#i've had this just hovering on my page because i don't know whether to call them boyfriends or fiances just yet

[sogekyng-a]

     there are times he still can’t believe THAT’S his boyfriend.

[jafndaegur]

Things Said and Unsaid

Jumin Han x MC

Mystic Messenger

a/n: now that the zine is long past, here is my story from the Garden of Eden Zine:) Enjoy!

Jumin twisted the flower stem between his fingers as he reclined further against the chair. Waxy pink petals mocked him in a way that he did not appreciate and the bright bloom weighed heavily, leaning forward in his careless grasp. He rested his chin on the back of his free hand, temple twitching at the not-quite perfect amount of wine for a buzz but enough for a headache. 

MC's voice still floated in the air as if she'd just called about her final report for the RFA event.

"All of the flower arrangements are ready for the party," her voice was stilted over the phone even as she tried to be chipper.

Jumin wondered if she felt uncomfortable around him with everything said and done. "They'll look beautiful I'm sure." He reassured. 

The pause and silence between them felt unnatural and constricting.

"What did you pick? For the bouquets." He finally peeped out, his voice rocking with concern. Had they always struggled with communicating? The memory of being able to freely converse with her, speaking of any little trivial thing that came to mind an easy and amusing way for him to pass the time. Surely he hadn’t ruined things so thoroughly during the time she had spent at the penthouse.

MC’s airy and pitched laugh reached his ears in a painful display of her discomfort. "That'd ruin the surprise."

And what a surprise it'd been.

Jumin had been eager, and even anxious, in awaiting her arrival to the party. Afterall they all owed its renewed existence to her. And he himself owed so much to her too. When they had parted the night before, V rightfully helping her return to the apartment, it had been with a tender apology. She'd embraced him—held him close and promised things would work out the way they should.

He wasn’t sure if it had been a lie or her convincing herself. Perhaps some odd adherration of both to her conviction.

The day of the party came, but MC did not.

It was obvious that Seven had hesitated his journey before finally making the reluctant trek to Jumin with a piece of paper in one hand and a tied bouquet of flowers in the other.

The pink camellia had seemed so bright and vibrant in the light of the ballroom. And even now in Jumin's hand, standing stark and vibrant, the bloom dazzled against the rest of his muted parlor decor. It smiled and flourished, and yet here he sat more dejected and more confused than ever.

Somehow, he managed his way back to the kitchen, where the rest of his  bouquet lay abandoned on his dining room table—scattered petals and bulbs strewn across the wood top due to his careless toss of the bunch. He had been angry and frustrated at the time, but now he felt guilt tugging at the span of his ribs when he thought of the disregard he gave to her last gift to him. The note lay innocently next to it, as if trying to appease him with the gentle slope of MC's handwriting.

I've meant everything Jumin. Said and unsaid. I don't regret anything and I hope you won't either. But we both need this to move forward, I think this is what's right...I hope you'll see that. I've left you the best.

-MC

Among the flowers, pink carnations were the easiest to pick out. The petals crimped and wavy, and the blossoms themselves the most commonplace and plain. And yet MC had made sure the flowers had stayed nestled close amongst bushels of goldenrod. Another odd pick for a formal party. His eye for detail made things easy to recognize that beautiful hardworking and problem-solving touch MC made with every  deliberate and precise choice. He knew that much. From the sorrel that warmly held everything together, to the pink camellias blushing prettily at the center wrapped in forget-me-nots.

In times such as these Jumin realized he had one consultant he could count on, a source where information passed easily from itself to him. Where he could learn unhindered and without bias about the best that MC left behind for him. Because surely, she did not simply mean the best flowers from the bunch. She was too clever for that.

He found himself at a library, in the area with the farmer's almanacs and horticulture how-tos. It was an aisle he frequented when seeking answers to inquiries about his vineyard. 

Heavy and cumbersome, he found an encyclopedic tome titled Whispers from the Flowers. It was an odd name but upon opening it he found satisfaction knowing that his assumption on its topic had been correct. The flower language. Something not in a million years he imagined himself researching. But for MC, he would do anything. And his beloved left behind one very, very important clue. "Things said and unsaid." And he hoped it was more than a mere sentimental way of saying she left him behind regardless of whether or not she was able to relay all she wished to. 

Jumin found the index at the back of the book, searching for sorrel first. MC had meticulously ensured that the green and stringy plant entwined itself around the main bouquet like a cradle. It was hardly a flower and yet the vibrancy of it added life and color outside of the thematic pink hues of the other blooms. Affection. Sorrel is the gateway to confessions and the key to unlocking the heart—it lays bare the raw and pure emotion of those who offer it. His fingers danced over the words, tracing the letters with the faintest of smiles. MC's disappearance seemed like a rather large lack of said-affection, but he knew there had to be further explanation. And all answers resided within the little puzzle she had set aside just for him.

Because she knew and understood he had every capability to solve it. He hoped.

Encouragement. Good fortune. Goldenrod offers the same blade with two edges. One of well wishes and the other of outstretched hands. It is an easy flower to convey both farewells and prosperity. 

Jumin’s breath curled within his chest and his fingers hovered. “Farewells.” It was a mutter, something that he dare not speak more than a whisper.  MC left behind hide nor hair of her existence. The memory of her laugh and gilded eyes were the only proof he could offer. Yet somewhere amongst the agonizing pull in his chest as he read the summary over and over again, he feared that she had truly meant her goodbye hidden within these flowers. 

He knew his own faults had greatly weighed upon her decision to leave with Jihyun that day. But had he really ruined things so much that she chose never to see any of them again to escape him? Were all affections between them nullified because of his shortcomings.

Breath hitched and his fists clenched the book. Memories of true love. Forget-me-nots are the staple flower of sweet love. Anyone gifting their sweetheart with these iconic blooms know every moment spent with their true love will be cherished and treasured. Jumin’s brow furrowed. Contradictory. This was all so illogical and contradictory. If he had not just recently gone through a week-long anxiety attack and now the loss of the woman he had planned to propose to, he’d chalk these meanings up to happenstance and throw the book into the closest recycling bin. But everything said had been meant. And everything unsaid had been meant. He needed for his own sanity and for his own comprehension to know if these flowers truly enveloped MC’s feelings for him. Or if he was just a fool trying to pry into a love that was never his to keep.

“I’ll never forget you.” 

A shudder. The words flowed past his lips as he read the phrase mechanically. “I’ll never forget you.” Each utterance a tremor to his heart as the walls constricted and shook.

I’ll never forget you. Pink carnations are easily the most misused and the most misunderstood. Believed to be a simpleton’s flower, the meaning behind this bloom is often lost due to being handed out of context. It’s beautiful and pastel color can often be misleading. It is a mournful flower, often handed at the cusp of goodbye. A beautiful tendril to remember a fleeting yet vibrant romance. 

The search through the index for the last flower was a trembling one.  Jumin’s fingers skimmed the crisp paper gentle against his skin as he tried to account his increasing pulse to apprehension or suspense. He was approaching the last piece of MC’s riddle and good or bad—real or not—he had been able to come to some conclusion about their parting. About their romance. About them. 

His vision blurred and he felt the world spin.

A note had been tucked away close to the spine where the pages parted. It was a small envelope, no bigger than an index card. “Jumin” had been scripted neatly on the front, and on the back, there was a little flower drawn over the edge of the opening flap. He recognized MC’s handwriting anywhere. Impulse struck a chord with his nerves and he plucked the note quickly before forcing himself to slow down. He wanted to finish this mission. 

Pink camellias. Longing for you.

No more waiting. Jumin dropped the book and tore the envelope open. His heart pitter-pattered and he double took the gentle slope of that oh-so familiar handwriting. The gentle sweep and slant of her penmanship was obvious the moment he gazed upon the ink. There before him, tiny and hopeful, was a phone number. He'd arrived at the end of her puzzle with a growing smile, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. His finger brushed the new note.

"You can be greedy, you know," he whispered reverently. "Around me don't worry. Whatever fears or struggles we may have to face, we'll figure them out together. You don't have to hold back for my sake or for yours."

He pulled two business cards from his wallet, placing one in the forget-me-knots section and the other in the section about pink camellias. Satisfied, he closed the book and walked to the front desk where the head librarian sat typing away on the computer. Noticing his approach, they gave him a warm smile. Holding out their hand, the librarian inclined their head.

"Got everything you need?"

Jumin nodded and handed the book over. "I will soon enough. In the meantime, could you place this on hold? A friend is going to pick it up."

"Of course," the librarian nodded. "Name and number."

"Han MC," Jumin decided with a touch of humor, a welcomed break to his multi-day anxiety high, before reciting the number from the note.

The person assured him that MC would be notified and that the book would be on hold for the next twenty-four hours. He bowed his head slightly and graciously thanked them before heading to the car where Driver Kim awaited. There was so little time to get ready but he wanted to make the most of this anticipation that clung to his lungs with baited breath.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 8

(Y/n)'s POV

I know someone at camp resents Percy and me because one night, I come into the cabin alone and find a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article takes me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I get, the more the words float around on the page.

GIRL, BOY, AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR ACCIDENT

By Eileen Smythe

Sally Jackson, son Percy, and daughter (Y/n) are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.

Mother, daughter, and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.

Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.

Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his sister's and his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson, (Y/n), Percy. Police urge anyone with information to call the following toll-free Crimestoppers hotline.

The phone number is circled in black marker.

I wad up the paper and throw it away, flopping down on my bunk on the far edge of the cabin under the window facing the sea.

I remain silent as Percy walks into the cabin, flopping down onto his bunk as well.

That night, I have the worst dream yet.

I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.

About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked, and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.

I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back until I was running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.

Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back! Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.

The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.

I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!

The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it turned my blood to ice.

Come down, little hero, the voice crooned. Come down!

The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet slipped, and darkness swallowed me.

I wake up, sure I'm falling.

I am still in bed in Cabin Three. My body tells me it's morning, but it's dark outside, and thunder rolls over the hills.

A storm is brewing.

I hadn't dreamed that . . .

I hear a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.

"Come in?" Percy asks, sounding uncertain.

Grover trots inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see the two of you."

"Why?" I ask, peeking through the curtain separating mine and Percy's side of the cabin.

'He wants to kill . . . I mean, I'd better let him tell you."

Nervously, Percy and I get dressed and follow, sure we were in huge trouble.

For days, Percy and I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that we were declared children of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figure it's just a crime for us to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating on the best way to punish us for existing, and now Mr. D is ready to deliver their verdict.

Over Long Island Sound, the sky looks like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain is coming in our direction. I ask Grover if we'd need an umbrella.

"No," Grover says. "It never rains here unless we want it to."

Percy points at the storm, 'What the heck is that, then?"

Grover glances uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."

I realize that he's right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.

But this storm . . .

This one's huge.

At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin are playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysius's twins - Castor and Pollux - are walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everyone is going about their normal business, but they look tense; they keep their eyes on the storm.

Grover, Percy, and I walk up the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sits at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sits across the table in his fake wheelchair. They are playing against invisible opponents - two sets of cards hovering in the air.

"Well, well," Mr. D says without looking up. "Our little celebrities."

I wait.

"Come closer," Mr. D says. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortals, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father."

A net of lightning flashes across the clouds; thunder shakes the windows of the house.

"Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus grumbles.

Chiron faints interest in his pinochle cards and Grover cowers by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth.

"If I had my way," Dionysus says, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

"Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron puts in.

"Nonsense," Dionysus says. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

"Mr. D - " Chiron warns.

"Oh, all right," Dionysus relents. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rises, and the invisible players' cards drop onto the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you two must do."

Dionysus picks up a playing card, twists it, and it becomes a plastic rectangle. A security pass. He snaps his fingers. The air seems to fold and bend around him. He becomes a hologram, a wind, then he is gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.

Chiron smiles at me and Percy, but he looks tired and strained. "Sit, Percy,(Y/n), please. And Grover."

We do.

Chiron lays his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.

"Tell me, (Y/n)," he says. "What did you make of the hellhound?"

Just hearing the name makes me shudder.

Chiron probably wants me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast. But I don't feel like lying.

"It scared me," I admit. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

"You two will meet worse. Far worse, before you're done."

"Done?" Percy asks. "With what?"

"You're quest, of course," Chiron says. "Will you accept it?"

I glance at Grover, who is crossing his fingers.

"Sir," I say, "you haven't told us what it is yet."

Chiron grimaces. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."

Thunder rumbles across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I can see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.

"Poseidon and Zeus," I guess. "They're fighting over something valuable . . . something that was stolen, aren't they?"

Chiron and Grover exchange looks.

Chiron shoots forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"

"The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And...I've also been having these dreams."

"I knew it," Grover says, his eyes bright.

"Hush, satyr," Chiron orders.

"But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes sparkle with excitement. "It must be!"

"Only the Oracle can determine," Chiron strokes his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, (Y/n), you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."

Percy laughs, looking nervous, "A what?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warns. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

"Oh."

"Zeus's master bolt," Chiron says, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

"And it's missing?" I guess.

"Stolen," Chiron corrects.

"By whom?" I ask though I guessed what he was going to say.

"By you two," Chiron says and Percy's jaw drops.

"At least"—Chiron holds up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon argued. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't - We didn't -" Percy goes to say.

"Patience and listen, child," Chiron says. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you two as his children. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief.

"But we've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

Chiron and Grover glance nervously at the sky. The clouds don't seem to be parting around us, as Grover had promised. They are rolling straight over the valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.

"Er, Percy . . . ?" Grover says. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky."

"Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggests. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy.

"The Golden Net?" I guess again. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods trapped Zeus in it and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler?"

"Correct," Chiron says. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you two have come along—the proverbial last straw."

"But we're just kids!" Percy protests.

"Percy," Grover cuts in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, and that he's father, not one, but two mortal heroes who might be used as a weapon against you . . . Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

"But I - we didn't do anything, Poseidon - our dad - he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Percy asks, and I remain silent in thought.

Chiron sighs. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a fullfledged war would look like, Percy? (Y/n)?"

"Bad?" Percy guesses.

"I'd guess that it would be like nature at war with itself," I say and Chiron nods.

"Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight," Chiron adds to (Y/n)'s statement.

"Bad," Percy repeats.

"And you, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

And then, it starts to rain. Volleyball players stop their game and start in stunned silence at the sky.

We had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of us.

"So we have to find that bolt," I say. "And return it to Zeus."

"What better peace offering," Chiron says, "than to have the son and daughter of Poseidon return Zeus's property.

"If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" Percy asks.

"I believe I know." Chiron's expression is grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago...well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

"Why can't you tell us where the bolt is beforehand?" Percy asks.

"Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."

I swallow thickly. "Good reason."

"You agree then?" Chiron asks.

I exchange a glance with Percy, then Grover, who nods encouragingly.

Easy for him, I think. We're the ones Zeus wants to kill.

"All right," Percy says. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."

"Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron says. "Go upstairs, Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

. . .

"Well?" Chiron asks us.

We slump into our chairs at the pinochle table. "She said we would retrieve what was stolen.

Grover sits forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!

"What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron presses. "This is important."

My ears are still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She said we would go west and face a god who had turned. We would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

"I knew it," Grover says.

Chiron doesn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"

"No," Percy says. "That's about it."

He studies Percy's face, then meets my green gaze. "Very well. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

I get the feeling he knows we're holding something back, and he's trying to make us feel better.

"Okay," Percy says, looking anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?"

"Ah, think, Percy," Chiron says."if Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain."

"Someone else who wants to take over?" I guess.

"Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Chiron nods. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

A scrap of aluminum dribbles out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh - what?"

"A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminds him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

"Yes, but - but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protests. "Especially if he has found out Percy and (Y/n) are children of Poseidon . . ."

"A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continues. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy and (Y/n) to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill these young half-bloods before he can take on the quest."

"Great," I mutter. "That's two major gods who want to kill us."

"But a quest to . . ." Grover swallows. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in someplace like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

"Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy and (Y/n) must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

A strange fire burns in my stomach. The weirdest thing is, it isn't fear. It's anticipation. The desire for revenger. Hades had tried to kill me two times so far with the Minotaur, and the hellhound. It is his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he is trying to frame me, my dad, and my brother for a theft we hadn't committed.

Grover is trembling now; he'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.

The poor guy had to complete a quest with me and Percy so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that is, but how can I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said we were destined to fail?" This is a suicide mission.

"Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy tells Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus and Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."

"Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron says. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

"You're saying I'm being used," Percy says.

"I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon had claimed you and (Y/n) now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs the two of you."

My dad needs us.

Emotions roll around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I don't know whether to feel resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he needed me.

3rd Person POV

Percy looks at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"

"I had my suspicions. As I said . . . I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

(Y/n) gets the feeling that there is a lot he wasn't telling them about the prophecy, but she decides that she couldn't worry about that at the moment. After all, she and Percy were hiding back information too."

"So let me get this straight," Percy says. "We're supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

"Check," Chiron says.

"Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

"Check."

"And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days."

"That's about right."

(Y/n) looks over at Grover, who gulps down the ace of hearts.

"But I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to go," Percy tells him. "I can't ask that of you."

"Oh . . ." He shifts his hooves. "No . . . it's just that satyrs and underground places . . . well . . ." He takes a deep breath, then stands, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his t-shirts. "You saved my life, (Y/n), Percy. If . . . if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let the two of you down."

Percy feels so relieved that he wanted to cry, though he didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover is the only friend she'd ever had for longer than a few months. Percy isn't sure what a satyr can do against the forces of the dead but he feels better knowing he'd be with them.

"All the way, G-man," Percy turns to Chiron. "The Oracle just said to go west."

"The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

"Where?"

Chiron looks surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

Percy's POV

"Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane -"

"No!" Grover shrieks. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me and (Y/n) anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.

"Percy, think," Chiron says. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive."

Overhead, lightning crackles and thunder booms.

"Okay," (Y/n) says, not looking up at the storm. "So, we'll travel overland."

"That's right," Chiron says. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered if you will accept her help."

(Y/n)'s POV

"Gee," I say, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a suicide quest like this?"

The air shimmers behind Chiron.

Annabeth Chase becomes visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," she says. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

"If you do say so yourself," I say. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"

Her cheeks flush. "Do you want my help or not?"

The truth is, I do. I need all the help I can get.

"A quartet," I say. "That'll work."

"Excellent," Chiron says. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

Lightning flashes. Rain pours down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather.

"No time to waste," Chiron says. "I think you should all get packing."

Word Count: 4018 words

[flameontheotherside]

Why I still call Erik my TF in spite of despising the TF fad

Twin flame, twin soul, soul mate, etc. It's basically the same shit. I realized that the fad is a joke for another reason. It doesn't promote authentic unconditional love. People read all these stupid "Twin Flame Signs" and use those to place conditions on people for whether or not they will love another. Most people wouldn't just love someone regardless if they meet the "criteria". That's not unconditional love.

I've changed the way I thought about all of it because even if my tf was just a demon with a heard of gold (joke) I'd still love him. Even if he were alive, I'd still love him. It's unconditional love! I lack other ways to call Erik something besides my TF. Maybe spirit spouse is okay but my relationship is kind of private in that I don't go out of my way to detail all the intimate things. I don't want people getting ideas.

The TF thing is just toxic bullshit.

I cant associate myself with the toxic people who have thier heads up thier ass but for the sake of sharing my story and my journey with my TF, unfortunately this is how it has to be. I don't do TF readings anymore or market my tarot work for that. I don't want to be part of the problem but part of the solution.

When people tell me how I should view my journey or stick thier dirty nose in my business with gaslighting, I don't listen. They behave out of ignorance and maybe fear. It's likely they haven't read my blog to gain clarity. They just want to be dickheads without two braincells to rub together.

Whether I like it or not, --Sometimes I hate it.

Erik is my Twin Flame. That's it. I've dealt with this for over 5 years. We've done so much work, I've learned so many things, I've had so many miracles happen that it would be a crime to deny it all. It would be a great failure. I have the advantage in that he's in spirit to know for certain because of all the things we've worked on in the past 5 years. Most people don't get that. Me and a handful of others with a TF in spirit know this.

I didn't believe in TFs. To me it was a joke so to have Erik tell me we're TFs was a shock. The initial shock was difficult and then I thought he could be a demon or fucking with me. In the beginning it was easy to convince myself I was just crazy. As time went on it wasn't so. Now these days I don't worry if I'm crazy but I wish I was just because some days it's hard to have a dead TF. Who wants that?

A psychic told me that he would die.

For a few days in a row back in early 2009, I was having dreams about being with some guy hovering over the earth. My whole life I felt an urge to find a guy who didn't live in my state but was in the country. I wasn't looking strictly for love. I had a sense that time was running out and I needed to find him; to protect him. The psychic knew right away what I was saying without really saying it.

It tore me apart. I cried in my closet for a long time begging for it to not be true. I had to force myself to believe the psychic was wrong. Then when I felt Erik was really dead, I slipped into a very dark place and had to again make myself believe he was still alive. I HAD TO believe he was still alive even though I felt his spirit with me and the dreams where he'd show up began. My attempted suicide happened and I really needed to believe he was alive for the sake of my own life.

Today is the anniversary of his death.

I'm not okay. All I can think of over and over is what the psychic had said to me. I remember his voice. He was a world renowned psychic and the son of one who interested me. I didn't know if I believed in psychics but I grew up an intuitive in denial. They way he said what he said cut and burned.

Was supposed to go out with my bf today but I can't leave my bed. I can't stop beating myself up. I miss Matt too. Erik told me in a dream that one of my closest friends died. It was confirmed by looking at his FB page with RIP written all over it. I followed Matt to Texas where Erik's also from. We went coincidentally on his bday. Now Matt's dead. These past two months has had me so fucked up.

😘💕 -Hadassah Monique

[stefciastark]

Worthy ~Webpril Day 8

A/N: At almost my 4a.m, here it is! The concluding part to yesterday's little 'hidden injury' combined prompt fill. For some reason, these last two were harder for me to write, and I couldn't quite get this one to sound the way I wanted it to in my head (being sleep deprived probably hasn't helped haha). The struggles of writing sometimes - some ideas are just stubborn and don't always come out how you want them to haha Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

“I’m good, just a bit tired...had a big week of homework and helping Aunt May with the charity stuff y’know.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed from behind the suit’s helmet, his gaze a level of intensity usually only directed to dealing with complicated circuitry, mathematics, or playing the intimidation game with Nick Fury. Now that was some bullshit. Tony had known Peter for long enough to know that the more excuses the kid gave, the more likely it was that he was lying. Tony could practically taste the blood that Peter kept trying to subtly spit onto the pavement when he thought he wasn’t looking.

Above all, however, Tony wasn’t sure whether to be angry that Peter was trying to lie about how he was feeling and thought his biometrics weren’t being transmitted to Tony’s HUD at all times (it’s Stark technology, of course it would be), or whether he should be concerned about some form of brain damage because it didn’t seem to cross Peter’s usually so sharp and quick mind at all that his biometrics would be transmitted.

Tony decided he couldn’t watch Peter struggle with moving what were some of the lightest pieces of rubble anymore. Cutting the power to the repulsors, he landed next to where Peter was trying and failing to nonchalantly lean against the tower of debris they had begun to stack, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re done, kiddo. I’ve got it from here.”

The HUD inside the suit displayed an increase in blood pressure, which F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him was likely a result of ‘the human body’s response to acute pain.’ Tony knew Peter was a tough kid, but the way Peter moved looked stiffer than the Doombot metal corpses that were now strewn about the streets of Manhattan.

“No no, I’m good, see?” Peter returned to shifting the (smaller) pieces of rubble onto the pile. Tony had a feeling he was only continuing to wear his mask to prevent the undoubtedly pained expression on his face from telling Tony all he needed to know.

If Tony could pinch the bridge of his nose through his helmet at that moment, he would. He knew a compassionate and understanding approach should be the first port of call, but it would take the strength of a god like Thor himself to summon the patience he needed to deal with the situation at hand. He was tired, possibly mildly concussed after his skull had repeatedly hit the inside of his helmet at least eighteen times that afternoon, and he couldn’t wait for the day to be over so he could hit ‘reset’ on life and enter into the welcoming void of sleep.

Peter would have five minutes to come clean. Five minutes was about as long as Tony gave himself before his celestially bestowed patience wore out. Tony gave Peter a once-over once more as he continued to collect the smaller pieces of fragmented concrete. Tony returned to scanning the surrounding buildings for any hidden damages to the infrastructure, still making sure to keep Peter in his peripheral, his biometric data continuously updating on the top left of the suit’s inner display.

After five agonising minutes and another spike in Peter’s heart rate, Tony sighed in resignation and approached Peter. “Kid. Stop.”

Peter looked up, having taken his mask off moments before, happy to feel fresh air on his face for the first time since the fight began. Moreso, Peter was happy to have anything that felt like it restricted his already strained breathing off of his face. Tony could empathise with the feeling - experiencing an elephant sitting on your chest didn’t make the job of breathing any easier.

Peter’s expression to his instruction was one he’d seen too frequently; it was the one that bled with innocence, accompanied by the wide-eyed stare of a young Labrador puppy. “Yeah, Mr Stark?”

The helmet receded from Tony’s face so Peter was able to take in his blended countenance; it was something hovering between disappointment and barely concealed concern.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Maybe...I don’t know, an injury?” Peter blanched as he felt Tony’s probing eyes drilling into his own before clearing his throat.

He began to return to cleanup duties, hoping that if he ignored the situation for long enough, it’d go away. “No, Mr Stark, everything is -” Big mistake.

Another round of Peter’s half-baked excuses and deflection were cut off as Tony interrupted. “Zip it, you’re busted. You can try to hide it from me all you want, but F.R.I.D.A.Y knows better.”

Peter cursed under his breath. Even after spending considerable time in Tony’s Spider-Suits, he still sometimes forgot about the extent of the capabilities of the technology and AI programming that came with the package. While there was no point in hiding it anymore, Peter couldn’t stop himself before he insisted, “really, it’s okay.”

“It obviously isn’t,” Tony said, unable to prevent his tone from taking on a scathing and acerbic quality. Dragging his hand down his face, he paused and took a deep breath, seeing the way Peter’s features were pinched with hurt he was trying so hard to hide. Tony had a feeling that that hurt extended beyond just the physical; it was just wrong. “Look, kid, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hide your injuries. I mean not like it’s possible anyway, you’re wearing my suit, for one. You should’ve known better.”

Tony supposed his frustration stemmed from the fact that he felt like he was looking into a mirror. He had wanted for Peter to find that little grey area to operate in in more than one capacity, yet instead Peter was currently taking a page out of Tony’s book, and not one of the good ones. ‘Don’t do anything I would do’. Well, attempting - poorly - to conceal any and all injuries unfortunately fit the profile. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’. Tony had to give Peter credit; that book hadn’t been opened.

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you again.” Peter saw the way Tony almost imperceptibly flinched as soon as the word ‘again’ left his lips. Chewing on his bottom lip momentarily and stopping when he tasted blood, Peter waited for Tony’s response. The silence persevered and Tony didn’t offer one.

Peter couldn’t quite tell what was going on beneath the surface with his mentor. At times, Tony was able to make himself so unreadable that it made Peter both envious and afraid. Envious, because Peter hated the way he was such an open, easily read book at times, and afraid for the aftermath of whatever Tony kept repressed under the surface. It was like a game of Russian Roulette, except Peter sometimes wondered which he’d really prefer; Tony’s disapproval or the actual bullet.

“I…” Peter continued, fixing his eyes on one particular pigeon feather that was floating in circles just in front of his left foot. He found himself pouring out his latest insecurities against his own will; at least he told himself it was against his will and that it was the pain’s fault. “I don’t feel like I belong with you guys. You’re all older, you’ve seen more stuff, battled more aliens and wizards. You all know what you’re doing and here I am, the young kid from Queens who doesn’t really deserve his place next to the Avengers.”

Silence.

Before Peter could react to the shadow that started to loom over him, he felt himself being pulled into a not-too-tight embrace that managed to expertly avoid his sore spots. He couldn’t help the tears that prickled at the corners of his eyes and fought to keep them from flowing over.

“Just so we’re clear on a couple of things. First, none of us know what we’re doing, get that out of your head. Second, you’re every bit worthy of being here.”

The sound of propellers were suddenly very close, and Peter wondered how on earth he’d missed them altogether.

“Third, get in the helicopter. I don’t want to hear a single complaint about it, kapeesh? We’re taking you to medical.”

A/N: Tomorrow's prompt is going to be quite an interesting one to fill. Tomorrow's prompt fill might also be a little bit later than usual. I've got quite a lot on my plate approaching the weekend, so worst-case scenario, I'll update twice in one day ;) Definitely going to try not to let that be the case though :) x Thank you for your continued support and encouragement!

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Okay, let's try this one more time. This story was given feedback by the talented @cailannuesugi and @voltage-vixen. Thank you, ladies, for your help and encouragement when I felt like giving up.

Title: Meeting the Mogul

Ikesen Modern Day AU

A/N: This is my first fic, so please don't expect it to be perfect. I also don't own Ikesen Nobunaga and the other characters except my OC. Cybird owns them.

This is inspired by the artwork I commissioned from @shrimpalompa 💕

With her eyebrows furrowed, Mia allowed her feet to drag along the length of Manhattan's busy streets. Despite the crowd of busy professionals hurrying to buy their lunches from the food trucks lined up along 50th Street, and the incessant honking of cars and taxis stuck in traffic, all she could think of is how badly she messed up her last interview.

The delightful scent of sauteed garlic and onions wafting in the air made her stomach growl slightly louder than usual. There was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to eat a nice gyro sandwich at Lil Zeus Food Truck, but with only fifty dollars to tide her over until she finds a job, she took a deep breath, turned away from the food truck, and continued to walk. She took one step after another, until the concrete pavement was replaced by a patch of green, and the sound of car horns was replaced by the catchy melody of a marching band practicing nearby.

Central Park was beautiful at this time of day - mostly because the afternoon crowd and the throngs of tourists don't frequent the place at this hour.

She sat on the grass, defeated. She had one shot at getting employed as a clerk in the prestigious firm, and she totally screwed her interview. "Seriously, who asks about the President's background during the interview anyway? " she wondered out loud still feeling bitter about her failure at the hands of Azuchi Inc's, Vice President of Human Resources, Hideyoshi Toyotomi. She sighed again, took out her mobile and typed in the keywords 'Nobunaga Oda, Azuchi Inc'. Pages upon pages of news articles about the President and CEO appeared on her screen, much to her surprise. As her finger hovered over one of the articles, she silently cursed herself for not having thought of doing this yesterday before she finally gave in and pored over the details on the mysterious mogul.

***

He watched her as she sat on the grass with her back turned to him.  He winced at the last thought; then again, she didn't seem like the type who'd pick out her dates online.From where he stood, it appeared like she was playing a game on her phone or browsing one of those social media sites his employees are so fond of... Or maybe checking out a dating site. Though she didn’t seem like the type to rely on other sources to help her find a date. His thoughts drifted to their first encounter yesterday, and he smirked.

In an attempt to avoid the possibility of listening to his Vice President of Human Resources' complaints about his decision to ride his bike to work, he opted to enter the building through the ever-busy and usually crowded Talent Management Hub. Donned in a black button-down shirt, which he wore untucked with a pair of dark denim jeans, he handed his helmet to the seemingly dumbstruck guard and made his way to the exit leading to the main lobby. Just as he was about to step into the main lobby, he felt someone grip his wrist tightly.

"Excuse me, where do you think you're going?"

He turned and saw a girl - not more than twenty-four if he had to guess - looking sternly at him while she gripped his wrist tightly.

He heard collective gasps around them, but she didn't seem to have noticed. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the managers make his way towards them, but he stopped him before he could get any closer. The clock on the wall read 9:25 am, so he had a good five minutes before his weekly meeting with Marketing, but the girl holding on to him intrigued him so much, he didn't mind canceling. Just what was she trying to get at by stopping him, he wondered.

"Didn't you just arrive, Sir? You don't have an ID, so you must be an applicant, too," she said gently, as she tugged him to follow her to the waiting area. Still confused, he glanced at the other people who were quietly seated, trying to avoid his gaze. "It's unprofessional to cut the line, you know. Let's wait for our turn here."

He chuckled at the realization that she didn't know who he was. He decided to humor her by sitting beside her, but it didn't take long until she was called for her initial screening. It was at that moment that he decided they needed to hire her. However, when Hideyoshi dished out his infamous rapid-fire "Oda Fast Facts" on her, there was no doubt she wasn't going to be signing a contract with them.  The dashing dark-haired mogul frowned as he recalled the report he was given on the status of her application. He recognized potential when he sees one, and knew they had just let this one slip away. He left word that he was having lunch elsewhere, and took off with his Vice President of Operations following closely at his heel.

"You know what you should do next? You should buy that Lil’ Zeus food truck. Have you seen the line? It felt like ages before I got us some of these!" A familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts and he glanced sideways to see that his executive had just arrived carrying a gyro on each hand. "It's about time you got here. What was the matter, couldn't charm the ladies to get ahead? You must be losing your touch, Mitsuhide, " he teased.

The silver-haired executive smirked as he handed one of the gyros to his boss. "I'll have you know I snaked my way to the front of the line in less than 2 minutes. The cook ran out of oregano and they had to get a fresh batch." He paused for a second or two to take in the scenery before him. "So is there a reason you wanted to have lunch here?"

"No reason, " the dark-haired debonaire responded, his carnelian colored eyes sparkling with mischief as he stared at the girl whose back was turned at them once again. "I see, " Mitsuhide said, thrusting the other gyro at him. "Good luck, boss. I'll see you at the office." He flashed the young executive a dazzling smile before he turned and made his way towards the unassuming girl.

***

"That's funny, he has no pictures, " she mentioned, after opening yet another news article about the mysterious Nobunaga Oda - the sixth since she started - and there still wasn't any photos of the man in question.  

"Usually that’s the case when the person's not very good looking."

Startled at the sound of his voice, she jumped and turned around. Standing a few feet away from her was the man she met in the interview. Though she still didn't know his name considering she never asked in the interview, and he never introduced himself. Today, he was wearing a white button-down shirt, which was still untucked and a pair of khaki trousers. She never noticed how attractive he was until today - more like a model, with his tall and well-toned physique, which was evident in the cut of his clothes.  

"It's you, " she said. 

"Yeah. Me, " he replied. "Had lunch?"

"Yes, " she nodded, but her stomach wasn't having it. Her face flushed red as soon as her stomach growled. 

He snickered. "You know, I happen to have an extra gyro."

"Do you always happen to carry a spare gyro around?"

Her retort made him laugh, as he really didn't see that coming. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're hilarious, " he asked. He plopped down beside her in the grass and handed her one of the gyros. "And to answer your question, I carry them around in case I get lucky and see a pretty girl who is in desperate need of lunch." 

"My hero, " she smiled. "Thank you for this. I'm Mia, by the way. And you?"

He shrugged, ignoring the fact that she had introduced herself. "So, what were you doing on your phone, looking for a date or something?"

"Of course not, " she said, as she munched on her sandwich. "I was curious to see what Nobunaga Oda looks like."

"Why would you want to know how he looks?" 

She took out her phone with one hand and showed him the search results. "See these? I've read six articles about him, and not one of them contained any pictures of him. Isn't that strange?"

He scanned the titles and frowned. "Maybe he doesn't want his picture taken." 

"Why though? I think he's amazing. I mean, he's not even from here, yet he made a name for himself and he's been helping boost Japan's economy even from offshore. He's made a name for himself in a place where people least expected him to. His achievements are known all over Japan, and that's why I wanted so badly to come to New York and work at Azuchi Inc."

He cocked an eyebrow at her passionate response. It sure wasn't the first time he's heard people sing praises about him and his organization, but it felt different hearing it from someone who had nothing to gain from sharing this with him because she absolutely had no idea who he was. 

"Speaking of which, whatever happened to your application?" It was her turn to ask. For a moment, he almost forgot that she thought he was an applicant, too. She cleared her throat. "What's the matter? You know you don't have to be embarrassed if you didn't make it. I mean, I didn't -"

"Why did you fail?"

She frowned. That was twice he ignored her questions, yet he had the gall to ask her such a rude question. What kind of person is he exactly, she silently wondered. 

"If you're done trying to assess whether I'm trustworthy or not, would you mind answering my question?"

Rude. This man was just plain rude, she concluded. "Why do I need to answer that?"

"Because I gave you a sandwich, " he said, as he lay carelessly on the grass with his hands behind his head.. "And because you look like you're going to tell me anyway."

She sighed. Well, he wasn't wrong, she thought. "I suppose it was it because I didn't know a thing about the President and CEO of Azuchi, Inc, " she said, hanging her head low. "Except for his name, I didn't know where he came from, what his philosophy was, his advocacy, why he prefers to drink tea from Japan…"

"Don't you think that information is useless?"

"I used to. I'm not gonna lie that I felt really bad after the interview with Mr. Toyotomi. I felt bad because I thought those questions he asked me were ridiculous, " she said, as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I realized something while I was reading through the articles about Nobunaga Oda. I now understand that Mr. Toyotomi only wanted to make sure I knew and understood Mr. Oda's vision because it is only when you understand that you can actually contribute to that vision by working hard. I didn't really know that this morning, but now, I'd do anything to get another shot at that interview."

His eyes never left hers as she spoke, and with each topic, he found himself more and more entranced by her - perhaps it was the way her face lit up and her hands moved as she spoke about the things she was passionate about, or her wistful smile as she stared at the lake in between topics. He was captivated, so much so that he hadn't noticed that time has gone by until he felt his phone vibrate. 

Frowning, he took out the sleek gadget from his pocket and was briefly surprised. It was 3:00 pm - way past his supposed lunch break. Hideyoshi would have a fit, he silently thought, smirking. 

Sighing, he sat up and brushed the dirt off the back of his shirt. "As much as I'd like to stay and talk some more -"

"You have to go, " she said, cutting him off. She watched him quietly as he straightened his clothes up and ran his hand through his messy black hair. She had never been so drawn to a person before, but there was something about him that spoke to her - maybe it was the way he listened to her like what she was saying was important or the way he challenged her opinion every now and then… or even the way she saw her reflection in his eyes when he smiled. 

The light clapping sound that resonated in the air as he dusted off his clothes faded, and she suddenly felt her heart grow heavy - like all three weeks worth of homesickness had finally kicked in. 

"You look like you're gonna cry, " he teased, as he stood and offered his hand out to her. "Are you gonna miss me?"

"Am not, " she replied while he pulled her to her feet. "But did I get you in trouble?"

"I'm late for a meeting. Nothing I can't handle, " he winked. "I'm just gonna tell them that I met an interesting girl in Central Park."

"You make me sound weird."

He snickered. "Okay. How about I say a cute girl held me hostage?"

"They're not gonna believe you, " she replied, her face turning slightly red. 

"Here, " he said, handing his phone over to her. "Let's take a picture, in case they require proof."

"And make me the laughing stock of your team, "she retorted but allowed him to take a picture anyway.

"They wouldn't dare laugh, " he assured her as he checked their picture and smiled. "This is a good picture."

"Yes, it is." She peered at his handsome face in the picture and smiled.

"I don't like having my picture taken because I always seem to look strange, but I like this one, " he smiled back. "Well then…"

"Yeah, I guess this is goodbye."

"I'll see you tomorrow at 8."

"What? Here?"

He laughed, and the rich sound tickling her ear. "At my office, silly. Tell Mr. Toyotomi I sent you there. He'll be able to give you an orientation, " he said casually and then turned to leave. 

"Mr. Toyotomi - as in the guy from Azuchi, Inc? I'm confused… Whom should I say sent me, " she called out as he started to walk. 

"Oh. Tell him I sent you, " he turned to face her once again and exaggerated a bow. "Nobunaga Oda. I never told you before, but it's a pleasure to meet you, Mia. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she watched him disappear in the distance, she almost failed to notice a new text message that read: 

'We are pleased to offer you the role of Assistant to the CEO. Please report to Mr. Hideyoshi Toyotomi's office at the 41st floor of Azuchi, Inc tomorrow at 8:00 am sharp. - Mitsunari Ichida, Director of Talent Management.'

End. 

[bleedingrose7098]

¤ His Sinner ¤ Ch1

Welcome to His Sinner!

Please enjoy!

☆ (Y/n)'s Point of View ☆

"Are you even listening to me?" A voice bellowed into my ear, snapping me out a haze that i always seem to find myself in.

I nodded with no emotion detected on my features as if i was a robot, made only to serve others.

"Repeat what i just said then, brat." The woman challenged, laying her arms across her chest, staring at me with furious eyes.

"Go to Halmes Bar and meet a man named Hajoon. Demand for 1000 won. If he complies then give him the drugs." I recited back to her, almost as if i had practiced the sentence. She rolled her eyes, not caring that i was actually listening before shoving me out of the door.

"Don't bother coming home without the money. Your dad and i won't be pleased." She hissed before slamming the door in my face. I flinched slightly at the loud noise then turned around and began my journey.

This was everyday of my life... Always running an errand for my parents and their revolting drug buisness that was unreasonably over priced. Always ending up with cuts and brusies by the end of the day, never healing as more get afflicted ontop of them. I wish it would all just end.

I can make it all stop.

So many times i have thought about ending my life, but what use would that do? I would just be giving up on myself. I would not allow myself to be so weak.

I can make you feel strong.

I didn't have any money or sort of way to get onto a public transport so i was forced to walk everywhere i needed to go. My parents dropped me out of school a year ago, claiming that i didn't need to learn any more since i was their errand girl. That was all that i would ever be after all, unless they somehow vanished.

Oh baby, i can do more than just make them vanish.

I walked down the street, turning coners when needed to get to the Bar that i was supposed to meet Hajoon at. I watched as people went passed me, smiles on their faces as they dwelled in their happy lives. I don't even remember the last time i smiled, let alone be happy.

I stood directly infront of the bar with a sigh. A fifteen minute walk and now my legs were aching slightly. But I've been through so much worse so i don't let this bother me. A man kindly opened the door for me, letting me inside. Music blasted towards me after only one step into the room. I made my way to the stools infront of the bar tender, sitting at the stool closest to the wall.

"What can i get you?" A man asked me with a soft smile. I shook my head at him, slightly amused as he unbuttoned to top of his shirt to make himself seem more attractive.

"Nothing. I don't have the money even if i did want something." I laughed bitterly, staring at the overly expensive bottles that i could never afford to taste.

That can all change, baby.

"It's on me. Pick whatever you fancy." He said kindly, motioning to all the bottles of the wall. I thought for a second, my eyes were suddenly attracted to a red bottle. It seemed alluring and mysterious, calling out to me in ways i didn't understand.

"That one. 'A Devil's Pick' " i read out the label, guiding him to one that caught my eye. His brows furrowed, following my directions to the bottle that was practically glowing. He picked up the bottle in confusion before looking back at me with a baffled face.

"I've actually never seen this on my shelf before... I haven't even heard of the brand... That's weird... I thought i knew my liquor... Guess not." He uttered out pathetically. But alas, he shrugged the feeling off and poured me a glass, sliding it towards me with curious eyes.

"Go on, try it. I would like to know how it tastes." He urged me, nudging my hand towards the glass. I picked up the glass, instantly feeling something new wash over me. It almost felt... dark?

I brought the glass to my lips, taking a sip of the red liquid and instantly falling in love with the taste. It made me thirsty for more, my throat quenched once i swallowed. My mind begged me for another taste as i quickly brought the glass to my lips. This time i was gulping it down, taking out every drop of the liquor. My eyes flickered to the bar tender as he read the only words written on the back of the bottle.

"Only the badest will be greedy for more." He read out loud, his head snapping back to me as i placed down my empty glass on the counter. He chuckled more to himself.

"This stuff looks dangerous." He joked, placing the bottle under the counter and out of my reach as he saw how intently i was eyeing it.

"Are you the trader?" A voice asked me, a head peeking over my shoulder before sitting down on the stool next to me. The bar tender could sense the new found tension in the air and decided it would be safe to stand in the other side of the bar, furthest away from this new man.

"Yes." I muttered quitely, the alcohol lingering now at the back of my mind as my mother's words took over my mind.

"Don't bother coming home without the money."

"Do you have what i want?" He asked me, staring at me with cold eyes.

"I do." I replied quietly. He smirked, pleased at my answer as he taped the table in excitement.

"Come on then, give it to me." He demanded, he was clearly getting more and more imaptient as time went past. The clock on the wall infront of us did not help at all, ticking loudly and increasing tension.

"I need the 1000 won before i can give you your drugs..." i muttered softly, hoping he would give me the money and not any problems. He sighed loudly before chuckling to himself lowly. Instantly i knew that this was not good.

"No can do, sweetheart. You're going to give me the drugs... Or you'll most definitely regret it." He lightly threatened with a teasing wink towards me.

"I need you to give me that money, Hajoon. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is." I told him, holding myself back from right out begging him for that money.

"I could say the same to you, sweetheart." He hissed, getting less and less friendly towards me. I could already feel that things were only going to get worse from here on.

"Please... Hajoon. I need the money... You'll get your drugs...Please." i begged shamefully, my pride was deteriorating bit by bit as i thought about how i was going to go home without the money.

"Babe, my patience is running thin." He growled, staring at the bag that was clutched tightly in my other hand.

"So is mine." I sighed, trying to deeped my voice to seem the most tiniest bit intimidating. He chuckled bitterly then made a lunge for me. I was too shocked to move and too slow to react in the slightest. He smashed the side of my head against the side of the table and elbowed my side. My arms flared backwards in pain, the bag hanging off of the edge of my fingertips. He snatched it out of my hands and ran off out of the back door.

The bartender came rushing to my side, lifting my head gently off of the table to check my wound. Blood was leaking down the side of my face as i groaned out in pain. He grabed some wipes from under the counter and gently wiped my face and forehead as he looked at me in pity.

"I was hoping that what you were involved in wasn't what i thought it was... but I guess it was." He mumbled sadly. I shook my head with a deafeated sigh. I coughed abit before throwing myself in hysterical laughter. Tears escaped my eyes as i slapped my forehead because i was so fucking stupid.

"I hate my life. I wish i would just be done with my parents and their business. Done with both of them. I would give anything to just get what i want for a change." I cried out pathetically. He raised his brow at me, judging my facial expression to see if i spoke the 100% truth just now.

"Anything?" He repeated, he peaked my interest as i opened my eyes and looked up at him like a lost puppy.

"That's right...Give it to her."

He heard the voice say inside his head and nodded unconsciously to himself, following the orders form 'the voice'.

He watched as i nodded at his comment then debated whether he really wanted to do what he was about to do

"Do it, now."

The voice said to him, making him snap out of his haze

I watched as the man pulled a book out from his bag that was layed carelessly on the floor beside the bar stool. He fidgeted with the book and the papers inside it before laying it infront of me, opened on a specific page.

"Do every step. And i promise you'll get everything you desire." He whispered to me, closing the book and pushing it forwards. I nodded suspiciously at his words but took the book into my arms, instantly feeling the same dark energy that i felt from the alcohol i had. Why did they feel exactly the same?

"I never got your name..." i trailed off awkwardly as i stumbled out of my stool, one of my hands hovering over the cut on my head.

"My name's Bang Sihyuk...Call me PD." He told me, his eyes fully focused on the book.

He crossed over his side of the bar and walked me to the door, pushing me out gently.

"Follow each instruction...Precisely." he told me in all seriousness. I nodded dumbly and started to walk to the direction of my house, feeling uncomfortable as Pd stared at me intensely.

If this book was the key to finally making myself happy... To finally getting what i wanted... Then i will do anything it tells me to.

Good girl...

(Author-Nim ~ What did you guys think? I had so much fun writing this. The next chapter is going to be even more interesting and I'm o excited to share it with you guys! Vote & Comment! ILY Mochies!)