment, eyes already flicking over the paper's contents. Caleb clenched his fingers and swallowed.

“This is uncharacteristically brazen of you, Caleb.”

His head whipped up to look at Fjord, eyes wide and throat tight. Did he think- did he know that-

But Fjord’s eyes were soft and teasing, and he tilted the paper at Caleb. “Also wholly unromantic. A marriage proposal by thrusting a certificate for me to sign? My dear we are going to have to work on your acts of love.”

“Oh.” Caleb’s mind was blank. “Er…”

Fjord rolled his eyes and turned back to the paper. “Relax, Caleb, I’m joking.” Then he frowned and tapped near the bottom. “What’s this about?”

Caleb leaned forward and peeked over the edge of the sheaf. “Those are our names, Fjord.”

In response Fjord threw him a look. “Yes, thank you master wizard. Except you took my last name.”

Looking up at Fjord’s face Caleb realized he made a mistake. Or maybe two. But one was definitely thinking it was a good idea to lean into Fjord’s space to look at the paper. He was too close to Fjord, who was looking down at him intensely. It made it hard to focus.

“Is that a problem?” He managed. Fjord’s eyes tightened and he chewed his lip for a moment. 

“I mean…” Fjord thought for a moment. “I suppose it isn’t. Not really? But also, I don’t think we should use my real name. I mean, something Sabien would recognize. Or could be traced back to us later.”

Of course. “Of course. I should have thought of that.” 

Fjord slid down so he was at Caleb’s eye level, resting on the back step of the cart. “Well, I don’t mind taking the name Widogast, but you’ve been using it for a while now haven’t you? That might be getting recognizable too.”

Caleb suddenly thought Fjord Ermendrud unbidden and inhaled sharply. “Probably,” he got out. “We could pick something new?”

“Hmm.” Fjord squinted out, across the fields. “Likely something Zemnian.”

“Why Zemnian?” Caleb frowned at Fjord. Did he think he needed to conform or something? Fjord had a habit of feeling inadequate, he didn’t even reveal his last name out of shame for months. Caleb had thought taking ‘Stone’ for his name would be appreciated, and now Fjord was turning things around on him. Again.

“Well my dear,” Fjord flourished a hand, cluing Caleb in that he was putting on airs. “We planned on staying in the Empire before this dreadful war started. Of course I would take a proper Zemnian name to help me fit in, so I wouldn’t draw so much attention to my beloved.”

“Hmm,” Caleb scratched his chin idly. “I appreciate that you were willing to give up your love of the ocean to be with me. But I think I was secretly thrilled to leave. We probably fought quite a bit about who got to be the martyr.”

Fjord barked out another laugh and Caduceus paused in walking by to turn and watch them. “Too true. But still- when we married we planned to stay in the Empire. A Zemnian name?”

“Gebirge?” Caleb tried. “Caleb and Fjord Gebirge? Or if you would rather have some alliteration, perhaps Felsen?”

“I like Felsen,” Caduceus said with a smile. He walked over to peer at the paper. “Fjord Felsen. Rolls off the tongue.”

After a moment in thought Fjord nodded. “It does sound rather Zemnian.”

“Here,” Caleb flipped through his papers and pulled out another, unsigned. “Let me just-” as he scribbled his new signature. Caleb Felsen

He blew on the ink for a moment, narrowed his eyes as he scanned the rest of the page, and handed it to Fjord. “Your turn.”

This time Caleb tried to keep their hands from touching, but the quill was small and delicate. Fjord’s hand covered his entirely as he slipped the instrument from his fingers. 

Fjord Felsen

“Wonderful,” Caleb pulled the paper away and rolled it up. “Now you are bound to me, my condolences.”

At that Fjord grinned again and rubbed his palm. “Does Felsen mean anything or is it an old Zemnian name?”

“Stone, rock.”

Caduceus’ laugh was loud, startled out of him, and Fjord narrowed his eyes at Caleb. “You sneak.”

Caleb ducked his head, cheeks slightly flushed. Entirely too pleased with himself.

[yicruz48]

On CBR Community, there's debate about Event Leviathan : Checkmate is being indefinitely l postponed, is it related to Damian's fate after TT annual (lose Robin title, missing, etc). Because on Leviathan Dawn Damian is still Robin, so if Checkmate event want to use him as Robin, that will confuse the timeline. But on the other hand, the postponing is after pandemic break, and before pandemic break, Damian supposed to lose Robin title after issue 41. So what do you think about this?

First of all, I am so sorry for taking too much time to answer your question! 

I’ve been taking my time thinking about how to answer this post and how approach answering. 

Me and @wesavegotham discussed this a bit after the news broke, so this will be a culmination of our thoughts on it. 

To reiterate, a lot of things seemed to have changed at DC Comics since Dan DiDio left and quarantine put the comic industry on pause for a few weeks. These events coinciding with each other seemed to have given writers a chance to cancel and/or pause events (5G), expand events (Death Metal), extend their time on books (Tynion) and add new stories. Even Teen Titans changed during this time:

-> Annual being pushed an arc later than after the Djinn Arc.

-> Solicitations for issue 42 not making sense with the actual storyline in 42.

-> Eduardo Pansica was supposed to draw the interior in TT 42-44 not Javier Fernandez. And Javier Fernandez was supposed to draw the interior of the annual not Pansica but as you seen that has switched. Which means either stories were either scrapped or extended.  

-> You could even see Robbie Thompson’s entry as new main writer as a change brought upon TT. He has seemed to have returned Damian some what back in character, or more in character. That could’ve lead to changes. 

So it didn’t surprise me very much to see Leviathan indefinitely postponed. But as you said, it does brings a lot questions about Damian. 

Bendis’s upcoming Leviathan event is well about...Leviathan. And Leviathan not only has history with Talia but also Damian. And this is something Bendis himself empathized in Leviathan Dawn: 

Leviathan was Talia’s and Damian’s (whether he wants or not) family business. Initiated by Talia to be passed down to Damian. In other words, this event not only is important for Talia, but also for Damian. The future of Leviathan will make an impact in Damian’s life.

This comic is also supposed to ‘restructure the DC Universe’ (Surprise, surprise, name a comic Bendis doesn’t claim to ‘change’ the DC Universe). It also supposed to clean up all the similar organizations in the DC Universe and have a lasting impact.   

It is also important to note that this comic came into fruition between Dan Didio and Bendis and well...DiDio is not at DC anymore so who knows if that has had an impact on how big this event is suppose be. The one thing I know is that Manhunter: Secret Origins was canceled so it looks like this Leviathan thing has been minimized and/or changed. 

Now that I have established the apparent importance of this event, let me finally answer your main question:

“Because on Leviathan Dawn Damian is still Robin, so if Checkmate event want to use him as Robin, that will confuse the timeline. But on the other hand, the postponing is after pandemic break, and before pandemic break, Damian supposed to lose Robin title after issue 41. So what do you think about this?”

I am assuming your big question is; Do you think that Leviathan: Checkmate being indefinitely postponed has any relevance to Damian losing his Robin title or was impacted by DC’s future plans for Damian? 

Well, first we have to acknowledge we have a lot events going on at the moment in DC not just the situation with TT:

-> Joker War 

-> Nightwing Returning

-> Death Metal 

 And that DC said this about Leviathan being postponed: “ rescheduled to align with upcoming DC Universe storylines.“

So one of my thoughts is that they have so many events going on at he same time, they are trying to space it out by postponing it. 

But as you said, Damian is Robin in Leviathan: Dawn so it wouldn’t make sense to have 6 part series that runs through the time Robin supposedly loses his Robin title and goes missing. Plus its kind of strange to have Batman involved in this story if he’s out dealing with the Joker elsewhere. 

I think they are either waiting for Damian to return as Robin in the future in order to publish the series. Tynion did say that he going to demonstrate what the future of Batfamily will look like at Batman #100 and also that he had “big, big plans for Damian in bat-books” which could mean something positive or negative. On a positive note it could mean that Damian will return to work on Bruce’s side more often and separate from TT.

But also this is a theory, but Damian going ‘missing’  in TT could have something to do with Event Leviathan: Checkmate. Crazy thought, but Mark Shaw (Current Leviathan leader) could’ve kidnapped Damian to use as leverage against Talia in order for her give up Leviathan forever. Would be a great opportunity to patch Damian and Talia’s relationship although the thought of Bendis writing it makes me uncomfortable.

Or if we are inevitability going through this “Damian becoming an anti-hero/ Villian path” we could have Damian running off and working with Mark Shaw. Either because he wants to infiltrate Leviathan or because his current opinions about the world kinda aligns with Mark Shaw:

They both look like taking/willing to make radical decisions in order to change the world for ‘better’. So after the annual if Bruce does hurt Damian, it could be the final straw for Damian to decide to fully work against him and his mother. This also works with Tynion’s “big, big plans” for Damian. As I said before this could either a positive or negative thing. And the negative would be Damian returning as Batman’s enemy (which by the way making a child a threat to big hero is always a bad idea for the child. They wouldn’t be taken seriously by the readers or heroes alike, I mean see the Trickster in the Flash).   

But again, my second prediction would only work if Damian is gone for awhile. And we need too wait for the solicitations of TT #46 to get a hint if Damian missing is temporary or going to last longer than the Joker War.

Again, I’m sorry this took awhile to get out. 

Also, I am interested to hear your thoughts and also anybody else’s theories for that matter in the comments or in re-blogs.

[middlingthebest]

I’m Blue

Word Count - 1700

No warnings

Roman leaves things behind him, it was the usual bane of the day that Logan had to deal with. This particular thing was unusual but hardly weird enough to warrent this much of his attention. It was just a lipstick. A strange, blue lipstick. And yet it had a hold on his attention that he couldn't quite break free from. 

He shouldn’t have left it there. It was illogical, Roman had carried it out of his room, he hadn’t even put it on, and left it on the sitting room table before wandering off again. Logan had just been tidying it up when he slipped it into his pocket, he had fully intended on dropping it back off in Roman’s room and it was an honest mistake when he had forgotten about it, distracted by an “invasion” from Remus. Finding it later after he had begun settling into his room for the evening had been something of a surprise but hardly world changing.

He had already slipped his tie off, his glasses neatly abandoned for the night beside the bed. Returning to the commons would mean redressing and getting up from his chair, and he was disinclined to do both so instead he pulled the tube out of his pocket and set it on the table.

The lipstick was perfectly noticeable, clearly out of place in his room and he would spot it easily in the morning when he left for breakfast. In the meantime he turned on his desk lamp and pulled over his notebook to check through his to-do list for tomorrow and add the odd things he had neglected to finish today. There wasn’t much, though the distraction in the living room today had left a few low-priority tasks left undone, he thought as he glanced over at the lipstick then back again. He would have to speak to Remus about his timing, he concluded, noting it down to the side of his list and absently comparing the blue of his pen to the blue of the lipstick.

It was an interesting shade, and a strange choice for Roman - certainly not a colour he had seen the other side wearing before. He picked it up when he realised his attention had drifted back over to it and opened the cap, marking the top of his sheet with the makeup to inspect it further, a “swatch” he believed the term was though he had little confidence in his usage. He recapped it and sat it aside again, scribbling neatly with his pen beside streak of blue to compare the two colours though he was unsure what it was exactly he was looking for.

He stared at it for a long moment as he tried to drudge up the vocabulary to describe it as anything other than blue. He didn’t know the exact shade though could tell it wasn’t as rich as the ink, a paler blue but darkened like a grey. Pulling the sheet closer to him didn’t yield him anymore answers so he picked up the tube again and drew a line on his hand, bringing it to his face, lost in thought as he studied the colour and tried to figure out what it was about it that was drawing so much of his attention.

He should try it on. The thought snapped him out of his inspection and he recoiled from it instinctively, dropping his hand from his face as he picked up the tube to move it away from him. His fingers coiled around it but with his arm now outstretched he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it go. It wasn’t illogical to try it on, he told himself, still holding the makeup away from him. Its sole purpose was to be worn so wearing it was actually the logical thing to do. The colour was hardly dignified but it wasn’t gaudy. He would almost say it could be considered classy. Plus he liked it, he thought. And he was alone. He could see what it looked like, figure out his thoughts on it, and move on.

He pulled his hand back in and took the cap back off with a trepidation that was illogical and had brought it up to his face before he remembered people usually used a mirror for this kind of task. Standing from his chair, he quickly crossed over to the mirror hanging beside his dresser and paused in front of it. He felt foolish now that he was standing, it would be just as easy to take it to Roman’s room and be done with it. He lifted the lipstick to his mouth with a foreign motion and clumsily swiped it over his bottom lip, tidying up as best he could as he went along until he had one lip done.

Nothing comes out perfect on your first try, he reminded himself, swiping at the outline of his mouth until he had a reasonably clean line. He set about filling in his top lip with little further consideration until he had completed the task. For little more than a basic understanding of the theory behind applying makeup he thought he'd done an alright job with it. It wasn't as neat as he would have liked but the colour was pleasing and if he could apply it more evenly-

"Logan! Have you seen my-" Roman crashed in unannounced and Logan spun to meet him, feeling his heart seize in his chest as he watched the flamboyant side gasp and let out a strange, choking screech before leaving, fleeing just as suddenly as he had arrived.

He might actually be sick, it was the only thought that was circling around his head, as absurd as it was, and he swiped angrily at his mouth, conjuring a damp tissue and scrubbing at the stain until it was gone from his face. His blood was running cold around his body, sharp in his lungs as he kept his breaths steady and sat back down at his desk, his back ramrod straight. Roman exploded back into the room within the minute.

“Ah, good you took it off!” He exclaimed and if Logan hadn’t been mortified before he sure was now. Oblivious, Roman powered over to the logical side and presented his hand with a flourish. Logan lifted his own hand with the lipstick and Roman snatched it up but instead of leaving again he just perched on the desk behind him and waggled a thin stick in his face. “I brought lip-liner. I know me and the emo nightmare tend to hog Thomas’s attention when he’s had makeup videos on before but I thought you would know some of the basics.” He paused when finally noticed that Logan wasn’t saying anything and lowered his hand. “Are you ok?”

Logan didn’t think he was ok but he didn’t know how to process exactly how or why. His anger was lifting but the embarrassment and confusion he felt were both still very much present as he realised he had misunderstood the situation. Roman took his silence as a cue to keep talking but now that he had paused to read the room he lost all of his excitement and fell immediately into concern.

“I’m sorry, I just burst and started yelling. I didn’t take the time to think- I’m so sorry. I just got excited-” His eyes widened as he realised what he probably should have said in the first place. “That colour looked amazing on you, you just needed to tidy up the look a little.” He held the lip-liner up again for Logan and tried to push every ounce of his sincerity onto his face as he waited anxiously for a response.

Logan swallowed hard and did his best to push down his insecurity, his embarrassment over being caught unexpectedly, and tried to approach this rationally. He could admit his application of the makeup had been less than ideal. He had enjoyed the colour, it was interesting, and sitting before him now was a willing teacher who could help him come to the most fully realised conclusion he could reach. It might even be foolish not to take this for the opportunity it was.

Clearing his throat, Logan schooled his features and met Roman’s nervous gaze with a falsely confident one of his own.

“That seems reasonable.” He started, reaching to adjust his glasses before realising they weren’t there. He focused on the fact that Roman himself was in his pyjamas and that his own casual state of undress left him far from underdressed and carried on. “If you are willing to assist, while I am assured in my theoretical knowledge of applying lipstick the actual physical practice is not a skill I have acquired.”

The grin that broke out across Roman’s face was hardly called for but it succeeded in breaking the awkward tension that resided between them.

“Putting lipstick on can be a b****.” He summarised, the bleep he used to censor most of his swearing sounding around them as he uncapped the liner and reached carefully for Logan’s chin.

The finished look was not, apparently, the finished look as far as Roman was concerned but from what Logan could see it was much better than his own first attempt. The colour was dignified and applied flawlessly under Roman’s careful ministrations. It was loud – there was hardly any denying that blue lipstick could be anything but – and yet its cool and reserved tones lent him both a confidence and comfort in his own style and presence that he couldn’t have assumed it would achieve. When Roman fled from the room a third time, returning once again with more products, Logan couldn’t quite find it in him to discourage the creative side as he began colouring in his features with more makeup than he’d ever seen any of the sides (except Virgil, maybe) wear at any one time.

Logan allowed him to take a gentle grip of his face and followed his instructions to open his mouth, not that wide, well now it’s just closed again, would you stop talking for two seconds? with minimal complaints.

The final final look would never leave his room as far as he was concerned but he was keeping the lipstick. If he ever decided to wear it out was his own business but under Roman’s enthusiastic tutelage he was quick to learn an almost flawless application, and while he still wasn’t sure what exact shade of blue it was, he was certain that he liked it.

[normal-thoughts-official]

*breakdances softly* Thoughts on florist Magnus and tattoo artist Alec?

*waltzes aggressively* well i definitely do now

okay so like i am vaguely aware that you probably wanted me to actually create a story like i did for the other asks;

because listen, florist Magnus???????? i had never thought about it before, but that shit is THE BOMB

in indonesia, particularly Bali, flowers hold special significance both in the social and religious sense; they have meaning, they have history, and they have everyday uses and are a part of everyday life; people grow flowers at home, give them as gifts, have entire markets entirely dedicated to the trade of flowers. and yes, i know magnus is javanese, but this applies to pretty much all of Indonesia, including Java, and Jakarta has its own traditional flower market with flowers from all over the world and some of the sellers being in the business since the 60s, not to mention that many balinese ppl immigrated to Java and the two islands' histories are deeply connected. so nothing is even stopping me from believing that magnus' mom was a balinese migrant living in Java. which is exactly what im gonna do in this specific AU at least

So Magnus was actually born in Indonesia, where he lived for most of his childhood; until his mom suddenly died of a terrible disease and he was kind of thrown into living with his father, who, despite having him registered and being his legal guardian, had never so much as bothered to meet Magnus before this point

His father was also Indonesian but had long since moved to the US, so magnus' life was completely turned upside down. And despite providing financially for everything Magnus needed, asmodeus never really bothered with him beyond the basics; Magnus was pretty much self-raised

So for the whole time he lived with him, he ached with memories of his mom and his country. And what he remembered best about her was the flowers. The jasmines she used to grow at home, the unique smell they left on the water she used to wash his hair; the offerings of frangipani she would leave by their doorstep everyday, intricately sewn together and leaving the smell of both the flowers and the incense with them as they left to the ports; the flower boards she would give him on his birthday, different patterns every year, and somehow she would always find plywood and tahi cotok to make them the traditional way instead of the modern with styrofoam

Magnus refuses to let any of these traditions die; once he finally graduates and leaves his father's home (forever disappointing him in his refusal to take over his business) he dedicates almost all of the space in his home to a greenhouse where he can grow all of the indigenous indonesian flower species without worrying that they will die in the distinctly not-tropical climate of New York; he leaves offerings in his doorstep everyday, facing North for Vishnu, so as to bring harmony not only in his life but in his whole community as well. And he's a florist.

He knows both traditional indonesian flower meanings, and western flower language, and often mixes the two since the flowers in these cultures are so different. He makes bouquets, arrangements, and flower boards, keeping the tradition alive even when he's far away from home. This way he feels like he belongs, like he carries a piece of his mother with him everyday, and reminds himself that, even if he's been taken away from his home, it won't be taken away from him

It's pretty much only him in his shop, but his friend Dot also makes deliveries and helps him keep the shop running. He has a few regulars and all in all he lives a stable, happy life.

He meets Alec when he decides to make his first tattoo - a string of jasmines around his elbow, the national flowers of indonesia and also his mom's favorite. He chooses Alec both because of his mesmerising drawing style and his history of working and good recommendations from other dark-skinned people; his friend Catarina also tattooed at his shop, although with his sister, Izzy, who was the one who actually ran the shop

Alec is impressed by how well Magnus handles the pain; it's his very first tattoo and elbows are a bitch. Magnus doesn't tell him that after living with his father for so long he's used to the pain, but he does tell him about the meaning of the tattoo, the flowers, and his mom. He's surprised by how much he's saying to this guy he barely knows, but there's something about wanting to be distracted from the sting and having to be alone with this guy for who knows how many hours that keeps him talking. Alec listens to it quietly, focused on his work, and Magnus isn't even sure if he's actually listening, which kind of also works if he's being honest. Of course, Alec is; listening to Magnus talk is very nice, his voice is soothing and the way he talks about his mom and his passion for flowers is really touching, not to mention Magnus is just interesting; alluring, if you will. But he doesn't have much to add, so he listens

A few days later, Alec shows up at Magnus' shop, all private smiles and wandering eyes, and asks him for help with a birthday present for Izzy. He wants to make her something special, to thank her for her support when he came out and just support in general. It surprises Magnus, but Alec says that Izzy has always liked flowers and from the way Magnus was talking about it the other day, well, he seemed like a good person to help him with this present. He really wanted something to convey his gratitude

Magnus is pleasantly surprised that Alec remembers so much of what he said; even more so when he's careful not to step on Magnus' canang sari at the doorstep, with the incense still burning; and he's absolutely delighted when Alec says he wants Magnus to help him make an arrangement, not just make himself, and that he's willing to pay extra for his consulting (Magnus has never charged extra for consulting, because he really downplays his talent and work and loves sharing his knowledge; but it does feel nice to be valued and have his work acknowledged). So Magnus runs all of his ideas by him, shows him the flowers, and Alec carefully handles and smells them and listens to Magnus' suggestions and slowly makes his own based on what Magnus has been saying. Alec shows respect to the flowers and it's cute to see this big, buffy guy covered in weird tattoos and wearing a leather jacket going around and carefully handling the flowers Magnus grows.

Alec, on the other hand, is just fascinated by everything Magnus says and shows him, and his burning passion for what he does, and how clearly he likes to help people even if it means downplaying his own work

Wow this is actually starting to resemble a plot??? I'm shook

Anyway it takes them a long while to figure out what they want to do, and Alec actually ends up deciding on making izzy a flower board once Magnus mentions them offhandedly. Once Magnus assures him it's not offensive if he makes them with the proper care and respect for its meaning, they settle on working on that.

Listen I need excuses for them to interact okay. Also the idea of Magnus teaching Alec how to sew flowers???? Beautiful

Cue some gay shit, at least once Alec puts a flower behind Magnus' ear and tells him that it suits him, more often than not they find themselves having a lot of fun - Magnus teases him mercilessly over how bad at sewing he is, and Alec is deeply offended (except not really)

Once he even tries to challenge Magnus at doing something from Alec's element and see how well he does, only to be sent into the deepest despair when it turns out magnus is excellent at drawing

Magnus thinks he hears a muttered "of course" but he cant be too sure

Anyway they fall in love

Alec asks him out by making him a bouquet of magnus' favorite flowers, plus flowers that symbolize everything he loves the most about him (his uniqueness, his kindness, his fierceness, his determination in doing what he thinks is right, the joy he brings for everyone around him, his dedication to others, etc). Magnus all but swoons he is very charmed

They get married idk it always ends with them getting married when i have a say in it. Bonus points they get to be showered in flowers like in traditional indonesian weddings, which sends a very happy, very giggly magnus with petals still on his hair into absolute delight. Alec carries him bridal style to the bed and carefully takes the flowers off his hair and kisses him tenderly on their honeymoon and gggggggggggggggg.

Im gay and cant do this anymore im gonna get into a coma

Also, I will take this opportunity to just let it be known that y'all should feel absolutely free to take any and all of my posts as writing prompts; you dont need to ask for my permission to use the ideas, theres no way ill actually do them all and even if i do i dont mind that there are different versions of it going around; hell, i think that's amazing and exactly what fandom is for. Just link the post and if possible send me the fic because i'd be delighted to read it! What I'm trying to say here is, someone should write this

Also, I'm not hindu, so if any terms I've used are offensive or incorrect please let me know and I'll change it accordingly

[kristallioness]

2016 | 2017 | 2018

*quietly sneaks back in*... Happy New THIS Year, my dear followers! In Estonia, we have this saying that if you wish someone a 'happy new year' after Three Kings' Day (the 6th of January), you gotta have a bottle of alcohol with you and give them a drink. *lol*

Anyways, I would like to apologize for the sudden disappearance that happened prior to Christmas. I was just busy travelling back home for the holidays, unpacking and putting away my stuff, watching some great, traditional movies or shows on TV, and most importantly, working on those 2 latest masterpieces that I posted (which barely got 30 notes each.. *sigh*).

But as you can (and probably will) see, the year of the yellow earth pig (i.e. my dad's year) was a rollercoaster of emotions and accomplishments, or lacking thereof.

My creative side seems to have suffered the most due to lack of leisure time. I only managed to finish 3 full digital drawings and left behind several sketches or unfinished WIPs (2 of which are revealed here under the months of June and November for the first time, I intend to finish the Korrasami one btw). At least I got to start 2020 with a completed drawing on the very 1st day, ha-ha! Perhaps that's a good omen for this year?

If so, then I hope I'll find the time to finish the rest of the 2019 Inktober prompts, since I only did 4/31 this past October (even though I'd thought of ideas for all of them). I brought all the necessary drawing utensils and sheets of paper with me, so whenever I'm in the mood, I'll try to sketch another one.

*calculates for the nth time*.. I wrote 18,110 words worth of fanfiction, plus 820 words for the UYLD prompts (making the total 18,930). Technically, you can count another 8k+ in there, since it comes from that unfinished story (of Aang taking care of a flu-ridden Katara, as illustrated by the September sketch), which I haven't finished within the last 4 months or so. Plus, I barely wrote 1/5 of the amount compared to 2018.. *hides in shame*

Then again, I was an excellent pupil for picking up an actual book and reading through 150+ pages (which means I have ~300 pages to go). I'm talking about the new Kyoshi novel that came out. As I once said, I haven't voluntarily read a book in years make that 2 years ago (most of the reading I've done in my life is either Tom & Jerry comics, now the Avatar comic trilogies and art books as well as fanfiction online, or compulsory reading during school). But this novel is freaking fantastic superb!

Not only that, I bought all the new comic trilogies and managed to read them through. Damn, did they give me feels.. especially "Ruins of the Empire" (ngl I squeed so hard when I saw the Korrasami farewell kiss on the 1st page of the 2nd part). I can't wait to read the 3rd part this year!

However, I failed to rewatch Avatar last year, and I haven't seen Korra since.. 2016, I believe? Wow, that's 4 whole years.. But I intend to fix that mistake starting from 2020. Hopefully I'm in the mood to start my rewatch this weekend tonight. *fingers crossed*

But as I said, I had much less time to focus on my hobbies since 2019 was the year for finally moving on with my life (sort of, I'm still working on it). I still remember how down I'd been feeling for a while and how valid those emotions really were. The first quarter of the year (+ like a month or two) was a continuous descent into desperation and feelings of utter failure, which already started around the 2nd half of 2018 and only continued to deepen around that time.

Everything began to change when I was first chosen to be part of a 2-month summer internship in an IT company, and I had to start building a new nest in a new location in Tallinn this May. And now, I feel like I've hit the jackpot by getting a permanent job in another IT company this October.

I got the opportunity to work in two different fields, in two different teams within a year. I met some awesome colleagues (a lot of whom are foreigners) and got the chance to really put my English skills to the test.

Thanks to the new job, I also had to go to a free health check, which went really-really well. Despite my nervousness in the beginning, I feel much more relaxed about my physical (and mental) health, cause the results showed that everything's okay (something I'd been worried about since March 2017).

Speaking of health or staying healthy, there were a few sports events that I went to, too. Our team held the first winter team event (it was the first one for me, at least) by going to do archery in a range on the outskirts of the capital.

I watched the football match between 2 teams of our local league at my hometown together with my dad on his birthday. Our home team won the match and came in 4th place overall in the league this year, which is their best result so far (I'm really proud!). And merely days before I started work, I visited the Tallinn International Horse Show for the first time (also with my dad). I last got to watch horses jump over fences or dance to their musical programs ~ 10 years ago, and I loved it!

Event-wise 2019 was pretty full of them. As has become tradition, I went to the Defence Forces parade on our 101st Independence Day (which seemed rather bleak compared to the centennial, even more so since we didn't have ANY snow at the time).

What will hopefully become new traditions, I visited the television tower on the Restoration of Independence Day (where Uku Suviste gave a free concert in the evening), and went to the Veteran's Rock concert (to honour our war veterans) on our Freedom Square on the 23rd of April (since I'm residing in the capital now, I should be able to go again this year).

To continue with the centennial celebrations (yes, some things are STILL turning 100), I saw and explored inside the armoured train no. 7 called "Wabadus" ("Freedom") in the Baltic Station. This armoured train was one of the keys that led our country to victory during the War of Independence from 1918-1920.

There was an even bigger (150th) anniversary to celebrate in the beginning of July, when I attended our Song and Dance Festival. This was a really important, if not the biggest event of the year. I intend to make a longer post about my experience, cause it's something that you foreigners need to see for yourself. I can't simply describe or put it into words, I have to show you some videos and photos.

But while we're on the topic of concerts, I should mention that I went to 2 more at the beginning of June - Bon Jovi and Sting - as well as 2 that were part of Christmas tours in December - Elina Nechayeva and Rolf Roosalu.

Besides that, I went to 6 different festivals, half of which I'd been to several times before, such as the Türi Flower Fair, Jäneda Farm Days (where I went on my first helicopter ride for my 25th birthday present) and the Christmas market in the Old Town of Tallinn.

The other half is comprised of festivals that I'd been considering going to for a while, or which took place for the first time. The latter applies to the Black Food Festival, whereas the "Valgus Kõnnib" ("Wandering Lights") and the duck rally, both of which took place in Kadriorg, fall under the first category.

The duck rally is a charity event held in the beginning of June. Regular people can buy at least one (or several) rubber bath duckies for different prices, which will then be dumped into a tiny stream that'll carry them towards the finish line. This event has grown more popular each year, and the money the Estonian Association of Parents of Children with Cancer (sorry, long name in English!) collects is donated to the Cancer Treatment Fund.

*wipes forehead*.. Phew! I'm surprised, that's a whole lotta positivity for 2019. I think there's one more important, but seriously negative topic I haven't covered yet, but I feel should be mentioned and explained.

When it comes to politics, 2019 was a complete disaster for us. EKRE (Eesti Konservatiivne Rahvaerakond in Estonian, or Estonia's Conservative People's Party in English) i.e. our populist/nazi/pro-Trump party is in the government as of April 2019, thanks to 100,000+ idiots (out of our population of 1.3 million) who voted for them and gave them 19/101 seats in the Parliament.

No, I am NOT going to apologize for calling them a nazi party, because their main leaders have repeatedly supported ideology that's common to nazis (they use aggressive rhetoric, blame the media for making them look bad, downgrade women, minorities, are racist, anti-semitic etc...). And I will not apologize in front of the people who voted for them, because "thanks" to this, EKRE has dragged our country's reputation straight through a mud puddle (not to mention the scandals that have accompanied 5 of their ministers, 3 of who have THANKFULLY stepped down from their positions) and.. *swears like the British*.. it's BLOODY EMBARRASSING.

I am done being nice, I have at least some kind of prejudice about anyone who supports them or their ideals. And I will certainly not let Estonia end up like America. So that is why I participated in two protest events against EKRE and our current government (because the 2 other parties, who were willing to form the coalition with them, are spineless jellyfish that simply seek to hold onto their current positions of power). I'm willing to take bets as to when our government falls (the sooner the better).

*shakes off the frustration*.. Brrr! So besides that, I guess the only downside to 2019 was my spare time falling back in the list of priorities (which shows in the empty square of July).

2020 is gonna be the year of the white metal rat. I can only hope (and take action so) that it'll be just as eventful, and much more creative than 2019. Thank you all for following me (or lurking anonymously) for so long, especially to the bloggers who've offered me support through better or worse! *raises a glass* Here's to 2020!.. *sip*

[scaredofthebasement-blog]

When Love Walks In - Chpt 18

Chpt 18 - Auston Negotiates with Dr Quinn & Dr Quinn Reveals ‘So Much’

2281 Words

Dr Quinn reads Auston’s apology and feels the need to explain herself, “No Auston, I am the only one who owes an apology.  I am so sorry that I did not come to see you last week.  There are no excuses really which is why I didn’t give any.  But if you would like to know part of the reason I didn’t come by I can tell you.”

“Yes, please.”  Auston writes.

“Okay, as well as the off-site medical conference, I had meetings for a new education project I’m heading up with a couple of Universities and you know I recently got a life and went on a couple of dates.  But, I assure you that I was checking on you, through Dr Wright.  Unfortunately, Dr Wright neglected to mention that you were struggling emotionally.  Auston, I would have made it a priority to come see you if I knew you were having a tough time.”

“Thank you”,  He writes.

“I never want to let a patient down.  I am so, so sorry.”  She adds.

Let a patient down?  Is that all I am to you?  He mopes.

“I get it.”  He writes, keeping his disappointment to himself.

“You said part of your reasons for not coming, but what are the other reasons?” He dares to ask.

“Oh Auston, …um…Auston I’d prefer not to get into that if you don’t mind”,  She tells him.

What the hell is she referring to?  I need to know!  Is she conflicted?  Does she have feelings for me?  Did she figure out I have feelings for her?  Fuck!  Whoa!  Be patient Man!  It’s okay. You’re playing the long game.  If she is conflicted, has feelings or has issues with us, then it’s best that they are not acknowledged right now when there is still more work to be done to heal me.  I better not open that can of worms. He advises himself.

“No problem”, he writes.

Thrilled to be able to change the subject Dr Quinn asks, “So, Auston, did you have a chance to get that assignment done that I gave you?”

“Yes.  I asked Alex to look after my social media.  She’s working on it.”

“Great!  Did you pick someone you’d be willing to talk with?” Dr Quinn asks.

“Yes.”

“Ha, Auston!  You’re as evasive as I am.  Can I ask who?”

“Ha!  Yeah, I’m trying to be as mysterious as my doctor.”  He looks up and winks at her joking.

“He’s a man I consider to be a second father to me.  His name is Patty Marleau. He’s a retired Hall of Fame hockey player.  We played together during some of my earliest years in the NHL and he’s been a mentor to me. He lives in California now”, He writes.

“Oh, great Auston! Have you reached out to him yet?”

“No.  I want to wait till I can talk”,  Auston writes.

“Oh, okay.  I see.  I understand.  I can see how that would be ideal.”  Dr Quinn realizes.

She looks at Auston, and he laughs at her.  He gives her a smart ass look like ‘ya think?’

She laughs at herself. “Sometimes I forget that you can’t talk so you’ll have to forgive me.  I was telling Dr Wright earlier that I am amazed at how well I’ve got to know you without you ever having said a word.”

“Are you surprised by that, Doctor?  What about babies and dogs and other pets?  You can get to know them without them speaking a word.”  Auston writes, calling her out with his reasoning.

Dr Quinn takes the opportunity to tease Auston.  “Are you comparing yourself to a dog or a baby, Auston?  Is that what you’re actually comparing yourself to? Wow, Auston!  Okay then, Auston, you’re like a puppy to me.  I guess that’s it! That’s why I like you so much!”  

As the words come out, she immediately realizes she slipped up.  Oh, wha the Fuck did I just say?  Whaaaaaa….The….Hellllllll?  Quinnnnnnnn! Recover! Abort!  She screams in her head.

Auston: Wow!  Oh myyyyyyyyy Goooooooooooooddddddd!!!!  Did I just hear her correctly?  Oh myyyyyyyyyy Gooooooooodddddd!  She likes me! ‘So much’!

“What did you just say?” Auston writes, clearly about to bubble over.  He can hardly remember to breathe.

“Huh?”  Dr Quinn is in a hot daze.

“The last thing.  What was that you said?”  He knows she won’t repeat it.  He knows it was a slip-up.

“I don’t know; ‘you’re like a puppy to me’?”  She plays dumb.

Wanting to push the issue but at the same time afraid of where it may lead at this point in their relationship as doctor and patient, he only gently teases, “No not that.  The very last thing.”  He can’t help his smirk.

She mumbles, “what do you athletes call it when you tease each other?”

“Sorry, what?”  He writes confused.

“What’s the term for when athletes tease each other.”  She asks again, only louder.

“Chirp?”  He guesses.

He’s got her so rattled. She rambles.  “I don’t know, but whatever the term is, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not an athlete by my bad attempt at chirping.  Can we just change the subject, please?  There’s nothing good that can come from exploring that tidbit of information I just offered up on a plate, so let’s move on shall we?  And yes, for the record, I think you’re a wonderful person, and anyone would agree so don’t tease me about it, Auston.  Okay?  It’s my observation.  Let’s move on.  Thank you very much.”

“OK”, he writes, clearly enjoying her revelation and the way it has made her so flustered and cute. He quickly adds drawings of four emoji happy faces, See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil and a Winky Face and turns them to face her.

“Auston!  Enough!  And where’s your sister anyways?  She said she’d be back in an hour or an hour and a half at the latest.”  She scolds him as she laughs at the mess she created for herself.

“It’s only been an hour Doctor Q.”  Auston writes with a smile he can’t erase.  He wipes his board dramatically and adds with a huge flourish of his marker, “So much!”

“Oh my goodness, Auston. You’re going to drive me to drink.” She jokes.

Auston bargains, daring to ask again, “In the meantime though, I know you said I could call you if I needed to talk or was feeling down.  Does that mean you’ll be my Friend/Therapist?”  He writes.

“I’m glad you brought that up, Auston.  I was late for your procedure today because I was securing the very best therapist I know, Dr Moran.  He is very busy but as a favour to me he is willing to come and see you when you are ready. He is really good, Auston!  The best there is, in these parts anyway.  I highly recommend him.”

“No.  Thanks anyway.  Not ready for that yet.”  He writes to the point.

He continues to plot in his mind.  You and I need to get to know each other better so a big ‘nope’ to that.

“Really Auston?  He would be so much better than talking to a friend.  He has a great reputation for helping people deal with life-changing accidents. As your doctor, I encourage you to use him as your Therapist.

Auston believes her.  Sure this Dr Moran would be very helpful but I’m not giving up quality time with her by going to him.  Maybe later.

“But right now, I really need someone, like a friend, to bounce things off of, and since we already know how to communicate and I trust and respect you, I was hoping it could be you? Plus you like me ‘so much’ right?” He writes teasing.

“Oh my gosh Auston!  I’m never gonna hear the end of this am I?”

“Which?  Me asking you to be my Friend/Therapist or me reminding you that you like me ‘so much’?  Cause you’re right on both fronts.  Never. Gonna.  Hear. The.  End.  Of.  Either.  If you say no to Friend/Therapy, that is.  But if you say yes, I’ll drop both.  Pinky swear.” He writes and adds a winking emoji with its pinky up.

Dr Quinn can’t even laugh. She’s so lost in thought.  She’s conflicted. 

This is so not a normal request. What’s with this guy?  Spoiled much?  She thinks to herself.

When she doesn’t respond right away, he panics and writes,  “Please don’t say no to Friend/Therapy!  You promised you’d be there for me.  Oh yes, I did just do that!  I played the guilt card!”, he writes and adds a shocked emoji face.

“Friend-Therapy.  That’s not even a thing!  Eff!”  She mumbles but can’t help but laugh at him.  “You little Shi.!”  She scolds him.  “I hope you use this kind of stubbornness in your voice therapy, re-training and hockey games.   Seriously, Auston.  Wow!”

“Whaaaaa?   What did my esteemed doctor almost say?  I’ve got half a mind to report you to the Doctor Gods for almost swearing Dr Q.”  He writes teasing, thoroughly pleased with the results of his creativity and sticktoitiveness.

Auston thinks: she’s so fun to tease!  

He knows he’s putting both himself and her in a very awkward position.  But he just can’t stop himself.  It would mean everything to him if he could talk with her every day for long periods of time.

“Auston, I actually went out of my way to get you a top-notch Therapist and he will see you immediately despite a waitlist a mile long, but you want something you’re calling, ‘Friend Therapy’?  With me? An unqualified Therapist.  You’re kidding me?  Right?

NO!  Not kidding! I only want you!  Why can’t you figure that out without me telling you that I’m crazy about you?  Please, just go along with what I’m asking. He screams to himself in frustration.

Sensing he might not have her locked up, Auston now plays his last cards available,  “No, I’m not kidding.  I know what I need right now and it’s a friend to talk to that knows my situation, someone with whom I can communicate and someone that I trust. Those things are all you, Doctor Quinn. Like I said before, I don’t trust anyone knowing my shit.  I have an image to protect, and if my insecurities or deficiencies become known to the public, it would be devastating. Do you understand?”

“Yes Auston, but this is a doctor who has taken an Oath to protect any information you give him.”

“I can’t risk it, Dr Q. I’m sorry.  I appreciate you trying to help me by reaching out to him, but right now it’s you or nobody.”  Auston writes appearing emotional.

She looks at him to see if he is serious or just bluffing.   She shakes her head as if to say ‘well played my friend’.  

“Okay, Auston, I will be happy to be an ear for you till you can speak with your friend, Patty or you are ready to see Dr Moran, whichever comes first.  I will have to look at my schedule and try to come up with a time each day this week that I can come by and chat.  I’ll have to get back to you on that.  Okay?”

Auston is ecstatic.  He maintains his cool though.  “Thank you for considering it. I know how important your time is and wouldn’t ask without it being important.” He tells her hoping she’s not upset with him for pushing and appearing to be a bit of a spoiled brat.

“It is my pleasure, Auston. I know what you’re going through is very important.  I trust that you know yourself very well and know what you need. I am sorry for giving you a hard time. I just want what is best for you.  I’m not even qualified to be a Therapist, so just know that all you’ll be getting from me is the ‘Friend’ part.”

“You’re right, Doctor Quinn. I do know what is best for me. Thank you.”  Auston writes.  

And I’ll take the ‘Friend’ part of you, all day and every day till I leave this place, thank you very much!  He cheers to himself.

“Well, I should be going now but will come by sometime tomorrow and give you a schedule so we can start chatting.  Does that sound okay?”

“Yes.  Thanks again.  You made me feel better.  I’ve been having a tough go recently.”  He writes.  After Dr Quinn has read it he wipes the board, writes something else and turns it upside down so she can’t see it.

“I’m sure, Auston.  It kills me to see you hurting.  I will do everything I can to help you.  I’m so glad you’ve had this procedure now, and things are moving along. It’s getting exciting.  We’ve almost got your breathing in order.  Your voice is next.  Then you're on your way.  Very exciting!”

What’s ‘very exciting’ is I get to see you every day!  Auston thinks to himself as he leans back to rest, very pleased with himself but exhausted.

“I’ll be sending a Nurse in to attend to you shortly.  Please tell Alex I’m sorry I missed her return, but I will call her tonight.”

Auston smiles and lifts his hand to wave goodbye.  Then he holds up his board for Dr Quinn to see what he wrote earlier.

“So much!” Is all it reads.

He smirks as she rolls her eyes, laughs and leaves the room.

“You’re a goofball, Bam Bam! Such a weirdo!”  She calls out to him without turning around.

Auston:  Yes!  She likes me ‘so much’!

[lukes-writing]

Chapter 1: The Man from the Trailer

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 4000 Warnings: Mild violence, profanity

September 21st, 8:55 PM, Casino Northstar, Trinity Gate

The young man strides towards the casino’s main entrance, keeping his head down. Several people notice him - wealthy gentlemen in expensive suits with fine cigars in their hand, leaning against a luxurious car, trying to make a good impression on the women who accompany them, usually young enough to be their daughters.

They give him just one quick glance and continue to pay attention to the beauties by their side. Why should they care about some sketchy figure dressed in unkempt street clothes, walking with a heavy limp? His posture is hunched up, with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Tall, but neither athletic or muscular; even though he has to be in his early twenties, he is still lanky like a teenager.

The casino in the Confederation District is built to resemble an ancient Roman building - white, with numerous pillars, a triangular pediment above the entrance, even a dome on the roof. There are several marble stairs leading to the glass-filled front door.

The sketchy man draws more attention as he starts to climb the stairs. The wealthy visitors presumed he’s there only to inhale the atmosphere of luxury and beauty. That he’s some kind of miserable homeless man, or possibly some trailer trash, just continuing his journey with no goal. But now, it seems this otherworldly man wants to disrupt their social bubble and invade their territory.

Some of them take his mere presence as an insult. This is no place for such lowlifes.

As the man conquers the last stair and starts to make his way to the main entrance, a large bouncer blocks his way. He’s shorter than the mysterious visitor, but much larger and stronger, dressed in a suit and sunglasses. “Hey, where do you think you’re going in such clothes?” he barks at the man.

The bouncer has mixed feelings about that guy. Of course, he looks unbecoming to say at least, but he’s not filthy and neither he does smell bad. There’s also nothing weird about his face. It’s completely forgettable, neither attractive or ugly. Long and thin, just like his body and limbs. A short stubble of facial hair, shaggy, short brown hair, prominent nose and tired, almost black eyes.

“I think I’m going inside for some gambling,” the limping man replies with a gruff voice. He seems not to be afraid of the big thug at all.

Subconsciously, the bouncer wants to get rid of the man, mainly because he just doesn’t belong here. His youthful appearance, however, can offer a reason to kick him out. “May I see your ID, please?” the bouncer requests curtly. “I am not allowed to let in anyone under the age of twenty-one.”

Annoyed, the man reaches into his pocket and hands the guard his ID card. The bouncer notices his name: Skellinger, Parker. Twenty-three years old. Parker receives his ID back, secretly enjoying the distress he caused. Inside, he’s laughing at the bouncer’s attempts to get rid of him. Outside, his face stays emotionless.

Sure, Parker is wearing a hoodie with a logo of some metal band almost nobody knows, well-worn jeans and durable army boots. However, he made sure the casino has no official dress code before he decided to go inside. The bouncer has no valid reason not to let him in.

The heavy finally gives up and steps aside, making room for Parker. “Thanks,” Parker utters and hands the man a five-dollar bill, confusing the bouncer even more. Then he walks in, his boots resting on the red carpet which covers the floor.

The casino’s inside is a display of luxury, just like the outside. There are men in suits everywhere, chatting, playing a variety of games the casino offers, drinking fine liquor and, if they have no official escort, flirting with waitresses dressed in splendid Roman gowns.

More and more people stare at Parker as he limps towards the big poker table made of heavy, dark wood like most of the furniture in the casino. Some with revulsion, some with amusement. Who does he think he is? Probably another lowlife trying to gain a fortune by gambling. It won’t take long and he will leave even poorer than he came. That’s how it goes.

To everyone’s surprise, Parker reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of banknotes. “Ten thousand,” he says. “Give me tokens, please.”

The surprised croupier does as Parker requested. The sketchy man nods and continues towards the poker table, now enjoying the attention of the whole casino. The regular visitors play for such amounts of money rather frequently, but nobody expected this particular guy to step up the game like this. The desperate souls are usually willing to bet only about a hundred dollars. However, this guy doesn’t look desperate at all.

His determination and confidence unsettles even the most famous gamblers.

The players around the poker table aren’t playing yet. They are up for a friendly talk and a glass of nice Scotch, enjoying the golden glow of the casino’s interior. Parker takes advantage of it and takes the free seat. The men stop talking immediately. Their body language now shows the man in a black hoodie makes them uncomfortable. However, they don’t ask him to leave. He has money - money they can possibly win from him. One of the men tells the croupier the game can start now.

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” a waitress asks Parker as she passes by.

“Just a glass of Coke, thank you,” Parker replies, provoking even more mockery from his soon-to-be opponents who all enjoy glasses of fine alcohol.

The wealthy men see Parker and his money as easy prey. After all, they are the elite. The young gentleman wearing a fashionable crew cut is Trinity Gate’s poker champion. The overweight man with a mustache was able to start a renowned company thanks to the money he won in this game. And the remaining three men also aren’t amateurs. It’s something like a VIP club.

It’s no wonder they tend to underestimate Parker. But how justified their feelings are?

Parker would smile at the naivety of the men who play with him (or against him, as it seems the VIP players ganged up to bleed him dry as soon as possible), but he has full control over his facial expression. This is not only a result of countless poker games. He was just born with a natural talent for this.

What the men don’t know is that Parker has no chance of losing as he knows which cards do the men hold. He sees clear images in his mind. His sixth sense, as he calls it, has never betrayed him so far. Acquiring this kind of extrasensory perception was a painful, tormenting experience. So Parker doesn’t consider it wrong to use it for his own benefit, even though some may consider it cheating.

He intentionally lost a few rounds to keep the men’s guard down. They already started to snicker at his apparent lack of skills. But that’s what Parker wants. Calm them down, then strike.

The image in his mind is clearer when he closes his eyes, but he keeps them open to brush off any suspicion closing them may cause. The image is still bright as day. The young upstart has only three-of-a-kind - four of spades, four of diamonds, four of hearts. However, the fat man has a flush - five clubs.

Parker has a straight, so he has to fold and wait for the next opportunity.

It comes soon enough. First, he carefully starts to win some rounds when his hand is good enough. Then he steps up the game and in the end, there is only him, the young gentleman and the fat mustache man playing. The men have started to be suspicious about his skills which seem to get better with every round.

He finishes by going all-in when his pile of tokens is already considerably big. He already knows he has much better cards than both his opponents, so he ends up claiming the whole pot for himself. Not minding the shocked expressions of both men, he casually takes the tokens, exchanges them for dollars and walks away.

By then, he already has the attention of the whole casino. All the gamblers stopped playing for a while to witness the local poker champions getting obliterated by a random kid who came here for the first time. Before leaving, Parker generously tips the waitress who gave him the Coke he requested - the girl stares at the ten hundred-dollar bills in her hand in disbelief.

Nobody objects. This weird guy won the money fair and square… at least that’s what they think.

Parker’s sixth sense reveals everything. Which gamblers are armed. Who and what are they texting if they are on their phones - that guy over here with a young woman by his side definitely isn’t at work despite texting this lie to his wife. He’s aware of all hidden security cameras. To some degree, he’s also able to sense the mood and intentions of the people staring at him.

If he ever talked about his supernatural abilities, he would find it hard to explain them to a person confined to their basic five senses. They became a natural extension of himself. He sees things without his eyes, hears without his ears. That way, he can perceive things hidden from other people.

Some people notice the tattoo around his wrist. It’s a chain of five symbols - a circle, a square, a star, a plus sign and three wavy lines. Some of them recognize them as the symbols present on the so-called Zener cards which are used in the research of extrasensory perception. It could give them an idea about the true nature of this guy’s otherworldly luck, but they are all too hesitant to accept there is an actual psychic among them.

Parker finally steps out of the casino and slides the bouncer who let him in another pack of banknotes. Then he disappears God knows where.

Even though he’s gone, the other gamblers still find themselves unable to enjoy their night out as much as before. They have to constantly think about the young man who just invaded their territory, humiliated local champions, won a great sum of money and left like nothing happened.

The ones affected the most are, naturally, the two men who lost their money and dignity to Parker. They worked hard to earn the respect of the community and now, this random stranger made them a laughing matter. Some of their friends have already started to mock them for losing to such a lowlife.

The young businessman and the fat man with a mustache, who are best friends through thick and thin, exchange looks. They know there’s only one way left to regain their reputation. They don’t even start a new game. The duo just pays for their drinks, leaving a generous tip, then leaves the casino.

Parker can finally put a smile on his face as he counts the money he won from these two upstarts. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It’s not that Parker is a poor man - he already has about a million dollars locked in a strongbox in his trailer. This isn’t the first splendid poker victory he achieved.

However, because of these magnificent victories, he can’t visit the same casino twice. He knows that the renowned gamblers tend to hold grudges against weird guys who just show up and scoop the pot, even if they (at least seemingly) play fair. When it comes to big money, a lot of people turn into sore losers.

Parker walks down the alley which is almost empty during this hour. This is not his first time in Trinity Gate - he grew attached to this place since it offers the best of all three American territories in just one city. When he turns around, he can see heavy industrial buildings, factories and functional high-rise buildings which can be found in most of the major cities in the Central Confederation.

However, if he drove a few kilometers to the northwest, he would end up among vast fields, greenhouses and ecological houses typical for the Commonwealth of Great Moors. And a look to the northeast offers a skyline of futuristic white skyscrapers of the Republic of Northeast.

The city of Trinity Gate was built near the end of the second civil war to serve as a neutral ground for negotiation. Now it consists of three districts, one for each territory, and the “Core” which is completely neutral. A simple map of the city resembles the Google Chrome logo.

Trinity Gate is located at the point where Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky meet. After the United States divided, Indiana joined the Great Moors while the Confederation claimed Kentucky and the Northeast got Ohio. However, that’s all Parker knows since he’s not much into politics.

He already started to make plans for the rest of the night. He will probably drive to the Great Moors district to get something good to eat. Since the Great Moors are mostly agricultural territory, their food has the highest possible quality and is always fresh.

The food here, in the Confederation district, usually tastes like military rations. What can you expect from a heavily industrial, militant area which is like a bomb with a short fuse?

As Parker walks through the park which is basically just an alley with trees and several benches, his sixth sense warns him. Someone is behind him. Two people. One is slimmer, the other one rather heavy. Parker smirks. His two friends from today’s poker night.

He pretends he’s not aware of them and just walks casually.

Later, he finally hears a voice: “Turn around. Slowly.”

He complies and stands face to face with the young businessman with a butch cut. He has a gun in his head, its muzzle aimed at Parker’s head. The fat guy is behind him, expecting what will come next. “The money,” the younger man hisses. “We know you didn’t play fair. Give them back.”

Parker just smiles at him. “Sore losers, huh? How can you prove I was cheating?”

“The money! Now!” the man barks. Parker stays calm, infuriating him even more. The man’s finger is trembling on the trigger and his face turned red. Wow, I guess I really pissed him off, Parker thinks.

“How are you gonna force me with an empty gun?” Parker asks casually.

The suited man cocks the gun. “What are you talking about? It’s loaded and ready to blow your fucking head away. Are you really gonna risk your life for some money?”

“I’d give you the money if you had some actual ammo in that guy, but if you don’t even bother to load that gun, I can only tell you to piss off,” Parker utters without a sign of nervousness in his voice.

“So you still believe the gun is empty,” the man grins. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Parker shrugs. “If it’s necessary.”

The casino gambler just keeps pointing the gun at Parker’s forehead. Even without his sixth sense, Parker would be able to spot the man’s anxiety - trembling hand, droplets of sweat on his forehead, clenched teeth. “Come on, pull the trigger,” Parker taunts him. “I ain’t gonna give you the money. If the gun is loaded, shoot me.”

No response.

“Come on! Shoot me!” Parker raises his voice. “Prove me I’m wrong!”

The man finally gives up and lowers his gun. “Fuck,” he mutters, furious that this weird guy humiliated him once again. Of course, Parker knew the gun is empty. His sixth sense never disappoints.

Then, the men from the casino hear a rattling sound. The younger man’s face turns pale as he notices an iron chain in Parker’s hand, hanging from his wrist. Parker keeps this weapon wrapped around his forearm in case things get tough. Even though the men are already about to turn tail and leave, Parker can’t turn down some good beating when there are good targets.

He steps forward and cracks the chain like a whip. The young man screams in pain as the chain whips him and creates an ugly gash on his arm and back. Then, Parker turns around and strikes again, this time hitting the man’s head. The man collapses on the concrete pavement.

His overweight companion tries to run away, but Parker swishes the chain again. It wraps itself around the man’s leg. He trips and falls to the ground face first. Parker strikes him with the chain two more times - the metal lands on his back, then on his butt. The man wails in pain as Parker finally turns around and leaves.

“That’s what they deserve,” Parker mutters to himself as he wraps the chain around his forearm again. Then, he forgets about the incident and continues thinking about his late dinner in the Great Moors district.

September 22nd, 9:20 AM, Serenity Park, Trinity Gate

Wiccan Salisbury carefully examines the travel trailer parked in one of the nice parks in the Great Moors district, that kind of park with ponds, playgrounds and decorative fountains. The rising sun shines through the treetops above the man and a gentle wind makes them sway back and forth.

The trailer is large, big enough to substitute a house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the car which belongs to the trailer - a matte black Jaguar convertible, elegant and beautiful. Definitely not a car for a regular person. It had to cost a fortune.

Wiccan knocks at the trailer’s door.

The resident takes an eternity to open and Wiccan starts to lose patience. He knows someone’s in there since muffled sounds can be heard from the inside. He knocks once again. This time, the resident opens the door.

When the door open, Wiccan hears loud music - soft female vocals accompanied by violins which gradually grow into aggressive screaming and heavy guitar riffs. Then he also sees the resident - a tall, scrawny young man wearing a black hoodie. He has an annoyed expression on his face. He takes a drag on the cigarette in his hand and blows the smoke in Wiccan’s direction.

Then he points somewhere in the distance. “Woodstock is this way, old man,” he says, his voice as annoyed as his face. Then he just slams the door shut.

“Just why did I sign up for dealing with another Skellinger?” Wiccan sighs. The young man’s remark leaves him calm - he’s already used to people making fun of his long dreadlocks and youthful clothes he’s wearing. He knocks on the door again and then two more times until the trailer’s resident opens again, this time angry.

“What the fuck do you want?” he spits out.

“Let’s be polite for a moment, okay?” Wiccan replies. “My name is Wiccan Salisbury. And you are Parker Skellinger, I presume.”

“Mhm,” the young man nods. The metal music still screams in the background, making the talk even harder.

“Let’s say I have a job offer for you,” Wiccan continues.

Parker cackles. “Look, old man. I have this car, this trailer and about a million dollars. What makes you think I’m all eager to get a job? If this is all you wanted, you can piss off.”

The older man tries hard not to snap at the condescending expression and tone of voice of the brat in front of him. Parker takes another puff from the cigarette and once again blows it in Wiccan’s face. “It’s not some kind of everyday job offer,” Wiccan says. “We’re looking for special people with special abilities. And, according to my files, you possess an ability someone might consider unnatural.”

This remark changes Parker’s cocky smirk into glare full of anger and disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. Wiccan smirks; he succeeded at disconcerting this man. Wiccan would never recruit this guy voluntarily - his physical condition isn’t ideal and his attitude is even worse. But he’s one of the few possible recruits roaming close to Trinity Gate, so it seems he has no choice.

“I’m just a man who seeks talented people for a special job. I know you’re a nomade - a guy made for adventures. The job I’m offering you would get you a lot of thrill. And you would also find yourself while doing it. No more pointless roaming and living as an outlaw. We would give your life a purpose.”

“Not interested,” Parker retorts.

“In that case, I have another motivation… and you won’t like it much,” Wiccan looks straight into Parker’s eyes which is enough to unsettle the younger man even more.

 Wiccan opens the folder full of papers he’s carrying. “Okay, Parker,” he says. “See these papers? This is evidence of every fraud, offense and crime you committed since you turned fifteen. We know you cheat in casinos to win money. We know you beat people up from time to time. The minor offenses like speeding or breach of the peace are also there to spice things up a little.”

“Prove it,” Parker barks. His face, however, turned pale. Wiccan knows he’s on the right trail.

“Just yesterday,” the man with dreadlocks reads from one of the papers. “You cheated in the Casino Northstar in the Confederation district to win a large sum of money. Then you used a chain to injure two men.”

“It was a self-defense!” Parker objects. “They had a gun!”

“Maybe it could be taken this way… but what about this?” Wiccan takes another sheet of paper. “About a month ago, St. Louis, the Great Moors territory. An armed robbery. Parker, you’re a really naughty boy. You cause trouble wherever you go.”

“How do you know?” Parker blurts and Wiccan smiles in satisfaction when he hears the panic in his voice.

“Well, we have means the FBI can dream about. We know about every move you make, every website you visit, every thing you buy. So let’s make a deal. If you don’t come with me, I would have to hand this folder to the police. And trust me, I can make them follow you wherever you go until they catch you - we have a million ways to track you. You wouldn’t have peace for the rest of your life. But if you agreed to go with me…”

Parker’s face scowls in anger. “Are you blackmailing me?”

Wiccan shrugs. “Call it whatever you want - I need you to come with me and we can both benefit from that. These files say you’re intelligent. Reckless, yeah. An asshole, definitely. But you’re smart. And if that’s true, you’re not going to refuse. Not when I can offer you something much better than years behind the bars.”

The younger man still doesn’t look convinced. “How can I trust you?”

Wiccan comes up with his trump card. “I used to know your older brother.”

Parker’s face grows cold once again. “I don’t have a brother,” he says with such ire in his voice even Wiccan backs off. The older man realizes it probably wasn’t the best idea to mention Gerard Skellinger, the former member of Team Menhir.

The man has to find a way to get Parker on his side again. “So I guess your relationship wasn’t really warm… well, Gerard never spoke about his siblings and he isn’t among us anymore, so I guess you can forget what I said.”

Parker frowns. “Not among us anymore? Does that mean he’s…”

“No, not dead. He just left us and went his own way.”

“Leaving people,” a bitter smirk appears on Parker’s face. “That’s what he knows best. Anyway, back to the topic. It seems that I don’t have many choices other than doing what you say, right? Can’t say I’m overjoyed about it, but it can be fun, I guess. Do I have to go right now? Can I take my car with me?”

“No, not right now,” Wiccan says, relieved that he made Parker comply. “I will tell you the exact time and place where you need to be. And having a car is actually a benefit.” Then, when he notices the arrogant smile returning to Parker’s face, he adds: “If you think you’re smart enough to just drive away as soon as I leave, think again. In the second I would find out you didn’t arrive at the meeting, I would inform all the law enforcement units and the hunt would begin.”

The smile on Parker’s face slightly fades, but it seems the young man wouldn’t attempt it anyway. “Understood,” he says. “So when and where?”

Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!

@notquitenovelist

[iamrheaspeaks]

per·i·pe·tei·a 2

Erik x OC! (Morrigan)

Word Count: 1.9k

Bold text: Erik

Regular text: Morrigan

Warnings: None

A/N: Idk why my crazy self just had to include DTG knowing I hate it but here’s a reminder DDHHMM(Z)MON meaning (day, 24 time, local, month). Here’s Part 1 if you need a refresher. As always lightly proofread/ edited 💋

The Beginning:

150847UMAR

Target: Morrigan James

28yo 61.23kg

Identifiable Marks:

•Raised lateral scar/ left shoulder above armpit

•Roman soldier’s uniform shoulder pad tattoo/ left shoulder cap

•Emperor’s Crown tattoo/ behind right ear

•Tiny cat silhouette tattoo/ inner right wrist

Occupation: Case Manager/ Human Services

Mission: Deep Cover Surveillance

Morrigan flies out of her apartment to a used Mitsubishi Galant. It’s black on black minus the silver tire rims and front grill. She’s supposed to report to work at 0930. Morrigan stops at the coffee shop five blocks up the road while I hang back outside. The windows of the coffee shop are large enough for me to see everything from inside the Standard Issue Saab Truck they gave me. When she finally emerges Morrigan is balancing 6 cups of coffee and large brown paper bag. After finally maneuvering everything into the car she finishes her trek to work. She’s definitely something.

March 15 9:35am

Target: Erik Stevens/ N’Jadaka Udaku

30yo 225lbs

Identifiable Marks:

Keloid scars/ Range unknown

Occupation: Special Ops / Deep Cover

Erik arrived in town late last night. Judging by the looks of it he’d spent most of the night staking out my apartment instead of sleeping. A man determined. Something told me when his file hit my desk that Laila wouldn’t be the right one for the job. She is lethal and a hard-ass however, Laila can’t control her switches when angry or cornered. She’d blow the mission in an instant and this has to be long term. Erik won’t open up if the trust isn’t there. Plus, judging by the way Laila keeps staring out the window I made the right decision sending him after me instead. It’s 9:45am when Erik finally pulls off down the street, no doubt headed to his cover job. ‘Have a good first day Professor Stevens.’

151936UMAR

Morrigan and two female coworkers are having drinks at a Mediterranean Wine Bar named Porto. It houses a lot of culture-based décor. Antique knick-knacks and brightly colored, hand-painted tiles could be seen all around.  Not wanting to draw too much attention to myself it took awhile to scope out a good seat. The bartender serving the back of the house must’ve been new. She kept over pouring portions and confusing drinks. If it wasn’t for her being so personable I doubt anyone would come back to Taylor. I could see all the exits and most of the patrons from where I sat. Morrigan seems normal. Most of my surveillance of her so far just yielded information I already knew. Basic job, raised in a two-parent household, doesn’t appear to be living above her means. Definitely not a threat. ‘Why are you so important?’

March 15 7:40pm

Laila, Claire and I try not to let on that we see Erik keeping a watchful eye from across the bar. We discuss where best to take the residents on their day out after the weekly house meeting. Like most teens they liked the mall except Landon, he hated everything about the place and would often decline going all together. Which left one of us stuck at the residence with him watching the same bad comedy movies till our ears bled from the sound of his shrill laughter. Lately I didn’t mind because it gave me time to brush up on Erik before his arrival but one could only take so much.

 Present:

071725UJUN | June 7 5:25pm

“I don’t know what you think you know bu–”

“Erik Stevens. Born in the ghettos of Oakland, CA. Mother died in prison and father murdered.” She paused noticing Erik’s demeanor shift slightly. If she didn’t have his attention before Morrigan certainly had it now. “Got bounced around after that but, for the most part stayed on the straight and narrow. Immediately shipping off to Basic Training in the Navy and later graduated M.I.T. with a PhD in Engineering. Am I right so far?

“All common knowledge baby girl.”

“You’re right, allow me to share with you what else I know. And I knew before I found your box. Good hiding place by the way.” Morrigan giggled at the last part. It may have been underneath the floorboards but the box was literally in plain sight. Undetected until just the right moment. “You’re the lost Prince of Wakanda. N’Jadaka Udaku. The abandoned child that wants to burn the village to feel its warmth.”

Erik’s jaw and fists tighten. It’s one thing to relinquish control, it’s another entirely to question if it was ever his to give. “But you forget, I know who you are too.”

“That’s where you’re wrong my love. You know what I needed you to know, let me properly introduce myself. Morrigan Ebert. Born in the small town of Cromwell, CT. I was raised by The Major, the only thing I know about my real parents is they died in a car wreck.”

“The Major? Nabs kids and turns em into Sleeper Soldiers right?  What does The Major want with me?”

“Sleeper Soldier? That’s a first” Morrigan scoffed. “And nothing, he’s merely apart of my backstory.”

“You really tryin my patience.”

“Stop interrupting me and maybe you’d learn something!” Morrigan could tell Erik was surprised by her tone. Never having had that voice of authority used on him by her. “I thought this would be more fun but now I’m kinda bored. Look. Everything I told you is true. But maybe you’ll be more willing to believe it if I tell you my other name. The Djinn.”

Erik shifted in his seat after that. Either this chick was fucking crazy or she was who she said, which would mean that he’s been the one at a disadvantage. Erik was more comfortable believing the first one. He knew Morrigan. She’d look for her phone while she was talking on it. Climbed on the fucking counter tops to get shit from the top shelf. Morrigan coddles adult children for work. There’s no way this is the person he’d been secretly searching for. The person that could get Erik that much closer to his goal. How could he be sleeping with the likes of one of the most sought after, dark wish granters and not know it?! He sat in silence and waited for Morrigan to continue her monologue.

“Before you, the only person to know my identity as the Djinn was The Major. I don’t actually meet the people whose wishes I grant. It’s best if people don’t know who I am. But I knew as much as they fiend for the opportunity, none of my charges would truly be up to that task that was Erik Stevens. And I was right. That flash drive–” pausing to point at the piece of metal and plastic still plotted in the crevice of his jeans “holds all the details of your revenge. Your fantasy. And as much as I would love to help you overthrow the Wakandan government I don’t believe that’s what you deeply desire.”

“You really expect me to believe that shit? ANY of that shit? After you JUST told me you one of the kids Major made? That you had me from jump? Nah! Now I know you reaching. You don’t know shit about what I want!”

“First of all, I have no doubt that revenge is what you want. What I said was it’s not what you deeply desire. Those are the types of fantasies that I grant. Your confidence in the old ‘too good to be true’ mentality is what makes you a victim of it. Everything I just told you made me The Djinn. What better person than someone who was raised to be anyone and blend in everywhere? Or do you feel that because you know The Djinn’s track record that it couldn’t possibly have been orchestrated by the frail woman that curls up to your side in bed at night? Like I said before. Everyone has their weaknesses.”

Morrigan allowed Erik to sit there with his thoughts for a moment. She was analytical. And calculated in a completely different way than him. It wasn’t enough to know what a person’s next move was. Morrigan wanted to know why they did it. The root cause behind it. And if that was the case then what the hell had she gathered about him? If revenge wasn’t what Erik deeply desired then what was?

“I really can’t see ya little ass doing shit I’ve heard about the Djinn but putting that aside for a moment” sitting up placing elbows on knees he looked at Morrigan with piercing eyes, “Tell me. What is it that I deeply desire?”

Morrigan licked at her bottom lip while holding Erik’s gaze. “You want the same thing as every other black boy from the hood Erik. A way up and out of the pit. Just on grandeur scale because you know you were made to be more. However death and destruction has taken you as far as it can with that task. You just don’t see it yet. If you really want to expose the truth and prove your birthright you need to try a different approach. That is a wish I’d grant.”

“Mmhmm. So what you get out of this?”

“You in my bed of course. Although. I’d understand if you wanna sleep down here tonight.”

“No grand fantasy of your own you chasing after, Djinn?”

“I was the Djinn before you got your famous moniker. You don’t think the first wish I granted was my own?” Morrigan challenged with quirked eyebrow. “Despite what I said to you the first night I invited you in, I fell long before you showed up with that brooding face of yours.”

~ ~ ~

Morrigan was staring down into the most captivating pools of chocolate brown as they stared back up at her while she balanced on one foot. She wore a smile on her face thanks to the victory of taming the beast in her bedroom. Even if it were only for a moment. Morrigan ran her hand down her frame before breaking away at the hip of the leg that rested on his shoulder. Using her thumb to stroke his jawline tenderly before gripping Erik’s chin. Slowly rubbing her index finger over his Adam’s apple coaxing a groan of appreciation out of him as his nails dug into her thighs at the scent of her essence getting stronger.

~ ~ ~

“I would fall from grace just to touch your face.” Erik hummed silently under his breathe in time with the memory of that night. “Convince me. Prove to me that you’re the Djinn.”

“Alexis. Your Teacher’s Assistant. She’s one of mine.”

“The girl that damn near took me down running out my office when I shut the light off on her?”

“Her mom used to lock her in the closet for extended amounts of time to keep her from tainting her brother’s innocence. The older her brother got, the more intense her punishment.”

“Wait? The Closet Slaughter. That was you?! The Djinn isn’t even credited for that.”

“Yes, that was me. And it wasn’t done for credit.”

“I see...Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.”

Morrigan couldn’t help but chuckle before correcting, “Actually Erik, in Corinthians, the devil wasn’t transformed into an angel of light. He was disguised as one. But thanks for the compliment.”

“Well as helpful as this encounter has been I’m still seeking vengeance baby girl.”

“Then leave. Find someone who has no problem serving up the vengeance and death you seek. Wishes are for the living.”

Tags: @savagesensitivity @cancerianprincess @another-imaginesblog @loosewindmill @bidibidibombaclaat @muse-of-mbaku @chaneajoyyy @itsangeludaku @eriknutinthispoosy @im5ftbutmythroat66 @theunsweetenedtruth @blackpinup22 @fonville-designs @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @nickidub718 @dabluestsky

[maiji]

“If you could pick 5 members to be on your team in the dark tournament, who would it be?”

So while I was going back through my archives trying to see if I had any incorrectly flagged content (I scrolled all the way to 2015, found three, and gave up/went to bed lol), I kept getting distracted and rereading old posts out of amusement. One of them was this 21 Questions Yu Yu Hakusho meme - and one question in particular made the gears of my brain clank so I thought hey, why not? Let’s answer it.

I'm going to tackle this question from two angles.

A) If I could pick ANY characters in Yu Yu Hakusho to form a team.

B) If I could only pick characters who appear during the actual Dark Tournament.

As soon as you see my first list, you'll understand why I was like, “oh.” and opted to do it again from B lmao.

(Oh yeah my tags spoil everything but oh well. Hope the rationale makes up for it hahaha)

VERSION A: Fun times

Raizen.

I'm sorry, the tournament is over now, thank you for coming. Seriously though, he's Yusuke with a million times more firepower and brains/experience. Also, one of the appeals of Yusuke is that he makes fighting fun, which is why everyone wants to go up against him. Raizen's friends express the exact same sentiment repeatedly. Raizen in his prime in battle would be a sight to see. He'd be all DID SOMEBODY SAY FIGHTING?? YEAH I'LL FIGHT ALL THE FIGHTS WAHOO and nobody would be able to get him off the arena platform. If there is an arena platform left. Or an arena. Or anything.

Enki.

Jolly uncle/all-round good dude, I love him. He also loves fighting, so he is also lots of fun. He seems much more cool-headed and practical than Raizen, and definitely takes the lead in coordinating the rest of Raizen's pals. Thus, he's a great wingman for Raizen. If you somehow actually manage to defeat Raizen- haha, what am I talking about? OK, if Raizen slept in or something, then you can fight Enki. And in that case the tournament is still over.

Kokou.

LOVES FIGHTING AND WILL KICK YOUR ASS. Even Enki was relieved he didn't have to face her. I firmly believe after Raizen she's the strongest - or at least one of the strongest - out of all of Raizen's already insanely powerful friends. Honestly, between Raizen and Kokou they'd probably just take everybody down, including each other, and have a blast. 

My perfect noodle husband Hokushin.

Obviously no one is surprised at this pick on my blog. Also loves fighting, plus super duper reliable, he's perfect support for anything. Along with Enki, he'd help temper Raizen and Kokou's wild party. And somebody needs to clean up after all the mess and make sure everybody gets first aid and whatever. Well, first aid for the other team they just massacred, I guess.

One more Raizen friend: Natsume.

We could put another one of Raizen's friends here, but I pick Natsume because we know a lot more about her and she's so badass and we should have more women. Also, because she's very clearly another great mashup of LOVES FIGHTING and NOT STUPID, as a fifth member, she can easily step in to fill any of the others' shoes, whether it's happily beat the crap out of everything in sight or be calm and strategize. If anybody ever actually needed to be filled in for some reason.

I call this amazingness Team Old People. IMO this team is flawless because they would just be so damn entertaining on so many levels. You have five extremely powerful and smart warriors with centuries of experience who have nothing to prove aside from sheer enjoyment of battle. Every one of them has expressed a passion for fighting because it's simply a joy for them, which means they wouldn't be playing it safe/boring. Seeing a master in action at practically anything is awesome, and not only that but they’d be willing to experiment and take risks and do things that are out there. A tournament is also a form of entertainment for the audience (both the real life audience and the one in the show), and that combined with their expert level combat skills means that I think they'd be so fantastic to watch. And all of them have distinct personalities that balance "I am an ancient demon with wisdom and stuff" VS "I love punching people (or getting punched) in the face!!" in different enough ways that they still offer really interesting character dynamics and interaction opportunities. And they would also be incredibly supportive of each other while still allowing for plenty of snark.

That said, FUN FUN FUN aside, the very obvious problem with this team is that they seriously break the question. And everything else. Even if they don’t intend to flat out obliterate everything, that’s what would probably happen, and that unfortunately can easily head towards its own kind of boring. Everyone would be like "why are we having a tournament, we're going home". So, we must leave Team Old People behind and move on to version B.

VERSION B: Serious business

Dark Tournament characters only. I will exclude members of the Toguro Team from my selection for obvious reasons. NO MORE FUN TIME. This is me pretending that I'm some rich underworld dude or whatever putting together a team I'm betting on to get through the tournament. You're going to see a clear pattern emerging from my picks.

Genkai.

The veteran. Intelligent, experienced, very powerful and pragmatic. I'd shell out big bucks to get her to come back to be my team's captain. No question for me, she's a must, even if all she does is sit on the sidelines and coach the rest of the team. With a group of serious, motivated and talented fighters, she'd be the best mentor and my team would be well-positioned to MAKE ME LOTS OF MONEY SO IN YOUR SMOKY SCARRED FACE SAKYO

Hiei.

Those who know me may find it shocking that I'm including Hiei but not Yusuke, Kuwabara, or Kurama. Hiei doesn't appear on my tumblr very often, and of the four main characters he's probably the one I'm least emotionally invested in. But if you're assembling a team for the Dark Tournament, you're IN IT TO WIN IT!! And Hiei is the best bet. I shall explain.

Hiei is efficient and effective, and his success ratio is the highest out of all Urameshi Team members - the most number of individual fights without a single loss or draw. Granted, he sits out for a chunk of the tournament, but he rarely appears worn out at the end of a fight. The only time he overexerts himself is against Zeru; after his recovery, he never seems to break a sweat. Even against Bui, he had no real issues. From a betting perspective, his odds are very, very good. Kuwabara and Kurama both experience multiple losses - Kuwabara often because he's young and overconfident or becomes so personally involved that he cares more for a positive outcome for other people than for winning; Kurama often because (as Hiei notes) he tends to overcalculate the situation and draw things out so long figuring everything out that it turns into a disadvantage. Yusuke's very strong and has huge potential, but he's also focused far too much on the experience. This makes his battles fun to watch but would give a strategist heart attacks. Many of his fights involve near-misses or less-than-ideal situations stemming from amateur errors. And finally, he gets dinged with a draw in his match with Jin, in part because his dawdling on the field made the deception feasible. Yusuke's great for drama and storytelling, not great for the comfort of my pocketbook. Having him on a team is risky when I know the other underworld bosses I'm competing against are not above using underhanded tactics.

As a result, based on a purely practical evaluation, Hiei is the most reliable choice. He's very focused on, and very good at, the one thing I want - DEFEAT THE OPPONENT UNEQUIVOCALLY. He comes in and tears people apart and there's no chance of an ambiguous referee call. He just needs his team members to be people he can respect to keep him in line. With Genkai as captain, that shouldn't be an issue. Nor with the rest of my picks.

Ryo (Kai in the anime) / M-3.

This is the Dr. Ichigaki member with the invisible claw powers. After their fight, he offers to be a replacement for the seriously injured Kuwabara (Yusuke appreciates it but has to turn him down because it's against the rules unless Kuwabara actually dies). He seems to be the strongest of the three students who were brainwashed by Ichigaki, and without Genkai's intervention and his own struggling against Ichigaki's mechanism, he would very likely have wiped out Kuwabara and Yusuke. He's extremely serious and dedicated, and with someone like Genkai steering the helm I think he'd go far. I'd be comfortable putting money on him. I also like him a lot and wish he had more involvement in the story - I've always felt that if Togashi didn’t need to get Koenma in for story purposes Yusuke hadn't been so freaked out and completely lost mentally when Genkai died, he probably would've asked Ryo to be the replacement fifth member. SOMEONE WRITE THIS

Touya.

Stronger than Gama, less arrogant than Risho, more reliable than Jin (who has many of the same problems as Yusuke), and Bakken sucks and will never be considered by anybody. Touya's powers are also very flexible. Somebody just needs to tell him to NOT TALK TO HIS OPPONENT. Don't talk to them, don't listen to them, don't let them distract you, don't let them get into your head, JUST GET IN THERE AND EYE ON THE PRIZE AND BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF THEM OKAY lol. I also think when Genkai was training everyone for Kurama, Touya was probably the one who gave her the least hard time. I mean, out of Touya, Jin, Chuu, Rinku, Suzuki and Shishiwakamaru who do YOU think would bellyache the least? I thought so.

The fifth member is actually a backup/alternate who doesn't necessarily see action (if you recall, this is why Chuu was mad). For my final pick, I took a while to decide, so I'll tell you about both of the last two people I was considering since I enjoy any excuse to talk about characters I don’t usually see mentioned.

5a is Zeru. 

OK, partly I considered him because nobody remembers him lmao - he was Hiei's first victory, obliterated into a shadow by Hiei's training-wheels Kokuryuuha. But if you look at my other picks, I think you'll appreciate why he's on my radar - he fits the profile of what I'm looking for very nicely. I want someone in control of themselves; who is a reliable, consistent, focused fighter unlikely to get distracted by other things; who clearly demonstrates power and is committed and has potential to grow really fast with the right direction/team captain. The only thing is that with Hiei already on the team, this may be duplicating the skillset and the mental profile a bit too much. And I think it's clear Hiei already has the upperhand in baseline power. So,

5b is Suzuki. 

His strength isn't fighting. It's his ingenuity in adapting, augmenting, and outfitting his team members with really good, really creative tools. He's honestly more a tinkerer and an inventor, imaginatively tweaking things to be even more useful, and whenever he realizes and accepts this about himself instead of trying to be just another fighter in the limelight, he'll be rich lmao. Anyways, this skill makes him a hugely valuable asset. I don't need him to be in the ring, I'm fine having him support with cool gadgets to amplify the rest of the team.

I HOPE YOU LIKED MY PICKS lol

[hourglassgod]

Thank you to @junkpilestuff for making me aware of this via twitter.

Okay, so I will admit that I really love Asra. Like, a lot. Similarly, I love Julian for being his dorky self. However, after thinking about it for a long while, I realized that if I actually appeared in The Arcana I would most realistically end up with Nadia or Portia. Let's face it. These two have much less drama than our other boys.

So, when I saw this chart on twitter, I got curious. It wasn't that surprising that I would have something akin to a one sided relationship with Asra. Honestly, I would likely assume he didn't have feelings for me and automatically rule out having a romantic relationship with him.

With Julian, it could work but it wouldn't be ideal. I'm going to be frank and say that I've been in relarionships with people like Julian. I loved them dearly but it tended to burn bright and sizzle out due to problems that couldn't be resolved. (And I might have run out of patience) So, it was understandable that I would be drawn to Julian but I would have better luck with him if he had the self realization that he has developed in the most recent chapters. (On a sidenote, Julian and Asra are listed as an ideal match. I could see them getting along quite well if it weren't for the Apprentice's, ah..., effect on Asra at the time causing his judgement to cloud. Then again that entire time frame is a shitty place to try and start a relationship.)

Lucio would be a one sided match. He would likely be enamored with me, and I... I would likely kill him. I had a stalker like him at one point that I got fed up with and beat up to scare him away. Kudos was that it kind of worked.

Muriel would be a better chance. I got to say that I like his quiet nature and way of thinking. However... he kind of, you know, hates us. Ouch. However, the first time I met him I was kind of bristling before deciding that I wanted to become his friend. If he opened up and we did eventually become friends, I might end up after a few years realizing that I like him. I would then try to initiate a relationship and pray that it would work. Honestly, in real life, I wouldn't mind getting married to someone that I became best friends with first before starting a romance with. (On a side note, as formerly having Muriel's personality, he might very well be in love with Asra, even if he doesn't quite realize it himself. And also relating to personal experience and in game evidence, Asra would likely only view him as a good friend or a brother. Which sucks ass and could explain some of the jealousy/hatred towards the apprentice.)

Portia has more than enough of a good chance, in my opinion. She has the teasing fun personality that draws me to Julian, but she lacks some of his danger seeking drama ways. Multiple times she states that Julian is being unnecessarily dramatic when a problem could be solved in a simpler more direct manner. Which I love about her. I actually fell in love with her when I was going through Julian's route and having mild panic attacks at his thoughts and choices. And then Portia would come along to say "That's a stupidass decision, Ilya." And I would be like, Ah! Someone who understands! Additionally, I love her quick humor (Ilya and having more than enough salt for the rest of us). I could definitely see us teasing Julian relentlessly. Also... I will admit that in Julian's route, I did contemplate ditching him in a relationship to go for Portia instead. Her lifestyle with a nice cottage, garden, and Pepi is much more suited for me than constantly running around on crazy adventures with Julian. I crave some of the simpler things in life while still being able to have a good laugh and fun like I would with Portia. It would be a hard decision based on the timeline, but I would have a better relationship with Portia than Julian since I can't have both.

Okay, moving on from that slightly depressing note...

Nadia is listed as an ideal match for me. Oh lord. Where to start? Her teasing personality just KILLS me. I am used to doing it to other but when it is done to me? It's a 50/50 chance of me saying something witty back or melting into a puddle of goo. Also, I admire her for being a strong woman and trying to accomplish everything on her own. Considering that Lucio wasn't supporting her or helping her, but she started to improve with Asra and Julian's friendship? I would more than be willing to help her and get her to open up about trusting other people. Plus, it would be nice knowing I had someone reliable at my back going through the events of the game. I also feel like as we progress in a relationship she would definitely help me with my "it can't hurt you if it's dead" ways that could certainly get us into trouble with the way things seem to be shaping out in game. Although, in real life, it is an issue as well. Have I mentioned how intelligent and caring she is? She helped design fucking aquaducts in Vesuvia! She geniunely wants to help the people and has the opportunity now that Lucio isn't in the way. (Side note, as also being in a similar mindstate to Nadia before. I can see why she might strike up a relationship and marriage with Lucio. However, it would be a toxic one. I could go more into this at another time if wanted.) I enjoy helping people and would love to do so with Nadia at my side. I could see where she comes from in the beginning with wanting to hang Julian, but after meeting him I would advise caution and try to find out the whole truth. I love figuring out mysteries and either bringing a peaceful end or a righteous execution of consequences. That isn't to say that I would be sympathetic to the difficulties Nadia has with actually killing someone, as I touched on before. I could definitely see us being in a relationship though it would be interesting seeing the both of us constantly presenting each other with gifts that we think the other would like to show affection. I also think that I could help her when it comes to the times that she NEEDS a break. I could see the relstionship working out but I have no idea where it would lead us in the end. Hopefully some place happy where she has reconnected with her family and Vesuvia is prospering with its people healthy and cared for.

I think that that is enough analysis for now. I might do some more theorizing later. Lol. I probably could have done a video on this on YouTube, but oh well.

Asra- ISTP

Julian- ESFJ

Nadia- INTJ

Lucio- ESTP

Portia- ENFP

Muriel- INTP

Me- Can you figure it out?

Thanks again to Junky for inspiring this mess. *salutes*

[ittookthelightforever]

Fire and the Thud - Chapter 1

Hi, 

I got this idea to write Alex as a Prince and here it is, by popular demand (Hi Sarah *waves like a grade school kid at a school play*) my new chaptered fic. Bare in mind that I am a person who binge reads Sarah J. Maas novels, sooooo… I hope y’all like it! 

Love, Lina.

Alex wakes up much too early for his liking and tries to roll over in an attempt to fall back to sleep, but he is met with a warm, solid body, “Hmmmm… Mi…” Miles moans and pulls Alex into his arms, “Go back to sleep, love, it’s too earleh.” Alex places a kiss to the soft skin of his chest, “Babeh, if me mum gets wind that you slept in me room again she’ll put yeh in the next ship to the continent, and I just can’t bare the thought.” To emphasize his point Alex lays a trail of kisses up Miles’ neck and scruffy jaw.

“Well, tha’s no way to get me out of ‘ere. Plus, I bet the Queen has more important things to worry about.” Alex scoffs, burying his face on the pillow beneath Miles’ head, “Oh love, ‘m sorreh, I-I forgot.” Miles runs his fingers through Alex’s soft hair, coaxing the boy to look at him, “She’s out there, practically rounding up every girl in the kingdom trying to find a solution to this goddamned curse, Mi.”

Miles wraps his arms around him, drawing soothing patterns on his naked back, “I’m sorreh you ‘ave to go through this, love. I’d take your place if I could.” Alex nods, sighing, even if he could he’d never let anyone take his place.

--//--//--//--//--//--//--

On the other side of the island Charlotte had been working non-stop for hours, churning out breakfast for all the guests at the inn and some stragglers from the nearby port. Charlotte is as ordinary as it gets, she has spent most of her life working at the kitchen at the uncle’s inn after her mother had put her in a ship to Balaclava and disappeared. The 20 year old woman had been saving to move back to the continent on her 21st birthday, in search of her mother or a greater purpose, dreaming of a life where she’d have control of her own fate.

The influx of people from the continent had gotten higher and higher as they neared Prince Alexander’s birthday and with only a few weeks to the big ball her uncle had been talking of extending kitchen hours to serve those who arrived between midnight, when they closed, and the next morning. The prospect brought chills down Charlotte’s spine as she was already worn thin as it was working from 6am to midnight.

“Charlotte?! Charlotte, come here!” The young girl wipes her hands on a rag and walks out of the kitchen, towards the dining hall from where her aunt’s booming voice was coming, “Yes aunty?” Standing next to her aunt was a member of the royal guard, high-ranking from the looks of his uniform, “What can I help you with, sir?” Charlotte notices her aunt is practically shaking with giddiness from having such an important person in their midst, “Miss, your royal highness, her majesty Queen Penelope has requested that you be taken to the castle to aid in the preparations of his royal highness, his majesty Prince Alexander’s 21st birthday.”

Charlotte wrings her dry hands nervously, while her aunt frowned slightly, “May I inquire why, sir?” The guard seems to be getting impatient, “His majesty Prince Alexander recalled a meal he has had brought to him from here once, some sort of sweet bun, and desires to have it served at his ball.” Charlotte can immediately recall what bun he is talking about, it’s an specialty of hers, but she has to hold back a scoff at the fact that the prince is so entitled that he’d send someone to get her just for that, “I see sir, but you’ll understand that lending my head cook to her majesty will bring me great misfortune.”

The guard grunts, pulling a bag from his pocket, “This should more than make up for your losses, m’am. Shall we, miss?” Charlotte looks back and forth between her aunt and the guard a couple of times, “Uh, c-can I get my things?” The guard gives a curt nod, clearly annoyed by how long this was taking. Charlotte quickly makes her way downstairs to her room in the basement.

Ever since she’d arrived to live with her aunt and uncle in the island Charlotte had occupied the dank basement room, where it got much too warm and stuffy during the summer, and freezing and drafty in the winter. As fast as she could Charlotte gathered her few possessions in a burlap sack, - a woolen dress, identical to the one she was wearing; her winter cape, nightgown and a few hygiene items; and the book her mother had given her before she boarded the ship that brought her to the island, the last gift she’d ever received.

Holding the sack close to her Charlotte bids her aunt and uncle goodbye and follows the guard outside, he leads them to two tied up horses, “Can yeh ride?” Charlotte regards the large brown horse in front of her, patting her dense fur, “Yes…” Her voice trails off and he doesn’t wait for further confirmation, mounting his own mare. Charlotte follows suit, reminiscing about a time when riding had been pleasurable nearly daily activity to her.

It was a two days trip to High Green, the capital, and the guard set out a quick and steady pace to their journey, “Will you tell me your name or shall I just refer to you as guard until we arrive to the capital?” He gives her a sideways glance, truly regarding her for the first time that morning, “I am Captain Matthew J. Helders, the third.” Charlotte holds back a laugh at his seriousness, “Nice to meet you, Capt. Helders. I am Charlotte Sirius.” He grunts in response and she readies herself for a very long and quiet two days. “Your uncle and aunt, they seemed quite…” She is surprised by his willingness to talk about this particular subject, but doesn’t back down.

“Greedy? Selfish? Very pleased by the amount of coin her majesty was willing to pay for my services, of which I won’t see a penny? Well, yeah, that pretty much sums them up.” Charlotte looks ahead at the horizon to keep any emotion away, “If they are so awful why didn’t you leave?” She can’t hold back a bark of laughter this time, “No disrespect, sir. I don’t know how it is in the capital, but in the hellhole we just left the sight of a penniless girl wondering about gathers more trouble than it’s worth.” Matthew isquiet for a few moments, “Maybeh this is yehr chance then.” He glances at her, the ghost of a smile on his lips and she lets a small smile through.

--//--

They ride until the sun sets, stopping at a side forrest as Matthew deems it better to stop to rest and resume their journey the next day. Matthew leads them to a shrouded area, unpacking a couple of small tents and a dry meal of hard cheese, cured meat and bread. The pair sits around a small fire, “Weh’ll reach a town tomorrow where weh should be able to ‘ave a ‘ot meal.” Charlotte is barely paying any attention to him as she regards the skies, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the stars.

Because of her heavy hours and windowless room it had been years since Charlotte had had the opportunity to lay back and stargaze, as she used to do almost every night with her mother. “Miss Sirius?” She is brought back to reality by Matthew calling her name, “Oh, I’m sorry. Please, do call me Charlotte.” He nods offering his waterskien, “Would yeh like sum more water?” She gives him small smile and takes the skien from him, gingerly sipping the water, “You seem very young to be a captain.” Matthew ponders her question, throwing more wood into the fire.

“My father is one of the King’s counselors and he thought I needed some… Direction, so he had me join the royal guard at 15 and… I guess I was very good at it.” She raises her eyebrows mocking him, “Impressive.” He grins, showing off his dimples, “I fink we’ll get along vereh well, Charlotte.” She takes another sip of water and hands the skien back to him, “I have to agree, Matthew.” Charlotte stops mid-laughter, feeling something tug at her heart, “T-There’s something wrong.” Matthew gets up, reaching for his sword. “Did yeh ‘ear anyfing?” Charlotte instinctively reached out for her sack before also getting up, “I-I, I don’t know. I just felt something weird.”

Matthew brings her behind his large frame and Charlotte can’t help but grip the back of his uniform. They hear some leaves rustling and soon after something jumps out of the trees, grabbing Charlotte from behind. She screams, trying to get away from the person’s strong grip, “Who are yeh?!” The man just hisses at Matthew, trying to hold onto Charlotte. A second man appears with a sword, but he is no match for Matthew’s agile moves and is soon on the ground, “What do yeh want?”

Instead of answering the man pulls a dagger from his pocket and presses it to Charlotte’s throat, “Charlotte, duck right!” The young woman doesn’t hesitate, bowing right and away from the dagger, leaving room for Matthew to strike and kill the man holding him. Charlotte falls to the ground under the weight of the man and Matthew quickly pulls the two apart, holding a Charlotte as she trembled, “W-Who were them?” He analyses the man’s clothes for a moment, “They… They were men from the Continent’s armeh… But tha’ doesn’t make sense.”

Charlotte doesn’t want to sit in that place for a second longer, getting up and brushing the dirt from her dress, “We have to go, it isn’t safe here.” Matthew gets up, sheathing his sword, “I agree, but it’s too dark to ride.” She shakes her head, gathering their things, “No, it isn’t. The Moon shall be our guide.” Charlotte looks up, her eyes locked on the bright full moon, and Matthew is convinced by the certainty in her voice, helping her pack and in minutes they are back on their horses, headed for the capital.