#for the former you could point out how south park is more even handed with its political satire

[weedle-testaburger]

i always find it deeply irritating when people are criticising something i agree sucks and raise something i also think sucks as an example of 'how to do it right'. like i think you missed what i hated about it

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Runaway - Chapter Twenty.

Good morning, my beautiful audience! A fresh chapter has landed, and I’m looking forward to your thoughts, as ever! You’re all always so kind in your replies, it thrills me to see you enjoying reading this as much as I did writing it, even if this pair are being so annoyingly frustrating right now!

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 2,256 

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed softly at the view upon the horizon, Manny smiling at her reaction.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” It certainly was, the vast, unspoiled, arid landscape that was La Paz County, Arizona. “I sometimes think I was insane to trade it all for a girl, and then eventually the outlaw life. Then I remember the 4am starts, sometimes earlier. It’s a hard life, being a rancher.”

Hannah often wondered if he missed it, living and working in such a peaceful and serene environment. What she’d been told by him about his former vocation, though, well, the life of a rancher wasn’t quite as idyllic as the surroundings they executed such back breaking work within. The vast nothingness they drove through proved to be the perfect soother to her problem, even though all six feet of him was sitting right next to her, the talk she knew she needed to have with him still not materialising.  

She tried not to feel bad about that, reasoning with herself that he hadn’t been forthcoming either, which in all frankness likely meant from his perspective, it was what it was, clandestine sex, with nothing further behind it. If it had been more, surely, he would have said something by that point?

‘It’s more for you, and you haven’t said anything!’ she fumed internally, chewing the inside of her cheek. She felt herself pulled into wondering over the inner workings of his mind, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her eyes screwing shut tightly. ‘Oh, just enjoy the scenery, Hannah!’ Having those words with herself pushed it back down again, Manny indicating left, turning onto a road with a large property right at the end coming into view. Blackstone Ranch, she guessed, as it was the only place for miles around, Manny once revealing that the closest neighbours were two miles south of that location.

She could just about make out the vast herd of cattle upon the horizon, black dots littering the orange of the Arizonan landscape, sturdily built fences coming into view, horses grazing contently on piles of doled out hay as they swung into the long driveway, Manny suddenly breaking out into a happy smile, swinging the SUV over to park up.  

“Hold on, I spy my girl.” Jumping out, he vaulted the paddock fence, putting his fingers to his lips and letting out a loud whistle. In the distance, a head shot up, a piercing neigh sounding the air before the horse began to charge, Manny continuing walking as the steed galloped for him, stopping just in time to have his arms flung around her neck. “How you been, beauty? How’s my girl, huh?” he spoke softly, stroking the beautiful, dark bay mare’s face, turning back to Hannah.

“I take it that’s Midnight?”  

He nodded, the mare sniffing his head. “Yep, ain’t she gorgeous?” She truly was, almost black in colour, her mane streaked with lighter, copper-coloured strands, not a speck of white on her, hence why he’d named her Midnight. Grabbing a handful of her mane, he vaulted up onto her back cleanly, turning back to Hannah. “Drive the rest of the way up and I’ll meet you there.”

“Manny, she doesn’t even have a bridle on!” she cried, watching him grab two handfuls of her mane.

“You underestimate my skills if you think I need that. C’mon girl.” He dug his heels into her sides, Midnight surging forward, Hannah shaking her head as she watched them gallop off, sliding into the driver’s seat.  

“Your daddy? He’s crazy,” she spoke, turning to Lola, who grinned widely at her. “Lovely, but definitely crazy.” Shifting the car into drive, she continued up to the open gates, parking up next to a large, red pickup, a man with black hair that touched his waist approaching.  

“Well, you’re very pretty, and have a baby in the back of the car, so I take it you’re Hannah, and not the girl from the feed company?” Ed spoke on approach, offering his hand forth. Hannah shook it, receiving a kiss on the cheek too.  

“I am, yes. And you must be Ed. It’s so nice to meet you.” He nodded, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. Hannah saw it clearly then, where her daughter had gotten her grey eyes from. Right from her grandfather.

“I take it my hairbrained grandson got up here on four legs?”  

“Yeah,” she chuckled, looking over at the paddock rail and pointing, Manny and Midnight coming to a stop. “He’s such a show off.”

“Hmph!” Ed wheezed. “How well you know him.” He then looked to where Manny was climbing the fence, shaking his head. “Boy, you always have to make an entrance, don’t you?”  

“Maybe.” Ed laughed, opening his arms and hugging his grandson warmly, giving him a few hard slaps on the back.  

“It’s good to see you, now get that damned car open so I can meet my great grandbaby!” His request was obliged, Manny lifting Lola from her seat and passing her to her great grandpa. His face softened, holding her close to his chest, beaming. “Oh, I know I’ve said it before, but hell, she looks just like your mama did when she was her age, probably just as loud as my little Valeria was, too. She got any teeth coming in yet?”

“Yes, so apologies if she keeps you and your wife awake,” Hannah explained, Ed waving his hand dismissively.

“Ain’t no bother to me. Besides, I put you and Manny in the furthest bedrooms from ours, just in case. Now, shall we go meet great-grammy? Shall we? Let’s go, small person.” It warmed her heart, just how much of a natural Ed was with her, Lola fascinated with the turquoise beads around his neck, grasping and pulling them to her mouth to chew. The face she pulled had her parents in absolute hysterics.

“Cool Water don’t taste too good, does it?” Ed laughed, Lola’s face crumpling before she went back for another mouthful of the cologne-flavoured beads. “No, no, no more now.” Another pained face sent Hannah and Manny over the edge.  

“She stole a piece of lemon from Hannah’s drink a few days ago and shoved it in her mouth, and that’s the exact face she did. I couldn’t breathe!” Manny revealed, laughing hard, Lola beginning to giggle as she pointed at him. Whenever her parents laughed, the baby instantly joined in.  

“Like you when I gave you a piece of lime when you were about eight months old. Hated it, but damn, you wouldn’t let it go again, kept on munchin’, trying to beat it,” Ed remembered, laughing at the memory of a very small Manny insisting upon eating the sour fruit regardless. “And then there was the time you got into my cold coffee and hated it so much, you squealed for ten minutes straight.”

As Hannah entered the homestead, she just knew she’d likely be regaled with stories of Manny as a child, and after meeting Rosita and seeing the heart-warming sight of her bonding her great-granddaughter, she and Ed didn’t disappoint.  

“You gotta watch ‘em when they get to about two, that’s when they get their baby turbo and are suddenly capable of running at about thirty miles an hour. This one right here used to streak across the stable block and go throw himself straight into the water trough. We got pictures of it somewhere,” Ed revealed, Manny pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“No, grandma, don’t start with the baby pictures.” Rosita was already on her feet and moving to the bookshelf before he’d even finished his sentence.  

“Look at this!” she cried, placing the album on Hannah’s lap and opening it up, revealing a picture of a giggling baby Manny, his mouth covered in banana puree. “Apart from Lola, obviously, did you ever see a baby so beautiful?”

“Awwww, look at you!” Hannah gushed, turning to Manny, who had shrunk way down in the armchair, hiding his face behind Lola. “You were so tiny and cute!”

“Yeah, what the hell happened?” Ed chuckled, Manny poking his head out to frown. After all mortifying picture viewing was done, Hannah fed Lola her bottle and put her down to sleep, Rosita telling her she’d keep an eye on her while she was taken for a tour of the ranch. The property was massive, Ed explaining that it had been ramshackle and in a state of disrepair for many years, the house not always as beautiful as it was, nor the outbuildings quite so pristine.  

She learned it had taken him decades to make a decent earning, through the disasters that had been illness wiping the herd out, mortgages up to his eyeballs, bank debt and credit card debt just to be able to feed the animals, while he and Rosie had lived meagrely on rice and beans, and plenty of pasta just to keep themselves fed inexpensively, the animals always put first.  

“Since I started the horse breeding too, it’s brought a damned good injection of cash, and meant that I’ve produced some real beauties,” he explained as they walked towards the long, indoor stable block. “Like this guy here that Ned’s leading out. This is Ace, I had to keep him, he was too beautiful to sell, so he’s one of my best breeding stallions. Absolute joy to ride, too, so well-mannered.”

“He’s lame,” Manny observed as Ned neared them with the beautiful palomino horse. “See? He’s sloping on his offside hind.”

“Turn him back, Ned. Let me see him walk away again,” Ed instructed, making a circling motion with his finger, the tall, greying man walking Ace in a circle before leading him away. “Well, whaddya know? Your eye is as sharp as ever. Ned, hitch him up outside his stall, I’ll deal with it.”  

“Ed? Woman from the feed company is here to see you,” a young guy called from the top of the block, poking his head around the sliding doors.  

“I’ll do it, you go,” Manny offered. Ed thanked him and walked away, Manny having a brief chat with Ned before checking Ace’s legs. “Oh, you got some nastiness in your hoof, boy?” he then spoke, holding his hand to the horse’s foot, comparing with the other.

“How do you know that?” Hannah asked, moving to stroke Ace’s soft muzzle.  

“His hoof is hot, that’s how you tell where the infection is.” He then checked his legs again. “Don’t feel like it’s spread. Hold on there a sec, I need some stuff.” He headed off, leaving Hannah to stand and pet the beautiful horse, tickling under his eyes, Ace beginning to lean into her. She’d almost forgotten, how lovely horses were.  

“So, what’s all that you have there?” she asked when Manny returned, taking the items he had wedged under his arm as he set a large bowl of water down.  

“Warm salt water to clean his hoof, kaolin to make a poultice and draw all the nasty shit out, a pad to absorb said nasty shit, bandage to keep it in place, and a boot to keep it all on so he doesn’t kick it off.” She found it all fascinating, watching how swiftly Manny had reverted back to his former self, undertaking the care he’d never forgotten a horse needed when sick.  

Picking his hoof out, he brushed it clean, moving the bowl of water and placing his hoof in it, swiftly moving to his front legs and lifting one up. “So he can’t move his foot out of the water. Can’t dance around when you’re only on three legs.” He explained to her, patting Ace’s shoulder, telling him he was a good boy. He let it soak for a few minutes before moving back, removing it and wrapping his hoof in a large towel, drying it off before applying a thick smear of the kaolin clay, Hannah assisting by holding the tub and then passing him the pad and bandage.

She marvelled at how efficient and gentle he was with the horse, talking to him softly when he tried to pull his hoof away, his manner effortless. It just showed how much of a nurturing person he was, yet another thing that drew her to him, his kindness. He was tough, he was hard, but there was a gentleness on the inside of Manuel Santiago that never failed to touch her heart.  

“There, all done. That’s gonna stink like death in the morning when it’s drawn it all out. It’s vile, smells even worse than when Lola does a massive shit,” he spoke, leading Ace back into his stall, stroking his neck as Hannah watched the horse give him a friendly shove, Manny coming back out again. “Come on, let’s take you round to see the babies.”

It was like seeing him illuminated, watching him there in the place he’d once called home, so comfortable in the surroundings, taking her hand and leading her back to the paddocks, mares and foals all ambling around contentedly. While they stood and watched, he let go, wrapping his arm around her shoulders casually instead, Hannah leaning against him on impulse as he pointed out who was who, his fingers trailing a circle at the top of her arm.  

She probably should have been taking in what he was telling her, but as they stood there under the bright Arizonan sun, she could only think four words, over and over. ‘God, I love him.’

[curiousorigins]

Honestly though to, supporting people making good changes is how we make the world better. Not through exclusion. My grandma was racist and was raised by a racist and all that.

She realized at some point that things were very unfair.

It started with a jury trail that she got assigned to be a juror, a man and woman were killed because they walked together at their local park. They did it pretty much every morning and seemed to be close friends. (I have no idea of the actual time period because it could have happened in the last 70 years and I can’t ask her anymore.) They weren’t dating (fair chance this was when interracial marriage was illegal in the U.S.) or anything ‘objectionable’. Just walking and talking at a park most mornings.

Someone killed both of them because it was a white woman and a black man.

Completely innocent upstanding people killed because they were friends with each other in a sometimes public space.

That was the beginning of her changing her viewpoints. And yes, it took her a while. She was born in 1930, born to parents born much earlier. Who’s parents most likely had slaves. (Deep South.)

She was open with her former unkind and indecent views because she believed she was wrong and that people can make mistakes but pretending they were never there didn’t help anything. She had around 60ish grandchildren who ended up asking her details about just how racist people were in our area (rarely brought up during any discussion of the Civil Rights Movement in American and with reason.) and what it was like walking around with all those racists. She explained that it was considered common knowledge and that she learned different.

She was never proud of it, she was ashamed. She told us stuff that her Dad taught her. (Oddly her mother never came up in those discussions so I assume she wasn’t an overt racist like her father was.) And one by one the many ways she learned better. The wonderful kind people that she had met that enriched her life who she would have not let them in had they come in at a different time in her life.

And you know what? My grandma was one of the most important loved and loving people in my life. She taught me that kindness is key. That assumptions aren’t good to act on. That most of the time just talking to people will get you a new friend and expand your perspective. The fact that someone who I had looked so up to had fell for the racists stereotypes, opened my eyes. I realized that even kind people can fall for that. Smart well read people (she was former school librarian and had a college degree) can’t always think themselves out of these terrible biases on their own. But most of all, she taught me that people are fallible. That you can be wrong, so very wrong and what matters is being open to changing your mind when you receive information that goes against what you have always seen as fact and common sense.

That you can always get better. Learn to be kinder. Open yourself up to more love and culture. And just do your best to be a decent human being. And that starts by extending a hand.

It’s easy to paint people bad with a broad brush, but that doesn’t make us examine our own biases. That doesn’t make us kinder. And indeed we may think we can root out all hate with exclusion but that is not true. The best way to do it is love. My grandma was friends with a Japanese girl who’s entire family was sent to the Japanese Internment camps circa World War II. The community tried to keep them safe from that fate once they knew. They failed but that was one of the ways that my Grandma started questioning her father’s not great views.

I actually love hearing about reformed people's stories. I love hearing about people who were in toxic communities or people who used to objectively be dickheads talking about how they got out of that. How they made themselves better.

I hate how most people's initial reaction to stories like that are things like:

"How could you have ever done those things?!" "Oh my god, you believed those things?!" "Well it doesn't un-do the harm you did!"

People incessantly advocate for change but then refuse to allow people who have changed the grace of being acknowledged and given opportunities and chances.

I love hearing about ex-antis talking about how they don't spend their days being angry and sending death threats anymore.

I love hearing about ex-homophobes who realized there's no magic law about what is "natural."

I love reformed bullies talking about how they made amends with their victims and spend their days being considerate of others.

You can't scream about wanting people to change but then expect them to spend the rest of their lives stuck in the past and on who they used to be. You can't expect people to spend the entire rest of their lives grovelling and apologizing and demeaning themselves.

Instead of clinging to who they were, latch onto who they are.

Ask how they got out of it. Commend them on changing. Enjoy that there's one less cause of harm in the world.

[whatisonthemoon]

The MacNeil/Lehrer Report: Korean Intelligence and Lobbying Scandal (1977)

This episode of “The MacNeil/Lehrer Report” on PBS originally aired June 20, 1977

You can watch the full video here

ROBERT MacNEIL: Good evening from Washington. Over the weekend we`ve had another burst of revelations and charges concerning the Korean intelligence and lobbying scandal. The New York Times reported that two years ago the United States bugged the Presidential mansion in South Korea, and produced specific reports on what the Times called "Korean bribery of American Congressmen." Former Texas Governor John Connally charged on NBC`s "Meet the Press" that the story could wind up as the biggest cover-up of this century. Official Washington, jittery after the Watergate experience, has watched the slow drip, drip of reported facts with mounting fascination. Every new element makes the web of Korean activity more tangled and harder to grasp. Jim? JIM LEHRER: This is a story with just about everything -- everything but an ending. Big names in government have been thrown around. There are tales of $100 bills stuffed in envelopes, lavish parties at exclusive Washington clubs, offers of gifts and trips and sex, secret agents lurking about and just about anything else you`d need to spice up a pulp thriller. But no only is the ending up in the air, the middle chapters aren`t complete. There are scads of investigations going on, but as of now most of the public information has come from those few who have chosen to talk or from various investigative journalism efforts. What we`re going to do tonight is simply put together the highlights of what is know at this point: the public record thus far, that will include some juicy tidbits of spice but also the more substantial question of what`s been happening to U.S. policy toward Korea in the process. MacNEIL: The roots of our Korean connection are buried in our military and economic entanglements with Korea. The bargaining counters have been troops and money. President Carter`s decision to with draw American ground troops from Korea signals the end of a military presence lasting since the Korean War. This presence began in earnest when the communist North Koreans invaded the South in 1950.The war ended in stalemate in 1953, after 54,000 Americans had died. The leading question for U.S. policy then became: how to prevent another conflict involving the major powers whose interests crossed at the thirty eighth parallel? The answer was regional stability and the containment of China. This meant the continuing presence of U.S. troops in South Korea, some 60,000 till 1970, then 42,000. It meant massive military and economic aid, officially more than $13 billion to this day. It also ultimately meant supporting whatever government happened to be in power in Seoul: at first, Syngman Rhee; then, after a coup in 1961, the increasingly despotic regime of Park Chung Hee. We wanted stability in Korea and Park was glad for U.S. assistance to buttress his power. That was the initial quid pro quo. But if Park needed U.S. troops and money to stay in power, we soon needed his help in Vietnam. South Korea sent 48,000 troops to Indochina in the late 1960`s. President Johnson and then-President Nixon paid nearly a billion dollars for them, and only told the Congress later. Special war-related contracts were also made available to Korean businessmen, hand picked by Park. When President Nixon recalled the Seventh Division from Korea in 1970, Park handed Uncle Sam another whopping bill, this time $1.5 billion in aid. Now a third bargaining counter appeared: rice. Washington began to ship huge amounts of rice to Korea under the Food for Peace program. Korea didn`t need that much rice; in fact, it ruined Korean rice production, as AID officials kept pointing out. But it kept the price of rice down in Korean cities where Park supporters resided. It enriched Park and his colleagues when they sold it for profit, and it kept American rice growers -- and their Congressmen -- happy. LEHRER: In Korea, President Park had other problems. There were student demonstrations, close and contested elections, and talk of U.S. troop withdrawals. So the new President set up the Korean Central Intelligence Agency -- the KCIA -- to combat this dissident trouble from within. It was modeled after the American CIA. but soon there were complaints from anti- Park Koreans about KCIA strong-arm tactics and out and-out brutality, among other things. But the organization grew -and flourished. A recent New York Times Magazine story estimated that it has more than 50,000 agents o various kinds on its payroll, both in Korea and abroad. And "abroad" has meant mostly the United States. Its job in Korea may have been to quiet the dissidents, but here the KCIA`s primary mission was to win friends and influence people, the more important the friends and the people the better. Dr. Jai Hyon Lee, Chief Cultural and Information Officer at the South Korean Embassy here from 1970 to `73, appeared on our program last November, and here`s what he had to say about it:

Dr. JAI HYON LEE: I was attending a series of staff meetings in the spring of 1973 at which the KCIA station chief, with the aid of his assistants, was telling us what sort of clandestine operations they were going to do. In other words, they were trying to orient us to their plans so that they could initiate us into that operation. And in those plans included were such as seduction and, if possible, payoff or buying off American leaders, including Congressmen and Senators. LEHRER: Press reports, particularly in the New York Times, say the American lobbying plan was hatched at a meeting in November O, at the presidential mansion in Seoul, known as the Blue House. It followed the Washington announcement that 20,000 of the 60,000 American troops in Korea then would be withdrawn. In addition to President Park and other high officials of the Seoul government, the Times and the Washington Post have reported that at least two other people were present: Tongsun Park and Pak Bo Hi. They are important to this total story, and we`ll be back to them. The Blue House plan included making campaign contributions and gifts to American public officials as well as offering them free trips to Korea and other places, honorary degrees from Korean universities and a lot of entertainment here in Washington. Dr. Lee summed up the purposes:

LEE: They wanted to influence the Congress and their legislative activities in favor of Park`s dictatorial policies -- that`s one thing they went after. But it was not only those KCIA agents stationed at the Embassy but there were other channels... LEHRER: Dr. Lee said the KCIA`s efforts here also included the suppression of criticism among Korean residents in the United States. In short, the KCIA operation here has been extensive. In addition to the work done out of the Embassy in Washington, there were also KCIA stations at Korean consulates in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, Houston and at the Korean Observer Mission at the United Nations. MacNEIL: The key operative -- perhaps the most important unofficial link -- between the Korean government and the United States was-Washington businessman Tongsun Park. This Park -- no relation to President Park - became famous in Washington society for his lavish parties for society figures, Congressmen, Senators and high government officials -- valuable contacts for an unregistered foreign lobbyist. Park was born in Korea, but came to school in Washington in the 1950`s. As a student at Georgetown University he met Chung II Kwon, Korea`s Ambassador to Washington, later Prime Minister. Chung introduced Tongsun Park to President Park and to Kim Hyung Wook, the director of the KCIA. On June 5 the New York Times quoted Kim as saying, "When I was director of the KCIA, he was my agent. I controlled Park at that time." Kim said that Park volunteered to persuade Congressional friends to vote for more military aid to South Korea. In return, according to the Times, Park was later named sole agent of American rice sales to Korea. After attending that Blue House meeting in 1970 Park began operating in Washington in a big way: offering campaign contributions to Congressmen, throwing large parties for such luminaries as Tip O`Neill when he was majority leader and John McFall when he was majority whip. Among the hundreds of guests were high level officials like Gerald Ford, Elliott Richardson, and former CIA director Richard Helms. In all Park spent between one-half and one million dollars a year, according to the Washington Post. Just where all that money came from is not certain. But when Park fled the United States last winter, he left behind a network of holdings that connected him to many influential people in Washington as well as made money for him: a mansion in an exclusive area of Washington; an apartment in the Watergate; this headquarters for his holding company, Pacific Development, Incorporated; a third home in Georgetown; stock in Pisces, a fashionable Georgetown discotheque; businesses such as the Sutter`s Tavern Corporation, which operates the Georgetown Club -- the site of many of his parties. And Park included his friends in the deals. A number of "silent" partners in Congress have come to light. In a November 1976 interview former Democratic Congressman Richard T. Hanna of California told the New York Times he earned between $60,000 and $70,000 in three years as Park`s silent partner. According to the Times Park told federal investigators that another partner, former Congressman Cornelius Gallagher, who spent more than a year in jail on tax evasion charges, also accepted money from him. The Times said that in 1975, after Gallagher had left Congress and prison, Park transferred $250,000 from a Bermuda account to him. But from the beginning, rice deals were Park`s forte, and may have been his chief source of money. According to the Washington Post he received eight million dollars over four years in the early 1970`s from just one U.S. rice exporter. Congressman John McFall, a Democrat who represents a rice-growing district in California, has told the Washington Post that he wrote at least four letters for Park and received some 9,000 in cash over a period of five years. In one letter written in February of 1973, McFall praised Tongsun Park to President Park Chung Hee. Two months later Park held a party to celebrate McFall`s selection as majority whip in the House. One of Park`s contributions to McFall was $4,000 in cash left at his office on October 18, 1974, while McFall was out campaigning. JOHN McFALL: That was a legal contribution from Tongsun Park, who in 1974 was not under any kind of suspicion. He was a well-known man here in town. I put that into a legal account. I spent it for legal office expenditures, and I have filed with the clerk a complete report of my office account from its beginning in 1972 and a report for this Congress which shows how I spent that money for newsletters and office equipment. That is a complete statement of what my relationship is with Tongsun Park, which is only those two legal contributions. I have known him only as a rice salesman over the years, and helped to sell California rice, with him as a broker for South Korea. MacNEIL: Until a new law came into effect on January 1, 1975, foreign contributions to Congressional campaigns were not illegal. Otto Passman, the powerful chairman of the House subcommittee that approved foreign aid appropriations, also wrote Park Chung Hee to praise the "phenomenal" work of Tongsun Park in arranging large American rice sales to South Korea. According to the Washington Post, the former Louisiana Democrat also noted that Korean purchases of rice, cotton and soybeans had "greatly helped" his district and state. Park also helped sell rice grown in the Louisiana district of former Congressman Edwin Edwards and offered a contribution to his gubernatorial campaign. Edwards, now Governor of Louisiana, claims he refused the contribution but admits that his wife, Elaine, did accept $10,000 in cash from Park. Gov. EDWIN EDWARDS, (D) Louisiana: My wife does many things that I don`t know about, and vice-versa. I`m sure every wife has secrets from her husband, some large, some small. This particular incident happened five years ago, seven months before I became Governor, two months before I won the first primary, at a time when I was not on the public payroll. Even my harshest critic has not suggested that there was any quid pro quo for the money or that I had done this, that or the other for Tongsun Park in return for the contribution. It was a private matter between him and Elaine. And unless and until someone is prepared to show a violation of the public trust or an improper action on behalf of Park in return for it, then I never did understand the great hue and cry about it. MacNEIL: In mid-October last year, Park quietly left the United States, leaving Justice Department lawyers with whom he had been cooperating wondering whether he would ever return. Park visited Seoul and Tokyo after his departure, according to the Washington Post, and is now believed to be living in London. LEHRER: Tongsun Park wasn`t the only Korean who threw big parties in Washington. Another was Suzi Park Thomson, a naturalized U.S. citizen who worked for four different Congressmen in the last ten years. Her last job was with Carl Albert, the recently retired Speaker of the House. She earned $14,000 a year as a clerk-typist, but somehow managed to throw numerous large and expensive parties to mix Congressmen and Koreans. The Justice Department is granting her immunity to talk, according to the New York Times. But there is more to this, of course, than parties. Back to Jai Hyon Lee, the former press secretary at the Korean Embassy in Washington. He told us of a scene one day in the Ambassador`s office: LEE: The Ambassador was at the desk and quite busy packing up something out of his attached case. As I approached he looked up and said, "Well, I`m busy. Why don`t you speak up for what you got on your mind? I have to leave soon." So I said, "I can`t discuss this matter within a matter of two or three minutes." By that time he was finishing up his packing of hundred dollar bills into a number of plain white envelopes, and I was kind of appalled to see so much cash. I saw a large amount of money, but never in cash. So I asked him what he was doing. He said, "Well, K need these things delivered." He was by then through with stuffing this money into envelopes, and he put some envelopes into his inside pockets and outside pockets; still there were about a good two dozen envelopes left in his briefcase. He closed the briefcase and he was standing up, so I asked him where he was going. And he said, "To the Capitol." LEHRER: That brings us to another important man who attended the Blue House meeting. His name is Colonel Pak Bo Hi, a former Korean intelligence officer and now known mainly as translator and aide to controversial Reverend Sun Myung Moon. In 1964 Colonel Pak helped found an organization here called the Korean Cultural and Freedom Foundation. A former intelligence colleague, Kim Jong Pil, the founder of the Korean CIA, was named honorary chairman. Honorary presidents through the years have included people like former U.S. Presidents Truman and Eisenhower. Richard Nixon was on the board of directors at one time and so were Ed Sullivan and Perle Mesta. The Foundation appealed for money to finance Radio Free Asia, which unlike Radio Free Europe had no connection to the U.S. government, although some contributors may have thought it did. Another of its projects was the Children`s Relief Fund, set up to help feed hungry children. Last October the New York State Board of Social Welfare barred the Foundation from further fund raising in the state on the grounds that an investigation showed that only eight percent of its money actually went to children. There have been suggestions that-this and other funds collected by the Foundation were used in the Blue House lobby effort but there is no publicly disclosed evidence to back that up. Colonel Pak`s association with money did not end with the Foundation, however. He was also involved in the formation of the Diplomat National Bank in Washington. According to the New York Times, Colonel Pak personally assembled half of the bank`s initial two-`million-dollar capital with the express purpose of servicing the Asian-American community.

And one of the bank`s biggest depositors was Reverend Moon`s Unification Church. In addition, the Korean Cultural and Freedom Foundation moved its accounts to the new bank. There`s also a Tongsun Park connection in this one. The Times reported that the bank`s organizers kept Park off the board of the bank but that Park secretly went ahead and invested $200,000 in the project through business associates. The directors have since asked the Park people as well as Colonel Pak and the Unification Church group to sell their shares. While there has been the implication that the bank was used as a depository for some of the influence-peddling money, there have been no charges that the bank itself was involved in any wrongdoing. MacNEIL: How many officials and members of Congress this vast and intricate network was able to reach is as yet unclear. The Washington Post reported "at least twenty-two," the Washington Star sails many as twenty-five," and the New York Times reported the possible involvement of ninety members" of Congress. Representative John Brademas of Indiana, the present majority whip, said he received three campaign contributions from Park totaling $5,150, but turned down a free vacation. According to the Washington Post, Nancy Howe, former aide to Betty Ford, and her husband accepted two vacations. Jerome Waldie, former Democratic Congressman from California, accepted $2,000 for his gubernatorial race. Others under investigation, according to the Washington Post, for accepting contributions include Representatives Joseph Ad abbo, John Murphy and Lester Wolff, all New York Democrats; Republican Tennyson Guyer of, Ohio and Democrat Robert Leggett of California. A number of Congressmen also took trips to Korea. According to the New York Times, they included Republican Edward Derwinski of Illinois an Democrat Clement Zablocki of Wisconsin. Zablocki is also a member of the Advisory Council of the Korean Cultural and Freedom Foundation. Others went to Korea with money provided by the Korean-U.S. Economic Council, a group closely associated with the Korean government. According to the Washington Post these included Republicans Willaim Ketchum of California, Robert Daniel, Jr. of Virginia, Marjorie Holt of Maryland, and Senator Jake Garn of Utah. Garn told the Post he took the trip because "I don`t believe in junkets at the taxpayers` expense." This same organization partly funded the trips of Republican Thad Cochran and Democrat David Bowen, both of Mississippi, and Democrat Dawson Mathis of Georgia, according to the Washington Post. When questioned, many said they felt no conflict. Some, given gets or contributions, felt it necessary to return them. According to the Washington Post, these people gave gifts back: Democrat Phil Burton of California sent back to the Korean Embassy a topaz pin that had been left at his office for his wife. Republican Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska returned a campaign contribution of at least $2,500. Don Bonker, a Democrat from the State of Washington, was offered something different -- a beautiful woman. He said no. Democrats Walter B. Jones of North Carolina and Helen Meyner of New Jersey both turned down free trips to South Korea. Republican Charles Wiggins of California was offered a contribution he declined. Rep. CHARLES WIGGINS`, (R) California: It was in 1974, and it was in the election season, and we had some small talk and simply exchanged pleasantries which included a question on his part as to how my campaign was going. And I told him that it appeared to be going fine. Then he said that he hoped that I was re-elected, and he said that." there are people in Korea that would be interested in helping your campaign." Well, he simply made that statement, and that triggered my response, which was simply that it`s illegal for foreign nationals to make contributions to American political races and of course ,I couldn`t accept any such help. MacNEIL: John Nidecker, a White House aide to President Nixon, was given $10,000 in cash as he left Korea after a visit in 1974. He returned the money and also later gifts of antiques worth another $10,000. A few months later a Korean national assemblyman left valuable gifts for twelve White House aides, including a pearl necklace for President Nixon`s secretary, Rosemary Woods. All those gifts were mailed back to Korea. Former House Speaker Carl Albert, in whole office Suzi Park Thomson worked, was showered with gifts of Korean art worth more than $5,000. Albert reported them to the government, and they now sit in the vaults of the General Services Administration. LEHRER: There is a final fundamental question: did the Blue House plan to influence the Congress in its Korean policy pay off? All that`s known at this point is the Congressional record on Korea -- every Congressional effort to call for a troop withdrawal has been defeated. In the most recent action last Thursday, the Senate declined to endorse President Carter`s decision to pull out the remaining 42,000 troops. The record is the same on military and economic aid.-- almost every effort to reduce it has been defeated. Another "known" in this equation is that Melvin Laird, then Secretary of Defense, warned the State Department as early as 1970 that the Koreans had set up a lobbying effort to undermine the withdrawal of American troops. But anything substantial one way or another on the question of linkage will have to await the outcome of one of at least fifteen investigations now under way. There is a special Korean Investigation Subcommittee of the House International Relations Committee. The House Ethics Committee is probing the conduct of individual members of Congress. A Senate subcommittee has looked into connections between an oil company and Tongsun Park. And the Senate Intelligence Committee is now reviewing actions by the FBI, CIA, and Justice and State Departments. The Justice Department itself has been presenting evidence to a grand jury for over a year. Other agencies, which include the IRS, SEC, Federal Reserve Board, Department of Agriculture and the Army, are looking into questions germane to them -- the tax returns of possibly involved Congressmen, possible payoffs by defense contractors, the financing of the Diplomat Bank, illegal kickbacks on rice deals, rigging of bids on military contracts, and so on. Finally, last week, the Republican leadership, Senator Howard Baker of Tennessee and Representative John Rhodes of Arizona, suggested it was time for the appointment of a Watergate-style prosecutor. So far, President Carter says no. Jody Powell, the President`s spokesman, said that unlike Watergate, there was no reason to believe the Attorney General to be involved or in any way unable to carry out an appropriate investigation. Everywhere,. it seems, there are some reminders of Watergate. One of the most obvious areas of comparison is the possibility of an official cover- up. Donald Ranard, former head of the State Department`s Office of Korean Affairs, raised this question on this program last November. DONALD RANARD: It seems to me that we knew enough to have moved this administration towards an investigation far earlier than it began. We knew this beginning in 1970, we knew it in `71; in `72 I was talking to the Department of Justice; in `73 I was discussing the matter with the FBI and in `74 as well. But for reasons which I still have some difficulty grasping, it was an administrative decision, I believe, not to move ahead with it. LEHRER: Ranard claims to have received numerous rebuffs from Justice Department officials including John Mitchell, Richard Kleindeinst and Robert Mardian on grounds of "insufficient evidence" for prosecution. If the government did indeed move slowly as charged, why was there a reluctance to investigate aggressively? RANARD: Because of the money being passed -being passed, I think, on both sides of the aisle. I think the administration was probably in no position to open an investigation against the Korean CIA. MacNEIL: Whatever the reason for the delays, there is clearly no mood in Washington for any rush to judgment. And the very deliberate pace of all these investigations has fed the frequent charges of a cover-up. But at this moment only federal officials at the heart of the investigation could say whether this is going to blow up into a scandal of Watergate proportions or disappear in a puff of political smoke. Although there have been unconfirmed reports, it is not even known whether anyone -- Congressmen, U.S. officials, or Koreans -will be indicted...and if they are indicted, for what specific crimes. To know all that we`ll have to wait until more facts come out. Much may depend on the evidence of Kim Hyung Wook, the former KCIA boss who controlled Tongsun Park. Kim is now living here in exile. On Wednesday he testifies in public before a House subcommittee.

Related links

President Park Said to Direct Lobbying (1978)

Korean Bribe Figure Tied to Bank Inquiry (1977)

Former KCIA Head Says Park Tong Sun was Korean Agent (1977)

Kim Jong Pil offers support to the Unification Church members in San Francisco in 1962

George Bush, head of CIA, protected Moon

How Moonies cult helped Tae Kwon Do

Rev. Moon Aide Concedes KCIA Sent Him $3,000 (1978)

House Unit to Query Aides to U.S. in Korea (1977)

What the KCIA and the Moonies did to the Editor of the Korea Journal, Song Sun Keun

Rev. Moon Buys а College, Hires Spooks & Moonies (1992)

Neil Salonen - KCIA Agents Becoming UC Members is Not Aboveboard!

[alluringjae]

it’s a royal order - jjh

⤑ summary: one of your royal campaigns became a success, and your bodyguard jaehyun was there to see it all happen. it’s only fair to celebrate, right?

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 2k

⤑ genre: fluff, suggestive (dirty talk, jaehyun got a daddy kink, superiority complex!!), implied smut | bodyguard!jaehyun, princess!reader, slight enemies to lovers!au, modern royal!au (where south korea remains under monarchial power)

⤑ warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, family problems and therapy, explicit language

⤑ playlist: lows by pink sweat$ | céline by gallant | i put a spell on you by iza | nasty by ariana grande | dance for you by beyonce | body by sinead harnett

⤑ author’s note: this is definitely less emotional than all i do is wait! i got this idea from a show i really enjoyed before it got cancelled named the royals. specifically, i really liked the story of eleanor and jasper, which is the whole princess x bodyguard dynamic. the pining and tension, ugh! if you know this show or not, it doesn’t matter. anyways, thank you for the 30+ followers and 200 notes on aidiw! enjoy!

i need holy water because of this piece.

⤑ credits to jeongjaehyuns for the gif above uwu

⤑  leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my utmost support for the Anti-School Violence campaign for all students to have a safer and more meaningful learning environment.” You proudly announced to the board of officials alongside other influential individuals in Korean society.

Being the only princess in the current royal line may have its pressures, but holding a strong, direct impact for a brighter future for the people motivated you to take advantage of your platform for the better. As the image of pure innocence and revamped women empowerment, you aimed to accomplish all the things your mother wished she could before her untimely death alongside your personal aspirations.

Expressing genuine joy with the campaign, with a tinge of desire to annoy the old-fashioned and closeminded officials, your prying eyes were more enamored by a certain man in the back clapping by the ballroom doors. You can’t help but act flustered whenever he witnessed you in a state of success and satisfaction.

This man went by the name Jeong Jaehyun, your trusted bodyguard since you were in your early twenties. 3 years later, he still stuck by your side and helped you endure all the darkness as a royal.

Back then, you went through a rebellious phase that was ruining the image of your family. Clubbing almost every night, drugs, skipping school, you even managed to get all assigned bodyguards to quit! The media ate up all your tricks, turning them into scandals. That was the plan, of course. You desired your own freedom from all the royal obligations because you didn’t ask to be born into that lifestyle. To all of your peers who wished to be in your footsteps, you would’ve impulsively passed your title to them. There’s so much deception that lies behind the glitz and glam of it all.

This unexpected change in your former untainted attitude came to the point that your father, the king himself, stepped in and personally assigned one of his men to get you in check. He figured that appointing a guard nearest your age may lessen the tension and mend you back together.

In the start, you absolutely despised him. There was no way to fool him when you were up to no good. He easily found your alcohol and drug stash which he disposed of on the spot and stood by your bedroom door every night so you wouldn’t sneak out past curfew (which your father also strictly implemented).

One big turning point in your relationship was when he rushed you to the royal hospital when you drank a cocktail that went unnoticeably spiked. To think that this was a typical social gathering with other royals and officials, you’re a constant target to many. You didn’t wake up for a few days, and the entire time, Jaehyun willingly stood by your bedside and outside your hospital room.

Since that and more instances your father insisted you get involved in royal affairs, you softened up. As cliché as it was, the more time spent with him, the more you knew about him and vice versa. He was the one that got you to fully open up about your grief towards your late mother, encouraging you to seek help. Turns out you weren’t as different as you thought despite your differing ranks in society when he also had a void for a missing parent. In his case, it was his father, who ditched his family for his mistress. Silently, you helped each other recover from your traumas alongside therapy. From dreading his presence, you started treating him more casually. Your father’s tactic of assigning a bodyguard around your age admittedly worked.

Oh, how time flies.

This campaign was the last thing on your weekend agenda, so you had the entire late afternoon and evening to yourself. Bowing one last time to the audience, you stepped down from the platform and accepted the soft hand of your bodyguard, who quickly made his way to you despite the flashing cameras. It was something he got used to as it is part of the job.

Once he successfully ushered you out of the ballroom, his hand still held yours. Nothing new, except this event was quite public and you didn’t want anyone to get any wrong ideas. Strolling down one of the many hallways in the palace became a pastime for the both of you, where no one can catch you. It was a safe haven within the destructive life of the Park kingdom.

“You did phenomenal as I expected, your highness.” Jaehyun complimented, recalling your panic the night before as the stage fright hit strong when you were reciting your speech to him over and over again.

“We are in private, Jaehyun. Must you really use those formalities with me?” You taunted, bobbing your head sideways mockingly. With him could you felt like a normal young adult, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Jaehyun loved being frisky with you, catching you get irked up. And he was up to do it again.

“Hmm last time we strolled these halls, Yuta caught us making out after a successful meeting with the Prime Minister.”

You gasped at his statement, conscious of whoever may be in the vicinity. But before you could refute, your hand that was interlocked with his were mightily slammed against the white wall. You lost your breath for a moment, his warm body closely on yours. His free hand freely roamed up and down your covered waist. His lips were dangerously near your neck, where you’re sensitive. Your hips naturally grinded against him to release the pent-up tension.

“Something tells me you want to do it again, princess?” Now he’s just using your title as a pet name, but you couldn’t complain. It just hits differently when the situation was set up like this.

“I deserve it, don’t I? Got a lot of those hell-driven officials on my side for this round.” You raised both your brows cockily, licking your lips.

“Hell yeah, you do.” Finally, he rids of the tension and plants open kisses on your bare neck. Your throaty moans were uncontrollable, and you could care less.

“My princess,”

Kiss.

“So intelligent,”

Kiss.

“So benevolent,”

Kiss.

“So helpful,”

Kiss.

“But,” He changed his pace and direction, swollen lips near your ear.

“But?” You question naïvely. He scoffed, smirking at your antics of playing dumb.

“But a total slut for her bodyguard.” He dominantly planted his lips against yours, one of his veiny hands gripping on your waist and the other by the arch of your butt. He was hungry, needy even. Due to your shared schedules, it’s been a constant struggle to have proper alone time from the snooping eyes of Korean society. After all, it wasn’t in the norm for a princess to fall deep for her bodyguard. Nor were you sure you would be accepted by anyone. Yuta, the bodyguard of your oldest brother, the crowned prince Jinyoung, finding the both of you at that time was a total shock but didn’t care either.

All that mattered was that your feelings towards each other are real and strong. Accepted or not, you had each other.

All this lust put you in a daze, wanting much more than another smooch fest in the hallway. Tugging on his belt, he squeezed your butt tightly. You emitted a moan, which allowed his tongue access. No way could you keep your hands to yourself, touching his upper body and the flexing of his abdominal muscles from his button-up. You felt his now hard member poking through.

Analyzing your area, you were on the other side of the palace. Farther to your bedroom where numerous rendezvouses were made, one kink you’ve considered in the past amplified your mind. Considering this area was also the king’s side, and he was abroad for royal affairs, this was your chance.

“I have an idea, my love. You up for it?” You rose a brow at your lover, challenging him. Not one to overpower this man in bed, but always suggesting a way on how to spice it up.

“And what exactly does your feral brain want to do with me, princess?” His finger lifted your chin so you meet eye to eye. You can just see the fire still burning, and oh how you were ready to intensify it.

“The main ballroom, where my father and late mother’s throne rest, are a few doors away.” Your fingers signal him to lower his stance as his tall height was difficult to reach. With a sneaky smirk,

“Let me ride you in the king’s throne, my love.” Your lips brushed over his and sucked his bottom lip, tugging him by his belt. He groaned, squeezing your butt. “It’s a royal order.”  

“Nasty, your highness. Insanely nasty, you are.” His hands hoisted your waist, boosting you up in his arms. You gasped with profanities, ravenously cut off by his lips again. His nails digging deep in your bare thighs, your legs naturally linked themselves around his torso while your arms passionately intertwined his broad neck.

In between kisses, he carried you to the said main ballroom. One of your wildest imaginations, just a second away. This room remained to be the only place without any guards stationed technological advancements or updated interior designs to preserve its traditional beauty. Dated as far as the 19th century, only special events were held and the highest of the high were allowed inside. Spacious, surrounded by gold linings majestic paintings of angels from above with a huge crystal chandelier right above the center. Right ahead, the original thrones that your ancestors, grandparents, and parents sat on when they were throned in its pure glory.

Pushing your lover on the king’s throne, the gold sun-like rays plastered behind the headrest, he cockily leaned back and manspread his legs for comfort. He rubbed his hands before patting his thigh, waiting for your submission. But you weren’t going to give in just yet.

Not when you prepared a mini-show just for him underneath your designer silk dress.

Jaehyun’s solemn eyes marveled over your gorgeous figure as you stripped down one strap after the other. Due to its silk fabric, it effortlessly dropped down to your figure to reveal a new set of black lace lingerie from your previous trip to Paris. Ages ago, Jaehyun unhesitatingly ripped your favorite ones during his birthday, so you decided to get a mature version of it. A version where your bra lifted your breasts more and undies hiked up to your waist to elongate your legs. Only for the eyes of yourself and the man in front of you, establishing that you were a powerful woman who can be absolutely anyone she can be. Princess, a normal young adult, or his slut, it’s up to you how you see yourself.

Jaehyun mumbled all the profanities he could think of at the moment. Looking like a divine angel when the sun from outside shuns behind you, his slacks tightening so much more than a while ago.

“All this for me?” He ogled shamelessly, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and untying his necktie. “What did I do to deserve such regal treatment?”

You sneered at his comment, stepping out your dress in your heels and stationing right in front of his luring lap. “You’ve always been there for me, thick and thin. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Lowering yourself to straddle him, his breath hissed when your damp core collided with his crotch. Distracted and caught in your trap, “I don’t think you answered my question, my love.”

Rather than a verbal response, he roughly pulled you back in for a kiss. His hands scattered to explore from your back down to your waist. Your hands messily ran through his hair, tugging on some when your body got too sensitive to his wild touches. The thrilling sounds of the two of you drowning in your fiery romance bounced throughout the ballroom, not minding if anyone passed by the hallways outside. It was a private room after all, and whatever happens here, stays here.

Rolling on his crotch while his lips trailed down to your collarbones, the quick snap of your bra wires echoed. The tight lift lessened as Jaehyun’s fingers dropped the straps, unveiling your bare chest covered in his marks.

“Enough playing, princess. Let daddy have some real fun with you.”

[writefightandflightclub]

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog​ runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters. 

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go. 

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

[cherienymphe]

Protect & Serve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, mentions of abuse, mentions of miscarriage, eventual STALKING/KIDNAPPING/NON-CON

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

Also this series will be based off of one of my worst fears, so you guys have fun with this.

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers​}

summary:  escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

~

You threw the last of your empty boxes into the garbage in front of your house. Your back ached, and your legs were screaming for a reprieve, but you’d been determined to finish unpacking by the end of the day. And so you had.

The cicadas were loud in the nearby trees, the dark sky decorated with stars. Though you were back down south, you’d forgotten how cool the nights could get. You tightened your sweater around you as you looked along the street. In the years past, so much had changed…but a lot had remained the same.

With a sigh, you turned to make your way back into the house. You’d been running like a train nonstop for the past 3 days, determined to completely unpack and get settled long before school started back. You wanted one less thing to worry about.

You placed your back against the door as you closed it, taking a calming breath and locking it. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that you were safe. Your ex-husband was far away and none the wiser to your location. You had nothing to be afraid of. You chanted this to yourself until you were able to finally move away from the door.

Your modest house was so quiet, and you welcomed the silence as you made your way upstairs. The atmosphere was so peaceful, and for the first time in a long time, you could hear your own thoughts. Living with Aldrich for so long, you’d forgotten what that had felt like.

He was regularly criticizing anything he could think of, his biting words packaged in a smile that was a tad too wide. Kissing you a tad too harsh and grabbing you a tad too tight. You honestly didn’t know how you’d put up with it for so long. You were disappointed with yourself, but even more disappointed that it took a miscarriage for you to finally leave him.

It should never have come to that.

You settled into bed, somewhat uncomfortable, but only in a way that was unfamiliar to you. You were alone and safe and at peace for the first time in years. Determined to have a good night’s sleep, you pushed painful thoughts out of your mind, and vowed to make your regrets fuel your new future.

The grocer handed your bags to you with a shy smile on his face, cheeks flushing when your fingers brushed over his.

“Thanks,” you told him.

“Have a good day,” he recited, something he probably said a hundred times a day.

You left with a quiet ‘you too’ thrown over your shoulder before making your way outside. The town was filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Sure, you’d been gone for almost 10 years, but you hadn’t expected your small town to have expanded this much in a million years.

You noticed a scratch on the side of your car when you neared it, and you took a closer look. With a huff, you looked around, but no one was parked near you and no shopping carts were close by either. Convincing yourself that it wasn’t that big of a deal, you settled into your car and placed your groceries in the passenger seat.

As you drove down the familiar street, you chuckled to yourself, recalling how you vowed to never return here. The universe had a twisted sense of humor that way because here you were, almost 10 years later, seeking sanctuary in the one place you hated most. Perhaps, in a way, this was your life lesson.

You’d been so desperate to get out of this backwards small town that you’d run off with the first man to give you the chance. How foolish you were then to think you were in love. You were just barely an adult, could hardly even be called one. Aldrich Killian was older and gorgeous and most importantly, he’d been going places.

A chance of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had placed him in your nowhere town, and you’d fallen head over heels immediately. He took to you just the same, and there was no hesitation whatsoever to run off with him to the big city. You left everything and everyone behind without a backwards glance.

He hid his true nature well. So well that it took you an entire two years into the relationship to learn about the other women. Having traveled all the way to New York on his coattails, you’d been distraught…and hurt. You may have been silly then, but not that silly.

He came home the next day to find you gone. His money made it easy for him to track you down at a friend’s place though, and the romantic in you was swayed by the sight of the powerful man on his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Surprisingly, he was true to his word, and from then on out, you were the only one.

But your relief was short-lived. You soon came to find out that these other women had something in common with the way he treated them, and with them out of the picture, you soon had that very same thing in common too.

It started out small. A raised voice here, a harsh grip there, but then he’d slapped you. Real hard too. It had left your ears ringing, and you’d been so shocked, that you didn’t see the next one coming. It became a regular occurrence, but it was always followed up by gifts and apologetic words. He’d be good for a few days, and it became easy to believe things would change. But like clockwork, the cycle repeated.

You hadn’t even known that you were pregnant when he shoved you down the stairs. You could only blink in shock when the doctor told you that you’d suffered a miscarriage. That was one of the first things you heard when you woke up inside of the hospital, and the sudden loss of something you didn’t even know you had was heartbreaking.

So when they asked for the truth, suspicion already in their eyes as they looked at the fading bruises and the fresh ones, you gave it to them without hesitation. Proving it was easy enough, and the divorce papers had been drawn up in no time, but Aldrich had money. A lot of it too.

He didn’t even do some measly community service.

You scoffed in the quiet car, hands tightening on the wheel. All of that was over now. You were back home and far away from him. Things would be different now. They had to be…

You frowned when your car started to sputter, confusion filling you as your eyes widened. You looked at the dash, and your confusion grew as you realized you were completely out of gas. A disbelieving scoff left you as you had no choice but to turn your car off. You sat back in your seat with a sigh, blinking as you realized that you had no one to call.

All of your family was gone, and all of your former friends had long left. The ones that hadn’t, the bridge had been burned long ago. Grabbing yours keys and your purse and the few grocery bags you had, you decided you’d have to walk home. It wasn’t too far of a walk. In New York, it’d be considered nothing.

It was late in the evening though, and you were sure it was going to be dark before you reached your house. You didn’t feel comfortable just leaving your car on the side of the road, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. This stretch of road was lengthy, and the thought of being out here at night made you nervous.

You squinted when red and blue reflected off of the pavement from over your shoulder. You looked over just as a police cruiser pulled up beside you. Your heart skipped a beat when the person inside turned it off and proceeded to exit the car. He curved around the front of the car, and you blinked at the full sight of him.

His blond hair was neatly pushed away from his face, and you sharply inhaled at his handsome features. He was tall, and his blue eyes were focused entirely on you as he approached you. His smile was kind, inviting even, and you were tempted to return it, but something prevented you from doing so. He reminded you of your ex-husband, and you warily eyed the way his uniform hugged him, plastered to the bands of muscle that were his arms.

“Evening, ma’am,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you murmured.

“Was that your car I passed not too long ago?”

You looked in the direction of where you left your car before nodding.

“I…ran out of gas. Which is odd because I was sure I had over half a tank when I left home,” you told him.

He chuckled, and you frowned at him. Catching sight of your glower, he shook his head, taking a step towards you.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It just seems that the punks in this town got another victim.”

He pointed in the direction of your car.

“You got yourself an older model, one that doesn’t require the gas cap to be opened from the inside. They like to steal gas from whoever they can,” he explained.

With a scoff, you realized they were still pulling that mess the teens did before you left. How silly of you to think the kids here would move onto bigger and better things. The blond before you spoke before you had the chance to.

“You live far?”

You squinted up at him, hesitating before eventually shaking your head.

“Not really…no.”

You watched as he walked to the passenger side, opening the door as he faced you.

“Let me drive you home,” he offered.

Your face pinched, wondering how to refuse. You didn’t get in the car with strangers, no matter their profession. You started to shake your head.

“It’s not that far. I can walk-.”

“It’s going to get dark soon, and you need to get those groceries in the fridge.”

He wasn’t wrong, but still, you hesitated. He threw you a crooked smile, leaning his arm on the open door now.

“I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you made it home, so if you don’t get in, I’ll just have to ride alongside you,” he teased.

Although, you got the feeling that he was entirely serious. Reluctantly, you walked towards the cruiser.

“Okay.”

He closed the door for you as you made yourself comfortable, clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Are you really that responsible or is it just because you’re in the car with me?” he wondered with a chuckle as he sat beside you.

“Just that responsible,” you murmured as he started the car.

You gave him directions to your house, and he followed them with a hum.

“You’re new,” he suddenly said.

It was a statement, not a question, and you frowned.

“Hardly,” you said, shaking your head.

“Huh. I’ve never seen you around…”

You squirmed in your seat at his questions, and you fought with yourself. You told yourself that you were just so skittish after your ex-husband, and you told yourself to calm down. This man wasn’t him.

“I only recently moved back,” you eventually replied.

“How long you been gone?”

He took a left, and you blew out a breath.

“Almost…10 years?”

He let out a low whistle, tapping his finger on the wheel.

“No wonder. I moved to town about 6 years ago. 10 years is an awfully long time,” he noted. “What made you come back?”

“Divorce.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you could feel him eyeing you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly said.

“Don’t be,” you honestly replied.

You pointed at your house, and he pulled into the yard. You tried not to be so obvious as you hurried to get out of his car. You were halted by a hand on your arm, and you looked over at him.

“Don’t worry about your car. I’ll get some gas in it and make sure it arrives here safe and sound,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, you don’t have to-.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider as part of my job description.”

You nodded, finally throwing him a small smile.

“Thank you…” you eyed his badge. “Officer Rogers.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Please…call me Steve.”

You simply replied with a strained smile before exiting the car. He watched you as you made your way to your door, and when you finally got it open, you waved him goodbye. He returned it, but he didn’t drive off. Not even when you closed and locked the door.

Through the window, you watched him sit there for a while, longer than you deemed necessary. Eventually, he pulled out of your yard, and you turned to put your groceries away with a frown.

“Y/N Y/L/N… I haven’t seen you in ages…”

You glanced up at the familiar voice, and your eyes widened as they connected with familiar blue ones. You blinked.

“Wanda,” you greeted in surprise. “…hi.”

She placed her hand on the chair across from you, grinning as her reddish-brown hair spilled around her shoulders.

“So you’re back,” she said.

“So I am,” you nodded. “You look great!”

“You’re one to talk. When you skipped town, you were this confused little girl who didn’t know who she was trying to be. Now you come back here and you’re like something out of every miserable husband’s wet dream,” she teased.

You scoffed at that, shaking your head.

“Hardly…”

“Still as blind as ever, I see. Are you back in the old house?” she wondered.

You shook your head.

“No. I considered it, but… It’s too painful,” you told her.

She solemnly nodded, and you perked up.

“So…do you work here?” you wondered, glancing around the impressive diner.

She smirked.

“Sort of. It’s actually kind of mine now…”

Your lips parted, and a genuine smile fell over them.

“You bought it,” you said, in awe.

“I did,” she breathed, glancing around. “I always said I would…but part of me didn’t think I’d ever do it.”

“…but you did! And it looks amazing! You actually turned this place into something worth coming to,” you complimented her.

She hummed, taking the seat in front of you as she looked around with a wistful sigh.

“This could’ve been ours, you know…”

She looked at you, and you glanced away.

“Yeah, well… I was too busy chasing dick,” you replied, and she laughed.

“You were young and in love! If I’d had an Aldrich Killian offering to whisk me away from here, I’d have done the same too.”

“…and I would have locked you away to prevent you from ruining your life,” you threw back.

Her smile fell, and her eyes dimmed a tad as she studied you.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. I’m not sure there ever was…”

There was a brief awkward silence, and she suddenly sighed.

“Was he the reason you didn’t come for the funerals?”

You didn’t reply, but there was no need to. She shook her head.

“I knew you wouldn’t just…not come. Everybody else was so convinced, but not me. I knew there had to be a good reason… Where did he drag you to anyway?”

You leaned back in your chair with a wistful smile.

“New York.”

“Was it at least fun?”

You mulled over her question before you shook your head.

“No. Aldrich…liked women,” you said with a shrug.

Wanda’s face fell at that.

“…and…when he gave those women up so I would stay, I found out that…he liked hitting women even more,” you quietly continued.

“Y/N,” she whispered, reaching across the table to take your hand.

“I’m past it…mostly. Some of us just have to learn our life lessons the hard way,” you told her with a shrug.

“Don’t say that. You loved him! That’s hardly worthy of a punishment. Sometimes, people are just shitty, and it has nothing to do with us.”

The bell over the door rang from behind you, and Wanda loudly welcomed them without even glancing up. Several voices filled the establishment, and you noted that they traveled and congregated to a table in the back corner, behind you. You heard footsteps approaching, and Wanda finally glanced up. You watched as she grinned at the newcomer.

“Steve!”

You followed her gaze, and sure enough, it was the officer from the other day. You didn’t know if he was on break or getting off of a shift, but he was still in uniform. His hands were on his hips as he looked between you two, a slow smile moving along his pink lips.

“Wanda…ma’am,” he greeted.

Wanda gestured to you.

“This is my friend-.”

“We’ve actually already met, but I never did get the pleasure of learning your name…”

You cleared your throat, feeling put on the spot as Wanda looked at you.

“Y/N,” you told him.

His smile slowly widened, and he ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in.

“Y/N,” he greeted again. “It’s nice to put a name to the face.”

You simply replied with a tense smile as you laid your arms on the table.

“Wanda, me and the rest of the crew are going to have the usual,” he told her.

“Of course! I’ll get Gwen to get right on it.”

He smiled at her.

“Thanks.”

He looked to you, blue eyes connecting with yours.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged with a nod just before leaving.

“You’re in town for five minutes and already have an admirer,” she slyly said once he was out of earshot.

“No, I’m in town for five minutes, and you’re already trying to set me up,” you corrected.

She waved you off.

“I’m just saying…he’s nice. I’m not telling you to marry the guy, but he’s a good man. As squeaky clean as they come,” she told you.

“So you’re saying that’s what I need?” you sarcastically wondered.

“I’m not saying you need anything. I just think it’d be nice for you…and he clearly likes you. Leave it to you to be back for five minutes and catch the eye of the most sought-after man in town,” she breathed. “Every woman within a 75-mile radius has been trying to bag Steve Rogers ever since he breezed into the city limits 6 years ago.”

“Well then you take him.”

“I would, but I’m happily taken. Besides, he seems to have his eye on someone else. How did you meet him anyway?”

You happily told her of your embarrassing encounter with the man that was sitting not even 5 tables away.

You watched as the tow truck pulled your car just beside the curb in front of your house. Officer Rogers and his cruiser were parked on the other side of the driveway, and the blond man leaned against the vehicle as he supervised the process. Only a few minutes later, and your car was back, and the truck was driving off as Steve waved them off.

You hugged your sweater to you as you approached him. He met you halfway, and you sent him an appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “You honestly didn’t have to do that. I could’ve easily put some gas in it and drove it home.”

“…but you would’ve had to walk to the gas station to fill a gas jug, and then walk to your car,” he said, shaking his head. “It was nothing, really.”

“Either way, I still feel bad. I was more than capable…”

He chuckled.

“So how do you know Wanda? You girls go way back or something?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “We were two troublemakers.”

He found that funny, maybe because Wanda was so different now. He rubbed the side of his neck, and his face slowly began to fall.

“When you told me your name, I thought it sounded familiar, you know. You’re Y/N Y/L/N…aren’t you?”

Your own visage grew solemn, and you slowly nodded.

“I’m sorry about your family. I know it happened years ago, but… I wanted to offer my condolences all the same,” he whispered.

You took a deep breath, chest clenching.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that…and for my car,” you added, trying to lighten the mood. “You really didn’t have to do that…nor drive me home that night.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards ever so slightly, and his blue eyes sparkled.

“Well…if you’re feeling that bad about it…treat me to dinner,” he offered.

You blinked, taken off guard by his bold proposal, and your lips parted as words failed you. He ran his eyes over you as he waited for your response. You thought about Wanda’s words. She assured you that he was a good guy, and to be honest, you wanted a good guy…but not yet.

Your divorce had only been finalized a few months ago, and you really needed time to yourself. You were barely an adult when you ran off with Aldrich, and you’d spent the last decade with him. You wanted to know who you were when you weren’t with him. You owed yourself that.

“I uh…I’m flattered, really, but… I’m not really interested in anything like that for the time being,” you honestly replied.

His eyes dimmed just a bit, but the smile never wavered. You felt bad.

“I’m really sorry. Besides, it just…doesn’t seem appropriate for some reason.”

Steve sharply inhaled and nodded.

“I understand. Have a good night,” he said before taking a step back and turning to go to his car.

You sighed as you watched him go, but you knew that it was for the best. You made your way inside of your quiet house, hoping for a good night of sleep, but sleep did not easily find you.

Too many things were on your mind.

Seeing Wanda brought back so many memories that you would honestly rather forget. She reminded you of a time you spent sneaking out to meet her, idly dreaming of things you halfway hoped to accomplish. An already rocky relationship with your family that only crumbled when you took off.

You thought about how you didn’t talk to them for years, too busy following Aldrich around like a lost dog. You’d thought you had more time. You had put off what you knew you needed to do again and again. You thought the chance would always be there…until it wasn’t.

In a single night, your entire family had been ripped away from you. A car accident. Something so simple. Aldrich hadn’t even let you go to the funeral. By then, he’d grown possessive, and it wasn’t long after that he started putting his hands on you. Part of you thought he’d waited until you had no one to run to.

You sat up in bed when you heard a noise on the side of your house. You were upstairs, and the fact that it was loud enough to reach your ears worried you. Slowly, and quietly, you left your bed, creeping towards the window.

At first, you didn’t see anything and thought that you’d imagined it. However, what you thought was a part of the general darkness, moved. Your eyes widened, and you reached for your phone, immediately dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You stumbled over your address, the numbers and street name still new to you, but you shakily told her about the strange man in your yard. Your eyes didn’t leave him the entire time, and relief didn’t fill you when the silhouette eventually left.

One of the upsides to a small town was that it took no time for you to hear sirens coming from down the street. You hurriedly ran downstairs, opening the door as the cruiser pulled into your yard. Steve greeted you, and you did calm down a bit at the familiar face.

“Is he still here?” was the first thing he asked, one hand on his gun.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, placing one hand on your heart and the other on your forehead.

He briefly touched your shoulder before telling you he was going to secure the perimeter of the property. You stood in your doorway while he did so, trying, and failing, to convince yourself that you’d imagined it. After all, the worst thing to happen in your town was your family’s car accident. Strange men skulking about people’s homes was unheard of.

When Steve was done, he shook his head at you, one foot on your steps.

“It’s all clear.”

You didn’t know whether or not to be relieved.

“Are you sure it was a man? Not some animal?”

You shrugged.

“I…don’t know. I was trying to fall asleep just before so it’s possible. I’m sorry,” you apologized.

He sighed.

“It’s alright. This is my job, remember? This is what I’m here for,” he told you.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “I appreciate it, Steve.”

He paused, blue eyes connecting with yours as the corner of his lips curved upwards into a smirk.

“That’s Officer Rogers to you.”

You blinked, brows furrowing just a tad as he turned away.

“You try to get some sleep,” he threw over his shoulder.

You hurriedly closed your door as he drove away, frown deepening as you mulled over his cold behavior.

~

tags: @harryspet​ @darkficreposter​ @mcudarklibrary​ @jtargaryen18​ @kellyn1604​ @readermia​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @coconutqueen21​ @briannab1234​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​

[20moonchild21]

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 3

[Pairing]

Jungkook x female!oc, bunny!JK x human!oc

[Warnings]

mentiones of abuse, abuse, traumatized JK, humiliating, breakdowns, past sexual harassment, mentiones of violence, violence

[Words]

4.6k

[author]

Here is the next chapter. I really hope you like it. It is so fun writing new chapters and creating a new story.

Check out my recommendation below this chapter! My personal favorite is Inferiority Complex by @starlightauroras-writes. It‘s well written and so exciting to read. Make sure to leave her a lot of likes and comments! She deserves it so much!

Also, leave a like or comment, if you like this story. This makes me happy!

Stay safe and healthy!

Mꨄ

[chapter 2 ||| chapter 4]

It had been six days, since the girl had found him inside the dark alley way. Six days since she had taken him in with her, and six days since his world had been turned upside down.

Everything he had ever learned in his life, from which he thought they were right and normal, suddenly seemed to be so wrong and cruel. He wasn’t stupid. Of course, in his past he also had wondered if there was a life for him, in which could just be him.

Bred in a laboratory near Seoul, the capital of South Korea, he was soon adopted by a rich couple from New York who were looking for a rare bunny Hybrid. His younger him was so excited to finally be adopted and have a family, instead of some scary people in white coats.

God, had he been wrong.

He was nothing more than a pet for their pleasure. In every way.

A shiver ran down his spine, when he thought about the times the man had run his hands over his sensitive ears, pressing and twisting them. Or when his hands had gone down over his back and into his pants, so he could pull the soft fur of the boy’s fluffy tail. Sometimes, his hands had gone even further down, pinching or slapping his butt cheeks.

The boy felt his cheeks redden at this memory.

At first, he had thought it was an accident. He had made sure to leave some space between the man and him, or wriggle himself out of the man’s grip. Little had he known that he had made things worse by that.

He had gotten many punishments. Some of them were okay for him. They would made him clean the house or the laundry, and sometimes they had would lock him up in the small chamber next to kitchen without some food or drinks for several hours.

This had been some of the harmless punishments.

If he had been really bad, they would made him take of all his clothes, serving either them or their friends as they were over. Other days, they would punched him with this heavy belt or with a bat.

His eyes swelled with tears at this memories. He had always thought that he deserved all of this. He thought it was normal for Hybrids to be subordinated to human. He thought that every time he got a punishment, it had been his fault because he was such a bad Hybrid.

How could he had been so wrong?

Since the girl had taken him in with her, there had been no point where he had felt the urged to hide himself from her. Not even when he accidently dropped the whole package of flour over himself and the floor, while trying to put it up into the top shelf.

The kitchen had stayed silence for a few seconds, before she broke out into the most beautiful laugher he had ever heard. It was not played or evil or meant to hurt him. It was a real, clear laugher, about a funny situation.

He felt himself warming more and more up with every day, getting more and more comfortable while being around the human girl. He also loved the apartment she lived in.

It definitely wasn’t as big as the former house he had lived in. The apartment was small, but he loved anything about it. He loved the soft sofa that was placed in the middle of the living room that was so soft and warms with all its cushions and blankets to wrap oneself in.

He loved the small kitchen that would send out the mouth-watering smell of food every evening.

He loved the white hallway with the photo framed wall that he loved to look at when he was bored, because every time he discovered a new detail of them. Like two day ago, when he looked at the picture of Hope and the older women and suddenly realized that they actually have exactly the same smile.

He loved his own room with the big, soft bed in the middle, on which he loved to lay and read a book when Hope was busy. He had often wondered when she knocked on the door, but she had told him that this room was his private territory, and no one was allowed to enter if he didn’t want to.

Together, him and Hope even had created some kind of a daily routine.

In the mornings after he would wake up around 7.30 am. he would wait for Hope to be done showering. When she was done, she would leave the bathroom for him to go his routine, while starting to prepare the breakfast.

In the bathroom, he would take a quick shower, brush his teeth and hair and change into some new clothes.

Then, he and Hope had some breakfast together, before they both made the dished and he helped her to clean the table. After the dishes were done, Hope would sit down on the same kitchen table, writing something into her laptop, which she said was very important for her university graduation.

He often was a little bit sad that they couldn’t talk to each other while she was working on her essay, but he still tried to be as quiet as possible.

He then would either try to read one of the books standing in her bookshelf, try to sleep or he would watch some TV with the minimum of volume. But yesterday, he had found something more interesting to occupy himself with.

In the corner of the living room, he had spotted Hope’s old guitar. He was so curious that he had carefully asked her about it, and she immediately showed him how to use it. She said that she hadn’t played it in years, because she was too busy with university. But when she had pulled some strings of the wooden instrument, she created such a beautiful melody and Jungkook thought that it sounded absolutely amazing.

She even said, that him practicing the guitar, would not be bothering her while she wrote her terms. So, he tried to play the instrument while she worked. She had showed him how to google for tutorials on YouTube. At first, he was sceptical when the human in the TV screen began to talk to him, but soon, he had realized that he wasn’t actually talking to him, but for everyone who clicked on the video.

Sometimes, he would catch himself how he watched the girl working at the table. He would just stare at how she cringed her nose while her fingers slide over the keyboard, how she chewed on her lips as she read through the thick book, or how her tongue would stick out of her mouth when she was concentration really hard.

Beside the wife of his owner, he had never seen a human girl before. He only had seen some visitors of his owner, with all their make-up, pushed up breasts, heavy perfume and fake laughers. He never had thought at one of them to be beautiful, but Hope was.

He found out that she actually was a year younger than him, but her personality seemed to be much older than his. She never wore too revealing clothes or heavy make-up, nor did she ever covered her scent with perfume.

When he noticed how creepy he would stare at her, deeply absorbed in his thoughts, he would turn his attention back to whatever he had been doing before spacing out.

Once she would be done, usually around noon, they would both go into the kitchen and bake a cake together, that would be eaten in the afternoon. While waiting for the cake to be done in the oven, they would sit on the soft couch and talk about random things.

Jungkook had to admit that talking to the girl was one of his favourite things to do each day. Not only because she was a really funny person, or because her voice was so smooth and soft, but also because she actually talked and listened to him.

In the beginning, he sometimes had hesitated, not wanting to speak too much. But by now, he wasn’t afraid of talking too much and being punished for it. He just could talk as much as he wanted without being stopped.

Hope had told him some stories from her childhood and live. He listened to every detail carefully, wanting to give her the same attention she giving him all the time. She would tell him stories about different items in the house, and she even explained him the photos on the wall next to his room when he had asked about them.

Now he knew that the older women was her mom, who had sadly died a few year ago during a car accident. He felt sorry for her when he saw a tear leaving her eye and for a short moment, he had thought about hugging her. But only for a second. The pain and fear were still bounded too deep onto his bones.

The younger people next to her were her best friend from High School. He didn’t miss the sad tone, as she told him that they hadn’t had talked recently, because every one of them was busy with university and their own lives.

She had also told him about her college life. From what she told him, he assumed that she must be really smart.

But he was even more amazed when she told him about her future plans. Hope wanted to be a lawyer for Hybrid rights, because she thought that they deserve more rights than they have now. She thought that they should be equal to human and that she wanted to give them a voice by standing up for their rights.

He couldn’t believe that she actually was fighting for Hybrids to have all the same rights than human have.

He imagined himself and how he would leave the house to go to work every morning, like every human did each day. He imagines himself and how he would go shopping all by himself, or how he would just walk around the park whenever he wanted to. It must be great to fell that free.

When they would be done eating their cake in the afternoon, Hope would always clean up the apartment a little bit. She said that she didn’t want the house to be sterile, but she wanted it to be tidy. She would use the vacuum to clean up the floor in every room, while Jungkook cleaned up the kitchen from when they had baked.

In the evenings, they would both prepare their diner, before eating it together, making the dishes and watch some more TV, until they both were tired. They would brush their teeth again, before changing into a pair of pyjamas and then go to sleep.

“Jungkoooook! Can you come here for a second, pleeeaaaasee!”

The Hybrid’s ears shot up high in the ear when he heard the girl’s voice coming from the living room. He quickly closed the book he was reading on his bed and laid it onto his nightstand. Slowly and a little bit scared that he had done something wrong, he walked out of his room. He carefully peeked his head around the corner, looking into the living room.

“Hey Jungkook.” The girl waved at him when she saw him standing in the hallway.

The boy gulped. Hope didn’t look mad or angry, so he assumed that he didn’t do anything wrong. Rather than mad, she looked really excited and happy as she made her way over to the couch where the boy suddenly spotted something big.

He curiously made a step further into the living room, slowly making his way up towards her. His mind was filled with questions when he saw the girl walking up to the big, brown box next to the sofa. It was much higher than the small girl, almost his hight, and printed with many different signs and…warnings?

Don’t shake. Caution, heavy package! Lift with care.

“Don’t look so scared, Jungkook.” The girl smiled at him when she saw how he hesitated to come near her. “I have a surprise for you.”

He watched as she pulled a small pocket knife out of the pocket of her jeans. She stepped closer to the package and quickly slide the sharp blade of the knife over the plastic strings that were wrapped around the big box.

“A Surprise?” He whispered in disbelieve. “For me?”

“Yes, for you, silly.” She smiled again, as she cut the last string, leaving only the tape wrapped around the box. “Now come over here. I need your help with this.”

He made two big steps until he had reached the girl and the package. Hope was already pulling at the tape trying to rip it off. He lifted his arms up to the top of the box, pulling the tape that was placed there.

His mind was still filled with questions. Never in his life had someone bought him a present, not even on his birthday. He wondered why she had decided to buy him something this big and heavy, after all, she already shared her apartment with him, and this was more than he could ever ask for. He wondered what was hiding inside the brown cardboard, but he knew that whatever it was, he would love it.

He ripped the last piece of tape off, throwing it onto the pile on the ground. The girl was already holding her knife, slicing open the brown cardboard of the box. When she was done, she laid the piece of metal onto the dining table, before turning around. Her eyes were flickering between the Hybrid and the still closed package.

“Come on. It’s for you.” She said after a few seconds of silence. “Open it.”

He was still looking at the girl with wide eyes, before he snapped out of his trance, and just pulled the brown cardboard away carefully.

He gasped and took a step back. Now standing in the middle of the living room, was a big, red sack. It was round and about his height, with a big metal chain on the top, along with some red, big gloves. He didn’t know what this was supposed to be. Never in his life had he seen something strange like this.

“Do you like it?” The girl squeaked excitedly while jumping up and down.

Did he like it? He didn’t even know what this things was used for. What was he supposed to answer? She looked so excited and happy, and the last things he wanted was to hurt her feelings.

“I – ehm…” He hesitated for a moment. “I like it?”

His answer sounded more like a question, and the girl didn’t miss that.

“You don’t know what this is, do you?” She pulled her left eyebrow up, while she watched in amusement as the boy struggled to find an answer. He was too adorable. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I will show you.”

She walked up to the red sack, standing onto her tippy-toes to reach the red gloves from the top. She pushed them into his arms and gestured for the boy to pull them over his hands.

“This is a punching bag.” She said as she walked behind the so called punching bag. “You can punch and kick it to get stronger, or when you are angry. I just thought – you once said that you think of yourself being too thin, and since you can’t go out, I thought that you would like something like that. We can hang it up in your room if you, but if you don’t want it it’s okay, then I will send it back. Come on, punch it.”

The boy stared at the red gloved that were now covering his hands, before looking up at the girl, checking whether she was serious or not. When their eyes met, she smiled and nodded at him to go on.

He carefully lifted his left hand in the air and pushed it forward. His punch was weakly, as if he was scared to hurt the bag.

The girl encouraged him to hit the bag harder this time. Insuring him that he was not hurting someone.

Jungkook lifted both of his hands this time, like he was actually preparing to fight someone. He threw another punch at the bag, which was much harder this time. Then he threw another one with the other hand.

Something inside him had just been woken up, and he was surprises by the power behind his punches. Before he had come to Hope, he was thin and weak, almost too weak to hold himself on his own legs.

Though he had gained some more weight over the last 7 days, he still was not happy with is body statue. He didn’t want to seem weak anymore. He wanted to be strong and powerful, so he could protect himself so he would never had to fear some human ever again in his life.

Being roommate with the small girl, he had recently developed the primal urge to also want to protect the female from all intruders and dangers coming from outside. So this punching bag could be a good chance to actually gain some muscles.

Over and over again, he punched the bag harder and harder, until the girl, who was still steadying the heavy sack, stooped him.

“Okay, okay!” She laughed, and immediately, Jungkook stopped. “I think it is better to hang it up in your room, or else you will punch me around the room. Come on, help me carrying it.”

Together, they carried the bag into the Hybrid’s room. The girl also brought a hammer and a hook for hanging up the punching bag onto the ceiling. The boy watched in amazement, as she climbed up onto a chair and bringing the hook into the ceiling all by herself.

When she was done, he helped her to lift up the bag and hang it up onto the hook. Proudly, she stepped off of the chair and rubbed her hands.

“Do you like it?” She asked again, this time more referring to the position they had hung up the red bag.

“Yes. I like it very much.” He just whispered, not knowing how to thank her appropriated. “Thank you…Hope. Thank you so much.”

They looked for another seconds at each other, before she said that she had to do some more work. She was about to leave, when she suddenly turned back.

“I forgot something.” She spoke more to herself, as she ran out of the room, leaving the confused boy behind. She came back a few minutes later, holding something black in her hands. “I actually have another surprise for you. Well…it’s not actually a surprise but more like a recommendation from me to you.”

She walked back inside the room, making her way up towards his bed. She asked him if she could sat down and he nodded, taking a seat next to her. Jungkook could sense her racing heartbeat and her nervousness. She lifted the black object and placed it on his lap carefully.

“This is a notebook. I – I know that you have been through some tough times, and it’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it with me. But if you ever feel like you need to get something off of you mind, you can just write it in here. Believe me, it helps very much to organized one’s mind into a notebook. I used one for myself when I was younger and didn’t want to talk to someone. So – here.”

Carefully, she lifted her hand and laid it on his for a moment. She knew that he was still afraid when it came to physical affection, but she just needed him to know that she cared.

Jungkook just stared at the notebook and then at her hand that was covering his. His cheeks blushed slightly when he realized that they were actually touching. But somehow, he didn’t feel the urge to pull away.

“The Simpsons, again?” The girl groaned and threw her head backwards, closing her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

When she opened her eyes again, she immediately was confronted with those big, brown orbs staring into hers. How could she say no? She sighed loudly, while pressing the right button onto the remote.

“Your play wasn’t fair.” She muttered, as she bent over and snatched the bowl of popcorn out of the Hybrid’s hands.

This day had been more then exhausting for the girl, but also a day of many happy occasion. First of all, she had finally finished the majority of her paper terms. It wasn’t perfect yet, but being done so early she had plenty of time for working on the details.

Jungkook wasn’t so pleased when she had worked twice as long for finishing her terms, meaning that he had to bridge twice as much time alone. He had tried a few times to convince her stop working for today, but when he realized that she wouldn’t go after his demand, he just pouted and went to his own room.

Hope had noticed the process Jungkook had made over the past two weeks which made her extremely proud.

Not only mentally, he became much more confident, but also physically. Since the day she bought him his punching back, he had been practicing almost every day. She would hear the dull tones of his gloves hitting the bag, while she would sit in front of her laptop in the dining room.

His skin and body looked much healthier, now. With his cheeks red and more plump, and with his shoulder and arms that seemed to get much and much broader every day, there was nothing left from the shy, injured boy from two weeks ago.

She had also noticed, that he actually wasn’t too averse to physical affection as she had thought. She thought that she had crossed a border when she touched his hands without his permission a few day before, but since then, he only seemed to trust her more.

He wouldn’t pull his hands away anymore, when their hands accidently touched. He also wouldn’t sit on the couch as far away from her as possible, instead, he even agreed to share the same blanket two nights ago.

He also had taken in her recommendation when she had given him the notebook. She sometimes watched him as he was bent over the small book, writing something in with fast and hectic movements. Sometimes, she wondered if he was actually writing, or if he was just sketching some pictures or signs. But then, he could read, so she assumed that he had learned how to write, too.

When he was done, he would just lay his pen aside, and stare at the book for several minutes, completely spaced out. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but decided to not go for it. He should always have the chance to organize his thoughts without her bothering him.

The second exciting thing that had happened this day, was Jungkook accompanying her towards the grocery store. It wasn’t planned at all, but lately he had asked her more often if there was a chance that he could leave the apartment. At least one time.

Lucky for him, he had a short fluffy tail that was normal hidden by his shorts, and his ears could be easily covered by a beanie. He had looked like a normal, healthy and happy young man, when he had strolled behind her through the hallways of shelves.

It made her even more sat that he indeed was a normal boy. He had never asked to be bred in a laboratory. He had never asked to be threatened like a slave in his own home, and he especially deserved nothing mor than to feel normal. One day – One day he would get the chance to feel normal. She would to anything in her power to give him that chance.

“We can also watch something else if – if you want.” Jungkook ripped her out of her thoughts.

He had curled up under the blanket beside her, nudging his head into the soft pillow behind him. His ears were sprawled out to one side and all over the soft cushion, as well as his deep brown hair. The day in the supermarket had really worked him out.

The boy was so focused on the TV playing his favourite cartoon, that he didn’t notice how the girl took a quick picture of his being curled up on the couch. She looked at the taken picture for a few seconds, before closing her phone and throwing into onto the couch.

A sudden idea came into her head. The boy’s birthday was coming up soon, and she was still thinking of a nice surprise for. She knew he loved all of the photos that were placed all around the apartment. He loved to look at them every morning while she worked, and he loved even more when she told him the story behind every single photo, even if she had told them to him for several times.

What if he would wake up on his birthday, leaving his room and seeing a photo of him framed and hung up onto the wall? She actually like that idea.

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked for her phone. Why did she had to throw it away so far from her? She groaned. If she wanted to memo her idea, she needed to move now. She pushed the blanket away and bent over to reach her phone.

While doing so, she accidentally pushed her hand onto the remote, that laid next to her. The TV screen went black for a moment, before popping up with a new picture.

In the middle of the screen was now a news reporter talking. Hope didn’t pay him any attention. She was still occupied with her phone, when suddenly the Hybrid next to her shot up from his lying position.

He sat straight up, his mouth slightly open and his ears high up in the ear. Like paralyzed, his wide open eyes were fixed on the screen where the report was still talking about something the girl hadn’t caught yet.

“Jungkook?” She asked quietly, but he didn’t’ move an inch. “Jungkook, are you –“

“Shhhhh!” He didn’t even looked at her, as he shushed her shut, pointing his finger wildly onto the TV screen.

“…Unfortunately, the police had not been arriving in time. Witnessers though spotted some of the rarest breeds under the illegal participant Hybrids. Among them were Asiatic lions, some Azawakh dog and even an Amur Leopard. All of these Hybrids belong to the rarest breeds of the world. Dealing or participating them in illegal fighting clubs is highly is highly punished…”

Bullshit. None of those people will ever be arrested, and this guy in the TV knew it. If illegal dealers or ZCM’s, so called ‘Zoo Club Members’ or owners who send their Hybrids to illegal fighting clubs, were caught, there was neither someone who wanted to defend the Hybrids in front of the judge, nor no one even cared to actually bring the case in front of a judge.

She turned her head over to the hybrid sitting on her couch, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. When he had jumped up from the couch, she thought that he got scared because of the sudden change of the TV channel, but what she saw broke her heart.

The bunny Hybrid had laid his ears flat against his head, while big tears were spilling out of his eyes. Between short sobs and gasps he whispered two words all over again.

“Jin Hyung.”

[inspirations | recommendations] ⇉ 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀!

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

@starlightauroras-writes

[dameronology]

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’ 

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 

‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that���s a runway.’ He cut you off. 

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 

--

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied. 

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.’ You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’ 

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 

---

Time passed. 

It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned. 

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother’s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 

--

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 

‘You did?’ You murmured. 

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

[solivar]

The Left Hand Path: Three Years Ago

aka the One In Which Genji and Zenyatta meet.

The Standing Stones of Santa Ana Pueblo

Location: Just above the Red Line off I-25 N/Old New Mexico Route 68 N, Sandoval County north of the Albuquerque Military Exclusion Area.

Before the Crisis, Santa Ana Pueblo was a thriving Tamayame reservation, part of the Greater Albuquerque Metropolitan area, and a major tourist draw in the region owing to its world-class golf courses and club, a well-regarded spa resort, a casino and Michelin-starred restaurant, and a multitude of easily accessible cultural sites and events spread throughout the year. All of that changed on the afternoon of August 13, 2046 when Omnic forces advancing on Albuquerque breached the containment cordon along Route 40 and the US military, massed there to stop them, unleashed experimental high energy weaponry designed for that task.

Once the dust settled, the city of Albuquerque and much of the surrounding area, including the Sandia and Santa Ana Pueblos, was almost completely leveled. In the aftermath, the military cordoned off the ruins of the city inside the Albuquerque Military Exclusion Area, which remains under heavily patrolled Federal military control to this day. Evacuees from the surrounding area were strongly encouraged not to return, with offers to purchase their land at pre-Crisis market value to sweeten the deal. Many accepted, a handful did not, and those that chose to do so returned to a pueblo whose buildings were reduced to rubble and scattered with wreckage -- and something weird that was neither.

The Standing Stones of Santa Ana Pueblo occupy a relatively compact chunk of land on the grounds of what was once Santa Ana Golf Club, shielded from casual view by a stand of cottonwood trees that somehow survived the explosions that leveled the clubhouse and most of the other course structures and did significant damage to the surrounding area. There are nine of them, standing in a geometrically perfect circle, varying in size from from well over six feet to a little over five, perfectly hexagonal in shape, crafted of a dark stone that at least superficially resembles basalt. The inner surface of each stone is densely carved with petroglyphs incised deeply into the rock. The outer surface of each stone is carved with one petroglyph unique to that stone and which cannot be found on any of the others, inside or out. Local experts on Native American petroglyphs continue to research this topic but, as of this writing, none of the petroglyphs that appear on the Standing Stones resemble any glyphs that appear on historical sites in the region.

Nor were the Standing Stones a feature of the area before the Omnic Crisis, as confirmed by surviving photos and video of the course and local residents of the area, including the former owners of the golf club. At some point after the evacuation of Santa Ana Pueblo, the Standing Stones appeared in their current location, unnoticed by anyone despite the heavy military presence and regular patrols of the area, and despite the amount of effort such a project would entail. The stones, though tall and relatively slender, are still estimated to weigh several hundred pounds each -- not something that could be loaded, unloaded, and placed by a single person working by hand alone.

The hundred or so families who make Santa Ana Pueblo their home give the Standing Stones a wide berth, citing weirdly colored lights that appear close to the ground around them and occasionally in the sky above, strange disembodied sounds, and a deep thrumming hum that periodically rises from the area. These phenomena have appeared on official reports from area law enforcement and also on official notices issued from the Albuquerque Exclusion Area’s patrol base. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, most of these phenomena have been observed around the anniversary of the Battle of Albuquerque on August 13th.

If you want to try to catch the weirdness in action, make certain you’re prepared to handle high desert summer weather and get your permissions in order accordingly. The former grounds of Santa Ana Golf Course are private property posted against trespass and the area is periodically patrolled by both the US military and tribal coalition police.

“Tonight’s the night, everybody. August the thirteenth. The anniversary of the Battle of Albuquerque. It’s taken months to get my uncle to trust me enough to go out on perimeter patrol but this is our pay off.” Cody Peshlakai lowered his voice, dramatically, because there was no real danger of being heard, to hype up the audience watching his live HollaGram stream. “Tonight I will investigate the Standing Stones and tonight you will be with me.”

He flashed a grin and a V-for-victory sign into his camera then clipped it to the stabilizer harness strapped around his shoulders and across his chest, one more piece of survival equipment among the molle pouches carrying the rest of his gear, no different from anyone else’s. It sat there, neatly hidden next to his cellphone and the primitive walkie talkie his uncle insisted the security crews carry, through the team muster and meeting at the pueblo ranger station, broadcasting all the while. Nobody objected when he called dibs on one of the spiffy little hybrid hover/wheels ATVs, a good chunk of the all-volunteer patrol crew being old enough to value the superior shock absorption of the service’s Jeeps and trucks. The ATV yielded a much better POV for the viewers as he jetted out across the scrubby desert hardpack on the eastern bank of the Rio Grande toward his goal: the grounds of the former Santa Ana Pueblo Golf Club.

Which was, unfortunately, on the western side of the Rio Grande.

On the way, he passed clusters of habitation: the small, self-contained farmsteads of single families, an artist’s commune, the little solar farm that served the area and its caretaker’s hacienda. He paused at each and exchanged a few words with the residents, radioed a handful of coyote sightings back to base, and continued on, the excitement churning higher and higher in his gut the closer he came to his goal, as his numbers climbed on his viewership monitor.

“So, yeah, that’s my job, stream -- I help keep my community, my friends and neighbors, safe. Sometimes that’s chasing off coyotes that are getting a little too comfortable raiding the compost bins but sometimes...sometimes it’s a lot weirder.” The remains of the old Highway 550 bridge loomed out of the twilight, crumbling concrete pilings jutting out of the shallowest, siltiest part of the river and he pulled to a halt, executing a slow pan to give the stream the best view possible. “On the other side of the river and a few miles west is what’s left of the Santa Ana Pueblo Golf Club. It used to be a world-class course, fancy-ass hotel and casino inclusive, made a lot of jobs and money for the community. All that, of course, came to an end during the Omnic Crisis.”

He revved the motivator, fired up the hoverpods to their highest yield, and skimmed across the surface of the river and up the opposite bank. A vista of devastation, stained in shades of sunset and shadow, spread out before them and the stream chat went absolutely wild. The residential neighborhoods south of 550 had been utterly flattened during the Battle of Albuquerque, hardly a brick left stacked or a wall left standing, blown all-but-flat by some incomprehensibly massive force. That, combined with the occasional blast crater and random scattering of unexploded ordnance, had discouraged resettlement so thoroughly nobody even wanted to risk putting up a solar farm. Wreckage still lay scattered as far as the eye could see and the eye could see quite a distance, even with twenty-plus years of desert scrub overgrowth blurring the harshest edges.

“Nobody really knows what happened here that day -- August thirteenth, the Battle of Albuquerque,” Cody narrated as he kicked the ATV back into motion, navigating carefully down the cracked and pitted remnants of 550 toward his goal. “Just about everybody was evacuated and the ones that stayed behind...well. Let’s just say that, when all was said and done, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale.”

The bombed-out, burned-out remnants of the old hotel-casino came into view, its parking lot still filled with the rusting hulks of abandoned vehicles. “The casino and golf course were used as a rallying and evacuation point for the nearby communities on the west bank of the Rio Grande in the days leading up to the battle. The US Army and local militia forces were massing along I-40 -- the Red Line -- and the Air Force and Air National Guard were flying refugees out by helo, the National Guard had commandeered every bus, van, and free personnel carrier they could get their hands on to get people out of harm’s way. This entire area was an absolute hive of activity, you can find video of it all over the internet.”

He paused long enough to link some of his favorites in the chat as he turned off the main road, easing the ATV along something that was once a paved maintenance access point, running roughly parallel with the river. He hit the first scraggly bits of “green,” grass genetically engineered to survive the heat and dry of a high desert summer, a few minutes later and he pulled up onto the flat, opened up his holomap, and pinged his location for the audience. “I’m here -- just south of the lower water trap which is, at this point, completely dry. Our objective is...here.” He touched the copse of cottonwood trees a mile and a half to the north. “The Standing Stones. No one knows how they got here -- they weren’t here before the battle and they weren’t here during the evacuation. But when the recovery teams swept through to see what, if anything, had survived...there they were.”

He gunned the motivator, turned the headlights up to maximum, and muted the call trying to come in from his uncle, likely demanding where the Hell he was. Oh, he was getting fired for this. So very, very fired. But very soon that wouldn’t matter, because after tonight his career was going elsewhere.

The stream picked up every jounce and bounce as he skimmed over ruts and bits of wreckage flung miles from their origins, swerved around scrub becoming less and less scrubby as he went and the wild descendants of decorative plants that had somehow survived despite it all. The cottonwood stand was still the tallest thing around and he slowed as it came into view. “My plan is to set up motion-activated cameras in a perimeter around the Standing Stones and several inside the circle of the Stones, as well, along with a super-sensitive microphone pickup and electromagnetic monitoring equipment. If something happens tonight, we’ll see and hear it.”

He stopped as the ATV’s headlights washed over the trees and struck glints from the Standing Stones themselves, dark stone reflecting darkly -- and more. Cody froze, still straddling his seat. “Oh, fuck -- there’s someone else in there --”

Cody killed the headlights and the motivator and rolled off the ATV into the relative cover of the underbrush in one smoothish and only mildly panicked motion. He even managed to avoid squeaking too much as he whispered, “Chat, did you see that? Did anyone else see that?!”

Yes!

Me, too!

I saw it -- it was TALL

Dozens of messages bubbled up in the chat as his audience scrolled back and scrutinized every frame for him. For his part, he dug his brand new Panopticon binoculars out of gear bag, clipped them into place on his tactical visor, and tried to get a better look of his own, zooming in on the Standing Stones so closely he could clearly see the petroglyphs incised into their surfaces, even with the last of the light bleeding out of the sky behind them. None of the grainy-green of old school low light optics with these babies, and he scanned the area and slow and careful, looking for some hint of what he saw, something, anything --

A flicker of motion caught his eye, something moving among the Stones, mostly obscured by their mass.

“Fuck.” This...was not a complication he had considered, much less prepared for. This whole area in general and the Standing Stones very much in specific were so far out of bounds that he never imagined encountering another person out here at all much less…

On the night of the anniversary of the battle of Albuquerque.

He had to physically resist the urge to facepalm. “Chat, I...think I know what this is.” He crawled back out of the brush and hunkered down next to the ATV, tried to get a better angle on the inside of the circle. “You know how every year there’s a remembrance ceremony at the big Crisis Memorial up in Santa Fe? Well...what if I told you that some people come down to the pueblo for their own private remembrances, too? It’s the anniversary, after all. Let me see if --”

A shriek of audio distortion drilled his ear with the enthusiasm of an icepick straight to the brain and it was all he could do not to howl as he clawed his audio pickup out. “Holy fuck, what was that?”

The chat, in the corner of the heads-up display on his visor, was losing its entire fucking mind -- whatever it was, they had heard it, too, and --

A second pulse of sound, deep and resonant, punched him in the chest hard enough to make both his heart and breathing stutter, and the chat went absolutely apeshit again as it fed through to them, as well.

“You know what, Chat,” Cody said, as soon as he got enough breath back to speak, “I think I’m going to take your advice and get the Hell --”

Golden light blossomed inside the circle of the Standing Stones -- for an instant, to his eyes, it looked as though the petroglyphs themselves were lighting up, searing their patterns into his retinas with a single unwary glance. He reeled back and looked away as he clawed both the tac visor and the binoculars off his face, blinking afterimages out of his vision, the light washing out of the stone circle, over him, over everything, and --

Calm flowed over him, over him and through him, a wave of perfect serenity that stole away all his fear between one breath and the next, left him wobbling on legs made of rubber, legs that folded up underneath him and left him sprawled on his back, eyes and camera both pointed at the swiftly darkening sky, hazed in golden light. He could hear the pinging of his stream’s chat freaking out a few physical inches and a couple thousand conceptual realities away, but couldn’t bring himself to care. That sweet golden light was all he knew and that majestic bone-deep music, and he allowed himself to drift away on it, blinking away like a pinched-out candle between one breath and the next.

It was some time later that the rescue team found him, sprawled out next to the ATV, boneless, blissed out and drooling. But not, as they feared, dead.

“I told you this little moron was up to something,” Julia Tso nudged him in the ribs with the tip of one hiking boot. “He’s been streaming crap on HollaGram for months, Joseph.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joseph Peshlakai sighed and signaled the medical evac team to come in from the road. “Keep an eye on him until they get here, yeah?”

Julia rolled her eyes but nodded and Joseph crossed the remaining distance to the Standing Stones, where a golden light still pulsed among them, within them, the petroglyphs alight. He stopped outside, cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you for not killing him, Wanderer. He’s an idiot but he’s my kid brother’s favorite child.”

Youth and folly are not offenses punishable by death, my old friend. The voice echoed in his mind, warm and amused, but not less awesome because of it. Thank you, as always, for watching over them in my absence.

“My honor, Wanderer. I’m honestly a little surprised to see you this soon. It’s only been, what, five years?” Five years to the day, Joseph thought but did not say.

Yes. I...think I will be staying for a time. Not here. But close. I feel...A frisson of unease passed between them, mind to mind, a chill crawling down his spine. I feel that I will be needed, sooner rather than later.

Joseph took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Things have been...a little stranger than usual, I will admit. It will be good to have you back, even if only for a time.”

It will be good to be home. Farewell for now, old friend.

The golden light blinked out, and Joseph knew he was alone. The Stones faded more slowly at his back, as he walked back down the shallow rise to his lieutenant and his idiot nephew and the knowledge growing in his mind that things were going to get worse before they got better.

[chillyminmin]

han jisung – don’t forget

» han jisung x reader

» words: 4.6k

» You had a little project, but things got messy. Jisung wasn’t who he seemed, but things went a little better than he first planned.

Hot coffee, loud street, busy passersby, your typical morning.

You sighed as you set your coffee down, watching the street behind your sunglasses, hoping that the boy you were assigned to was someone decent for once. The boys assigned under your care were either too weak, too arrogant, too scared, or too laid back.

If Father gives me another boy who came from an orphaned family, I’m giving him back, you thought. Those never make the cut.

You were the daughter of a man of many influences, legally and illegally. He owned many buildings in Seoul, as well as various properties in the different areas of South Korea. He also dealt with gun dealerships, smuggling and drugs; your father was a businessman and the boss of a very powerful mafia group. You were going to inherit his position in two years, but you’ve been doing jobs like this since you turned fifteen. You were turning nineteen in two weeks, so you’ve been on this job for almost four years.

Finally, a black Hyundai Santa Fe SUV pulled up by the coffee shop, and two men wearing suits got off. In the middle was another guy, you guessed he wasn’t that far off from your age, and from how he was dressed, you guessed your wishes were answered. The SUV drove off and the three men approached your table. The two in suits told the guy to sit with you while they sat at the table close to yours, not ordering anything.

As he sat down, you noticed that he was playing with the hem of his shirt then he seemed to pull his bomber jacket closer to him. He’s nervous, you thought. At least he has manners.

“Want anything?” You asked casually. “Coffee, frappe, tea?”

“N-no.” He stammered and he seemed to curse at himself before clearing his throat. “That’s okay. Thank you.”

You smiled a bit before nodding. “Let’s get straight to the point then. What did my Father tell you?”

“Mr. L/N said that I was supposed to be your little… project?” He answered.

This amused you, he seemed confused as to why he’d be called a ‘project’.

“Did he say anything else?” You pressed.

“Yes. He said that what I learn from you and how I deal with you and everyone else will determine whether I make the cut or not.”

You nodded again and took a sip of your coffee, which was now almost finished.

“Where are my manners,” you shook your head, “I’m sure you know my name.” He nodded. “What’s yours?”

His eyes widened before he abruptly stood up, alerting the two guards. “I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Jisung, Han Jisung.” He bowed and the two guards settled.

You suppressed a laugh. It was obvious he had heard about you, your behavior, your attitude. It was radiating off him as it did when they all first meet you: fear.

“Jisung.” You repeated. “Please, sit down.” He did so. “Now, do you know what it means to make the cut or not?”

Jisung shook his head. “I wasn’t allowed to ask your Father questions.”

Of course, no one is.

“Well, Jisung.” You raised your sunglasses and rest them on the top of your head. He seemed stunned to see your eyes. “It basically means; at the end of the two weeks you spend with me, whatever you learn will either help you live or kill you.”

Two days in, you had learned that Jisung may be older than you, but he was still a child.

He had broken five glasses, tripped himself over the stairs thrice, was chased around by your dog, locked himself out in the balcony, and he had no expertise on anything whatsoever.

He was fumbling with his thumbs as you stared at him. You were at your apartment, where all the accidents had happened, in the living room, the both of you sitting down on chairs. Your dog, a Border Collie, laid down by your feet, his eyes trained on Jisung.

“Jisung,” you deadpanned, “are you telling me that you don’t know how to do anything? Anything at all?” He nodded. “How could you not know how to do anything, yet capture the attention of my Father? Every guy he’s sent to me was able to do something. One could hack, another had contacts for drugs, another was an expert in gun dealership- the list goes on, but I’m sure you understand what I’m saying. Or do I have to explain that for you as well?”

Jisung kept his head down, but he shook it, saying no, he understood completely what you were trying to say.

“I’m sorry, Miss y/n.”

“Sorry isn’t going to save your life. I’m telling you. I’ve been there.”

You thought back to the time where your mom had threatened to take you away from your Father, and he didn’t like it. She threatened to turn him in, to expose the family’s dirty business, even if it meant bringing me and her down with him. She’d do anything to remove me from my Father’s influence. When she realized her mistake, she was framed by a former colleague, begging my Father for help, apologizing for what she had said and done. My Father ignored her, and when she tried to run, she was shot down by the police.

That night, my Father told me, “That’s the price for turning your back on your family. Remember that.”

“I can learn.” For the first time today, Jisung looked at you. “I’m a fast learner. I may not be an expert on things, but I learn quickly.”

“Two weeks, Jisung. Weeks. What could you possibly learn in two weeks?”

“What position is open? Who do you need me to be?”

You tilted your head in amusement. This was new. “Who do I need you to be? What do you mean by that?”

“I- I know that there are times where you need to corner someone. But I overheard that whoever you had he was compromised. You’re trying to get him back, but you’re not sure if you can.” Your eyes narrowed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I didn’t!”

“Well, that’s one thing you’re good at,” you grumbled. “You can eavesdrop quite well.”

“I can take his place. Try to, anyway.” You raised your eyebrows and laughed a bit. Jisung looked at you anxiously, like he’d pulled a trap. “Miss y/n?”

“Do you even know what his job was? Do you know how he cornered people?” He shook his head. “Jisung. You have the age for the job, but I’m not sure if you have the guts. If Father’s target has a daughter, that’s how he corners them.” He still seemed confused.

“What do you mean…?”

“Jisung, if you take on that job, you’d have to learn how to fuck someone and not fall in love.”

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

You and Jisung were at the mall, a week into his training. Not only did he have to ‘learn how to fuck someone and not fall in love’, but he also had to learn his way with guns and knives. He had to learn how to be a little sneaky, fuckboy assassin.

You were shopping for his suits and clothes you wanted, some accessories too.

“Miss-“ Jisung caught himself, “y/n. Why do we need this much? Aren’t the suits enough?”

“The suits are for when you meet Father. Casual clothing for pretty much everything else that’s not so formal.” You answered, still looking at the watches.

You shook your head and spun to tell Jisung that you’d now go to Pandora, but you stopped yourself as you noticed that he was looking at a watch. You followed your gaze and saw what he was looking at.

It was a gold watch, the inside was black with three smaller clocks, one on each side and the third at the bottom. You hummed to yourself before looking at Jisung again then pretending like you didn’t notice.

“Follow me, let’s go.”

When you finished shopping, you went to the parking lot and placed everything in the trunk, making sure not to crumple anything, both your bags and his. Every time Jisung was about to go in your car, you noticed that he treated it as the most vulnerable thing you owned. Maybe it wasn’t the most vulnerable thing you owned, but it was your most cherished.

It was a black Maserati Quattroporte GTS. Your Father gave it to you for your eighteenth birthday, and he rarely gave anyone gifts, business partners and family members alike. He gave you this specifically because he was sure that he wasn’t the only one with the mindset of using daughters to get to his target clients or enemies. The car was beautiful, sleek and fast. It could go on 530 horsepower and 310 kilometers per hour. You loved it.

As you were pulling out of the parking lot, you noticed Jisung was nervous. Now you knew he was nervous whenever you were the one driving, but he seemed more nervous.

“Jisung, what is it?” He shook his head vigorously. “Jisung.”

“I might be paranoid or- I don’t know, I might be wrong, Miss.” He said quickly, not looking at me, but focusing on the side mirror.

“What, Jisung? Just tell me.”

“They’re after me.” He said, looking at me. I briefly glanced at him and saw that his eyes were full of fear. “They’ve found me.”

“Who’s found you?”

“The Nakamuras. They’ve finally pinpointed me.”

“Naka-“ you pulled over to the side and parked your car, signaling the hazard lights. “Jisung, the Nakamuras?”

You looked at him and he looked at you with fear. “I’m sorry. I tried my best to avoid them, I tried to lead them away, but they—”

“Lead them away? Away from what?” You noticed that a white car had parked behind your car, its hazard lights blinking as well.

“Not what, Miss. Away from you.” He looked down. “They want you.”

“Jisung.” You were becoming angry, your voice was trembling as it rose. “Did you betray us before we’ve even decided if you made the cut or not?”

He didn’t answer.

“Jisung!”

“I’m sorry!” He looked at you again, and suddenly he seemed different. His eyes were darker, his jawline seemed sharper, he wasn’t fumbling with his hands, and his posture was straighter. Like someone had injected him with confidence. “I’ll explain later, but if you want to save yourself, drive.”

You shook your head. “You asshole.” But you drove and called security, telling them you were heading to your apartment. That’s when you noticed that the white car was following you. You told security to hurry up or else they wouldn’t see the light of day.

“Jisung, what the fuck were you- who are you?”

“I was surprised you didn’t realize immediately.” He answered with a chuckle. “Han Jisung, y/n. How could you have been so blind?”

“Han.” You muttered it to yourself like a chant. It sounded familiar, but you weren’t sure.

“Both you and your Father must have forgotten. But then again, it was easy to kill my parents, wasn’t it? Not even knowing they had a son. Your Father probably thought I was a different Han, not the child of the ones he killed to be where he stands now.”

Suddenly, you remembered. “You. It was you.”

You remembered being with your Father that night, three nights before he finally claimed what he called his rightful place. You were having dinner with the Hans, and you couldn’t be left behind because at that time, your mom was still alive, and your Father knew she’d do anything to get you. It was a good dinner, but when it came down to talking about handing positions, it got heated.

Mr. Han didn’t want to give over his position as the CEO, saying that your Father was corrupted and that it wouldn’t do good to anybody. Mr. Han threatened your family, saying that he knew about our ‘side business�� and that soon, the most wanted mafia boss would be caught by the police. If there was anything that threw your Father off, it was threatening the business. Not his family, his business.

Your Father didn’t hesitate to stand, draw his gun, and pull his trigger twice. The nozzle had a muffler on it, so no one outside the house would’ve heard the gunshots, but you covered your ears and dropped down to the floor. Even at that age, the age of ten, you knew where that dinner was going, how that conversation was going to end.

Before you left, your Father to told you to look at the scene so that you knew what to do if anyone ever turned their backs on you, and if anyone ever threatened the business. You stood there, numb and confused, was killing the answer to everything? You probably wouldn’t have moved if it wasn’t for a boy’s voice.

“Mom! Dad!” A figure brushed against you and went straight to the two dead bodies by the dinner table. He shook them hopelessly, crying and screaming their names.

He looked at you. “You did this? You killed my parents?” You were dazed, even as he approached you, you didn’t move back. “How could you? There’s no way you could be older than nine!” He gripped your shoulders. “Who did this? Tell me!”

You shook your head.

“Tell me!” He demanded. You refused. He pushed you away. “Don’t forget this day. Don’t think I don’t know who you are. I know my parents were going to have dinner with Mr. L/N tonight, that’s why they didn’t want me at home.” He glared at you. “I’ll get back at you one day, y/n. Don’t forget.”

“What are you waiting for?” You slurred. “Why don’t you just kill me now?”

“y/n.”

“No, Jisung. Tell me,” you laughed, “why won’t you get back at me already?”

“You’re not in the right mind, y/n. You’re drunk and high.”

“Your point?” You looked at him and squinted, trying to focus on him, but you decided not to anymore and laughed before averting your gaze to another joint.

As you reached for it, Jisung took it away from you. You pouted as you looked at him taking a hit.

“That’s mine.”

“y/n-“

“Stop taking what’s mine!”

He sighed as he put the joint aside and knelt in front of you. For a moment, you realized how handsome he really was. You remembered how he smiled, how he laughed a bit, how he helped you in your apartment, how nervous he seemed around guns and knives, but he had one on him now, he always had one, it was a rule.

Your eyes widened. He has a knife. You tried to scramble away from him but he held your waist.

“N-no, let me go!” You squirmed. “You have a knife, let me go!”

“y/n,” he said sadly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why not, huh? My Father killed your parents! Why not kill me for revenge? Why not just sell me out to the Nakamuras? Why tell me? Why save me? Why, why, why?” You were screaming at his face now, frightened but angry, disappointed but not surprised.

You knew it wasn’t going to take long until one of your dad’s enemies used your little ‘project’ thing as a way to slip a spy in. Everyone who applied to you knew how your business worked, inside and out, that’s why if they didn’t make the cut, they died.

“Because your Father killed them, not you.” Jisung replied calmly. “It took me some time to accept that. I knew the fastest way to take revenge on him was to kill his only child, that’s why I feigned stupidity. To get closer to you. But as I got to know you, I realized, you had nothing to do with their deaths.” Jisung’s eyes were tearing up. “You were just there when he killed them, he made you stay there. He made you look at their deaths.” He started crying.

You lowered your hands, his hands still on your waist. “Jisung…”

“I wanted to kill you, I did. But I can’t bring myself to.” He sniffled and rested his head on your legs, you could feel his tears wetting your thighs. “You have no fault. And I can see this isn’t the life you want.”

You stiffened. Maybe it was because his warm breath was hitting your skin and you were drunk and high, or maybe because he was right: this isn’t the life you wanted.

You used your hands to lift up his head and wiped his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Jisung. I know how it feels like to lose one parent, I can’t imagine how it feels like to lose both in one night.”

He smiled sadly and held one of your hands.

“You know, you’re not as bad as they say. You have a heart.” He said softly and you felt yourself tearing up. “They don’t see you like I do, why is that?”

“Maybe because,” you hesitated. Were you really ready to admit these to both yourself and him? Were you ready to admit how something about him made you feel close to him, how you felt safe to seem somehow vulnerable to him?

“y/n, tell me.” He said softly as he wiped your cheek. You didn’t even notice that you had started crying.

“Maybe because I let you in my heart without even knowing it.” You admitted. “You saw me smile, you made me laugh, I wanted you to be close to me wherever I was. I never took anyone else shopping with me, you know.” He chuckled. “There’s something about you, Jisung. Something I’m afraid of, and it’s not the knife.”

“Don’t be,” he said as he moved his face closer to you, “let me in, y/n. Don’t be afraid of me, don’t be afraid of my heart.”

“Jisung…”

“I won’t turn you over to the Nakamutas. I won’t kill you. I’ll come up with a way to get revenge on your Father, that is if you don’t rat out on me and get me killed.”

You laughed softly. You knew you couldn’t turn him in. Without knowing, you had fallen in love with him.

“I won’t.” You promised. “I won’t turn you in.”

“So, you’ll let me in?”

“I’ll let you in.” You said softly and that was all he needed to hear before kissing you.

The two weeks were over, you and Jisung may have fucked every now and then, and you kept your promise as he kept his. The revenge he decided to take was taking the risk of falling in love with you and seeing if he made the cut. If he did, then he’ll work his way up from there.

You knew his plan. He knew you were inheriting your Father’s place, both as Boss and CEO, in two years. But that was something you’d worry about some other time, now it was time to see Jisung’s abilities. And your Father couldn’t have been crueler.

He made Jisung’s deliberation day your birthday.

And if there’s another thing you knew about your Father, he never missed a thing that was happening.

You were seated at the far end of the table with all the other important people of the mafia. Your dad was in the center and at each side, there was the head of Security, Kim, then there was the head of weapon dealerships, Khon, followed by the head of drug dealings, Im, and lastly, the head of smuggling, Lee.

At first, the deliberation was going smoothly, and it seemed as if Jisung was safe. His performance in the past week was incredible. He was an expert in shooting, he could throw knives from a couple of feet away and hit the target right in the chest, he knew how to smuggle items from Father’s corporation to another, and he knew who to target to deal drugs.

But your Father had to pull one last question.

“Jisung,” he started, “it has also come to my attention that aside from all the training you receive and lessons my daughter has given you, it seems that you’ve given her your heart as well.”

Your eyes widened, but you tried to stay calm. There was one rule between you and your clients: no strings attached.

“Is this true?”

“No, sir.” Jisung answered, not missing a single beat. He looked at you. “I don’t love your daughter. I only used her body.”

“And why is that?”

“She was vulnerable, sir. Let her guard down.” He was stabbing you in the heart. “She means nothing to me.”

Your Father stood up and went towards you. You didn’t look at him, you were too busy trying to read what Jisung was trying to do, see if he meant anything he said, you hoped he didn’t.

“Then, you won’t mind if I do this.”

Before you knew it, your Father, your own Father, had a gun pointed at your head.

“F-Father!” You spun your head and met his gaze. No fear, no warmth, no regret- your Father didn’t seem human at all. “What are you-“

“What did I say about vulnerability? It gets you killed.” He cocked the gun and looked behind you, at Jisung. “You haven’t said anything. This is your final test. Do you mind if I killed my own daughter?”

Your heart broke as Jisung answered, “No, sir.”

“Then you have failed.” Your Father aimed at Jisung, and without thinking, you reached for your knife and stabbed your Father in the chest. His eyes widened. “y/n-“

“It was something I should’ve done long ago, Father. You killed mom, you killed his parents, you kill anyone and everyone. You care for no one.”

“I care about you!”

“You only care for me because I’m your only child. If I had a brother, you would’ve had him inherit this company and this group. Do you not know what people say behind your backs? How they plan to kill you? The very men you made as your heads-“

“Miss y/n!”

“Sir, she’s lying!”

“I’m only doing them a favor.” You finished. “I’m doing myself a favor.”

You were at the ground now, your Father slowly dying. “I can still pull the trigger.” He threatened.

“Jisung’s smarter than to stay where he was.”

That night, your Father’s death was mourned by the country, as if a King had died. You rolled your eyes as you shut the television off.

“They don’t even know him. If they did, they would’ve celebrated his death, not mourned it.”

Jisung sat beside you and hugged you. “You say that, but I know it hurts.”

It was true. “Stop reading me.”

Jisung chuckled and pulled away to kiss your forehead. “You were brave. I didn’t think the meeting was going to go that way.”

“Neither did I.”

“But you’re okay now. Tomorrow, you’ll face the press claiming your spot as CEO.” You nodded. “But tonight, you’re mine.”

Jisung kissed you and you let out a surprised sound before kissing him back. You both smiled in the kiss before it got heated. His hand went from your cheek to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. You parted your lips and he slipped his tongue in. You straddled him and wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling him closer. His other hand went under your shirt and drew small circles at your waist as his lips went down to your neck.

You sighed softly as he nipped and licked your neck, sure to leave marks. He then slowly took you off his lap as he made his way down, taking your shirt off in the process. He kissed your chest as he worked on your bra buckle and took them off. He licked your nipples and you tugged at his hair as he laid you down on the bed and made his way down to your stomach, peppering it with soft kisses.

He made it to your shorts, and he took them off before going back to your lips and kissing you harder, deeper, more passionate than he ever did. One hand supported him as he hovered over you, while the other made its way down to your panties. He stroked your clit from the outside, making you wet little by little. You squirmed under his touch and he chuckled, going back to your neck and focusing on the areas he hadn’t marked yet.

“Jisung,” you breathed out.

He hummed against your skin as he made his way down once more, this time reaching your panties. He slid them off and kissed your thighs.

“You’re wet, baby.” He said proudly. “Who made you wet?”

“You did, Ji, you did.”

He licked your clit and you gasped at the sudden sensation. He then started to eat you out, hands holding onto your thighs. He moaned and pulled away briefly to say, “You taste good, baby. So good.” He then continued to eat you out. You moaned and gripped the sheets as his tongue darted in and out of you at a pace you didn’t think was possible. Just when you thought you were going to cum, he pulled away and you whined.

Jisung chuckled. “I want you to cum from my cock, baby, not my tongue.” He took his clothes off and you watched him the whole time, your heart hammering against your chest.

Sure, you two have fucked, but this time, it felt different.

“I love you.” You blurted out. Jisung stared at you and you blushed. “F-forget I said that-“

“I love you, too.” Jisung cut you off as he went back down and kissed your forehead. “I love you.”

He looked into your eyes for permission, and you nodded. Not long after, he entered you and groaned as you moaned.

“How are you still so tight? I fuck you every day.”

“Maybe- ah- maybe you just get bigger every time you fuck me.”

That seemed to turn him on. “Fuck, y/n.”

He started slowly, looking at you as you squirmed and moaned under him. He loved it, he loved the way you looked. He loved how he was the only boy who could see you like this. How he was the only one who could make you moan and scream his name.

“Faster, Ji. I want more.” You breathed out.

“Okay, baby.” He followed, quickening his thrusts, hitting the spot every time. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You couldn’t make words out as his cock filled you up, going in and out of you at a fast pace. You moaned as he made it even faster, praising you and telling you how good you were, how good you felt. He was as close as he could possibly be, skin on skin, your moans filling up the room, heat rising.

The heat at the bottom of your stomach pooled up and you scratched Jisung’s back, sure to leave marks on him the way your neck had marks from his kisses.

“Jisung, I-I’m close.” You managed to breathe out between moans.

“Me too, baby.” He pulled away from your body as to not hurt you as he went as fast he could, chasing both yours and his climax.

His groans grew louder as your moans did. He moaned your name as he came, his cock twitching inside you as you came as well, almost screaming his name.

You were both a panting mess as he pulled out and laid down beside you. After some time, he peppered your face with soft kisses, and you giggled a bit. He smiled and brushed his thumb against your cheek.

“I love you,” he said, “don’t forget.”

---

chan woojin minho changbin hyunjin felix seungmin

[fayoftheforest]

I’ve not done one of these in quite a while! I wanted to wait until my main WIP, Ship In A Bottle, was longer, so that I could go sifting through it for all the wonderful words I have been given. I got tagged by @wannabeauthorzofija and @mel-writes-with-her-dragons.

Zofija’s words were...

Fun [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: Upon the end of the third tune, he attempted to extract himself from the dancefloor, only to end up backing into someone anyway.

“Sorry, I—” Kyle whipped around. “Oh.”

“Having fun?” Stan was smiling at him.

“How did you—I thought you were playing?” He glanced at the stands, where a blonde had taken his place at the guitar. She started up a new song, on which, to Kyle’s great relief, was a ballad with a considerably slower meter.

“I felt like taking a break,” said Stan. He held out his hand, “May I have this next dance?”

“You know, you’re the first to actually ask,” Kyle said, eyeing the hand.

Life [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: All around them, people were coupling up, with general disregard to gender. He was getting déjà vu, flashbacks to the many balls he had been forced to attend, all of which he had spent huddled in a corner with his nose in a book, avoiding eye contact at all costs. It was hard to believe that what took place both there and here could be considered dancing – the former devoid of life, the latter bursting at the seams with it. And somehow here he was, confronted by a pirate captain, asking him to dance.

History [WIP: South Park Confidential] (tw homophobia): Kenny and Butters seemed so different from how Kyle had expected queers to be, especially ones who were both whores. They were just… kind of ordinary, actually. They bickered and they bantered like any normal couple did, but they seemed to really care for each other, too. Hell, Kyle had to admit their relationship seemed more stable than any he himself ever had, though perhaps that was more telling of his unfortunate history than theirs. 

Peace [WIP: South Park Confidential]: Stan sighed. He looked like he wanted to say everything and nothing. Torn between the two, he simply said, “Enjoy Shabbat.”

“Shabbat Shalom,” Kyle corrected. 

“What?” 

“That’s what you say. ‘Shabbat Shalom.’ It means Sabbath of Peace, or something. Like, have a peaceful Shabbat.” 

“Oh,” Stan said. “Well. Shabbat Shalom.” And at that, he left.

Mel’s words were…

Speak [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: Everyone else went off to get changed before lunch, and Kyle was left behind, soaked and shivering, with the terrible realisation that he had no other clothes to speak of. He paced the deck until his discomfort overcame his dignity.

He knocked on the office door, awkward. Stan opened it, shirtless, the tips of his hair still beaded with little droplets. Kyle swallowed and kept his gaze fixed rigidly on the space between Stan’s eyebrows.

“What?” said Stan, leaning on the doorframe.

“I—I, ah, I don’t��� I haven’t got any, um,” Kyle shifted from foot to foot, skin crawling under the fabric that was slicked to it. His pride was a mighty large thing to swallow.

Again [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Stan said haughtily. He had neglected to don his hat or red topcoat again, leaving his white shirt rippling and dark hair tousling in the gentle breeze. He was every bit the perfect image of a dashing young sailor. It irritated Kyle to no end.

Certain [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: He woke in a cold sweat, and for that one dreadful moment where fiction and reality are blurred, he thought he was still wooden, and lifeless. But then he heard someone sigh in their sleep, and he remembered who and where he was. And then it was dreadful in a different way. For a while, he lay, listening to the gentle creaking and groaning of the ship, like a whale song, out of tune. At one point, he thought he heard the distant sound of someone crying, but it was too faint for him to be certain. When he could stand stewing in his own thoughts no longer, he rose, and tiptoed out of the cabin.

Home [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: Tweek watched blood pour from the gaps between Craig’s fingers with horror. When she spoke, her voice was small, and cracked at the end. 

“You broke my heart, Craig.”

Craig gave her a look which could freeze over fire. “Yeah, well, you broke my nose. So I guess we’re even.” She tore through the circle that surrounded them and staggered off.

Stan stepped into the centre. “Alright, everybody, show’s over,” he said. “Go home.”

Weapon [WIP: Ship In A Bottle]: Why, these grenades do nothing but startle! Kyle realised. But none of Cartman’s crew was level-headed enough to figure that out. They were too busy scrambling for their weapons as more and more pirates spilled onto the deck. The sound of gunshots and metal clashing with metal rose above the din of voices, of cries of alarm as each and every sailor was disarmed by their piratical counterparts, one way or another. By the time the smoke had cleared, the battle was over. The boy in the tricorn had forced Cartman to his knees, the tip of a cutlass at his throat.

“Alright, everybody, show’s over,” he said. “Go home.”

Tags are below the cut. If you’d like to join my taglist to be tagged in future writing games, simply interact with this post or message me (the link can be kinda glitchy sometimes!)

Tagging:  @jmax523 @lanawritesalittle @jackeritesstuff @meadowclarke @talesofsorrowandofruin @Sirius-xthem-writing @witherednightmare @sheyshocked @a-completely-normal-girl @austinwrites @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @draupadiyas @wannabeauthorzofija @screnwriter @violetpeso @edithwrites @bellablue42 @lova-writes @teasenpaiwrites @just-a-coincidence @mortallynuttyqueen @writing-is-a-martial-art @anavkour @leadhelmetcosmonaut @nikkywrites

Your words are: Edge, cut, knife, point and trace.

[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 12

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn’t really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma’s teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn’t come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, AO3

~*CS*~

 Boston, June 8th

Emma shifted from foot to foot in front of the door marked 520.  It had taken her over a week to get her shit together and make the trip that she’d originally intended to make the morning after her show in Vancouver.  Of course that had been before her phone had blown up with calls and texts about Killian’s video, which had hit a million views before the sun had even risen.  It had also been before the small gaggle of paparazzi had grown to a crowd and forced her to use the same back door to leave the hotel that she’d used to enter it the night before.  Those were the excuses she told herself in the light of day.  She was much more honest with herself at three in the morning when she couldn’t sleep.

In the dead of night it was easy to admit that she was a fucking coward.  Killian had laid his heart bare for the entire world to see, and judge, and all she’d done was call her manager.  Granted she’d had to take a dressing down and listen to a frustrated rant meant for someone else but that was nothing compared to the self flagellation she’d been doing since she’d landed in Portland and driven north instead of heading south.  To add an extra layer to her guilt she watched Killian’s video two or three times a day and that didn’t even count how many times she only pulled up the song portion.  That, in the end, had been what decided it for her.

She’d tried finding the song on every streaming service and on every platform that sold downloads but it wasn’t anywhere.  For the entire week she’d checked every morning when she woke up and every night before she went to bed but the song only seemed accessible in the video he posted.  The temptation to illegally download it had crossed her mind once or twice but she’d been able to hold herself in check, mostly because she knew the audio quality would suck but even more so because it felt almost cowardly.  That that would be the thing to somehow tip off Killian that she would rather torture herself with a shitty copy of the song he wrote for her than to actually talk to him.

It took far too long for her to piece together that because it couldn’t be downloaded or streamed meant that he wasn’t making any kind of profit from it.  When she finally did she felt like her heart had been plucked out of her chest and was on the precipice of being ground into dust.  She’d been out the door and on her way to Boston within five minutes of her realization and long before she could talk herself out of it.

The four hour drive had given her plenty of time to think over some things.  How she felt about him, really, truly felt about him, for one.  While Killian had pretty much said that he loved her she wasn’t so sure that was what she was feeling in return.  She definitely liked him, a lot, so much so that the weeks since she’d practically ghosted him she’d grown used to the constant ache under her breastbone.  The restless nights and obsessing over his video seemed a bit much but she could easily admit to herself that she missed him.  It didn’t necessarily mean that she loved him, they’d really only been together for a matter of days after all.

Then there was the slight issue of what the hell she was going to say to him.  An apology was a given.  On the flight back to Portland from Vancouver she’d finally admitted to herself that she might have possibly, slightly overreacted when she’d heard about Killian’s record contract.  She wasn’t completely in the wrong, he had lied and hidden things from her, but she definitely could have at least listened to what he’d had to say.  That was another thing, she was going to keep her damn mouth shut after she apologized and let him say whatever it was that he needed to say to her.

Her planning and imagined conversations got her into Boston but once she’d parked her car she’d begun to worry.  There was every possibility that he’d refuse to speak to her, that he’d take one look at her darkening his doorstep and slam the door in her face.  He might not even open the door at all, just see her distorted image through the peephole and decide not to bother.  By the time she’d reached his apartment she’d worked herself up so much with the ‘what ifs’ that she couldn’t bring herself to even knock on the damn door.

She’d been psyching herself up for at least ten minutes, raising her fist in a burst of courage only to drop it as another wave of unease washed over her.  As she lifted her hand for the fifth or fiftieth time one of his neighbors slammed their door shut.  Startled, her knuckles tapped the door, softly but enough to make a definite sound.  Resigned and relieved she sucked in a deep breath and soundly knocked twice, stepping back quickly so if he did look through the peephole he’d clearly see that it was her on the other side.

For a few agonizing moments she stood, waiting.  The neighbor who had slammed their door passed her by, giving her a curious look but kept walking.  She briefly wondered if he knew he lived on the same floor as potential rock legend.  The thought fled her mind when she heard the slide of a lock disengaging and the door in front of her slowly opened.

She could tell that Killian hadn’t been sleeping as soon as he stepped into view, there were dark purple shadows under his eyes that hadn’t shown up in his video.  His hair was even more of a disheveled mess than it had been in the video too, and longer.  He was wearing a pair of thin blue flannel lounge pants and a threadbare grey t-shirt with a rip at the collar and a faded Led Zeppelin logo.  She’d never seen a more heartbreakingly beautiful sight.

“How-”

“Regina mostly,” she rushed to explain.  It was way easier to tell him how she found him instead of why she had wanted to, “Robin helped with the doorman though.”

“They’re old friends,” he murmured absently.  His gaze darted all over her, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there, “Tuck put in a good word for me with the board when I decided to move here after rehab.  Why are you here Emma?”

She winced, “Can we, um, go inside.  I really don’t want to do this out here.”

Something flared bright in Killian’s eyes as his mouth tightened.  She almost expected him to cross his arms and refuse.  Saying everything she needed to say out in the hallway would have been embarrassing and awkward as hell but she was prepared to do it.  In fact, she realized she would do almost anything to just get him to give her a chance.  He must have seen that in her own eyes as he gave her a terse nod, stepping back into the apartment and opening the door wider for her to pass through.

As she walked by him she resisted the urge to reach out and brush her fingers against the back of his hand or worse, stop completely to wrap her arms around him and never let him go.  Every ounce of courage she’d lacked before was suddenly filling her from root to tip.  She was still nervous as hell but she wasn’t about to destroy everything for once and for all by chickening out at the last second.  If things didn’t go the way she wanted it wouldn’t be because she decided that giving up was easier than fighting them.

Her steps slowed to a stop as she fully stepped into the spacious apartment.  One of the living room walls was floor to ceiling shelves filled with books, cds, and vinyls while the second had an impressive entertainment system with a giant tv that had a soccer game frozen on its screen.  There was a cozy looking couch and matching chair facing it that broke up the space between the living room and breakfast bar and the kitchen.  What really caught her eye was the view from the sliding glass doors behind a round dining table that opened to a small balcony.  It wasn’t full dark but the facade of the State House was already lit, its golden dome gleaming dimly.

“Nice view,” she muttered quietly.

“You were more excited by the one in Malibu,” Killian said flatly, startling her as he stepped up beside her.  He gave her a wry grin, “Bit jumpy there, Swan?  Don’t worry I won’t bite.”

She turned fully towards him and held his gaze, “I’m more nervous than worried.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked but he didn’t look away.  After a moment he gave a small sigh and moved toward the kitchen.

“I’d offer you a stiff drink but chamomile will have to do.”

He brushed past her, moving into the kitchen.  When she didn’t move he huffed and pointed to one of the high backed stools tucked under the breakfast bar.  She gave him a small smile and when he turned his back to her to open a cupboard she shook her head at her nervousness.  Silently admonishing herself she sat down and watched him move around the space, a defensive set to his shoulders as he gathered the things for their tea and set an electric kettle to boil.  Once there was nothing left for him to fiddle with he turned back to her, leaning casually against the far counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

“So it took you ten days to ask Regina where to find me?” He asked in that same flat voice.

Despite his attempt to sound indifferent she could hear the hurt in his words.  As much as she knew her answer would only serve to harm him more she couldn’t lie to him.  There was enough of that between them already.

“I called her as soon as I finished watching your video-” she dropped her gaze to where her hands were folded on the bartop, not quite strong enough to watch him react to her answer, “ten days ago.”

Her confession was met with silence.  She could hear the water in the kettle start to boil and the gentle hum of the refrigerator but that was it.  After a few seconds of quiet torture she steeled herself and looked up, needing to know exactly how pissed he was at her.  What she saw didn’t disappoint.

He hadn’t moved an inch, still leaning against the counter but there was nothing casual about it.  Every one of his muscles were tense, his fingers digging into his bicep with enough force to turn them white while his eyes were two chips of ice, cold enough to burn as he stared her down.  She was almost relieved at seeing the signs of his anger, anything was better than the indifference he’d been displaying before.  The kettle clicked off but he showed no sign of noticing aside from the slight tightening of his jaw.

As he glared at her she tried not to let her own frustration and anger flare up.  There were still so many things that they needed to talk about and any one of them could have him throwing her out of the apartment.  She wasn’t about to be meek or amenable but she sure as hell wasn’t about to keep poking the beast that she’d awakened.

“Honey?” He growled.

She blinked, “Wha- what?”

“In your tea-” he uncrossed his arms and gestured to the mugs beside him, “Honey?”

“Um, yeah, that’s fine.”

He gave her a terse nod and began fixing their tea.  With his back turned to her she took a deep, calming breath.  She was no longer nervous, his reaction had been pretty much what she’d expected and that part was over with.  Instead a hollow ache of longing had settled in her chest.  There was nothing she wanted more than to talk like they used to, open and without pretense but also with a bit of teasing and flirting thrown in for good measure.

Killian topped his mug off with a splash of milk before turning and handing hers over.  It was a white mug with a line drawing of a guitar and the words ‘I’m a kettle head’ written over it.  She couldn’t help her snort of laughter at the sight of it.

“Something funny, Swan?” He asked with a raised brow, his cup of tea halfway to his lips.

She spun the mug so the graphic faced him, “Gag gift or did you buy this yourself?”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea but she could see his ears turning red.  She let her own eyebrow tick up as he swallowed, shaking his head.

“Gift from a fan, actually.  I made mention in an interview years ago that I enjoyed a good cup of tea in the afternoon.  I’m still receiving packages of tea and its related wares on a steady basis-” he tipped his head towards her mug, “That was one of the more clever ones.”

Spinning it back so she could grasp it by the handle she hesitated.  The opening was clear for her to start the conversation that needed to be had.  She knew she should take advantage of it but he was no longer glaring at her and she wanted to bask in the small reprieve she’d found herself in.  To prolong the moment she took a sip of her tea, humming at the soothing warmth and delicate flavor that danced over her tongue.  The corner of Killian’s mouth ticked up and her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“Not as good as my hot chocolate but it’ll do,” she teased.

Emma knew she’d pushed his patience to its breaking point a half second too late.  Killian’s smile flared for a second before he pressed his lips together in a thin line and turned his gaze away from her.  Her own small grin slipped and she berated herself for expecting too much too soon.  She waited, quiet and still, until he looked back at her.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened and he let out a little huff of surprise but she barreled on, needing to get it all out.

“I’m sorry for so many things, waiting ten days to show up, not calling the second I finished watching your video, blocking your number so you couldn’t call me, fighting with you when I answered Ruby’s phone-”

“Swan-”

“I get that you’re mad at me.  Good, you should be.  I was terrible to you and I know it’s no excuse but I was hurt and you lied to me, but I still should have given you a chance to explain-” she gave a little hiccuping laugh, “God, if you’d done that to me and showed up at my house I would have slammed the door in your face and been done with it.  And you?  You invited me in for tea?  Why?”

Killian shook his head with a huff.  She could see his smile threatening to break loose again and the sight mystified her.  He saw her bewilderment and pushed off the counter behind him with his hip, setting his mug in front of hers and leaned into her space, gently taking her hand in his.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” He asked, painfully earnest. “You said you watched the video, so you must know.”

“You’re mad at me,” she pointed out, even as she gripped his hand.

He tilted his head, considering her, “I am but that doesn’t change how I feel.”

“I’m not sure how I feel,” she confessed in a whisper, “I know I hated not talking to you late at night or being near you almost constantly but…”

She trailed off, unsure how to proceed without stoking either of their tempers again.  Killian’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, encouraging her, and she reveled in the feeling.  He gave her an encouraging nod and she took a fortifying breath.

“You lied to me-” he winced and tried to pull his hand from hers but she held on fast, “You lied and if whatever this is between us is going to work I need to know why.  I promise to actually listen this time.”

He gave her a pained smile, “And if you don’t like what you hear?”

“I won’t know until you tell me,” she countered softly.

“Alright,” he said with a nod, one that seemed more for himself than for her. “Alright, but can you promise me one more thing?”

“Anything,” she agreed quickly.

“No interruptions.  I think it’ll do us both good to have it all out in one go.”

She used her free hand to mime that she was locking her lips and throwing away the key.  He gave her a small snort of a laugh, no longer looking pained or apprehensive, which had been her goal.  As she gently squeezed his hand in encouragement she really hoped she’d be able to keep her promise.

Killian blew out a harsh breath and began, “Are you familiar with Cora Hart?”

Her eyebrows shot up and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth shut.  Cora Hart was the agent of all agents.  Her firm was the one every struggling artist wished would represent them because every one of their clients was a superstar or on their way to being one.  To be one of her personal clients was like getting a golden ticket to everlasting fame, fortune, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  However, it came with a price and Emma wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t someone’s soul.  Plus Cora Hart was known by everyone in the industry as ‘that cold hearted bitch’.  It was an unpleasant surprise to hear her name coming from Killian’s lips.

“Yes, I can see that you are,” he sighed. “She’s my agent.”

She grimaced.  As much as she’d been prepared to hear it it still made her stomach drop.  There were only so many ways his story was going to go and she wasn’t sure she was entirely ready to hear it, but she would, because she promised.

“I’ve been with her since the beginning.  She found us playing at a small pub in Liverpool and snapped us up.  If it weren’t for her we’d probably still be playing pub gigs but only on weekends-” he gave her a wan smile that didn’t last long, “I owe a lot to that woman, not everything but enough to know not to question her decisions on where to take my career.  Even if I wanted to seek different representation she’s got me in an iron clad contract for at least three solo albums.”

“What?!”

She couldn’t help her outburst.  While it was normal for a record label to offer contracts like that, she’d signed one herself for that matter, she was pretty sure it wasn’t standard for an agent to do the same.  Then again she didn’t actually have an agent of her own.  Regina was an employee of her label and didn’t need a separate contract with her and seemed more than happy to take care of everything herself.  Emma thought that things had been working out alright, aside from the fiasco that had put her right where she found herself at that very moment.

“I have been bound by this contract for quite a while, Swan,” he said wryly. “Since even before the accident.”

“But that’s gotta be extortion or something, right?” She asked indignantly. “I mean, it’s been almost fifteen years!”

He gave her a warm look, “There are plenty of people who have been with their agents for much longer and I thought I said no interruptions, love.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Realm of Jewels made Cora a very rich woman and an equally hot commodity in the industry.  I had already planned to do a few solo albums and signed with her because she was someone I already knew.  Back then I thought three albums was nothing, I had written material for at least six,” he said with a shrug. “After the accident and pulling myself out of the bottle she was gracious enough to allow me to do whatever I needed to do to get my life back on track.  Even if it meant nothing more than doing recording sessions for other artists’ work.  Of course, her patience could only be pushed so far and I’m sure I’d far exceeded the limit.  She started not so gently reminding me of my contractual obligations about a year ago.

“At the time I figured I could piecemeal something together from my old lyrics and maybe a cover or two to get an album together.  It wouldn’t have been great, fair to middling if anything, but it would have been enough to satisfy Cora for the time being.  I wasn’t excited by the prospect and in the meantime I was still being hired for session recordings.  One of which was for your album.”

Emma smiled and ducked her head.  He’d made it sound like it was some great honor instead of a few hours work on a couple of songs.  She didn’t even get to choose the musicians that got to record, that was all left up to the label, though she did get final say on how it sounded.  That didn’t mean to say she hadn’t gone back to listen to those backing tracks almost as much as the song he’d written for her.

“It was the day we were recording for Snowdrops and Buttercups that I first met Regina.  It just so happened to be the same day that Cora had come to the studio to once again remind me of my obligations.  What I wasn’t aware of was the fact that Cora is Regina’s mother-” Emma’s head shot up at that and he nodded, “Whatever you do try to avoid being in the same room as them, especially when business is involved.  I left the studio that day with my three album contract inexorably attached to the record label that Regina represented.  There was also the small inconvenience of a series of deadlines being imposed.  The first of which was having enough songs written to begin recording an album within six months.  When Ruby called about needing a replacement I had about two months left to put something recordable together.”

Emma bit her lip.  It was getting harder and harder to keep her comments and questions to herself.  Especially with the bomb he’d dropped about Regina and Cora.  She decided to take a sip of her tea instead.  Before her mug even made it to her lips Killian was grinning widely at her.

“Go ahead, love,” he said with a bow of his head.

She slammed her mug down, splashing tea over her hand.  With a hiss she shook off the droplets impatiently, ignoring Killian’s outstretched hand, not wanting to be deterred.

“Cora the heartless is Regina’s mother?!  And if you had only two months to write an entire album why the hell were you allowed to come on tour with me?  Is that why you had that lunch with Robin and Regina?  For the album?  Why didn’t you tell me all of this already?”

Killian’s expression immediately dropped into one of regret as she sat back, stunned at her directness.  She absentmindedly rubbed at the reddened spot on the back of her hand that the tea had spilled on.  The lingering pain was an excellent distraction from the tension that had sprung up between them.  With a click of his tongue Killian moved to the sink, wetting the corner of a dish rag.  When he turned back to her he paused and she gave him a nod, holding out her hand to him hoping he would see it as the olive branch she was offering.

“At first it didn’t seem as though it would be an issue,” he said quietly as he gently pressed the rag to her burn, “You only needed a temporary guitarist and as I mentioned earlier I had dozens of notebooks already filled with lyrics that would suffice.  Regina was the one who scheduled the meeting with Robin as soon as I was officially attached to the tour.  I believe her intention at the time was for me to hand over the completed songs and get the ball rolling as it were.  She, of course, had no idea that you and I would become what we did.”

“Did you, um, have any idea?” She asked hesitantly, dropping her gaze to where his hand was still holding the damp cloth to the back of hers.

He used his other hand to tip up her chin and looked her in the eye, “I’d hoped but I could never be quite sure how you felt.  Until Chicago.”

She wanted to confess that her hopes had started long before Chicago.  That he had somehow snuck past her defenses into her heart with his charm and unwavering support but she couldn’t.  He still hadn’t answered the question that mattered most to her.  With a sigh she pulled away from his gentle touch.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me any of this,” she said a bit sharper than she intended, her frustration and confusion bleeding into her tone. “We talked for hours on that damn bus.  I listened to you talk about how much better felt tip pens are than ball points three separate times!  Was it really so hard to say ‘by the way, Swan, I’ve signed with your manager and have to get an album written while we’re on the road’?”

He let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“And look where that got you,” she said with a humorless chuckle waving her hand between them. “If you’d said something off the bat I would have been pissed at you for, like maybe a week, and I also wouldn’t have gotten my heart broken.”

Emma froze.  She hadn’t meant to make that confession, especially when she wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what it was she felt for him.  Killian seemed caught off guard too, as he stood staring at her with wide eyes and not appearing to breathe.  He blinked and closed the small distance between them but made no move to touch her.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmured.

“You’re glad to hear I got my heart broken?” Her voice cracked and she pulled as far back from him as she could.

“If it can be broken, it means it still works,” he said softly but she could hear the hope in his words all the same. “I know I hurt you immeasurably, love, and I’ve earned no right to a second chance but if you can see it in you to do so I’ll gladly spend the rest of my days earning your back your trust and, perhaps in time, your heart.”

“Killian…”

“Finish your tea, Swan,” he said with a tight smile though his eyes were sparkling with the same hope she’d heard, “Don’t want it to get cold.”

She stared down at the amber liquid and watched the curling tendrils of steam as though they’d give her some kind of sign of what to do.  They didn’t, of course, not that she really believed it would be that easy.  There were still so many questions she wanted to ask but only one really mattered.  Guarding herself against a final blow she looked up at him with determination.

“Were you ever going to tell me about any of it?  Or was it always your plan for me to find out from someone else?”

Killian jolted back, as though she’d slapped him.  He shook his head with a sigh before running a hand over his face.  When he caught her eye again the hope had been replaced with pain and a flash of the anger she’d thought was behind them.

“I’d intended to tell you everything the night of the interview over the dinner we were supposed to share at my home.  I suppose it was fortuitous that I’d listened to it or I would have sat with our meal laid out on the table, waiting for hours for your arrival.  As it was I had to endure one of Regina’s assistants traipsing through the house, gathering your items and ignoring my pleas to explain what the hell was going on.  Then, of course, there was to be no explanations forthcoming for nearly three days and absolute devastation once I’d received them.  But after all that my feelings for you never changed, not once.”

Emma sucked in a breath at that.  Even as he was justifiably dressing her down for what she’d done he was still playing it safe.  He’d never stated outright what he felt for her but she knew without a doubt what he wasn’t saying.  Funny thing was, his caution made her realize exactly what she felt for him with startling clarity.  She gave a little laugh that bordered on manic but she was helpless against the sudden euphoria she was feeling.

Killian glared at her, “I won’t have you laughing-”

“I love you.”

The words seemed to hang between them in the quiet kitchen like a line cast out to the unknown.  She could only hope that Killian would grasp onto them and tether her heart to his.  As the silence stretched out she found she only wished she had told him sooner instead of dragging out both their heartaches.  Shaking her head at her own stubborn foolishness she gave him a tremulous smile.

“I love you and I’m sorry.  I was trying so hard to protect myself from getting hurt again that I just hurt us both so much more instead.  I’m so tired of feeling like I tore a piece of my own heart out.  You said your feelings haven’t changed.  I want this.  I want us.  Do you?”

Instead of answering her with words Killian moved at a speed that surprised her.  Almost before she had finished the question he was standing in front of her, his arms bracketing her with his hands on the back of the chair and the counter.  His expression was deadly serious but his eyes were lit with joy as he leaned into her space.

“Swan, I want nothing more.”

Her smile was cut off by his lips pressing to hers.  She gasped as one of his hands delved into her hair while the other banded around her waist, his thumb stroking at the skin above the waistband of her jeans.  It was as if he was pouring every emotion into the kiss.  His passion, his elation, his fervor, and most of all his love.  With a moan she pulled him impossibly closer, hooking her ankles around the back of his legs to draw him in.

To her surprise he broke away, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, “There’s one last thing that needs to be said.”

“Now?” She panted, arching up slightly to nip at his lower lip. “Can’t it wait?”

“Not really,” he groaned.  He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, sliding his mouth to her ear where he quietly sang to her, “But I wouldn't trade a day for the chance to say, My love, I'm in love with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes as he pulled back, looking at her as though she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.  He gently brushed away the few tears that had fallen with a finger, following closely behind with soft kisses that travelled across her cheeks, leaving her wanting more.  By the time he moved to her mouth the heat between them had returned but she leaned back before he could press more than one delicate kiss to her lips.

“Emma,” he growled, his hand flexing on the back of her neck, his eyes hot.

“You know, you never gave me a tour of the place-” she gave him a teasing smile and gave an exaggerated look around, “I bet there’s all sorts of interesting rooms.”

He caught on quickly, his smile unfurling into something wicked, “Indeed there are, my love.  Shall we begin with the bedroom?”

He didn’t give her the chance to answer as he swiftly pulled her up from her chair and tugged her quickly down the hallway.

Much, much later Emma was seated back at the breakfast bar in nothing but her underwear and Killian’s Led Zeppelin shirt.  Her feet were perched in Killian’s lap, which was covered by dark blue boxer briefs that he’d only pulled on when the pizza they’d ordered had arrived.  She tried to smother a giddy grin behind her crust but he caught sight of it and raised a brow at her.

“Something you’d like to share, Swan?”

“I’m just-” she gave a little shrug, “happy.  I guess I’m still trying to process it.”

“I know what you mean, love,” he agreed, his hand dropping to her ankle to give it a squeeze. “If someone had told me yesterday that we would be here tonight, like this, I wouldn’t have believed them.  Now, if they’d predicted us reconciling by the end of the week I wouldn’t have questioned it.”

“No?” She asked, humming in pleasure at the confidence in his voice.

“You’re not the only one who can wheedle an address out of Regina,” he said with a wink.  Then he grew serious, “If I hadn’t heard from you by the end of the week I was planning on driving up to Maine to plead my case.”

“I’m surprised she gave it to you,” she mumbled around a bite of her crust. “She was all worried about you breaching your contract because of deadlines two weeks ago.  A side trip to Maine would definitely eat into your studio time or something.”

“Oh-” Killian scratched behind his ear and then said offhandedly, “I’ve, er, been in breach of my contract since I posted that video, love.”

Her last bite fell from her fingers as she gaped at him.  A flush was rising along the back of his neck and he gave her a sheepish smile.

“What?”

“Well, according to some of the very fine print in it I was forbidden from releasing any music by means other than through the label-” he shrugged and waved a hand as though dismissing the seriousness of the situation, “My lawyer assures me that at most I’ll only have to pay a minimal fine.”

“Pay a…” she brought her palms to her temples, “Killian that’s still going to be thousands of dollars.”

“I would have posted a hundred unsanctioned songs and paid every cent I have to my name just to get you to talk to me again,” he said matter of factly.  He leaned over and plucked the piece of crust from her lap, tossing it into the open pizza box before fixing her gaze with his, “And it would have been worth it.  You are worth everything.”

She dropped her hands with a huff, “Stop being romantic when I’m worrying about you.”

“Never,” he said with a wide grin that made his eyes crinkle. “And you don’t need to worry about me, Swan, I’m a survivor.”

“I love you,” she said with a shrug, “I’ll always worry about you.”

His grin mellowed into something that made her feel warm and cherished.  He leaned over and grasped her stool, dragging it towards him until the already small distance between them was narrowed so only a puff of air could pass through.  She gave a wayward thought to the state of his floors at the abuse they suffered but it vanished as his hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb drawing a delicate arc across her cheekbone.

“I love you too,” he murmured just above a whisper, his eyes intent on hers, “I always will.”

Her happy sigh was swallowed by his lips on hers.  The kiss was far more gentle than any of the others they had shared, even the ones from before their separation.  With a slight thrill she realized that they would have hundreds, even thousands, more kisses of all sorts in the years to come.  As they parted she couldn’t help her giddy smile at the thought.

Killian raised his brow at her, his gaze teasing, “Already, Swan?  We’ve only just surfaced.”

“What?  No!” She laughed, pushing him back, “I mean, yeah but not like that.  I was thinking about us kissing but years from now kind of kisses.”

“Years from now,” he repeated in awe.  He leaned back towards her, “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” she sighed.  Then she crinkled her nose at him, “Even if I do end up supporting you because you have to keep paying fines since you’re a big YouTube star now.  I know how you guys gotta keep posting content.”

“Har, har, love.  Just so you know, Cora has already spun this in my favor,” he said smugly. “She’s convinced the label that it’s the perfect way to garner attention for my forthcoming album.  Which is why I’ll only be paying a minimal fine instead of what it easily could have been.”

Emma sat back, “So you’re still going to do it?  Record the album?”

“Not exactly, no,” he said with a crooked smile, “The songs I was planning on recording before are, quite honestly, rubbish.  I’ve had a wellspring of inspiration these past few weeks.  Robin is quite pleased with them as a matter of fact and he’s not hold back over the years when something of mine is only worthy of a bin.  I’ll be heading to the studio once the whole contract debacle is taken care of.  That is, of course, only if you agree.”

“Agree to what?” She asked, confused.

“The songs, my love-” he dropped his eyes for a moment and when he looked back up his gaze was wary, “You, us, what we’ve been through?  Well… you know.”

And she did.  She’d written dozens of songs about the man who’d left her in jail and pregnant and just as many about her lonely childhood in foster care.  There was more than one notebook filled with longing ballads about the son she’d never even held.  Hell, the notebook in her purse was pages of scribbles and half formed lyrics about Killian and their time together.  So she knew exactly what he was getting at.  She also had one niggling thought about it.

“Yeah, I do,” she said with a slow nod.  Reaching towards him she took his hand between hers, “I think you should record the songs you’ve written, even the ones that I know don’t paint me in the best light, but I do have one request.”

“Anything,” he breathed, his hand flexing in hers.

“I don’t want to hear any of them until the final mix-” she let go of his hand to cover his mouth as he tried to protest, “No, hear me out first.  I’m sure the songs are good, great even since Robin is excited about them, and that’s exactly why I want to wait to hear them.  I know how much work goes into making an album and thanks to Ruby you know exactly how big a fan I am of your music.  I just- I think I want to have that giddy moment listening to your first big solo album as the finished thing.”

Killian tugged her hand away from his lips and gave her a wry grin, “So you want to enjoy the sausage without seeing all the unappetizing steps of how it gets made?”

“Uh, weird analogy but yeah,” she said, relieved that it hadn’t caused another fight, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the pigs before slaughter though.”

“So you’ll berate me for the initial analogy but then proceed to take it to a much darker place.  I see how your mind works, Swan,” Killian said with narrowed eyes and a look of mock sternness.

“I work with what I’m given,” she said with a shrug.

Killian huffed out a laugh before he grew serious, taking the hand that was still in his and placing them both over his heart, “You can look at every song I’ve ever written, love.  Even the shit ones from primary school.”

She gave him a smile she knew was giddy, “Oh, I definitely want to look at those but I think for now I’ll stick to your most recent ones.”

“Wise decision,” he murmured,half rising from his stool, “Shall I go get them now?”

“No, it’s late, I can look at them tomorrow-” she flexed her fingers on his chest and when he looked back at her she tried to let him see every ounce of love she was feeling, “I’m not going anywhere.”

His smile unfurled slowly but adoration and love was bright in his eyes, “Good.”

[huntergatherercreator]

The Takedown | Part Nine

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, injuries and kidnapping

Notes: It’s taken me so long to get this part finished, I only hope it was worth the wait! Let me know what you think, any feedback is appreciated! 

Catch up here: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight

Part 9  - 1,686 Words

Wagner Cove was a fairly public area in Central Park. A small rustic log pavilion sitting on one of the many lakes, it’s a little slice of wilderness without ever having to leave the comforts of the city. It should have filled me with confidence that he’d arranged to meet there but it didn’t. All the city’s key players would know by now that there had been an attempt on his life that failed.  Some would see it as a challenge, a chance to come out on top if they succeeded.

Knowing this I’d justified the risk of bringing along Arnold’s gun to the meeting. Feeling the weight of it strapped to my side was more reassuring than I ever thought it could be. I’d avoided being armed on the streets for my rounds. It was all too easy to be ambushed and have it used against me; it was safer to risk the chance of having a knife pulled and being able to fight my way out of the situation. However, last night cemented how deep I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. I wasn’t dealing with desperate users on the streets now. I was up against calculated murderers. Holland had been ready to have Arnold shot without a second thought. I needed to have a safety net. Even if the safety net was deadly, it put my mind at ease knowing I’d be on a level playing ground against them.

As we approached the Cherry Hill fountain I adjusted my cap, keeping my face down as we passed a gaggle of tourists. Hiding Arnold’s face was harder to manage. I’d washed off the blood from his nose but the beginning hues of what would become dark bruising had started to form under his eyes drawing several lingering glances. I tugged him closer, gaining a tighter grip on his arm, and a dark glower. I’d swapped out his ninety dollar hoodie for one of my own with a central pocket and zip tied his hands together within it. My arm entwined with his, the pretence of being a couple out for a leisurely stroll was an easy one to maintain. I hadn’t told him where we were going, but he knew who to expect at the end of our journey. Up until now, and throughout the cab ride, he’d played complacent and calm. Now we were out in the open in a park easy to get lost in there was a risk he’d try to run.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Arnold. Take a look around.” I inclined my head towards the fountain to point out the figure I’d spotted. Dressed in a casual sweater and jeans he lounged on the fountain lip with a tattered paperback in his hand. A book he’d been reading the same page of for the past five minutes.

Arnolds step faltered for a second as recognition hit and I had to pull him along to keep him walking.

“I count three for now.” His head swivelled trying to pinpoint the others; a runner cooling down by a bench who hadn’t broken a sweat, and a bum bag wearing tourist whose camera lay unused around their neck.

“I’m flattered he thinks I’m this much of a threat” he muttered dryly.

“You’re not. Your new boss, on the other hand, is.” I aimed us for the start of the trail that would lead to the water’s edge. “But you’d know that if you’d done proper research on him, wouldn’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. I bit back the words I wanted to shout at him but couldn’t contain a frustrated sigh. He was a business man; someone who should hold the acumen to background check potential partners and deals, and also have a gut instinct for knowing when a deal would go south. Arnold clearly held neither of these qualities. He was all front, his inadequacies hidden by the net worth of his company.

It made me wonder if all Holland’s men were like this, chosen purely because they were high players in the normal world as opposed to having any real talents to contribute. Maybe their lack of intuition is exactly why Holland hires them, so they’re pliable and toe the line. It would explain why he had such a visceral reaction to finding out I had started upselling his product.

Reaching the final stretch of path the trees grew closer together blocking out most of the sunlight and view of the surrounding park. About five feet away from the entrance to the pavilion stood two guards. I recognised one from the other night, the one who had stepped in to diffuse the bomb that was our stand –off. He nodded briefly. The other I assumed was Morgan, stepping into fill Lenny’s shoes. The fact Holland hadn’t hired a new body guard right away told me he had respected his former one. That or he hadn’t had the chance to find someone new yet.

I looked past them to where Holland stood in the shade of the building. Facing out to the water his stance was wide, arms folded as he waited on us. In the warmth of the day he’d taken off his suit jacket exposing his holster. I instinctively did another sweep of the area making sure we were alone.

Removing my hold on Arnold, I relinquished him to the closest guard before continuing down the trail alone. I stopped short of entering the pavilion.

“You’re late.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at me before returning to stare out across the lake.

“Moving a hostage in the middle of the day isn’t exactly straight forward.”

“You could have killed him and come alone,” he suggested, as casual as noting the weather.

“It crossed my mind,” I lied. “However, if you suddenly decided that video evidence wasn’t proof enough then it would have left me at a disadvantage. Now you have him you can do what you want with him, and the information.”

Taking out Arnold’s phone I forced myself to take the last three steps needed to get me at his side. This close the scent of his aftershave wound around me, crisp and fresh but with an undercurrent of something muskier, darker. It was a heady mix. It suited him. I held the device out for him to take and watched him slip it into his front pocket without examining it.

“You’re not going to watch the rest of it?” My stomach tightened in apprehension. Something was off.

“Later. For now I’m more concerned with what you think you know about me.” When I didn’t answer right away he turned to face me. I got a hard eyed appraisal, one I’m sure would normally have his men squirming. I took it without flinching reminding myself that I held the cards no matter how outnumbered I was or how high my hackles had risen.

“I don’t deal in making assumptions. How I know,” I paused to eye the guards and assess whether they could overhear us before continuing, “that you’re not American, is because you slipped up.”

“I was born and raised in Queens.” He hadn’t moved at all when he said it. He had no telling quirk like Arnold’s to let me know that he was lying but the line had sounded well-rehearsed. My alarm bells were silently ringing to let me know I was treading thin ice but the insistent internal itch to dig down to the truth won out.

I took a measured step into his personal space and analysed his face as I quoted him. “You should listen to your own advice.” His lips tightened almost imperceptibly. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a triumphant smile.

His arms slowly unfolded as he closed the gap between us to tower over me.  “You’re going to forget everything you think you know.” His voice had deepened into a warning tone.

Before I had the chance to answer back he rounded on Arnold.

“It was Rivera who recruited you wasn’t it?” he barked. Unable to maintain eye contact Arnold focused on the water and nodded reluctantly.

In one swift movement he’d drawn his gun and aimed for Arnold. Without thinking my hand shot out to grab his wrist and he flinched, finger pulling back from the trigger slightly. I could feel his pulse beat steadily under my fingers as mine raced ahead. I couldn’t let him do it. Getting rid of Arnold would keep me safe but the thought of causing another death, even indirectly, gnawed away at me. Allowing him to be killed went against my morals. At least, it went against the ones I’d been able to hold onto.

“You can still use him,” I urged.

“I won’t have traitors working for me,” he growled.

“Not even if it gets you revenge?” He regarded me carefully with narrowed eyes. “Take out Rivera in response to his kill order and it’ll show you’re ten times more dangerous than he ever was. It’ll buy you safety, for a time.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m associated now. My life’s on the life from being seen in that alley with you. For saving you.”

His gaze went back to Arnold, fingers tightening on the gun. I squeezed his wrist to get his attention.

“He has a contact number. He can lure Rivera’s men to meet with him.” I was on the verge of pleading and given the glint in his eyes he knew it.

“Then we take his men and interrogate them?” he scoffed mockingly. “You think I haven’t already done that? I’ve had my men pulling Hellions off the street all night.”

“You’ve… what…?” I stuttered. My stomach plummeted. He’d been ahead of me the whole time. That’s why he didn’t need to watch the rest of the video. I’d underestimated him and now all I was to him was a loose end who knew too much.

“Like I said, don’t try to tell me how to deal with threats. This is my city. My business. I’ll do what I like.”

The gun fired.

----

Taglist: @spideylovin​ @lukesbabylon​ @panicattheeverywherekid​ @keep-bears-wild @unbelievableholland​ @tomholland-mcu @whattheheckparker @stargazerholland @gorillaglue23 @marvelpeters

Part Ten!

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 5 / End

Now, we return to the scene at the beginning of the story.

A little regretfully, Fred left for his work as the “Crime Consultant’s” point of contact, and Louis was alone in the hall once again.

However, the situation was completely different from before. He was no longer watching helplessly as the fish grew weaker — instead, he’d found a ray of hope for its recovery.

Standing before the aquarium, Louis was now gambling on both the medicine’s efficacy and the fish’s own willpower.

“Please, help him……”

Fervently, he prayed for the angelfish’s recovery.

And as the so-called king of the aquarium swam about its tank, the image of his brother surfaced in his mind.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Five days after that, the time had finally come for the tropical fish to be transported to Stapleton’s residence.

It was early in the morning, and the sky was perfectly clear. Several horse-drawn carts lay parked on the street outside their mansion. For ease of transport, the fish had been transferred to suitably-sized bottles; and as the members of the Moriarty household carried the bottles, tanks and other aquarium equipment onto the carts, Louis stood at the mansion entrance, quietly watching over the scene.

Although he’d nearly collapsed after those consecutive days of exertion, by the time the fish were set to be moved out, Louis had been able to recover his full strength. That haggard complexion of his was now restored to its healthy glow, and behind those spectacle lenses, his eyes shone with the sparkle of success.

At first, Louis had wanted to move the items onto the carts all by himself, saying that the entire enterprise down to the fishes’ transport was his responsibility. However, knowing he had contributed the most this time around, the rest of the Moriarty household insisted that he not work any longer. As a result, though dissatisfied, Louis had hence been relegated to a spectating role.

Occasionally, as they moved past him while carrying the fish in their bottles, the glint in Louis’s eyes would tremble ever so slightly. And when that happened, he would pretend to adjust his spectacles in order to hide the tremors in his heart.

“Feeling emotional, Louis?”

Seeing his younger brother readjust his perfectly-positioned spectacles for the fifth time, William walked up beside him.

Embarrassed, Louis gave a small cough, then straightened his back.

“I would never——”

He stopped. Then, looking at the carts, his voice grew soft.

“No, you’re right. I didn’t want to acknowledge it — but for once, I’m feeling rather sentimental.”

Hearing Louis reveal his true feelings, William gave him a fond look.

Before the two men, the bottles containing the pufferfish and guppies were being loaded onto the carts. Ever since the tiny fish had been given names, Louis’s tropical fish-keeping endeavour had taken a strange turn.

Recalling the reason that a spanner had been thrown in the works of this enterprise, Louis turned solemn, and dipped his head.

“Nii-san. I am truly sorry for what happened before. I went overboard, and ended up causing everyone unnecessary worry. I was immature, and I shall reflect gravely on that.”

Not only did he grow fanatical over the angelfish named after his brother, he even made the aquarium layout needlessly extravagant, and recreated a South American habitat through and through. To top it off, in caring for the sick fish, he had nearly destroyed his own health. Looking back on it all with a cool eye, he had really been quite reckless.

As Louis reflected on his actions in earnest, right then, Moran and Fred walked past bearing pots of tropical plants: the by-products of his over-enthusiasm. They would now become a surprise gift for Stapleton.

Without taking his gaze off the trees, Louis burned those symbols of his inadequacy firmly into his eyes.

Watching his brother ruminate on the subject so gravely, after a beat of silence, William spoke.

“You may be right. If the situation had persisted, and you’d collapsed, the care of the other fish may’ve been impacted. Although you took care not to let that happen, I do wish you had taken the worst-case scenario into account and talked with me more.”

“…………”

Louis knew that. But still, to have his faults pointed out by someone he respected — those words had pierced through his chest.

Naturally, the sense of achievement that’d grown within Louis now began to wilt; though his face once bore a proud expression, he now favoured looking down instead.

“But you know, that’s just one part of the story.”

“Eh?”

Out of the blue, William had added that in a gentle voice, and Louis was startled.

He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that remark. Then, William narrated his own thoughts.

“Louis, you went overboard for a single fish, so much so you neglected your own body — I don’t think you should’ve done that, since there were in fact two other angelfish which could act as substitutes. But in a way, to go so far in order to ensure that not even a single life is wasted: that could be seen as an expression of your sincerity.”

Sincerity.

Louis knew he’d been driven by an impulse akin to selfishness. But strangely, he did not resist as that word seeped into his heart.

“Certainly, I had said that it’s possible to replace the fish if they die. But I think it’s wrong to take that at face value, and put one’s faith in how there’ll be replacements, or second chances.”

William moved on to talk about the attitude Louis had taken towards his work.

“Such naive thinking can undermine one’s focus on the task at hand. For example, if you were to think ‘There’s two more of them, anyway’, and approach the enterprise with that optimistic mindset, it wouldn’t be a surprise if all the fish ended up dying right away. In other words, Louis: from that point of view, I would say your earnestness towards that one fish was exceptionally appropriate.”

“……Nii-san.”

William’s tone had contained no more emotion than what his words conveyed, and in no way had he defended Louis’s actions. He was simply assessing them from an objective standpoint.

And that, was precisely why Louis was glad.

He’d thought his actions were nothing more than a mistake born from his own foolishness. But William had shown him that they could in fact be seen as the complete opposite. Taken another way, his persistence towards that one fish was proof of his ardour for his work — that, was what his older brother was telling him.

For now, William fell silent. And right then, the two brothers caught sight of Moran carrying an aquarium tank toward the carts. He hadn’t faltered at all since the start: with his physical strength, it seemed no load was too heavy for him to bear.

It looked like there were only a few things left to move; Fred, who’d also been hard at work loading the items, now put in a last burst of energy. Incidentally, Albert had already moved his share of the items onto the carts earlier, and left for his work at the universal trading company.

Taking his gaze off Moran, Louis now stared at the empty tanks lined up on the carts.

Then, the sight of the three angelfish swimming in close formation sprang to mind.

“…………”

In truth, before their departure from the mansion, he had wanted to return ‘William’ to the tank with the other two angelfish. He’d thought it would be nice to see them swimming harmoniously together once more.

But that wish had not been fulfilled. For Louis, who was in charge of this endeavour, it was truly a pity.

Then, following behind Moran, Fred stepped out the doorway of the mansion. In his arms was a bottle that held a certain fish.

Louis stood before the entrance. Fred studied his expression, and asked him a question.

“This’s the last one…… Is it really alright to load it up?”

“……Yes, please do.”

His reply bore a faint sense of loneliness. Hearing that, Fred nodded solemnly, and proceeded towards the carts.

For one last time, Louis looked at the bottle Fred was holding.

Swimming within it, was the angelfish that’d been ill up to a few days ago.

Earlier, as Fred spoke to him, Louis had noticed it swimming languidly yet powerfully through the water. The rays of the morning sun, just risen, gleamed off its silver scales — their lustre was simply beautiful.

In other words—— the angelfish had thoroughly regained its former elegance.

The day after he used the treatment William provided, the fish had gradually recovered, and fully regained its strength just the day before. However, as Louis was hesitant to stop the treatment immediately after it had recuperated, he had no choice but to abandon the thought of letting it rejoin its former tank mates. Instead, it spent its remaining days in the mansion confined to the small aquarium.

At the very least, he’d wanted to see the “three brothers” together once more.

However, as Fred loaded the bottle onto the cart, Louis quietly closed his eyes, and put that thought away.

——They are but three fish; they’re not the same as us, by any means.

That cold line was directed at himself.

After caring for them so wholeheartedly, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of them in the slightest.

Moreover, if he had asked his brother seriously, it might have been possible to leave just the three angelfish behind in the mansion. In any case, there were many other varieties of tropical fish: they didn’t necessarily have to part with those three.

However, Louis did not do that.

As Fred had brought up, the one who’d asserted that the fish were nothing more than tools — was none other than himself.

He had no intention of retracting his words now. Furthermore, he was afraid that when the next mission came around, he might just let his emotions get the better of him, and end up causing irreversible damage.

When all was said and done, those stunning tropical fish were simply tools — a means to an end.

There were some things that could only be obtained by pushing aside sentimentality, disciplining oneself, and devoting one’s heart to their work, just as he had done.

And he was sure that his brother understood those feelings of his.

Even as he felt a pang of regret, Louis banished those thoughts, and met his brother’s gaze beside him.

William smiled back. “Well then, we’ve had a rather long chat, if I do say so myself,” he said. “But all that was just waffle. There’s only one thing I want to tell you, Louis.”

He knew what Louis truly wanted to hear right now. Then, he spoke in a warm and gentle voice — not as the leader of a criminal organisation that lurked in the darkness, but as an older brother.

“You didn’t let a single life go to waste: you did a great job, Louis.”

“……Yes!”

Louis replied with vigour. Then, dropping his guard, he nearly broke into a grin — and tried to suppress it in a panic. But he barely managed to stop himself from cracking a smile; emotion welled up from the depths of his heart, and his eyes misted over: it seemed that such sentiment could not be suppressed, even by a cool-headed man like himself. Through a mist of tears, he could vaguely make out the figure of his brother standing before him.

To become his brother’s strength. To fulfil his brother’s wishes. And, if possible, even if it was only for a little bit: to receive his brother’s praise.

Right after receiving that task from William, he had inadvertently obtained what he’d desired — and Louis was trembling with emotion.

William adjusted his tie. “Well then, it seems everything has been loaded up,” he murmured. “I think it’s time for me to get ready to leave as well.”

Then, he softly placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Leave the rest to me, Louis. I’ll make sure your work wasn’t in vain.”

“I know, nii-san.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Louis was certain of it. ——That his brother, would never let his own efforts go to waste.

Hearing that, William smiled; then, his expression immediately reverted to that of the “Crime Consultant”, and he went back into the mansion.

After seeing his brother off, Louis glanced at the carts full of glass tanks, and murmured to himself.

“……It’ll be time to make breakfast soon.”

Once he’d ascertained that the transport preparations were complete, the memories of his arduous days spent with the fish then morphed into a record of observations. In his mind, his thoughts switched back to their usual subjects: those of managing the mansion and their estate.

However, deep in his heart, that gorgeous silver light remained as an unfading memory.

Louis had taken on the challenge of maintaining aquaria, and completed his mission since. Surrounding him was a refined atmosphere, and the air of a man who’d finally brought an enterprise to fruition.

T/N: omg I have so many thoughts about this one — much longer than the usual one-liner at the end of each story — so they’re in a separate section below if you’re interested :3

Translator’s thoughts (haha)

Louis’s growth

I think this story in particular is the previously-untold link in Louis’s character development! As seen in the Baskervilles arc and the start of this story, Louis initially had this worldview that he needed to be a cold-blooded machine to fulfil William’s wishes. To him, everything else was unnecessary if they did not serve his brother’s goals.

But in the course of caring for the angelfish, Louis was forced to confront the fact that he was actually fond of the angelfish — even though this contradicted his existing worldview, since emotion is unnecessary in rearing mere tools. And upon reflecting on how he handled the whole debacle, he finally realised that although the way in which he acted on that affection was not entirely right — showering the fish with too much love, which might’ve led to its falling ill, and sacrificing his own health and potentially the entire endeavour to save just one fish — the very presence of that affection was not a bad thing; and as William affirmed, he should continue to value every single life.

So I think this was the turning point from which Louis started to let go of that obsession toward his brother, and act on his own emotions and wishes: what he thinks is right, as opposed to merely what William wants. And this culminated in him seeking Sherlock’s help to save his brother, even as William himself did not want to be saved.

So in short, I really think this story is a key point in Louis’s character development, connecting the Louis of the Baskervilles arc with the Louis we see in the Final Problem arc — a missing link in the narrative, if you will!

Some random thoughts:

I’d think that sometime after the events of this story, Louis would properly apologise to Fred over what happened in the Baskerville mission

William told Louis he was right to not let even a single life go to waste — I think those words would’ve echoed in Louis’s mind when he sought Sherlock’s help together with Fred

Parallels to the Final Problem arc

Furthermore, some aspects of this story do parallel what happened in the Final Problem arc:

‘William’ being the one to fall ill

Louis trying very hard to save him

Louis praying for someone to help his brother

Help coming from a friend, rather than Louis himself

‘William’ remaining separate from the other two angelfish for a time

I wonder if it’s intentional, in the same vein as that past illustration by Hikaru-sensei where William covered his left eye with a rose… It could be possible: this book was published alongside the Phantom arc (Volume 7), so it’s conceivable that the Final Problem arc had already been planned out by that point.

Wow this has been a long one — thank you for reading this far! And onward to the next story ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

[mythrilhusk]

Our World - Chapter One

Technoblade-centric; obligatory Greek Pantheon/The Office AU, No shipping, Not RPF

2.4k words, slightly funny (maybe?), AO3 Link, 

Features ND/Schizophrenic!Technoblade  - (Written by myself, an actually schizophrenic/neurodivergent person... Neurotypicals/Non-psychotics should not attempt this.) 

CW: Intrusive thoughts/visions/urges, auditory hallucinations

Elysium's smallest company branch rests unobtrusively in the town Oneiros, buried in some backwoods county. Technoblade reads through the list of employees once more as his taxi weaves through a mountain pass. His equipment sits on the seat beside him, while the rest of his luggage bounces in the trunk. 

Elysium's CFO, some guy named Eret, hired Techno on the spot when he came to the interview. Seemed kinda desperate, but eh, so was Technoblade. 

H's not entirely sure why they would only hire one guy to do this job. Eh, work is work, and they sure pay well enough. They're providing an apartment, too. An actual roof over his head will be nice, for however long Techno can keep the job. He bets a week, tops. 

The narrow road crests over the top of the mountain, revealing the town beneath sprawling in the valley. The Elysium office building juts out of the south side of the town, an ugly block of concrete and glass. Technoblade wrinkles his nose in disdain, silently agreeing with chat as they mock the displeasing aesthetics.  

When his taxi pulls up into the parking lot, Technoblade piles his luggage and equipment on the sidewalk before paying the driver. He adds a tip, too, though he can barely afford even that much. The driver's pale cheeks stretch in a nervous smile as he clutches the money; he's too afraid to protest the miniscule tip. Techno doesn't make an effort to smile back, too busy ignoring visions featuring the bloody crunch of the man's neck between his thirsty teeth. 

The taxi peels away, leaving Technoblade alone in the chilly mountain air. With ringing ears and a heavy huff, Techno gathers his stuff and heads into the building. 

The receptionist plays on his phone, ignoring Technoblade even when he raps his knuckles atop the boy's shaggy brown hair. "Tubbo," He grunts, recalling the appearance from the employee list. 

Tubbo starts, staring up at Techno with wary intensity, like a tiger cub encountering a wild boar for the first time. Techno smiles wryly at the boy, who must still be younger than eighteen. Chat clamors for blood, urging him with the weight of his knife, but Technoblade doesn't entertain them. 

"Technoblade." Tubbo regains his composure and holds out a hand. "I'm so glad you're finally here, big man, we've been waiting." 

"Why the rush?" Technoblade snorts, ignoring the proffered handshake. Physical contact irritates him. 

Tubbo drops his hand. "We just really like documentaries about ourselves, yeah?" 

"K." It's not his place to question a gig, although chat goes wild with suspicion. "Where am I staying?" 

"Oh, right, you'll be staying with Philza. Heh, try not to piss him off. Or do, it'll be funny." Tubbo waves to the rest of the wide room. "Phil! Your roommate's here!" 

"Fuck off, mate, I told you bastards, I don't want a fucking roommate." Techno recognizes the man who speaks as the dude in charge of customer relations: Philza. His golden hair glints with hints of fire, setting off his blue eyes, as merciless as the stars. 

Chat froths, raging for blood, blood, blood, but Techno mentally bats them away. "K, welp, I was promised boardin' with this gig. I don't really care where; just get me a place to stay." Technoblade shrugs, baring his teeth in a smile that's just south of friendly. 

Philza smiles too, showing off his fangs. Tubbo holds up his hands, saying, "Woah, woah, here. Phil, it's your turn. It's not gonna last long, anyway." 

"Heh? Turn?" Technoblade chuffs, even as the cacophony that is chat hisses, technodead, technodead, lmao, RIP- Shut up, chat, we are not dead yet. 

Philza's grin widens maliciously. "Oh, did Eret not tell you?" 

"That dude told me the bare minimum, man, I dunno, I dunno what you expected." 

"You're not the first film crew he's hired," Tubbo says with a faux apologetic shrug. Before Technoblade can protest the use of crew to describe one man, Tubbo continues with the barest hint of a smirk. "But the other ones died, just like you will." 

Technodead, technodead, EEEEEE, RIP, RIP, F, EEE, lmaooo, F, rainbowchat- "Get outta here," Techno drawls, narrowing his eyes. Not for the first time, he wishes chat had a physical embodiment he could punt. "Technoblade never dies." 

"We'll see," Philza muses, his eyes twinkling with the apathetic amusement of an ancient god toying with mortals. Hazing, that's all this is. Phil hands Technoblade a business card. "Don't be late." 

Techno scans the card, appreciating the flaming torch insignia etched into the bronze-inked paper. Ares, god of war... Chat hisses the allusion, seeming in awe of this man who has taken a god's symbol. Techno flips it over to find the address, and then raises an eyebrow at Phil. "What time?" 

Philza picks up a stack of papers from the massive copy-printer and strides back to his desk. "Before evenfall." 

Welp, that's that interaction over with. Technoblade notes how all the other office workers are studiously ignoring him. He turns to Tubbo. "Where's the boss?" 

Tubbo puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Are you, are you going to complain to our manager, mister?" 

"Yeah," Technoblade plays along. "I'm giving you a three star review." 

"Oh, that's not bad." 

"Out of ten." 

Tubbo's visage darkens, and Techno gets an uneasy feeling like a hurricane is about to hit. The feeling passes, though, as Tubbo pouts. "I deserve more than that, man! Give me six stars, at least!" 

"Tell ya what, if you show me where the regional manager's office is, I'll raise my review to seven stars." 

"Done!" Tubbo cries, and points to an inconspicuous pair of doors on the other end of the room. "One leads to Manager Puffy, the other leads to Manager Schlatt. Choose wisely, good sir." 

Techno hums approvingly, then draws out his pad of stickers from his coat pocket. Tubbo's eyes widen and he gasps, bouncing excitedly as Techno sticks a sparkly gold star to his forehead. "Good work, nerd." 

Tubbo just stammers, plopping back into his chair with a blissful expression. Heh. Stickers work every time. Chat begs for stickers of their own, beg to be called nerds, beg for even a little taste of blood, but they don't deserve any rewards after being so bad all day. 

Techno strides over to the managers' office doors. Each has a whiteboard on the front, with various scribbles over them. One has a fluffy sheep, and says in swirly script, //The captain is IN//. The other has various dicks doodled on it, and the only word written is, //Candice//. Chat breaks down in immature giggles. Technoblade opts for the former. 

He knocks politely. A woman's voice replies, "Enter." 

Opening the door, Technoblade scans the room. There's a full bookshelf covering one wall, and a low bureau across the opposite. A bay window sheds light across the manager's desk, tinted by the grey-green curtains. 

A woman rises from her chair, her expression hidden by the sunlight behind her. Her waves of hair-- half brown and half silver-- sparkle with the dewdrop diamonds haphazardly woven in. 

"District Manager Puffy?" Technoblade bobs his head to her. 

"Call me Captain Puffy," Puffy replies, and her teeth glint in a wild smile as she tosses her head. "You're the new film crew Eret hired?" 

"Uhh, apparently." Technoblade appreciates that she doesn't hold out her hand to greet him. "He never specified what kind of film he wanted, though, so-" 

"Don't worry about that," Puffy tuts, "I'll give you instructions when you're settled in." 

"K." Technoblade can respect this kind of person. Chat has been subdued and pouting for the past few minutes by his refusal to give them any sort of attention. He takes mercy on them and stares at the model ships on the bureau, letting them coo over the complexity and aesthetic. 

"Uh, Mister Blade?" Puffy's voice intrudes on his appreciation of the ships. 

"Just Techno is fine." Techno refuses to look away from the ships, since they're keeping chat happy for the moment. 

"You'll be assigned a desk tomorrow, and you'll be given tasks around the office to, to acclimate and get to know your coworkers. Later, you can start filming random candid moments. We want a sort of documentary detailing our office lifestyle." Puffy hands a paper flyer to Techno. 

Glancing through it, Techno frowns. "What exactly does Elysium sell?" 

"We need a better PR team, which is why we've hired you. Elysium strives for the betterment of lives and the strengthening of minds." Puffy completely fails to answer the question. Chat calls her a sussy baahka, and Techno shoots a pointed glare at the bookshelves. He's definitely not giving chat any stickers tonight. 

Puffy seems ready to dismiss him, so Techno bobs his head once more to her and opens the door. A strange noise, like the crashing of waves against a rocky shore, resonates through the air, halting him. Her eyes snap wide, glittering with something cold and unforgiving, yet somehow comforting and protective. "Pray to your god for mercy and it shall be given." 

Technoblade chuckles, smothering the fire lit behind his eyes. "I'm kinda an atheist, Brizo; if there are any gods out there, they'll be begging me for mercy." He realizes too late that his extensive knowledge of the ancient Greek religion has escaped his tongue. Chat screams with excitement as they put together the allusions to the referenced spirit, Brizo, patron of sailors and prophecy. What a bunch of nerds. 

Captain Puffy stares at him, her smile twinkling: sun rays piercing through storm clouds. "Of course, Hades." 

Technoblade smiles back at the retort-- he's always been partial to the god of wealth-- and he bobs his head in deference to her once more. Any fellow partaker of old stories easily gets put in his good book. Puffy bows back, and Technoblade takes that as his cue to leave. He closes the door behind him.  

Spotting the break room, Techno makes his way towards it, weaving through the desks. He pulls out his last, wrinkly dollar and slips it into the vending machine, then selects one of the bags of cookies. Sitting down with it, he inspects the coworker who's followed him in. "Tommy, right?" 

The youth-- the sole employee in HR-- scowls, his ocean-blue eyes narrowing with scorn. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Technoblade??" 

"Heh?" The teen's aggressive tone sets him on edge: hands itching and teeth aching and eyes burning for blood, blood, blood- no. No more of that. "Tommy, I just, I just got here? What are you upset at me for?" 

"I'm just askin', Techno. Who do you think you are?" Tommy juts his chin out challengingly. "There can only be one boss man here." 

"You wanna be the boss?" Technoblade rips open the bag of cookies. 

"Well, obviously." 

"Best me in single combat and we'll see." Technoblade is only jesting, of course. Even if the kid agreed to the fight, it would be unfair. 

"Yes! Meet me in the parking lot in thirty minutes, idiot, and I'll fuckin' wipe the pavement with your ugly face!!" Tommy whoops and skips out of the break room before Techno can explain he was only joking. 

Great. He's going to be fired for challenging a coworker to a fight, now. This will officially become the shortest job he's ever held, beating his last record by three hours. Technoblade munches his cookies and refuses to listen to chat as they bully him for making such a mess of his last chance. 

When he's finished his cookies, Technoblade goes down to the parking lot, figuring that if he's going to be fired, he'd better do it in style. 

Tommy waits for him, the breeze whipping through his blond hair. "No weapons, no magic, just me an' you, Technoblade." 

"K." Technoblade shrugs, not seeing any point to telling the teen that magic doesn't actually exist. It was probably a sort of ironic joke, anyway. 

Tubbo stands on the sidewalk, cheering for Tommy. Another teen leans on the wall behind Tubbo, seeming paler than should really be healthy, with a mop of black hair covering their ears. 

"En garde!" Tommy cries and leaps to punch Techno.

Swaying to avoid the blow, Techno jabs Tommy in the gut with his knuckles. The youth staggers back, face distorted in pain. Technoblade remains relaxed, raising his hands. "Feel free to back out any time." 

"Fuck you!" Tommy roars and charges, fists flailing. The picture of waves recklessly dashing themselves against an implacable cliff comes to mind. 

Technoblade deflects the first fist and takes the wrist of the followup, twisting his arm behind his back. Tommy shrieks in rage and attempts to rip his arm away. Techno releases him and steps forward. "Sorry, but you ain't winnin' this." 

"I will fucking end you!" Tommy once more flies into the fray. 

Technoblade decides to go slightly harder on him. He sends Tommy stumbling with a single smack to his shoulder. When Tommy tries to flail fists at him again, Techno trips the boy. Tommy's back slams into the pavement, air whoofing out of his lungs. 

"Y-you fuckin'-" Tommy wheezes for air. "I will not lose to you-" 

"Looks like it's too late for that," Technoblade chuffs, watching the boy as he struggles to his feet. 

Tommy sneers at him. "I, I'm feeling fuckin' merciful today. I won't kill you this time." 

"I suppose I can return the favor." Technoblade smirks. He turns his back on Tommy to rub in how little of a threat the teen is. Not that Tommy will understand the gesture, but it boosts Techno's ego and makes chat jeer. 

Tubbo and the other youth, a sales rep by the name of Ranboo, stride over. "That was sick!" Ranboo cries, eyes aflame with hero-worship as he stares at Technoblade. 

Tubbo smiles implacably as he pulls Tommy to his feet. "Win next time, big guy. I lost five dollars to Ranboo on that." 

"Fuck you, Ranboo," Tommy snarls, clinging to Tubbo's arm even as he's standing. "Bet on me, next time!" 

"But you lost! I think that's pretty funny." Ranboo glances back up at the windows of the office. Several pairs of eyes seem to be peering down. Great. An audience to Technoblade's last few moments of employment. 

Tommy grumbles as he storms to the doors, "I'll fucking beat you next time, Techno, see if I don't!" 

The phrasing seems odd, in that it implies Technoblade isn't about to be fired for beating up his teenage coworker.