#it would crumble without our willing participation

[iturmom]

i want to make a post rallying people to boycott this july 4th- tyranny day- by avoiding celebrations and avoiding spending money on it and instead taking the day to reflect on all of the freedoms we have lost recently

but it seems only about five of my followers care about the growing threat of fascism in the united states of america and i don't think any of them are from america. i don't think it would do any good to try, i will continue to be silenced for the rest of my life and that is what the fascists want so

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I know for a fact I've heard people doing this 'kinda-isekaid' trope where like a wormhole swallows people and drops them in an anime world without them dying.

Reader, normal, basic reader, falling in, with her (for them) quirky clothes and bag and whatever their 'phone' is and all their whacky stories and stuff, ending up enchanting Cross Guild (more so ending up kidnapped by Cross Guild first because Crocodile saw a huge business opportunity upon hearing she came from the future and knew about products and technology that sold a shit ton. And then instead gets his heart captured too hehe) do you think there's any Fratellis song for this? Do you know if any of them, if not the exact vibe, instead would fit with which member of Cross Guild falls in which order and why? Hehe loving this little dare!!!

OH NO HOW DID I MISS THIS ONE

AHHHHHHHHHH

"Henrietta," particularly verse 2.

Dear Henrietta, we're just three lonely boys

Though the girls love us we're so

Into you incredibly, we'd love to see you terribly

We'd love to hate ya but we don't have no choice

Just a few beautiful unstable powerhouses unironically simping over this strange Reader that fell into their lives out of who knows when/where. They don't like it but they just have to deal with it now.

Buggy falls first. Almost immediately. Reader treats him with actual dignity and respect and kindness and defends him against his comrades' bullying. "Desperate Guy" is his jam. First line of the song alone seals it.

Pleased to meet you baby, I'm your fool

Mihawk next probably. Starts with him being a bit impressed that you have the nerve to stand up to him, but less both him and Crocodile. Solid respect for that. Interest leads to infatuation, but he's not going to admit to it openly very quickly, and resents it a bit. "Give Me My Heart Back MacGuire" from Jon Fratelli

I fell from the stage with a thunder, tricked by desire

You've got the rest of me,

Give me my heart back, MacGuire

Sir Crocodile is beyond pissed about the entire thing. You were supposed to be a tool, you're ruining everything. Buggy and Mihawk are both willing to go against his plans to use you for profit now, and their already shaky alliance is on the brink of crumbling. All because of some little brat with a few gadgets and weird stories. He doesn't want to be impressed, but goddammit, he is. "Magic & Mayhem" from Jon Fratelli, the ENTIRE SONG more or less, but if I had to pick a verse,

Restlessly, helplessly, stranded where I used to be

Our nights had changed, drowned in fire

Frozen with a fool's desire

Say something, say something, say what you want

But it's all crashing down on me

I say again, there is a Fratelli song for EVERYTHING

I am happy to continue with this ridiculous challenge or end it here.

For anyone just tuning in, I posed a challenge a few days ago revolving around my coinciding hyperfixations with One Piece and The Fratellis, that anyone who wishes may propose absolutely any One Piece related scenario and I can and will find a Fratellis/Jon Fratelli song that fits the vibe.

Either way this has been unreasonably fun for me and thank you to everyone who has participated 🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️

[areyoudreaminof]

Bed Without Dessert

here's a little drabble for you.

A typical night with the Band of Exiles at the manor. Elain's pies turn her mate and friends into feral children.

thank you to @velidewrites, @octobers-veryown, @krem-does-stuff, @vulpes-fennec, @ofduskanddreams, @soopsiedaisies for their invaluable pie input!

In her corner kitchen, Elain heard Vassa’s return to the manor before she saw her.

“You animals! What part of ‘save me some pie for tonight’ did you not understand?”

She heard the thwack of a pillow followed by a grunt. Then chaos erupted. Elain sighed as she stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, finding Vassa thumping Jurian across his body with a throw pillow, and Lucien howling with laughter as he made his way towards Elain.

“What’s going on in here?” Elain sighed. “Why are we screaming?”

“I could ask the same thing,” Jurian spat, as Vassa took a cheap shot at his groin.

“I asked you twice to save me some of the pie before I left last night,” Vassa growled, punctuating every word with a smack, “And you two fools ate the rest of it.”

“It was going to go bad, what else were we supposed to do?” Lucien taunted from his hiding place behind his mate.

“It. Was. Fresh.”

 Hoisting the pillow, Vassa launched herself towards Lucien, squawking as Jurian caught her around the waist and hauled her onto the sofa. “This is the third time you’ve stolen the leftovers,” Vassa snarled, “The cherry pie last month and the dark chocolate one from Solstice.”

“Was that us? I don’t remember” Jurian sneered with mock innocence.  

Since coming to the manor, Elain had been glad to experiment with her baking on such willing participants. Her cakes and cookies were loved, but it was Elain’s pies that put the house into a frenzy. Jurian would eat anything, but he was partial to berries and cream, while Vassa liked chocolate silk. Lucien had eaten an entire apple cinnamon crumble when he accepted their mating bond. Elain couldn’t help but feel smug about her pies, but things were getting out of hand. The one and only time Elain made a strawberry cheesecake, she thought she’d end the night deescalating a three-way Blood Duel.

“Oh, for the love of the Mother, will you all stop it!” Elain yelled over the noise. Jurian snapped to attention and Vassa stopped swinging. She felt Lucien freeze behind her. Crossing to the center of the room, Elain ripped off her apron. “This is ridiculous. You are all such feral little beasts. Vassa, I’m sorry the boys ate what was left. And you two” she pointed as she corralled Lucien into the room, “stop making trouble. She asked you politely to save her some and I had it set aside. If I hear an argument like this again, you’re all sleeping outside. Even you Lucien.”

“I’m sorry love,” Lucien chuckled, slinking his arms around her waist, “we won’t do it again.” Jurian mumbled an agreement. Vassa, pouting on the sofa, huffed something that might have been a thanks.

“Now that we’ve settled that. You all go and wash your grubby hands. Lucien, help me set the table please.” Jurian stopped, turning towards Elain. Pinching her brow, Elain found herself suddenly very tired. “Elain,” he murmured.

“Yes, Jurian. What is it?”

“Are we still…going to have that lemon curd pie you were talking about?”

The last thread of Elain’s patience snapped.

“No, since you cannot behave there will be no pie tonight.” Turning on her heel, she swept back into the kitchen, leaving the feral beasts to their disappointment.

[tmarshconnors]

Market Research Disguised as Fun...

Welcome to the era of smart technology where our gadgets are not just tools but companions, always listening, always ready to assist. Among these, Amazon's Alexa stands out, offering a plethora of features to make our lives easier. From setting reminders to playing music, Alexa seems like the perfect assistant. But wait, there's more!

Now, Alexa introduces "Daily Insights," claiming to offer personalized content tailored to your interests. Sounds intriguing, right? Well, hold your horses because there's a catch—a rather sneaky one.

Let's peel back the shiny veneer of Alexa's Daily Insights and take a closer look. On the surface, it appears to be a harmless feature, providing users with bite-sized pieces of information about various topics. But what you may not realise is that while you're enjoying these insights, you're essentially serving as a test subject for Amazon's market research, and guess what? You're doing it for free.

Think about it for a moment. Every time you interact with Alexa, whether it's asking for the weather forecast or playing a game, you're feeding valuable data into Amazon's vast reservoir of information. Your preferences, habits, and interests are being meticulously analysed to better understand consumer behaviour. And what do you get in return? A few trivial facts and the illusion of personalised content.

But let's not stop there. Alexa isn't just passively collecting data; it's actively engaging users in activities like games and quizzes under the guise of entertainment. "Would you rather this or that?" These seemingly innocuous questions are nothing more than cleverly disguised market research tools, designed to extract even more information from unsuspecting users.

It's time to call a spade a spade. We're not lab rats, and yet, companies like Amazon seem to think we're just that—willing participants in their grand experiment of consumer manipulation. Do they honestly believe that everyone is oblivious to their ulterior motives? Perhaps they do, or perhaps they simply don't care as long as the data keeps flowing.

But here's the thing—they need us more than we need them. Without our consent and cooperation, their data-driven empire crumbles like a house of cards. It's high time we reclaim control over our digital lives and demand transparency and accountability from tech giants like Amazon.

So, the next time Alexa offers you a "fun" game or a "personalised" insight, remember what's really at stake. You're not just playing a game; you're unwittingly participating in a sophisticated scheme of data harvesting. And that's anything but fun.

Never trust big tech. Let's not allow ourselves to be treated as mere commodities in the relentless pursuit of profit. It's time to take a stand and assert our rights as consumers. After all, knowledge is power, and in this digital age, our data is our most valuable asset. Let's not give it away for free. Nothing is ever free there is ALWAYS a price.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter nineteen - “tomorrow”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.8k

synopsis: reader is faced with a very distressing ultimatum and has to deal with the consequences.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

authors note: omg pls listen to “water under the bridge” by adele after reading this it’s fits so well

Muted. She felt muted - but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything in her was dialed down and dulled. Over the last couple days, Y/N had toned down her emotions, feeling less. Call it a coping skill. Call it a stress response. Whatever. It wasn't like she was sad about it. In a way, in was comforting - not having some overwhelming internal angst.

It had been a week since that fight she and Bucky got into. The mature part of her was telling her to find him and talk it out like the adults they were. But here's the thing. Over time, before they even had the fight, the number of therapy sessions they were having was less frequent as his treatment was improving. The sessions were more intermittent now, and there wasn't one scheduled for a while. Until then, she felt no desire to talk to him.

Was she mad? Sad? She wasn't sure. She just avoided thinking of things that caused her a considerable amount of distress. At this particular moment in time, Bucky was one of those things. Ergo, she made a constant effort to ignore all thoughts of him.

Though, she somehow couldn't entirely ignore the ever present lack of... Bucky. She had gotten so used to having him close by, used to having someone to talk to, laugh with. His proximity had become a constant. A comfort. She refused to admit to herself that silence didn't feel like silence anymore; it just felt like the absence of his voice.

She found she needed to keep herself busy.

Bucky handled it a bit differently. He had lots of intense emotions but he didn't mute them, per say. He didn't ignore them. He felt them, he definitely felt them. He just kept them bottled up inside and talked about it to no one. It was a very strange change of routine. Whenever he had some sort of emotional turmoil, he would always go to her - therapy session or not - to vent, rant, ask for advice, or just talk through a stream of consciousness. Now he just had to sit with it.

He spent most of his time alone. He missed her.

-

"Hey Shuri," Y/N greeted as she entered the princess' lab.

"Hello," Shuri smiled. "Come sit."

This wasn't a routine visit. Shuri mentioned wanting to talk about something else this time. Something important. She was reminded of this when she walked in to find two Doras sitting with Shuri at a lab table.

"So," Shuri started, "The trigger word experiment. We're here to discuss safety and security."

Shit. That awful thing. It had slipped her mind these past couple days.

"Alright. What are we thinkin'?"

"Well, the Doras don't think it would be necessary to have two of them there with you, but if you would feel safer with two, then that's fine as well."

"I think one is fine. I trust your judgment," Y/N nodded to the Doras.

And I'm not afraid of Bucky, she thought but didn't say.

"We also have a special location to run the experiment," one of the Doras, Ayo, added. "Away from people and secluded in the case of an emergency."

"Okay. That sounds good."

"We understand Barnes is now equipped with the vibranium arm, yes?" Shuri asked.

"Yes, he is."

"Then you need to know something for the experiment."

Y/N's brows furrowed, confused. Was she missing something?

"There's sort of a fail safe built into the arm," Shuri began.

Fail safe?

"There are a series of pressure points when, if hit correctly, will disengage the arm. It will just drop to the ground. So if anything were to happen-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The expression on Shuri's face changed immediately when she heard her partner's tone. Y/N looked bewildered and almost in disbelief.

"It's there as a precaution in case Barnes needs to be put in check."

Suddenly, every emotion she had been "muting" rushed back into her head. Every feeling for Bucky returned, as well as her compulsion to protect him.

"Building that into the arm shows a complete lack of trust."

"You know what HYDRA did. It's unpredictable, and I'm sorry but we just can't be sure."

"We need to be careful with this so it doesn't blow up in our faces," Ayo said.

"I understand having that precaution for this test, I do. But it isn't just this test. Given it was successful and everything worked out, he was supposed to keep the arm. Right?"

"Right."

"So we fix the HYDRA programming and he's free, but leave the 'fail safe' in so after all of this, he still has someone in control of him."

"The arm is a gift," Ayo stated. "He should be happy he has it at all."

"I understand that, and believe me, he is so grateful. But a gift is for someone else to keep and use as their own. How are we supposed to help him and work with him for months, building trust and aiding him in healing to just tarnish all of that with deception?"

"It's what's best for the protection of all."

"Even after the experiment if it's successful?" Y/N cried in disbelief. "I should say when it's successful. Shuri, I've been seeing his progress for months and working with you on his neurobiology data. Can't you tell how much skill has been put into this? It's us. It's going to work."

"Even still."

"I can't stand for that. I would understand if it was just for this test, but after? We haven't come this far just to not trust our own work and Bucky's deprogramming. He deserves to have someone on his side."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but it's already been done. The arm is already built and being used."

"This is the plan," Ayo declared. "Either you are on board, or you are free to leave Wakanda. We can fly you out as soon as tomorrow morning."

"I can't knowingly be a part of this. It's wrong."

"As I said. Free to leave."

She refused to be a willing participant in perpetuating the loss of Bucky's autonomy. He's been through enough, had enough taken from him. She would not play a single role in taking more away.

"I guess I have to go then," she said, standing from her chair.

She couldn't believe the words coming from her own mouth.

Shuri sighed. "That's very unfortunate, my partner. I'm sorry we couldn't agree on this."

"I am, too. But please. Please consider what this will do to him. It's like saying 'even though we've all been working with you, we don't actually believe that you're not still a weapon.' What is he supposed to think of that?"

"Barnes isn't going to have to think anything about it..."

"...because he isn't going to know," Ayo finished the thought.

"No..."

"It's the way it has to be."

"No it's not."

"Y/N..."

She took a couple steps back, preparing to leave the room. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. He needs to know. I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'd advise against it if you care about your job," called an unfamiliar voice.

Y/N turned to the other Dora, whom she didn't know.

"What?"

"What would your employers think if they knew their doctor had certain... inappropriate relations with a patient? And a very infamous one at that."

She froze, face burning. Her stomach dropped and her breathing stopped dead.

Did they-? Who else-? How did they-? What did they-?

She couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"You are more than free to leave quietly, without any worries" said the Dora, "but if Barnes knows about this, you can be sure that the rest of the world will know about you and your... relations."

It was then when she could feel almost every piece of her world come crashing down. She could feel every test she took, every research project she was a part of, every hour she spent studying for the career that took years to build. The thing she was most proud in this world, the part of herself she most loved. She felt the job she loved and all the things she had learned and accomplished begin to crumble around her.

This career... it was her life. It was her passion. It was all she had. Now she was in immediate danger of losing it. All she could process was fear; she shut down.

Finally, she managed words.

"Okay," she conceded, her defeated voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go... quietly. I'm sorry."

With that, she turned around and took the remaining steps out of the now silent room.

- - -

When she was in the hallway, she felt like she was dying. The guilt was overwhelming. How could she betray him like this? She tried to fight for Bucky to get the truth and now she has to hide it from him and leave him. She has to lie to him.

Y/N was still in shock, completely immersed in her own fear. It felt as if she wasn't in her body. She knew she was moving - walking down the hallway. But her body was just on autopilot; she was gone.

She couldn't tell if she was crying but she could feel a twinging in her eyes and a burning in her nose. She was also hardly breathing so if she was crying, it was nearly silent.

In a faraway echo, she thought she heard her own footsteps. She wasn't sure where they were taking her, but she wasn't sure if she cared.

-

She walked, and she kept on walking for a long time. She could feel the ache in her feet once she sat down in front of the water. She hadn't planned to go to the waterfall - that waterfall... their waterfall. It just sort of happened. Perhaps it was a long enough distance away to feel safe.

She finally let herself think for a moment.

What the fuck had just happened? Her exact fears had come to be. Somehow, someone saw or figured out her and Bucky. It felt worse than she thought it would. Exposed. Embarrassed. Guilty. Humiliated. Distressed.

It was numbing. So numbing that she stared at the little pool and let the white noise of the waterfall clog her ears until she was able to lose track of time.

She had no idea how long it had been when he approached her.

"Y/N!" Bucky's voice called as he jogged over after catching sight of her. "I've been looking for you! Can we please talk?"

His voice snapped her out of it, but her gaze remained fixed on the water in front of her. She wasn't sure what to do, how to engage with him; she froze.

When she didn't even turn her head, Bucky guessed she was still upset with him. He didn't want to be a bother, but he needed to talk to her. He sat down right next to her.

"Okay..." he started, carefully. "I know things aren't great between us right now, but-"

She turned her head to him and the words died in his throat when he saw her face: bloodshot, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. He forgot whatever he was going to say, cupping both sides of her face.

"Oh my god, what happened!? A-Are you alright?"

The cool metal of his hand on her cheek made her want to scream, reminding her of what she could not tell him. Reminding her of the searing guilt. Trembling hands reached up to touch his arms. And then he saw the quiver in her lip.

"Oh, honey," he cooed, worried. "Hey... Hey, talk to me. Talk to me, what's wrong?"

He was so concerned and so sweet even after they had a huge blowout. If possible, it made her feel even worse. She didn't deserve his kindness anymore. She just stared into him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

Bucky had never seen her like this and he was scared. Was it because of him and their fight? He supposed so. What else could it have been?

"I'm so sorry, please don't cry," he caressed the back of her head with one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of what I said, I was just mad. You were right. I feel awful, I had no idea it upset you this much."

Their fight was the very last thing on her mind. Looking back on it, it seemed like such a trivial thing compared to now. But he thought this was his fault. She wanted to break into a million tiny pieces and let the wind blow her away.

She shook her head. "Bucky, no. It's not that. It's not you."

He looked so confused. She felt so bad.

"Then what... what's wrong?"

"I'm leaving."

Bucky leaned back, perplexed, and his hands slid down to rest on her forearms. "Leaving? You're leaving Wakanda?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, hey- You don't have to leave. We can figure something out. We were too risky, you were right. I understand that now. We don't have to do that anymore. We can make sure that we're always completely in private from here on out."

She shook her head, staring down at the grass below her. "I'm sorry, I can't... I can't do that. I have to leave."

She could barely look him in the face.

"You don't, it's okay," he implored. "I know it worried you, but it really only was Steve. And I know, I know it could have been anyone and I get that. I thought about it, and I get it. We don't ever have to... sleep together... again. We won't be distracted, and-and we'll be careful."

She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to let her burning eyes release more tears. It didn't work.

"Bucky..."

"Baby doll please," his voice cracked while he tipped her chin up to meet her eyes again. "We can just-... we can just go back to the way it was before. In the very beginning. We can- we'll only see each other in sessions, we don't-... No more lake trips or all-nighters or anything just-"

He sharply inhaled, beginning to ramble as his breath became unsteady.

His voice shook just slightly. "You can barely even talk to me if you don't want to- just please don't go..."

She thought a part of her cracked and died at that moment. She sprung forward and held him as tight as she could. Instinctively one of Bucky's arms was around her back and the other cradled the back of her head.

She thought maybe if she held tight enough, she could keep them together and she wouldn't have to leave him there alone. Of course he would be fine, but he would spend the rest of his time feeling like it was his fault that she had gone.

She couldn't let him think this was his fault.

"Buck, I don't wanna leave you. But I have to do what's best for the both of us. You'll be just fine without me. I promise."

He didn't think so.

"I'm putting your treatment and my career in jeopardy if I stay," she continued. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. I'm sorry if you hate this and I'm sorry if you hate me for doing it."

He mumbled something in the crook of her neck, but she couldn't hear it. She pulled back from the embrace.

"What?"

"I could never hate you."

Despite the fact that she was so internally distraught, despite what happened with Shuri and the Doras, with having to tell Bucky she was going to leave him, with having to watch him beg her to stay, despite the extreme dread and guilt within her, she still looked at him and felt so much love.

She was doing the very thing he feared and all he could do was care for her.

"God, I'm gonna miss you," she breathed before grasping his jaw, and pulling his head to hers.

Bucky tasted salt and he couldn't tell if it was his or her tears mixing into their lips.

As much as he wanted her to stay, he could sense how serious she was about this. He wouldn't be able to convince her to stay even if he tried. And he already did.

He could only soak up as much of her as he could before she left, and be with her until she had to go. He had no idea how much time he had. Wait-

"When are you leaving?" he broke the kiss as soon as the thought arose.

She was silent for a moment when another tear dripped down her face. "Tomorrow."

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

[yanderenightmare]

Hieeeee, just read ur last post and loved it, but it got me thinking how would BNHA Yanderes react to a darling who FAKES Stockholm syndrome?

HEADCANNONS!

FAKE STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere-themes, DUBCON/NONCON elements, abuse, profanity, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Let’s start with our Bakuboy. He’ll know what she’s doing from the get-go, and tease her for it. He’ll applaud her efforts, however dishonesty is not something he’s aiming for and will therefor refrain from taking advantage of her seemingly bendable mood. And mockery is such a good way to make the wolf come back out from under its sheep’s clothing, especially with how vulgar and descriptive and clever his quips are. He can’t blame her for how she’s unable to hide the flickering flames rising behind her eyes as they grow slimmer, narrowing until she’s fully scowling at him in such an adorable fuming stance. How could he possibly desire fake affection over this display? Of her balling her fists by her sides, fighting with every nerve set on fire to keep her outburst at bay, but he can see it building and bubbling until she explodes in feral viscous and useless wrath. Curled fingers coming to rake and claw and rip the skin from off his face, and it’s so very satisfying to hold her down and laugh at her futile struggles beneath him. Bloody hell, of course it’s way better than any forced affection.

YANDERE ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi won’t be suspicious, because the Stockholm syndrome is most likely a real display and if it isn’t it soon will be. He just has that effect, that good cop bad cop vibe, whereas on the one hand he’ll make his darling sob and quake in pure unrelenting uncontrollable fear, however on the other hand, whence he’s scared her good enough, he’ll coo and stroke loving pets over her hair, calming her down. It’s a good strategy. She’ll become rigid without him, unstable, sporadic. He won’t take her reliance as affection, not yet, he knows better. But dependence is not too far away from love. At least not in his mind. Besides, feeling her crawl up beside him in bed, limbs shaking as small smooth hands wrap around and touch ever so softly on his scarred flesh, feeling needed can almost feel better than feeling loved.

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura knows his darling is a survivor and he doesn’t mind when that survival instinct shifts from being all claws and fangs and growling to playing dead. Whatever’s easiest for him to deal with is just fine with him, and perhaps if she’s not always screaming and fighting and complaining and just all over tiring both herself and him out, she’ll realize how it’s not all that bad. He’ll definitely take advantage and make her play videogames with him, before doing anything nasty, not wanting to break the shell he knows is too thin to handle him and his hands and tongue on her body. The door is locked so he doesn’t have to keep his guard up and when she asks all cute in what she thinks doesn’t sound like the epitome of suspicious of whether or not they can’t leave his room, he’ll happily show her around the base, watching as the veil fractures upon her understanding of how well hidden and secure her imprisonment with him truly is, he’ll watch in somewhat sadistic glee as she crumbles into a defeated little thing, stuck someplace between knowing how fighting and escape is useless and not wanting to do give in entirely, gradually moving on to becoming used to her new life with him, pleasing him, loving him, just the way he wants it.

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi doesn’t like it. It makes him feel bad. Makes him feel as though his darling is trying her best to please him even though he wants nothing more than her in all her honesty. He’s got a clear grasp on the human psyche to see dishonesty from miles away and he never welcomes it, he’ll endure it for the most part when it comes to others but never enjoy it. When it comes to his darling, it is definitely not something he’ll encourage. He’ll call her out, nearly tell her to quit, maybe even use his quirk and demand full honesty. However, him telling her to act is entirely different. If he’s initiating the game, he’ll enjoy himself thoroughly. Make her say things, do things, feel things she’d never do on her own. But it’s a game, not reality, and the pleasure is very much real on both sides in the end. She can’t lie to him.

YANDERE ! TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Keigo knows. It’s not real, and he knows that. He’s encouraged pretending on those days where he’s been desperate enough for a mere counterfeit shred of her affection, but his darling is feral, it’s her nature and it’s not easily contained. So, deep down he knows, and therefor has his guard up, yet not refraining from enjoying the, what he knows to be temporary, peace. Silence is not something to be taken for granted when coming from his darling, neither is soft heavenly touches or smiles or anything but scowls for that matter. It feels so impossibly good to hear her laugh at one of his awful jokes, despite knowing it to be utter bullshit. He’s become very good at pretending, it’s only fair for her to do so too. He knows it won’t last forever, she’ll crack at some point upon the realization that there is no way for her to escape and he’s preparing for it, but he stills humors and hold onto the hope that perhaps she’s tired too, that she sees it’s not the most awful situation ever, that it can be, if she wants it, a good life, despite it being chosen for her.

YANDERE ! MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izukiu thinks it’s cute. He doesn’t really view It as lying, yet behaving, finally behaving like the good little girl he knew she was deep down behind the death glare and foul words. Behavior is such an important thing, something that he’s taken his good time in cultivating in his darling. Virtues and morals and rules, must be followed. She’s become so good at biting her tongue and rendering her outbursts to mere trembles, but what more she’s become good at going out of her way to please him. Dressing herself in Pro Hero Deku merch, large hoodies that seem to drape her like a tent. She’s so cute, even as she flinches when he brings her hand up to her face only to stroke away the betrayal of a stray tear running down her cheek, the only crack in her composure. She’ll smile and he’ll realize what a great teacher he is, seeing those eyes sparkle like plastic preforming as diamonds. He knows she’ll grow to like it for real someday, but settling for her growing into her role is satisfying enough for now.

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Kai hates lies. Dishonesty is a foul and disgusting sin plaguing the earth that has now taken home with its vile boils festering inside his darling. It will not be tolerated. He demands full candidness, anything less is unacceptable, impure, revolting. Even if she has nothing nice to say, he would still prefer it over what vile treacherous words she can force out from between her teeth, words laced with atrocious intent. The fact that she’s so terrible at hiding it helps, words spoken as though they’re stillborn, the sick having taken them before leaving her mouth, lacking everything and anything sept for nerves when dropped in the air. It all proves to him how she’s too pure to ever pull off the ghastliness that lying craves. Too innocent. She’s not like him. He will keep it that way.

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto enjoys the performance. It’s an artform. The lies, the forced smiles, the fake laughs, the willful touches holding back the desire to fight. He’s seen theatrics but never this up close, never as both audience and partaking member. He always thought dancing could be done in more ways than one, turns out she thinks so too. First: they fought and it was a brutal form of dance, then they made love and it would vary from being just as brutish as the battle leading up to it or a soft type of dancing. But now she’s the one asking for his hand, she’s the one initiating the dance. Who would he be to refuse? When he constantly makes her participate in his games, only fair, only right, to humor her antics too.

[yoondoze]

coin toss | jjk

you and jeongguk go way back, even before you were the menacing duo many knew you to be, even before he brought you into the mafia and left you there to join the city’s detective agency. a call for cooperation comes out of a common enemy, requiring the two of you to reconcile for one last mission.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 25.4k

genre: soft and hard angst, mafia/detective agency au, complicated exes (?)

warnings: language, violence, blood, character death, sexual implications, little bit of gore, jimin has a weird hatred of yoongi idk don’t take it seriously, mentions of torture, grief, too many italics

a/n: long time no see everyone, hope you’re doing well! this story was inspired by my favorite anime, bungou stray dogs (it’s got a soukoku type beat & you’ll recognize some structures). it’s my first back in a while, and it’s also the longest piece i’ve written, so i hope you all enjoy it! <3

To be called to the Boss’s office for a quick word is almost always a sealed exit ticket from this world. One, because regular meetings of necessity are always held in the boardroom and discussed amongst the executives. Two, one on one meetings mean no witnesses. You’ve been there once before and barely made it out alive. To make it out a second time? The chances are practically nonexistent. 

The room feels less like an office and more like an 18th-century study, a dark academia dream with the coffee-toned furniture and ceiling-high shelves stacked with books. The only sign of modernity is the pristine silver laptop sitting perfectly on his desk. The guards to the side of the room look straight ahead, no indication of how this will end for you.

“My dear, good to see you,” The Boss purrs, eyelids falling into tender crescents as you place yourself gently on the cushion of his ornate bergère. Typically there are two of a kind that sit across from his dark oak bureau, but at this moment one has been removed from the space so yours could be positioned parallel to his own chair. 

The Boss has an intimidating air about him. From the gentle yet feline-like movements that look like they mask something sinister, to his signature verbosity that’s almost professorial, he’s the perfect paradigm of a godfather.

“And you, Boss. It’s been a while.” You maintain a cool tone, not breaking his eye contact. He was a dog that could smell fear and would drag it out of you if he thought it could sate his twisted desire for control.

He sighs as his cheshire smile fades. “I don’t like beating around the bush, as I’m sure you know. You... must have heard the rumors of a third party organization stepping foot in this city, yes?”

The whispers started only days ago, and the most you heard was only an assumption from another underling at the bar. Considering how much people loved to gossip and how boring it got around here, you were just going to brush it off. However, if it was enough to bring you here, it had to be something worth your attention.

“Yes, it’s been floating around.” You clear your throat. “Is it something to be worried about?”

He puts his elbows on the table and clasps his hands together, sucking a breath through his teeth. “This has happened before, when a new group tries to disrupt our hold on the functioning of our territory, and we have always squashed them from the picture quietly. But unfortunately, those who call themselves the Syndicate play dirty.”

It seems as if things were not heading in the track you imagined when being escorted on the long walk here. But then he orders the guards at the sides of the room out, and your heart jumps to your throat.

As the large doors close behind them, he resumes talking.

“Last week, twenty-two of our men were killed and one taken during a weapons exchange with a western group...who we thought were a western group. All they left behind was a handful of playing cards.” His wrist flicks up suddenly, a black card tucked between his two fingers. The shine on the back glints under the dim lamplight. He stares in disdain.

The nervous habit of jumbling your fingers started up in your lap, asking, “Who was it?”

“Underlings of the Syndicate,” he brushes past, holding up a single finger before continuing, “The key is that the missing one was a trusted man in our central intelligence unit. He was carrying knowledge of our expansion plans within the next year. When backup came, he was gone. Intelligence then reported that the Syndicate was also responsible for the crisis of our allies in the Midwest, Fox Lodge, two years ago. And a year before, the Federacy in Europe. They crumbled in a matter of weeks.”

The man sweeps his dark hair from his forehead, an undetectable motive flaring in his eyes, the one person you could never read. 

“Simply,” he shrugs, “this fish is too big to fry on our own.”

You couldn’t help but swallow. “And that means…?”

“I’ve spoken to the director of the Detective Agency. A temporary ceasefire has been agreed upon... Similar interests, a common enemy, you see.”

Existed an extensive list of things that did not have the capacity to surprise you anymore in this life. But a ceasefire? That was impossible; The Detective Agency and the Mafia had always been at odds like a fated grudge of the gods above. The fighting had been continuous for all your time spent in the organization.

“I know,” he nods, “It is a miraculous thought. But they have the resources and we have the manpower. While it would be great to let Syndicate take them out for us, we would ultimately be next on their list. Cooperation is our best bet.”

And the thought of what this conversation may be coming to strikes you like lightning on waiting sand. “I thought you didn’t approve of betting, Boss.”

“Hmm… I see you’ve caught on,” he says pensively, a smile rising on his face as fast as it disappears. “This gamble is one I have much faith in. It used to be our ace in the hole, you remember?”

Weakly, you mumble, “I do.”

“You must realize that our situation is grave. I would not suggest it if there was another way. In the kindest manner I can put it, dear, your willing partnership is required.”

And there’s the kicker, the whole reason why. A sick feeling seethes in the pit of your stomach, makes you want to gag or throw up or pass out. You have a choice, of course, but not a real choice. To clarify, it was agree, or be squashed out quietly, as Boss liked to say. On the off chance you would choose death over discomfort, he had to call you to his office for safe measure. 

“I understand, Boss,” is all you could manage. 

“I’m glad,” he smiles. “Though we have all turned a bit sour since Jeon’s departure, I’m sure you are capable of uniting for the sake of our city. I wouldn’t mind if you killed him after the mission is complete, either, but I will leave that up to your judgment.”

The name is awkward coming off his tongue, even with the chuckle he throws in to lighten the mood, implying an air of distance and estrangement. 

Jeon. That bastard. The thought of working with him… incredible. It was silly of you to think that you’d never see him again while fighting for control of the same city, but there you were, awestruck and in embarrassing shock. “Thank you, Boss. I’ll do what is needed.”

“Get some rest. I’ll be calling a meeting tomorrow with the other executives and we will talk about the plan. You are excused.”

With an obedient nod, you are lifting yourself from the chair and heading toward the door, the sound of your heels muted on his burgundy carpet.

“Oh, and dear?”

You pause, turning your head over your shoulder and clearing your throat. “Yes?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he traces his thumb along the blade of his knife, glinting in the dim glow of the moonlit window. “You know I trust you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a falter in his expression, he makes a swift movement with his wrist. Before you can blink, the blade flies past your ear and lodges itself in the door in front of you. “Don’t make me regret it.”

A threat not to be taken lightly.

“Of course.”

As you tread down the hallway on your way out, you can't help but chastise yourself. How dumb could you be? Of course he would try to intimidate you like that. Any other day, you could have sensed it and caught it before it even parted with his palm. That was how it was supposed to be, as the renowned Scorpion, right? Was the thought of Jeon and having to see him again so debilitating that you let your guard flounder like that? Pathetic.

Hopefully he’d only take it as a slip-up. Take it as a respectful allowance and understanding as opposed to weakness. If you were losing your skills, your value was lost, as was your privilege to live.

The ride back to your apartment is the worst you had in years. Even the radio station you listen to regularly for mind-numbing background noise has you wanting to burst. The traffic lights make you want to scream, the sound of the air pushing past the open window has you bubbling with fury, the blinking advertisements circulating building perimeters driving your mind blank. Somewhere in a moment of clarity, you know it all starts with fear. 

Truth was, you and Jeon were partners once. In crime, the trump card the Mafia put down to play dirty, no way to get around you. In tandem, a menacing duo, the bold and the lethal, the Lion and the Scorpion. In the sheets, from time to time, after a few too many drinks or a few too many flirty looks on a sober night. Two sides of the same coin. But that was then, in a different time and a different world, and in a way that you hated how your mind had retained him so perfectly in his bitter absence.

☆☆☆

To be honest, the atmosphere of the first meeting really couldn’t have been any better than expected. It’s the furthest thing from civil, of course, but it can be considered a blessing that everyone participating was still breathing.

For protective purposes, office space had been rented out for a few hours for the intents of the meeting. There were only eight of you gathered in the small space; From the Mafia, the four top executives and from the Agency, the VP and three head advisors. One of them, none other than Jeon himself. The president and the boss stayed out for this meeting in an attempt to lower the tension, which was certainly an effort taken. Personal affairs mixing in would have resulted in at least one dead body within the first thirty seconds.

While there is some sort of discussion occurring around you, you are only focusing on how pathetic you feel in that you’re actively avoiding Jeon, as well as the discomfort in the pit of your stomach that appeared as soon as he did. You always thought that you’d be strong and bold the next time you met, but now that the time has come, you’ve let yourself down. Seeing him face to face after all this time is a reminder of everything you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind for years.

Meanwhile, Jeongguk isn’t sure what the playing field looks like just yet. He’s resting his head on his fist, sneaking a glance at you when he can and wishing you’d speak up so he’d have a good reason to look at you for longer than a blink, but you’re awfully quiet. He hates to think it might be because of him.

“We received an anonymous tip this morning about an underground base in the Coral District. Supposedly, there are multiple entrances from bars in the surrounding area, creating a tunnel system.” Namjoon, the VP, pushes his glasses up and closes the manila folder in his hands he had been referencing. “As our only lead, I think it is in our best interest to take a look.”

Namjoon is by far the most uptight man you had ever met. A little pretentious, of course, but in a way that almost made him cute. His calculative nature made him a good asset, but you couldn’t imagine how much of a bore he must have been in his daily life. You could bet without a doubt that he had been the most opposed to collaboration - if not by the countless moments he had spent sighing in your past encounters, then surely by how his condescending tone went into overdrive the second he sat down.

Yoongi, one of your fellow executives, states plainly, “That means nothing.” He seems more focused in the dirt tucked beneath his fingernails than the meeting at hand.

“It’s anonymous. For all we know they’re trying to trick us,” adds Yeji, personality plagued with suspicion. She doesn’t want to be here as much as you do, but she’s trying. Yeji is scrutinizing and not impressed by the image of naivety that stems from such a simple deduction, and that’s on top of her personal problem with the righteous narrative of the detective agency. You don’t blame her.

“And for all we know, it could be useful. The people of this city are our eyes and ears.” Jimin shoots back, stare unwavering. “It’s not like we should just ignore it. Do you have anything better?”

The strain in the air is almost unbearable, pulling up the hairs on your arms with all the tense energy circulating. It’s as if lightning was about to strike any second. No one says another word, only dirty looks being exchanged between headstrong personalities until a defiant knock comes to the door, startling the aggression into temporary submission. Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, the only movement he had made this entire time. You only shrug at him.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asks, standing from the table.

“Just clean up. I’m here to take out the trash.” Silence engulfs the space like a dense fog hanging in the air, until the man behind the door calls again, “It’ll only be a second.”

Hesitantly, Namjoon makes the call for him to come in. All eyes flick over to the man, who cautiously enters the room with a nervous laugh. He is clueless to what he’s walking into. He waves a hand of greeting before fetching the bin from the corner of the room, taking it to the main dump on wheels in the hallway. After a few shuffles and plunks, he comes back in to put it in its place.

Namjoon adjusts his tie and clears his throat as he sits down again, resuming the meeting.

“I don’t care what we do as long as we can be done with this,” Taehyung mumbles, resting his head on his palm with half-mast eyes. He’s practically falling asleep, like a cat resting in the sunbeams pouring through a window.

Wendy, another advisor, rolls her eyes at him, responding with a scoff, “Of course you don’t care…”

“Oh, like you’re such a saint.”

The boardroom erupts into yet another argument, different groups spitting words at their own personal targets. All you can do is sit and listen, your hope for this mission decreasing exponentially as the seconds tick by. At least if it didn’t work out, you won’t have to see Jeon again after this.

“Creep,” mutters Yeji under her breath from the chair next to you. She had been removing herself from the argument like you save for a few special dramatic sighs and trivial insults that you didn’t condone, but didn’t exactly scold her for either. After all, she is the closest thing you have to a best friend.

“Huh?” you inquire wisely. “Who?”

She tilts her head to the hallway. Your head whips around to see the janitor through the walls of windows walking away with a peculiar bounce in his step, one he most certainly did not arrive with.

“What’s his problem?” you whisper, leaning in.

“I don’t know, but he was laughing to himself while they were arguing. He’s probably just another weirdo,” she snubs with a sigh. “You know how people are in this city.”

Though you had a slight feeling of discomfort from the commencement of the meeting, since stepping foot in the lobby of the building even, you simply brushed it off as paranoia, or nervousness from who you were about to see. But it just seems too strange to ignore anymore. Wasn’t the building supposed to be completely empty today, aside from those in the conference taking place right now? Your instincts scream at you through a closed mouth, wariness freezing your limbs, but why?

You hold your hand up discreetly as you stare at the simply dark grey bin across the room. It’s the only thing that seemed out of place - besides the meeting table and chairs, the room is completely empty. The pristine board room, black and grey and sparkling clean. And then, the cheap plastic bin.

The argument settles when Yeji whistles, getting their attention. 

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asks obliviously before you shush her with a raise of your pointer. All focus zeroes in on the bin… and that barely noticeable line trailing from it to the door handle.

One tick is all you need to hear.

“We gotta go, now,” you state, standing up hurriedly from your chair. Chatter and confusion ensue again as you drag it behind you over to the floor-length window. You pause, narrowing your eyes at the distance down from the second story. Considering there were no other exits from the room and you suspected that no one here was a part of the bomb squad, it was the only way to go. You drawback, hands gripping tightly around the armrests and hoist it up, swinging it around your side. it effectively shatters the glass, the piercing noise as shards clatter to the floor making you squint. 

“Woah, woah, what are you doing? Do you know how much that’s gonna coast?” Namjoon shouts, becoming frantic as you further knock the glass out from the surrounding area.

“They knew where we were. Look at the bin,” you explain quickly. Their surveillance of you averts to where you had been looking moments before, realization dawning as their sight finds the transparent cord set tight.

“Taehyung, you first.” The boy trails to the make-shift exit without question, blond locks bouncing in front of his face as he hurries over. Carefully, with a hand on the frame, he peers out to see what he’s working with. He’s made do with worse before. He lowers himself out onto the ledge one foot at a time, cautious not to cut himself on the jagged glass poking out. With a deep breath, he commits to the jump and launches off, landing cleanly on the flower beds below.

He cranes his neck up to you with disgust written all over his features.

“It’s new still,” he complains with a frown, toeing the dark mulch which must be fresh and with a rotten stench. You don’t have the time to admonish his behavior as you usher the others out, keeping an eye on the bin and the hallway. Yeji is out next, hitting the ground lightly with Taehyung’s guiding arms.

You fish a compact walkie from your pocket, tossing it down to her. “Find the janitor. Evacuate anyone else you see. Channel Six.” She catches it with ease, only providing a nod before sprinting off around the corner, ponytail whooshing behind her. Namjoon, now on the ground with Jimin, spares a word with him before Jimin takes off after Yeji to catch up. 

“You run a well-oiled machine, Y/N. I’m impressed.” Jeon’s voice from beside you grabs your attention, to which you can only hold his eyes for a moment before breaking it off. He stands smugly with his arms crossed in front of him.

He immediately cringes internally at the way it comes out. It was just supposed to be a compliment, genuinely, but the tinge of complacency in his voice took it all away. The way you don’t respond clamps his heart, but only pushes out more awful dialogue with an inappropriately playful tone.

“What, you’re just gonna ignore me?

Swallowing your nerves, you insist, “Get down.” Now, of all times, he chooses to chat you up? The chipper attitude had your nails imprinting half-moons to the base of your palm.

But he can’t stop himself. Even as he reads your growing impatience, he acts like a whiny toddler, emphasizing, “No, no, ladies first of course.”

“Get down.”

He’s trying not to let your firm edge get to him, playing it off with, “God, so cold. You’re hurting my feelings-” “Get down, Jeongguk!”

The once fluid movement of the world slows as you shout at him, your own voice becoming muted as you listen for it. A blinding light bursts from across the room, ripping through the walls and bursting the glass like balloons, growing brighter and brighter as you watch. In a split second you’re falling, tearing through open air while barely sensing your entanglement in something soft before hitting the ground with a blunt stop.

He had pulled you into him instinctively as the blow forced him off his feet, but the regret is instant in Jeon’s mind as he struggles to move. Not for grabbing you, but for the stupid words he couldn’t close the dam on as they poured out. The threat completely left his mind in the effort to get you to respond to him. He wants to smack himself, but his body hasn’t had the chance to recoup yet. 

You groan, body practically frozen in ache. Rolling off of him, you rub your lids and scratch the hair out of your face, looking up to see smoke pouring out of where you just stood moments before. Jumping to your feet, you brush the small shards of glass from your clothes and ignore the dizziness, aiming to put as much distance between the building and you as you could, but not before pulling a disoriented Jeon to his feet to take him with you. He’s coughing and clutching at his rib, your weight hitting him as an extra beating once he had landed.

Collapsing on the curb out front, you try to catch your breath. That bastard. If it weren’t for his necessity to uphold such a jackass mentality, you wouldn’t have needed the extra painful push out of the building. Without even needing to look, the sound echoing alone let you know that the building was collapsing in on itself. While you can’t feel it now because of the adrenaline, you know you’ll be hurting later.

A muffled noise comes from the walkie in your back pocket. It’s Yeji, who is suspiciously breathing fine as her heavy footfalls transmit as loud as her voice, reporting, “Finally caught up to him. It looks like he’s heading to Coral District, we’re on his tail but we don’t know what we’re going into!”

The device jumbles in your shaky hand as you scramble to get back to her. “We’re on our way, don’t worry. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” 

You bring yourself to your feet, your fleeting moment of recovery already gone.

“Namjoon, can you stay behind for cleanup? Rest of us will catch up to Yeji. You heard her, right?”

He nods solemnly, and you suppose the blast to the building also was one to his ego. His notorious calculative nature had failed him this time around with that poisonous hatred in the way. Maybe he’ll reference it next time.

You think that Jeon is going to come up with another snarky comment to make, but all he does is pinch his nose bridge and massage his temples. He chooses to stay behind also as you, Wendy, Taehyung, and Yoongi follow in quick pursuit. It’s no surprise that Yoongi, one of the most sloth-like yet efficient strong suits of the Mafia, is already pulling over a civilian vehicle to take. 

“Yeji, current location?” You ask into the radio, trying to keep up an acceptable trot behind the group.

It only takes a second for her voice to crackle back through. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. It’s weird though - he’s not just running away from us, he’s running to somewhere.”

Up ahead, Wendy is pushing Yoongi aside as she shows her ID to the astonished woman floundering for words, admirably commandeering the car rather than stealing. No surprise, but smart nonetheless. One less lawsuit to worry about.

It only takes a second to envision a mental map of the city. The Corner of Park and Third is heading toward an unfamiliar side of town. What was even over there? The subway station, a shopping center? No place plausible for a bar, and definitely not near the Coral district. There was no place you could think of he might be leading them to - unless, of course, he was leading them away from something.

In fact, his direction is almost exactly opposite from…

“Tae!” you shout, just as he’s getting into the car. “Corner of Park Ave and Third. Get on your walkie, I’m taking a detour!”

He tips his head back in understanding as he jogs backwards to the car, soon ducking in slamming the door shut behind him, the car speeding off with a squeal. The thought of being in that car with them makes you shudder, but it’s not like where you’re off to is any better.

The location is printed on the backs of your lids in vermilion red ink. You had to know it regardless of whether you were a frequent visitor or not, because being aware of your surroundings when doing the kind of work required for your job was just as necessary as the job itself. You couldn’t be making arms deals in the alleys behind the Detective Agency unless you were aiming to spend some time behind bars.

Your heart drops as you round the corner to see the building absolutely sacked, your sprinting pace coming to a standstill with disappointment. A small crowd of people have surrounded the area, phones out to snap pictures and take videos. The windows lining the building are smashed in violently, and small plumes of smoke wisp their way out of what remains, the alarms that alerted no one still ringing. 

Light footsteps approach from behind you as your own step carefully over the glass to get a closer look. He’d been in his head for only a few minutes after you left, but when he saw you crossing back over to the other side of town, while he was stuck pathetically on the curb, it sparked his brain back up into working condition.

“Huh. Smart cookie,” states Jeon, seeming to finally be back to reality. Enough to make it here, anyway. In less than a second your blade is against his neck as a firm warning. All he does is smile cheekily, raising his palms up so you could see them.

“No need to be hostile,” he tries, hiding the way he gulps when you look away. “Just a compliment.”

“We are nothing more than work partners. I advise you to drop the act now,” you spit, sure you’d break your jaw with how hard your teeth were pressed against each other, hearing the sandpaper sound grinding in your ears. You lower the blade and tuck it away, exchanging it for your gun in hand as you approach the entrance.

It’s a mess inside. The walls are dented, desks broken, drawers and filing cabinets sprawled all over the floor. Random papers make a muddle of everything visible. The computer screens are cracked and wires mangled as if someone with a bad temper had taken a baseball bat to them. Even the potted plants had been bashed in, fragments of terracotta and clumps of dirt spread out everywhere. 

“Was anyone working?” you ask, fingers tracing over the splintered edges of the welcome desk.

“No,” replies Jeon, in awe of the state of the office. “The President doesn’t come in, and two of our teams are off carrying out other tasks. We sent our office staff home to keep them out of danger.”

Not one thing untouched. Such great care was taken to ruin every piece of the space - but when no one was home. If the office staff were here, would they have hurt them? Or was it a purposeful decision in favor of the empty building?

Jeon’s shoulders slump, bottom lip jutting from his pout. Upon your questioning brow, he says, “They took my octopus pen.” He stares longingly down at what you assume is his desk, or what was his desk.

You squint in confusion, about to prompt further explanation, but Taehyung comes in through the radio. “We caught the janitor. Don’t know anything yet, but he’s being taken into police custody. We looked for the tunnels, but there’s nothing so far. I think it was a misdirect.”

“I think it was too,” you sigh. “The DA was ransacked.”

The waves flatten into grey static. You can picture the confusion that was rising among the group with Tae’s relay of information. When it comes back on, it is a different voice.

“Ransacked, you said? How bad?” It’s Wendy, the panic blatant on her tongue.

“Everything in it was destroyed…” you say, knowing this was just as much a loss for you as it was them. “They knew where we were and bombed us, and then led us on a chase so they could eliminate one of our bases. Let the others know and we’ll regroup later.”

“Copy that,” says Yoongi shortly, and that ends the exchange.

One of your strongest pieces was impressively knocked off the board. There was no way to get the building back in operating shape in the time span you had to eliminate the threat. While you still had their people and outside resources, the building was essential to the functioning of the agency, and the city along with it. If they had already taken down the home base of the detectives, wouldn’t the Mafia be next? Granted, there was no one set base, but things would surely get fishy if you didn’t act fast. Like Boss said, Fox Lodge crumbled in mere weeks. Whatever your opinion was, you couldn’t deny the Mafia was integral in monitoring the underground of the city, and letting control fall into the hands of such self-serving villains would be far worse than anything already occurring. 

Jeon sighs loudly from across the room, spinning on his heels to catch your gaze. He tsks and sweeps a stray strand of hair behind his ear with a delicate hand. “What are you thinking?”

You hum in thought. “It’s a warning,” you conclude, observing the rows of overthrown furniture. “They wanted to show what they’re capable of. Intimidation.”

He purses his lips innocently. “...What next?”

“I don’t know everything, Gguk,” you snap, sending him a fierce glare. “The Agency has to figure out what’s missing, if anything, and then we’ll go from there. Try to figure out a motive or something.”

You’ve been asking for a challenge for years, always unsatisfied with the ease it took to get your way. Laying in bed wide awake all night wanting things to be different, wanting things to have meaning. But with the high stakes, with so much at risk, this was certainly not what you intended.

You have to reassure yourself that you’re capable regardless. Once you get in the rhythm, surely things will be fine. Surely you’d get yourself together and pull through for the sake of the town. When you’ve been biting your nails and staring blankly at a ripped magazine for who knows how long, Jeon interrupts you again.

“Y/N?” The way he speaks your name is gentle and soft, a fondness to it that never failed to pluck at your heartstrings. It’s that special quiet tone of his that you haven’t heard in so long yet could always recall so clearly. It’s a sign of candor coming your way. “It’s good to see you.”

And it boils your blood.

“The park by the marina. Tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.”

☆☆☆

Penny has already started making dinner when you step through the door, just about to slump against the hardwood floor and resign yourself to the eternal slumber. Though she’s only ten, her palate is more tasteful that yours was last year. In times like these, you are grateful for the way she takes care of you sometimes. 

“You look tired,” she observes, sparing you a welcome look over her shoulder as she stirs the contents of her pot.

“That would be because I am,” you breathe a huff of laughter, slowly and carefully sliding off your jacket as to not irritate your sore muscles more than necessary. Taking a peek into the pot, your brain allows you a taste of serotonin that you welcome with open, starved arms. “Fettuccine alfredo? Pen, that’s my favorite.”

A small smirk appears on her face at your amazement. “I know.”

You plant a chaste kiss at the top of her head. “You need a trim soon, kiddo. Can barely see your eyes anymore.”

“That makes me look more mysterious though, doesn’t it?” She allows herself a giggle before turning off the heat, giving the pasta one last mix before transferring it to the two identical bowls on the counter. Her technique is a little awkward as her arms reach up to maneuver the tongs, but that’s to be expected of a kid who hasn’t fine tuned her motor skills just yet. Your mouth is absolutely watering as you fumble through the draws for two forks and some sort of napkin.

She hops up on the stool next to you and digs in, splattering sauce all over her chin nonetheless, but as long as she was fed and having fun.

Taking Penny in was by far the best decision you had made with what your life had come to. It was about two years ago when you stumbled upon her crying in a back alleyway during a job, her parents' lives the casualties suffered in a drug trade gone wrong. Further than that, you didn’t pry. You had those moments, too, the ones that felt better tucked inside a secret place in your heart.

Your only option was to take her with you. While he was incredibly beneficial to the Mafia, Yoongi was also hopelessly cold-blooded. He wanted to kill her to end the trail, to avoid suspicion directed at the organization. You ultimately made the call, because while what you did for a living was in no way guided by a moral compass, you still had your boundaries. Fortunately, it was just when you had gotten your current executive position and started making your fair share for the work you did - and while the both of you knew what went on outside of the apartment, inside was a safer space with more love than you could ever afford to show anywhere else. 

Housing people was one of the organization’s biggest costs. Most who joined did so out of necessity, whether they were out of work or a place to feel welcome. As long as you took care of her, it was an unspoken rule that they’d go easy on her. Occasionally they made her run errands and do deliveries, as children were an easy way to escape qualms from authorities. More often they used her for bait and leverage over those they needed the upper hand on; There’s no better way to manipulate someone than pretending a little girl’s life depends on their next decision. Usually it worked out the way they wanted and she was sent home, but there were times when you noticed bruises or scrapes adorning her thin arms, or hidden beneath her bangs. At least you could provide her with hope.

“So what went wrong today?”

Were you too obvious, or could she just read you inside and out?

You twirl the pasta on your fork before downing a big bite. 

“Got stuck in a pickle for the first time in a while. There’s a lot more on the table than I expected there to be.”

“Obviously,” she says, still shoveling her food down her throat. “I mean what happened?”

You sigh, letting yourself sink into your chair as you recount the order of events that unfolded today. Trying to simplify it as best as you can, you settle on, “I can’t say too much because I don’t want to get you in trouble, but it’s not just the Mafia and the Agency running things around here anymore, so there’s some collaboration going on right now that is getting tough to manage. And these new people moving in on the city… they’re smart. They led us on a goose chase today while they took out the DA.”

“Well, you’re smart too. You can manage it. You always do.”

“I know I’ll have to. It’s more the teamwork thing.” Mindless fingers tap at the countertop. “It was a little bit of a curveball they threw at me.”

“Is the curveball what caused all the bruises?” She looks at you slyly, a teasing simper just begging to make an appearance.

Your eyes roll breezily. “Yeah, it is.”

And all of a sudden the air turns quiet, her demeanor more timid. She looks to you for encouragement before she can even get the words out. With a small prompting nod, she asks, “Is… is it your old partner?”

An awkward chuckle bubbles its way out of your throat in surprise. “Um, yeah. How- how do you know about that?”

It’s a little bit of a shock. You don’t want to make her feel bad, but having this conversation is not one you are completely prepared for. Jeongguk, though his existence in your mind is stormy, is one of those things you always wish you could just keep to yourself, like a small love letter sealed in an envelope and tucked away under a mattress for you to pull out when you want to reminisce, but unfortunately everyone has read that letter and its contents seems to perpetuate underground gossip wherever you walk.

The atmosphere returns to normal when she shoots you a playful look, correcting it to the way it should have been. “I don’t just go to work and come back, you know, people talk to me. Especially some of the other kids my age. They sometimes mention how it’s so cool that I’m living with this legendary assassin, and they tell me supposed stories of… what was it, the Lion and the Scorpion? Yeah, and that he left.”

You bob your head along as she explains, somewhat in awe of her level of awareness of who you were outside of your relationship with her. The observant and lethal disposition you take on at work is a rude juxtaposition to the looser, lively personality you allow out at home. Above all, you wonder if she still thinks you’re cool.

“And what do you say?”

That she laughs at. “Well, it depends on the person who’s talking to me about it. Sometimes I say that you’re really scary and strict and sometimes if I like them I say that you’re really nice… I’m careful about it though, don’t worry. As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”

Bingo!

“Hey, I trust your judgment,” you state through a mouthful of food, “I condone messing with people sometimes, and if it can harden my reputation around the place, I’ll take it.”

Lighthearted laughter ensues as you eat. The topic fades away and relief starts to take its place, but nothing good can ever last, can it?

“But Y/N…” she trails back, “Why is the Lion a curveball if you worked with him in the past?”

You click your tongue, tapping your fork at the bottom of your dish trying to stitch together the splinters of words floating around your mind into a cohesive answer.

“I’m sure some kids told you about the rumors,” you say, propping your elbow on the table to support your head as you looked at her. “But he and I… weren’t really just work partners.”

“You were dating?” She exclaims loudly, eyes widening. 

“Shh! No, no… well, kind of. But not really. Things were just a little bit more than work-related, that’s all. Listen, it’s not all black and white, and you’ll understand what I mean by when you start to care for people like that.”

“Well did you love him?”

She says it casually and straightforward, as if it didn’t weigh the emotional turmoil of years spent heartbroken and yearning. As if it’s that easy.

Penny’s expression floods full of curiosity. She is so investigative and eager, you wish she could be going to school and learning from real teachers that could give her a real education, not just snippets from your memories that you pulled up for her from time to time. If this wasn’t her life, you can’t imagine what she’d be doing because there’d simply be too many possibilities.

“Yeah, I did.”

And yet, as the words spill, you can’t not remember the pain of his desertion. You can’t not remember the one morning you woke up and he was gone, panic floating through the hallways about him, confusion and worry swirling in your head. Just to find out he had defected without giving you a clue. Not considering what it could mean for you. Not even a goodbye. 

“Do you still love him?”

You purse your lips, meeting her eyes softly. “That’s why I called him a curveball.”

Penny grasps on to the fact that that was the most she’d be getting from you today. It was a lot more than most days - you blame it on your tattered spirit from today’s tiring occurrences. She leads in the kitchen clean up, scooping the leftovers into tupperware for tomorrow’s meal and tossing her dishes in the outdated washer.

You pass behind her in the tight space, carrying your own empty dish with you. “You don’t repeat a word, got it?” you whisper.

She visibly sinks in vexation, head coming to a tilt as she stares at you. “C’mon, you just said you trusted my judgment! I’m almost insulted you feel the need to say that.”

You let yourself indulge in another laugh. The credit of her sharp vocabulary character no doubt belongs to your influence. “You know I have to.” Nuzzling the top of her hair, you add, “Don’t stay up too late. I love you.”

And for leading a life that was so cruel and devoid of light, crowded with guilt and regret, lacking most that makes you human, nothing ever felt more like home than when she says, “I love you too.”

☆☆☆

The next meeting is only better because of the fresh air separating both sides and the imminent fact that last time’s events have everyone so weary they can no longer think about arguing. It has started to sink in that this is no longer a piece of cake, or maybe that it never was to begin with. As well, a park full of citizens going on walks and taking their day slow is no place to expose yourself. It’s warm for spring, one of the nicest days you’ve had in a while, and you’d hate to ruin it.

There is a large circular expanse of white concrete with different pathways branching off into the park, green shrubbery lining each walkway. Pillars on both sides of each one hold up an awning providing much-appreciated shade. You no longer have to squint and can see everyone clearly.

Namjoon, sulking on a decorative cement bench, kicks off the meeting with a depressing statement on the Agency. “They didn’t take anything physical, but we traced their footsteps back through our computers. It looks like they downloaded a lot of our reports from the past few years and files on both our members and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Yeji’s eyebrows furrow deeply in confusion. “What kind of information was in the reports?”

“A lot of profiles. Skills, incidents you’ve been involved with, current standing position… things like that. On nearly every important person in the Agency and in the Mafia.”

“Why though?” asks Jimin, leaning back against one of the pillars beside Namjoon. “Can’t they find that information anywhere? A lot of it isn’t a secret. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you Min Yoongi is a lazy bastard that-” Jeon gives him a light punch on the shoulder, his disappointed grimace almost saying, “c’mon, man.” Yoongi looks like he couldn’t care less.

Taehyung, who has been pacing the narrow concrete walkways, speaks up. “Get to know your enemy better, I guess? Can’t hurt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think they really needed it either. It looked more like it was meant to be taken as a threat. They probably just did that because they could and they had the time,” You say, recalling the attentive wreckage of the Agency.

“Well, I don’t know about that. We know that they’re tricky, obviously, but they can’t know everything. I think they were also trying to get a better idea of what they were up against. Plus, it’s always intimidating when you come into contact with someone and it seems they know every detail about you when you don’t even know your name.”

Namjoon’s take makes sense. His frustrating attitude is an easier pill to swallow if he’s able to make conclusions like that. Not much could scare you off, but if a random person approached you in a fight and began talking about your past, or your personal life, or mistake you’d made, you’d definitely be unsettled, maybe just enough to slip up. With this group, you’re sure that a slip up is all it takes.

Wendy looks like she has something to add, but there’s a frog stuck in her voice box. She gives a shy look to Namjoon and then continues, something perhaps he was planning on leaving out. “To be specific, there were multiple traces of the words “Lion” and “Scorpion” in the information they stole... It makes me think they’ve heard of your, um, past reputation and wanted to see what they could dig up.”

“Oh, great.” You’re unable to help yourself from rolling your eyes. 

“Wow,” Jeon muses, “Didn’t know we were so famous.” His playful regard meets your own, but you’re too down to react with anything else but a blank stare before flicking your eyes away as soon as they meet.

He looks good today. You hate how much your brain keeps begging you to take another experimental glance as if one wasn’t enough. His button-up drapes gently over his shoulders and is tucked loosely into his trousers, sleeves folded all the way up to his elbows. Not that you’re paying such close attention.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to alarm you without any pretense, but…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your front. “Well, I’m glad she spoke up. What if they target us because they think we’re a threat? They already know we’ve been working together.”

Wendy offers a small smile of appreciation, but it is not to ignore how the agents all share looks of hesitation toward each other, visibly uncomfortable with Namjoon’s secrecy.

“Yeah… that seemed kind of important,” Yoongi says, squinting into the sunlight as he tilts his head up. “You can’t keep things from us if we’re working together. I hate this just as much as you do, but we aren’t gonna win if we aren’t honest.”

Jimin sighs. “He’s right. If one side tries to get an upper hand it’ll just cause a rift that makes us easier to pull apart.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I... apologize.” Namjoon is stiff, refusing to look anyone in the eye. He wants to avoid further questioning, but for the time being, you won’t press it. There’s enough on your plate right now.

“Anyway… what’s our next move?”

Yeji’s question goes unanswered. It sits under the afternoon light, the peaceful chirps of birds and casual chatter and boat horns filling in the blank space that no one knows what to do with.

“We don’t have a lot to go off of. The investigation is still looking for identification factors, but it could take time, which, as I’m sure you know, we don’t have a lot of. The most we can do is conduct some interviews with witnesses and passersby, but…” the Vice President looks up at you, “we are counting on them slipping up somehow.”

The dejection in the air is hard to ignore. Everyone feels it. Regardless of how impossible it might be for the two sides to see eye to eye, they can see how hopeless the fight has gotten in a span of mere days.

With the DA out of the picture, all of their employees are either working from home or in last-minute rented offices with limited resources. Never in a million years did any of the executives think they’d see the building that represented their struggle go up in flames. Yet the day it did, they couldn’t be happy about it. It only struck fear.

“So there’s really nothing we can do?”

No one needs to answer for you to know.

“Okay. Let’s wrap this up then. Just be careful from here on out. You know, be cautious of what you say, where you say it. They might be monitoring radio waves, might have bugged places you think are safe.”

 In times like these, you have good reason to be a little paranoid. They already knew where your office space was and the time it had been rented. The Syndicate was skilled and definitely had their reach online, and you didn’t doubt it extended to the personal world. There’s nothing money can’t bribe.

It’s disheartening to see how downcast the group is on a day so bright. Everyone begins to mobilize, though slowly, but they get a move on, going back to wherever they need to be or where they want to be. For now, you decide you want to be here.

Waving goodbye to Yeji and the others, you find a nice spot under some shade on a well maintained wooden bench. It faces the water, today clear and calm, and out in the distance is the gleaming modern drawbridge that closes off the port. To the right, the port terminal stretches out long into the river for the large ships that come in, the marina docked with boats of all shapes and sizes tucked in closer to the city behind it. The boats flood in and out, passing you by, the sails floating in the breeze so temptingly you can just see yourself hopping on one so easily and going along to wherever it may take you.

The dream is short-lived, because Jeon’s presence beside you tugs you from your imagination.

“What do you want?” You can feel him looking at you, but you can’t pull your eyes away from the ships drifting by.

It’s a hit to the confidence he strode over here with, but he continues. “What, we can’t make small talk? We’re partners for this, Y/N.”

Any opportunity he sees to make contact with you, he’ll take. He knows why you’re the opposite, but he’s dying to see you, and not just from across a meeting table or a park.

“Partners don’t need to make small talk, they just have to do the job they’ve been assigned and be done with it.”

He exhales tiredly, disappointed in your lack of engagement, like he expected at least a small something more. “Listen, I just wanted to talk to you. I know how things are, and-”

“No, Gguk, you don’t know how things are,” you snap, finally facing him. “You had the past three years to talk to me, but you didn’t. You don’t get to come and take care of things now while it’s convenient for you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It sure looks like that.”

“Well it’s not.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s me wanting to talk to you. Because it’s been a long time and I miss you.”

You make a sound caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, feeling even more let down than you thought you could be. “Yeah, okay.”

It sounds like bull to you. Does he really think you’re that gullible? Does he really think you were going to see him again and run into his arms like a bride who's been tying yellow ribbons around an old oak tree? The anger you felt at the agency yesterday returns, for what happened in the past, for what’s happening now, for all of it. How he can say he missed you when he had all the time in the world, when he was clearly happy after running away from what he had with you, you can’t understand.

Meanwhile, Jeon feels his heart palpitating as he waits for a reply. The explanations want to roll right off his tongue, but he knows this is not the time and place to bring up the subject matter he’s really urging to talk to you about. That conversation will be held soon as he finds it possible. He thought it might be worth it to just start the build-up with trivial chatter, but it’s not working, and probably never will with you.

He picks at his nails, scraping the minimal dirt out. Should he say it? A part of him wants to go for it, and another wants to wait in fear of scaring you. Unfortunately, he thinks it will either way.

“I heard you’ve been taking care of a girl.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’s right.

It steals the breath from your lungs, that residing anger booking it to make room for fear. Though you try to conceal it, you’re sure he’s seen through it, already felt how the atmosphere has shifted. He shouldn’t know about Penny. In fact, no one outside the Mafia should. You can’t meet his eyes, taking more interest in trying to count every strand of fine hair on the space between your knuckles.

It feels just like what Namjoon had talked about, and though you’re sure deep down he wouldn’t try to hurt you like that, it plants a seed of dread in you. In any other world, it might be similar to someone asking, “How are the kids?” and there would be nothing out of the ordinary about it, just a friendly gesture. This instance, however, is layered with a cocktail of warning and concern.

 Penny can fend for herself, she’s responsible, of course, but no one is invincible. It’s only up to a certain point, especially knowing that she’s only a child. 

“How do you know about her?” 

“I still get around,” he says, letting the pause marinate before adding faintly, “Don’t worry. No one that’s gonna try anything knows. I made sure of it.”

The way he still knows what you’re thinking makes you shiver. Or want to throw up. You pass over the slight relief of his last statement in favor of the bliss that comes with ignoring it.

When you don’t reply because you simply don’t know what to make of it, he continues. “It’s honorable. But that’s dangerous for you. To have someone important to you.”

“I know that,” you admit.

It wasn’t like you were stupid. Sure, you were an executive, but what did that mean when Penny made you so vulnerable? The same way they used her against their enemies could be used against you in a heartbeat for tenfold the amount they wanted. She was your weak spot.

“You have to be careful.”

“I know that.”

Jeon winces at your icy inflection. He’s like a child being scolded by his mother. His eyes squeeze shut, thoughts circling back to all the words that were just aching to pour out of him.

“Listen, Y/N, maybe we can go get some coffee? Or-”

You have to cut him off before he gets too out of hand, palms hitting your thighs. “I think that’s enough for today, Gguk.”

He wants to object to your leaving, but he doesn’t want to push you. Your deep sigh is proof of the distress he caused in the past and still continues to leave behind.

So much for some nice quiet time on your own, huh? You stand up and turn from him, heading down the exit path. Realistically, you’re glad he doesn’t call out after you, because you know it would just get you worked up and that was the last thing you needed. When you were around him, you felt the piercing image your reputation had created crumbling to ruins. It pains you to think of the consequences of an emotional err during times like these.

Yet still, it breaks your heart to leave.

☆☆☆

“He’s been really getting to you, huh?”

Yeji’s voice is quiet above the cacophony of clinking silverware and incoherent conversation, but intelligible enough for the both of you to hear in your own space. 

You smear some whipped cream on your forkful of waffle, placing it in your mouth and letting both the fluffy texture and immaculate taste sweep you off your feet for a moment, as brunch is everything good and great in the world. Or at least in your world, at this very moment.

You swallow before answering, your usual temper tamed by the sedative of a certain portmanteau of breakfast and lunch. “Of course he has. He won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“Well, he does have to work with you.”

As you chew, you shake your head in wide, dramatic arcs. “No, I mean he keeps acting like we’re old friends. After the meeting he asked me If I wanted to get coffee with him!” you exclaimed, “Like no, I’m not getting fucking coffee with you, who do you think you are?”

Yeji flashes her pearly whites at your short fuse, the one she’s versed in remedying. Deft hands lift up her mug for a thoughtful sip.

“Maybe his intentions aren’t that bad. He’s always been happy-go-lucky like that and he’s probably just too oblivious to think about the consequences of what he did. Yeah, pretending like it didn’t happen hurts, but because of what’s going on right now... it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Despite her intimidating appearance, Yeji was an exceptional conversationalist and particularly thoughtful in her advice. It feels more like a talk between two childhood friends catching up over some food, gossiping about people from high school and boy drama. Though it’s not quite that simple, it lets you take a back seat for a little while. Yeji is one of the only people you’d consider a friend.

“What, like making it easier for the mission?”

“Yeah, 'cause if you can push that issue out of the picture temporarily, you can get the job done and either deal with it after or forget about it entirely. And hey, you’re the Scorpion!” Yeji leans across the table in an enthusiastic whisper. “Scorpions are badass and vicious and don’t spend their time getting worked up over men. In fact, Scorpions reel men in and then kill them, especially you.”

You know she’s trying to encourage you, but the thought is spectacularly unappealing. While she was right in what you did, it’s not like you enjoyed it or were proud of it. You hate to be described that way. Perhaps that is your character among the mafia and the image you spread to protect yourself, and perhaps it’s even true when you get in the work mindset, but is that really you? Talk about an identity crisis.

You reach for your water, the condensation slippery on the glass. “That’s just my reputation.”

She sighs, slumping back into her side of the booth. “Okay, scratch that then. What I mean is that, besides the people you’re close to like Penny and I, you’re this astute, intelligent, skilled executive. You’ve accomplished a lot to get where you are. Why are you letting him get under your skin and uproot that?”

Yeji wouldn’t let someone make her feel like that, and she wishes you wouldn’t either. As much as she secretly admires you - for both that reputation and the real you - she cares about you all the same. Maybe one of the only people that does.

“I guess you have a point.”

“You know I have a point.”

“It’s not that easy though, Yeji,” you say weakly, staring down into your glass. “Every time I see him, I don’t know whether I want to kiss him or beat his ass.”

She laughs at your comment, making you crack a smile too. “It happens, Y/N. Love and hurt go hand in hand.” When you look up at her, she reaches a slender hand over the table and interlocks her fingers with your own with a squeeze. “Just tolerate it for now.”

A troubled exhale leaves you at the prospect, but you squeeze back nonetheless. 

“I can do that.” 

☆☆☆

It's two days later when you get a call from none other than the Lion himself. The time has been passing unbearably, slower than a soul train passing an ambulance. You and Penny relaxed by bingeing an ungodly amount of shows and movies, even delving into your weekly budget for a stockpile of snacks and drinks. But with every laugh that tumbled out of you and blended into the live audiences’, the nervous thoughts of the situation lingered in the back of your mind.

But hopefully, this call will have some good news.

“What’s up?”

“Good news.”

Eureka! For once, you’re happy to be speaking to Jeon.

“Like Namjoon said, they slipped up. Someone wasn’t wearing gloves and left a fingerprint in the DA. Intelligence was able to track it down to a random guy living in the Gambling District. I’ll tell you more about him, but I’m coming to pick you up now.”

You to your feet from your seat on the couch, wedging the phone between your shoulder and ear so you could throw your stuff together. Penny pauses the show for you, sending a raised brow. In silent conversation, you shrug.

God, it’s too early. You’re rummaging around the room for your wallet and trying to process cohesive thoughts simultaneously, and it’s not working out.

You stop to let your hands rub at your eyes. “Okay, but how do we know this was an actual slip up? We don’t have footage to check… it might have been on purpose to lead us somewhere.”

The one thing you had learned in all your time was to play like your opponent. Never underestimate them - especially the Syndicate, who clearly wanted that message to reach you. But if you were trying to get the upper hand on the people you were trying to eliminate, it wouldn’t be far fetched to give them a false lead the same way you had before.

“It’s all we got. And if we are led somewhere, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Talk to you in a bit. I’ll meet you in the parking garage?”

“No need. Already walking up.” In the background, you hear Jeon’s keys jingling as he strides. “Also, we’re stopping for food first. Bye.” A blunt click signals the end of the call.

Shit. He’s coming to your apartment? The current state is an indescribable mess - hopefully he wouldn’t call CPS on you. More importantly, you are still in your pajamas, and there is no way he can see you like this.

“Was that the curveball?” Penny asks with an impish interest.

Your eyes squint. “Take a guess.”

Hurrying down the cramped hallway to your shared bedroom with Penny, you trade your sweats for some comfortable jeans and, with the time ticking down, throw a moto jacket over your hoodie. As the knock on the door sounds, you’re gathering your hair into a ponytail.

When you reach the living room, Penny is already pulling the door open. You hear a greeting, and then Jeon’s head appears around it comically, peeking into the apartment.

“There you are,” he says, looking at your current state with confusion. Not exactly what you might wear to base, but it got the job done. He snickers. “What, did I catch you off guard?”

Trying to hold back your minor pants from running around so much, all you can muster is, “Yeah, a little bit.” You turn to the mirror and pluck a bobby pin from your lips, tucking it into your hair to keep the flyaways down.

“Okay, let’s hit it. Penny, super sorry about this, I’ll finish watching with you later when I get home. There’s food in the fridge, you know where the money is, and I’ll call Yeji to check in on you if it gets late, okay?”

She pouts. “Okay.”

“Hey, you remember the safe word?”

Penny nods dramatically, her dark bangs bouncing, standing on her tippy toes to whisper in your ear, “Cherry-cola… also, he’s really cute.”

You pull away laughing, giving her a light noogie with your fist as her nose scrunches up. She wasn’t wrong, of course. Your time apart did him well, and you assume he must have gotten tips on how to dress because of how effortlessly put together he looked these days. But that's beside the point.

“Love you, Pen. Bye. And make sure your ringer is on.” With a small peck on the top of her head and bidding goodbye with a promise to return, you’re pulling away and leading Jeon out the door, being careful in locking it behind you.

“What’s with the safeword?” He asks, starting down the hall to the elevator. An uncomfortable tilt to his lips fixes on his face. “Isn’t that… kinda inappropriate?”

You roll your eyes, swatting at his shoulder. “Ew. Not that kind of safeword, dumbass. It’s so she knows who she can trust and let inside. There’s a lot of people that I trust that she doesn’t know, so if I have someone swinging by I tell them so she knows she can trust them too.”

He makes a sound of understanding, slipping his hands into his pockets. The way he ambles is spirited yet composed, shoulders relaxed with purposeful steps. Jeon always came and went like low tide in the morning, a calmer view of his personality considering his notorious “devil may care” attitude.

“Can you tell me?” Once he sees the disapproving expression on your face, he continues, “Listen, I already know about her. What if something happens and you need me to get her and you’re too busy dying to tell me?”

Crossing your arms in front of you, you shake your head. “Hopefully that will never happen in the first place, but god forbid…” you cautiously lower your voice, “Cherry-cola.”

“Cherry-cola?” he repeats casually.

You shush him loudly, glaring and speaking through gritted teeth. “The point of a safeword is that not everyone knows it!” 

“Sorry,” his lips purse as you press the button and begin waiting for the elevator. “Why that one?”

“It’s our favorite drink. Goes with anything.”

“Well...”

You cut him off with a hand as the thick metal doors slide open and the two of you step inside. “Not a matter of opinion. I don’t want to hear it.”

He raises his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. I will respect that, but you know...”

It’s then that you see him giving you a look, an impish smile adorning his cheeks. The dimples that gently poke his skin are the kind that make you feel lucky.

“What?”

His eyes avert, head shaking as he turns away and exchanges his view for his sly reflection in the metal. “Oh, nothing.”

“Gguk.”

A teasing tone coats his tongue as he speaks. “Well, I don’t know, it just reminded me, you know, just pulled the thought from the deep recess of my brain, that.... we used to have one too.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, even considering asking him to repeat himself.  The arch look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, we did,” you agree. “Not like I ever had to use it...”

He faces you with a disbelieving breath of laughter leaving his open mouth, astonished. “What, did you want to have to say it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, raising your voice to say, “No, no… you were always just a little soft about it, that’s all.”

You can’t help the grin growing on your face as his lips part in offense, one corner slowly turning up in a knowing open-mouthed smile. His lids drop in the slightest manner, barely noticeable if you didn’t pay such close attention, and you have to turn away before your face starts to blaze too unbearably. “Oh, you know I was not soft.”

Both of you are thinking the same thing, no doubt about it. Memories roll back like pristine tapes on a projector, ones that most definitely prove his point.

You clear your throat, unsure of where the conversation is going and not bold enough to let it brew. “Anyway, about the guy…?”

He’s disappointed in your choice to change the subject, the tell in the way his head drops and chews at his lower lip for a split second, but abides nonetheless. “Twenty-six years old, been working at lots of casinos around as a dealer but his most recent job was three months ago at King’s Crown. After that, no record. Unfortunately, we have to take him alive since the investigation has the police involved.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Well, kind of. It’s just limiting when there’s a stipulation.”

“Okay. I will respect that.”

Your callback is the cause of a smile taking over his face. You’re glad he doesn’t mention your attitude - if he did, your dignity wouldn’t let you continue. Maybe it’s your good mood paired with his unexpectedness, maybe it’s Yeji’s advice telling you to tolerate him, but regardless, you won’t deny that it feels better than the anger. With hope of a lead comes hope that this could work out.

“By the way, what’re you in the mood for?” Jeon asks casually, turning to you. “We can do fast food, we can do Firehouse...”

As soon as he says the word, memories from long ago that almost don’t even feel like yours resurface. Firehouse was always your and Jeon’s go-to pizza place on lunch break or for celebration after a job well done. Though you haven’t been there in years, the delectable taste of their pies is still fresh in your mind. It’s tempting, but you don’t want to make the decision. You weren’t that hungry, anyway. Jeon stares, awaiting an answer.

At your shrug, his patience runs out and he fishes his hand into his pocket. “Okay, I’m flipping a coin. Firehouse is heads, tails is the nearest drive-thru.”

He says it naturally, but you know he’s testing the water by the way his gaze lingers, measuring your reaction to see if you’ll be angry with him. Not one, but two fond tokens from the past, all in the span of thirty seconds? At one point, flipping a coin was an everyday occurrence to settle disagreements, whether it be where to eat, what time to close up shop, or whose plan to follow. You know he’s trying to jog your good memories, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

The metal flings from his thumb and lands with a muted tap in his opposite palm. He slaps it over to the backside of his hand.

“Heads. Firehouse it is.” His eyes flick up to yours, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

You grin. “Sure. Wanted that anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. A shy smile crawls up his face, the faint hallmark scar at the edge of his cheekbone shifting. “Yeah, alright. Tell me next time before it lands on something you don’t want.”

The elevator doors open with a ding, freeing you into the open world. If you let the resentment subside for a few minutes, it feels just like it used to when things were okay - you and Jeon against the world.

☆☆☆

“So this is it?”

You’re staring up a beat down brick building four stories high. It’s dilapidated and nearly falling apart, in contrast to the virgin casinos, modern and flawless with intricate architecture and an ambiance of expense just half a mile away. Supposedly, your guy was somewhere in there, and it was your best bet that he had something of value to give you.

Jeon slams his side of the car door, still licking at pizza grease on his forearm, and comes around to stand next to you. “Yeah. Floor two, apartment two.” You laugh to yourself incredulously at his casual antics, but he doesn’t seem to care as he walks right up to the door.

He finds that no buzzer is needed for entry, so with your guns at the ready, you take slow steps inside. Jeon leads, you trailing to the side of him. It’s eerily quiet, not a single person out to encounter, none of the hustle and bustle a usual apartment would contain, not even the sounds of footsteps or moving furniture. Did anyone actually live here?

The floors of the hallways are decorated with faded forest green carpet, stains and dust covering the washed-out fabric. There is an ugly floral strip of wallpaper at the top of the beige walls that are dented and scraped in random places.

You’re careful to keep down the volume of the creaking stairs as you shift your weight over them, but it’s nearly impossible. Upon further inspection, the door frame of apartment two was covered in scratches and markings, thin cobwebs joined in the corners. The door itself looks cheap and it has what seems to be a few drops of blood splattered near the knob. You and Jeon share a look of uncertainty, those gut instincts kicking in to let you know that something was off.

He begins to count down, and on three, you’re pushing in the door. He rushes in first with you on his tail to scope out the sides. The apartment is empty, except…

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic.”

There’s a dead body occupying the chair in front of the television. It’s the man, alright, but his throat has been slit, red coating his neck and clothes, head hanging back over the seat. There’s no smell, though - it couldn’t have been that long since others were here, especially due to the slight glisten of blood not yet dry on his skin.

They didn’t bury him, either. Just left the body out in the open for you to find. One alarming step ahead, just like last time.

“Covering their tracks. They knew he fucked up and took care of him before we could,” says Jeon, scouring the rest of the beaten-down unit. No signs of a struggle, no mess, no nothing. A dead end.

When you pat the body down, reach into his pockets, there’s nothing. When you move to his bedroom and start to search through his nightstand, it strikes you that there might be something invasive about rustling through a dead man’s belongings, but you’ve done it too many times to still be sensitive to it. You peer around his closet, look under the mattress, filter through his drawers, until a certain glint of light catches your eye.

On the side of his bed closest to the window, a small card lies on the carpet beneath, hidden by the frame if it weren’t for the shiny sticker on the back. You bring it up for a closer look in the light.

It’s got his name, picture, and contact information as well as a barcode at the bottom. Not a driver’s license, but an ID card for the Belvedere Casino. The sticker in the top corner makes out a small icon of a spread of playing cards.

You’re about to shout out to Jeon, but stop yourself as soon as you open your mouth.  You take a slow once over around the room. Namjoon’s words echo in between your thoughts - Could the place be bugged? They were here not so long ago, and considering how they kept seeming to be a step in front of you at all times, it wasn’t a far stretch. There was no way to be sure, but you had a hunch.

Walking back to the main room, you catch his attention from where he is snooping around the shelves. 

“Didn’t find anything. I think we’re out of luck.” When he turns to look at you, you widen your eyes and make an intense gesture with your finger to your lips before pointing a finger from your ear to the ceiling and directing your eyes around the room. You’re grateful when he understands immediately.

“Seriously? Nothing?” he asks timidly.

“Yeah. They got us. We should head back and call for cleanup, see if they can find anything.” You start for the door, pulling it open.

He hums, eyeing the item in your hand as he walks out behind you. “Good idea… I don’t really want to be here anymore anyway. Feels too weird.”

It’s silent all the way down. Was it too obvious? Was the dialogue too strange, too choppy? The two of you reach the street, careful of your surroundings, before getting back in his car. 

“What was that about?” he asks, shutting the door as he slides into the driver’s seat.

You hold out the card for him to take. “Look. You know how you said there was no recent record of employment besides at King’s Crown? He’s been working at the Belvedere the past three months.”

He looks at you incredulously. “And?”

For whatever reason, he makes you doubt yourself. Suddenly, that solid idea you had in mind that made you split from the apartment is no longer so solid.

“The Belvedere has to have something. That’s our new lead!” Pulling your seatbelt over your body, you reach for your phone to give the Boss an update.

“He could have just been working off-record and gotten involved with the Syndicate some other way.”

You turn to him seriously. “Jeon. If it’s separate, why bother? Why would he be working for the Syndicate when he has a stable source of income as a dealer unless the two come hand in hand? They have to be hiding in plain sight.”

“And you’re willing to bet all your cards on that?” You almost find the doubt in his voice offensive.

You exhale deeply, trying to push down your temper. “The people in the Syndicate who killed him made sure there was nothing left on him to tell us who he was. No wallet, no keys, no license, no nothing, because they wanted his identity hidden. If he was working for them separately, why would they bother to do that? They would have just killed him and left. But it was about who he was and what he did. Which was dealing at The Belvedere.”

The car goes silent, and Jeon doesn’t reply. He only looks at you blankly, his poker face hard to break through, but not impossible. You know when he lets a hand slip up to tug at the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Good job,” he grins, hooking the key in the ignition and rumbling the car to life. He pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road casually. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You cross your arms in front of you protectively, glaring at him from the side.

“Oh, come on. I never actually doubted you, I was just messing around.”

You scoff loudly, turning to the window. “You’re such a fucking liar, Gguk. You didn’t get the connection until I explained it and the fact that you can’t even admit that you’re wrong, the fact that you have to act like you always knew, blows my fucking mind!”

He makes a left turn, looking out at the road, clearly avoiding you even though you’re stuck in the same damn car a foot away. “Calm down, Y/N. It’s not that serious.”

“But it is that serious! It was going so well, Gguk. We were finally acting like regular partners on a job. You always have to ruin everything, don’t you? It always has to be about you, and how much of a hero you are-”

“I never said I was a hero.”

“But you sure act like it.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Comes from the guy who claims he was ‘just joking around’ during a serious case like this when you know it’s not like what it used to be.”

“Okay, fine!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the steering wheel. “I did doubt you. I thought it was far fetched.” Jeon's voice booms as he rambles quickly in aggravation. “And then you explained it and I remembered that you’re really fucking smart and I wouldn’t have made that connection myself. And I lied because I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry, okay? Are you happy?”

Jeon’s free hand, which had been jerking around as he yelled, finds itself gripping the wheel again regretfully. Silence fills the car, hanging in the air as heavy and solid as concrete. You’re almost scared to breathe in face of all the tension. He looks like he’s about to say something else but stops himself before the words fall out. 

The way you were fuming brings tears to your eyes. When your parents died, all you had was Jeongguk. But Jeongguk’s heart had been rooted in the mafia since he was young. The two were mutually exclusive, and your best option was following after him. It was hard to believe the boy you put your trust in so blindly all those years ago had grown into the man sitting next to you now, bringing you to tears with the way he infuriated you. Where did it all go wrong?

“No. I’m not.”

☆☆☆

You’re tired when you go to bed that night, and you’re tired when you wake up. Though you’re barely awake, you can feel Penny nestled into your side, body rising and falling as she breathes. It’s a small comfort, especially after the rough day you had. Last night had been a mess as you tried to hold it together for her, but simply couldn’t. 

Today, you’ll be heading over to a motel in the Gambling District to stay at indefinitely with Jeon while you work on the case. You have no clue how long it will take - you’ll be taking a look at the Belvedere, but what comes after that, you don’t know.

It was important to note that somehow, the two of you had moved up to the faces of the mission, even though both sides were working tirelessly in the search. 

The last thing you want to do right now is see him, but you have no choice. The sooner you start working and get it done, the sooner you can get home. But for now, you have to start packing. You take another moment to lay with Penny, because when you’ll next feel this safety and comfort again, you can’t be sure of. Then, you carefully unlink her from you and begin laying things out.

Something nice to wear for the casino, clothes to sleep in, essentials for hygiene, an extra pair of socks… 

Eventually, Penny stretches out and groans to inform you of her awakening while you roam around the room. Her feet shifting under the comforter push a t-shirt off the bed.

“Sleep okay?” She rubs her eyes. “Yeah, you?”

“Eh. Could have been better.”

While you are away, Penny will be home by herself. The Boss said that she wouldn’t be required for work while you were gone - she could stay home and safe, for your reassurance. It still makes you nervous, of course, but bringing her with you isn’t an option. Yeji promised she would stop in from time to time, and you would be leaving her with a sum of money in case she needs it to order food or something of the sort.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have to be there by one, so probably in an hour or so.”

“Can we make waffles then?”

You sigh, letting your arms go limp at your side. Waffles were a hassle, and the cleanup could be a nightmare, but… something told you it was worth it over the potential mess.

“Sure, go get the machine set up and I’ll come out in a sec.”

It takes a few more minutes to get everything packed, take a few extra bottles of soaps and gels just in case, quickly zipping up your duffle bag and tossing it down onto the bed for when you return later.

Out in the kitchen, Penny has gotten more of a move on. She has already retrieved the ingredients from the pantry, even started measuring amounts out accordingly with the instructions on the back of the box.

You let her have a little fun and crack the eggs this time - though some shell gets in there, it’s nothing you can’t pick out. She makes jokes and you can’t help but laugh, and something about it has its way of calming you down. It reminds you of how precious moments spent together are. Something about the girl just makes you let go of the burdens you carry.

But it’s much too soon that you’re cleaning up. A small ending for a small fragment of your day bound to be filled with things much larger than you’re ready to handle. 

The rain falls like feathers when you pull into the lot, plunking consistently on your windshield. You turn the key and take it out, shutting down the vehicle’s rumbling engine, the lights dimming out all around you. You should get inside sooner than later, before the weather worsens, but you can’t seem to bring yourself out of the car. Jeon’s is already parked, meaning he’s inside waiting. But there’s no other choice you have. You’ll have to see him at some point, anyway. Postponing will only anger you further.

You push open the car door quickly, grabbing your bag and darting up the stairs as they clang under your shoes. The droplets smack against your skin and drip down relentlessly. It could be worse, but it is certainly not pleasant. Once you find shelter under the awning, you raise your hand in preparation to knock, but Jeon is already yanking open the door and stepping aside to make way for your entrance.

Inside, you dab at your hair with your sleeve carefully, fixing it in the mirror opposite to you. As clued in by the backpack and laptop already set up on the right side of the singular bed in the room, you deduced he had already claimed it. Therefore, you take the initiative to place your own bag on the left side, closest to the wall.

“So… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” You reach into your bag to begin unpacking a few of your essentials, feeling his eyes glued to you as you move around the room. Even as you plug in your charger, toss your computer on the bed, you could sense his firm yet uneasy presence behind you.

“Have you started yet?” you ask, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward onto your face. You’d prefer to start your work instead of floating around the elephant in the room awkwardly. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets. “No, I was waiting for you.” Jeon has been stuck to the same spot near the dim lamp beside the door since you stepped through the threshold. It inclined you to think that maybe he’s as nervous as you are, but you’re sure it’ll pass over in a matter of minutes once he gathers himself. 

“Okay.” You exhale in thought, sweeping yourself into a comfortable position on the bed. “I’ll start doing background on the casino and it’s ownership records. You can look into workers or people associated with the man who was killed. Or call the agency, I don’t know. You do you.”

He makes a small noise of agreement, flipping open his laptop. However, with the slow movement of his fingers across the keyboard, the air void of purposeful clicking, you can tell he’s not getting much done. In fact, you can see in your peripheral his stillness, as if he’s waiting to make a move.

When you spare a glimpse over to him, he offers an expression of deep thought, only to say, “There are snacks, too. In case you get hungry.”

Your scampering flow of typing pauses. “Okay.” All you can offer is a brief, tight pull of your lips, what you could barely define as a smile.

Luckily, he seems to receive your message loud and clear, turning back around in his chair to start up whatever he was planning on. You know what you want to get - the information most valuable to doing what you needed to do and confirming what you already suspected, which was in the past records of the proprietorship. It would also be helpful if you could find current workers and see what they were doing; Maybe even more helpful if you could find nothing at all.

The records you stumble upon are nothing short of interesting once you finally break down that barrier. Ownership of the casino had been consistent up until three months ago, when the deed holder - a healthy man of only fifty-six years old - made a business deal and swiftly moved out of the country, only to be found dead in his home a month later. The new owner’s background appeared without even the slightest scratch. The lack of suspicion is suspicious in itself - you don’t think the Falcon would have the place under his own name, but having it under someone who is pristine as a newly minted coin is dubious all the same.

It’s the shut of Jeon’s laptop that sucks you back into the reality of the motel room from your online sanctuary. He stands up to stretch and makes a move for the bathroom. The room is shrouded in the darkness of nighttime, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows and the sorry excuse for a lamp on your night table. It wouldn’t kill you to call it a night either.

When he emerges, you take your turn, bringing a change of clothes with you so you won’t have to face the tension that might arise if you came back out in just a towel. The shower is pleasant; For a second, if you close your eyes, you’re no longer in the same space with him and can enjoy the time for yourself. 

Your heavy heart can’t be kept at bay for too long. Outside the bathroom is a surprisingly accurate reminder of old times, when scenes just like this were the regular, and the feeling was the same. But at this moment, the way you’re avoiding his eyes while you braid your hair in the mirror is a show of just how much things have changed.

“Why are you looking at me?” you pipe quietly over the steady padding of your feet on the carpet, his watch following you hesitantly.

Jeon sits back at the head of the bed, not sure where to direct his gaze anymore now that you’ve verbally interrupted it. His constant attention, and especially the way he doesn’t deny it even in the face of your attitude towards him, leaves you with a weary ache that you’re quickly getting tired of feeling all the time.

A charming, shy smile fixes on his face as his head tilts endearingly, testing the waters. “What, I can’t look at you?”

“Not like that,” you mumble, barely above a whisper, lifting up the sheets to crawl in, leaving as much space as possible between the two of you. When you turn your back to him to look at the wall, you think he might make another teasing comment, but he doesn’t.

“It’s the braid,” he elaborates, as if it’s some sort of excuse sufficient enough to play flirty and cool with you when the situation is anything but. “It reminds me of when we were kids… you used to wear it like that every day.” 

It’s almost as if to say, do you remember? But of course you remember. Afternoons spent at the playground, your hair in a loose braid thrown over the front of your shoulder. Mornings spent in the courtyard, scribbling down answers to work that was due in ten minutes. Evenings spent wandering around town, laughing and joking together as kids should. But nothing offered by the times of the past could dismiss the times of the present.

You lean over and tug the chain on the lamp, darkness enclosing your small room.

“Go to bed, Gguk.”

He doesn’t make another sound that night.

☆☆☆

The storm has proven its resilience yet continues to torrent, horribly testing the aging logs of trees and endlessly splattering your windows. Even still, it has something to say, residing anger it wants to make you feel, trapping you inside your room and limiting your options. It’s a deep pain, but perhaps if you were a storm, you’d let yourself drain out every ounce of deplorable wrath until there was nothing leftover, too.

Jeon sits at the small table near the door. He’s been there for who knows how long, flipping through pages, making phone calls that connect no dots, wasting his time. There is nothing that can be done at the moment, not with the state of the weather at least. Weather, a trivial matter, the most popular topic choice for insignificant conversation, heeds your course of action without a known resumption.

In the meantime, you enjoy yourself as much as you can. You make popcorn in the less than appealing microwave and settle in to watch whatever piques your interest in the slightest, meaning there is not a wide selection. Right now, you’ve got on a show about the aliens who have supposedly visited ancient Egypt and other societies bygone, and have been consistently present throughout the timeline of human history.

“Y/N. Let me ask you a question.” Jeon rubs his forehead, slumping over in his chair. “Did you come here with the intention of helping this case, or just to vacation?”

You nod in thought, humming. “Good question. I’d say the former, but I don’t think your question was intended to have an answer. Let me ask you a question then.”

His tired face turns to you expectantly. 

You take a pensive breath before raising your hand and asking slowly, “Do you think that aliens provided advanced technologies to the Germans to build new weapons for the Third Reich?”

He stares at you blankly, meeting your still and inquisitive expression for just a moment until he cracks, shaking his head and looking away toward the window, as if he’ll find something better to say out there.

“No, I’m serious,” you insist as you toss another kernel into your mouth, hoping he takes your biting satire to heart. “Because, this guy is saying that the Germans built a flying saucer. A whole fucking flying saucer, called the Haunebu, and no, wait, listen, it was said to use mythical technology from old Indian texts.”

You stare, intent on waiting for a response. Jeon pinches the bridge of his nose, the way his fuse was quickly shortening keeping you bitterly entertained. “You have to work with me, Y/N. Can you please just work with me?”

The joke dissolves and you blankly turn to flip through the channels. “I am working with you. There’s just nothing to work on.”

He puts his head in his hands. “For God’s sake, can you stop? I know you don’t care for me, but if you could just cooperate-”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Care for you?” you repeat, your smile fueled with gallons of flammable offense, sitting upright on the bed. He spins in his chair to face you again, eyebrows knitting together before confirming, “Yeah, care for me!”

A sour laugh escapes you, arms folding over your front. “I don’t care for you? That’s rich, Gguk.” 

“No, you don’t! And I don’t think you ever have, quite frankly, because you’re acting like such a bitch to me and can’t even give me a chance!” Jeon stands now, leaning into his words as his hands stretch out in dramatic gestures.

You jump to your feet. ”Why should I give you a chance? What good has that ever done me?”

Jeon’s jaw visibly clenches, his hand shooting up to meet his chin as he eschews your scrutinizing eye. You feel your nails digging into your palms as your fists clench, but you’re sure you’ll swing at something if you stop.

Your throat begins to sting, masking your cracking voice with a low tone. “I almost died for you, Gguk. And a week later, you left me.”

The room collapses under the weight of the elephant. It’s everything you’ve wanted to say for years bubbling to the top.

As soon as the venom leaves your mouth, you know he remembers. The guilt washing over his features says it all, awful clips of the last mission you ever went on together passing through his vision.

It was supposed to be an easy interception of a deal, but Jeon’s inability to differentiate between necessary risk and recklessness cost you your covers. He got away. You were captured.

It was torture at the expense of his safety. Excruciating pain in order to protect him from his own mistake. Your blood spilled, your tears cried, your body hurt. Yet at the end of every video, every call, every threat, your only message to him was that it was okay.

They were the worst you had ever encountered. They wanted leverage over the Boss; They wanted Jeon. And the only way to him was to you. At the time, it was worth it. You wouldn’t give him up, you wouldn’t let yourself become a part of an exchange for his life. You put his over your own in a heartbeat.

And where had that gotten you?

Your depth of a breaking point had provided that desperately needed time to organize a plan of attack, and even though you hadn’t been there quite yet, even though you had been trained and it was far from your first rodeo, it wasn’t anything less than scarring. 

Even though the mafia infiltrated and rescued you successfully, the inner turmoil never fully recovered. Though you moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks that hid in your damaged subconscious, the memory never stopped hurting. Especially when he up and left you to deal with it on your own.

“I know,” is all he can muster. 

A thrilling laugh of spite rips from your throat. He hates it.

“What? That’s all you can say? You can’t even give me an explanation?”

“I… I was out of options for us, Y/N. After the mission, I knew it was me making you vulnerable. People were hurting you over me, and I didn’t want that for us anymore. I made a plan to leave, and I thought that you could come with me… but I was stupid and in a rush and the deal was only for my cooperation if the Agency helped me out. They wouldn’t let me take you.”

Your usual crisp verbosity fails you now, everything you need to say stuck in your throat. A stabbing anguish falls like bullets in a downpour, a storm born only in the bitterest winter. 

“I know I fucked up, Y/N, I know I did. And I’ll always be sorry and I’ll always regret it. And I’ll spend every second of my life trying to make up for it.” Jeon’s lip quivers through his shaky breaths, his eyes now soaked, the ache in his heart unforgiving. “And I know I can’t ever take it back, but you hate me so bad…”

A pained upturn of your lips feeling the grudge of a thousand wrongdoings phases over your expression, for him, for you, for everyone you’d ever known in this sickening lifetime.

“I don’t hate you, Gguk,” you sob through your teeth, wiping furiously at your eyes, “I hate… I hate that I love you regardless of what you do.”

He winces. “Please don’t do that to me.” “Do what?”

Hot streams of tears trickled down his supple cheeks, voice cracking as he whispers, “Say that you love me when you know how I feel.”

“Oh shut up, Jeongguk!” you yell, wet rage prickling your veins as it courses through you. Your cheeks are now just vessels for a dam breaking loose. “I have always loved you!”

And it hurts so bad to say it. The way he makes your stomach flutter feels like a betrayal to yourself. But that smile he wears like a medallion, those eyes that are always searching for you, that golden heart that loved you so well - everything you hate is everything you love. Even when you want to ignore the truth for everything it’s worth and all the weight it heaves on its shoulders, it’s impossible to escape the way you love him even when you wish you could just hate him.

You calm yourself with a shaky breath. “I loved you before, and I loved you after, even when you left and I knew you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s not true,” he sputters, taking a step toward you. “I was always going to come back. Every day, I begged for help to get you out. But the deal I made with the agency was only my rescue for my cooperation, and it didn’t include you, no matter what I tried to do.”

It stings your chest. You have to turn away when your head drops to your palms, but he’s quick to reach a hand to your shoulder for your attention. 

“It’s been over three years, Gguk,” you whisper, sniffling as you wipe your running nose with your sleeve. Your voice is clogged in disappointed acceptance. “Don’t lie. Just say my relevance to you faded and you forgot.”

He grasps your arm gently, beckoning your eyes to meet his. While your tears are slowing from tire, his are an endless faucet left on in negligence.

“No,” his tone softens, “No, I was waiting until it was safe.”

You shake your head, the soreness in your chest present as ever as you try to hold it all in. “It was never going to be safe.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t ever be. But you have to let me make it right.”

“How do you intend on doing that? Putting snacks in the fridge doesn’t do shit, Gguk.”

He inhales deeply as his lips press together. Jeon takes a careful glance around the room, eyebrows furrowing as he silently pleads with you. 

“I made a plan to get you out after the mission is completed. The higher-ups at the Agency agreed just in exchange for you to give a private report with as much as you know for future reference. From there, it’s you going wherever you want, no strings attached, no extra deal you have to make.”

“That won’t work,” you scoff.

“Yes, it will! I promise it will! Listen, everything is already planned. My friends are taking extra care because they trust me. You’ll have new records, a new passport and a license, new everything, and even…”

“Gguk...” You whisper as he continues rambling. “Gguk. Jeongguk!”

He takes in a sharp breath as his words are cut off mid-stream, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

In a quiet, calm whisper, you explain, “I can’t. I have Penny and other people here that I care about. For god sake, I have money I've been saving for years in that apartment, all our stuff is there, I can’t just leave and not come back.”

The desperation in his voice is now out in the open. “I know. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m working on her now, too. You just have to trust me.”

For a second, he lets himself swell with hope, but your deep, despondent sigh crumbles him right back down to where he started. 

“Gguk…” you start, but he can’t bear to hear it, leaning down to meet your hesitant eyes straight on. Distress clouds his watery pupils as he implores you with every ounce of sincerity he can muster to the surface for you. He doesn’t know how else he can make you see he’s being more honest now than he ever has been in his life. 

“It’s okay if you can’t forgive me. I understand, and I’ll never stop being sorry. And, and I’m sorry for how I acted when I saw you again, but I was just so scared.” His lip trembles as he searches for eyes for something, anything. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do because I was so scared of what you’d say and how you’d feel and I thought if I acted like it was fine, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” 

He swallows on a dry mouth, trying not to stammer but his heart denying him that ability.

“I, I thought about you every day. Every day. And I knew it was complicated and everyone told me I should just let go and, and I just couldn’t! I just knew it was you. It was always you. And I am so, so sorry I made you feel it wasn’t.”

By now, you can’t restrain your tears, no matter how hard you clench your teeth or comfort your face. In a moment of deep affliction, there’s no other place to turn but him. The second you pull him to you is relief synonymous with the feeling of when a battered castaway finally spots a plane coming for their rescue; it is joint. 

“I wish I could trust you, Jeongguk,” Sobs muffled by his comforting chest, you cry, ”But I don’t know if I can do that. I want to believe you so bad, but I… I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

The comforting warmth of his body is a mean juxtaposition against the harsh sobs that rack through it. Jeongguk smells of something sweet and nostalgically familiar, like sunny beach days spent down by the salty water, plucking seashells from the sand and digging for hermit crabs once the waves pull away from the shore. Light sunscreen and grainy memories that flash by as your brain slides through like film.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles into your hair. Your will splinters in his arms. “Just think about it. That’s all. Just think about it.”

Though you nod against him in shaky assent, it’s not a promise. 

☆☆☆

Not the next day, but the day after, is when you decide to make your move. 

The casino is a home base, hidden in plain sight. Not even that - crowded by the public eye, and yet not a suspicion raised despite its astronomical numbers being reported over the past few months. Sure, it was bustling full of rich men in need of something to spend their money on, but not enough to sustain those incredible reports.

And under that brittle, flimsy assumption comes your similarly brittle, flimsy plan. Go in, see what you can see. Scout for suspicious activity, chat up drunk patrons and loosen their lips, explore the building a bit. See what you see.

Your fingers are nimble, but your prickling nerves make them fumble as you try the clasp on your necklace. The nail on your pointer can’t seem to hold the small lever down for long enough, even when you twist the chain around so you can lean forward to do it in the mirror. You even consider just tossing it to the side and going without the necklace.

Jeon, standing awkwardly to the side and already having fixed his sleeves in place countless times, glances over to you in the mirror briefly. You sigh when you catch his hesitant watch in the reflection - his shy offer goes unspoken, just a reminder that it’s there if you want to take it. All it takes is a minuscule top of your head to give in.

 Resisting Jeongguk is like resisting gravity. It pulls you down sooner or later, no matter how high or far you push yourself off. But at the end of the day, it keeps you grounded.

His footsteps are barely audible on the carpet as he approaches timidly. Light on his feet, as always. You surrender the ends of the necklace to him and tug the pendant back around to the front. The pads of his fingertips are rough as they drag lightly across your skin in the exchange, igniting a flaming feeling in their path. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as he pushes them out of the way with the back of his hand. Considering his extensive training and incredible eye, you’re sure he notices it, but you’re grateful he doesn’t say anything.

You try not to let your eyes wander in the mirror for too long. For your excursion tonight, your dress is one of the best you own - a simple, dark satin gown with a generous leg slit to steal some eyes, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. The deep cowl neck is flattering in its pristine v-shape, especially with the way the pendant hangs itself just above.

Jeon is sporting all black. His shirt is ironed smoothly, fitting well over his shoulders and tucked with care into his trousers and secured with a sturdy belt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal his skin, tattoos peeking out in a shamelessly appealing way, and the collar…

Okay, too much. You’ll go into sensory overload if you look any longer. He’s caught onto it, the way a smirk creeps onto his face. He lingers a second longer after he’s clasped the jewelry in place. The Gguk you know flicks his eyes up quickly and throws a small, short smile your way, hands reluctant to pull away as they take the time to drift over your bare shoulders.

You clear your throat, taking the initiative to get on your way. He hides the way his spirit dips at the rejection, but he knows he can’t expect more. Once you’re outside and have locked the door behind you, the night air hits you, cool and fresh and promising. But for what exactly, you can’t be sure.

☆☆☆

The Belvedere is one of the most expensive-looking places in the city - in the months since you’d last worked a case around the gambling district, it had certainly been renovated. At the very front, the casino’s name glows light blue in a thin font while large ivory columns hold up a wide intricate ceiling to shade the pavilion. A wall of luxe glass doors lines the entrance, so sparkly and reflecting you think it can’t be just glass. 

As inviting as the front entrance seems, it is not your way in. Too many scrutinizing eyes, too many cautious cameras, too much security for your type of job. That leads you to the side of the building, a small alley between buildings with one side entrance. The agency already looped the footage twenty minutes ago just to be safe.

But of course when you try it, it’s locked.

“And… what now? They’ll notice if we just break in.”

Jeon shrugs. “Maybe not until a little while. Besides, we’re covered.” His pointer finds the camera up above the two of your for reference.

“I’d rather hold off on the damage we do.”

As he racks his brain for another option, your brain tunes in to the muted sound of shoes on linoleum. He raises a question just as you put your ear to the door but your shush quiets him immediately. The footsteps are coming your way.

Just as you feel the door about to open, you tug Jeon to the side next to the door’s hinge, pulling him down by his collar into a kiss. The door opens loudly and his hands, after his initial shock dissipates, find themselves on your waist as your own snake their way around his neck. You make sure one hand covers the side of his face generously and that your hair masks your own, meanwhile Jeon can’t help himself from getting swept up in you.

A guard, you think it is, halts when he sees the two of you, but takes it off his radar when he can no longer stand to watch your shamelessness. Or rather, Jeon’s shamelessness. His lips persistently press themselves to yours, nipping and pulling all the while his large hands push into your waist. Something about it makes you think it’s not just for a distraction.

The man shakes his head and turns the opposite direction, walking out toward the street. Before the heavy door falls closed behind him, you reach an arm out to grab the handle. Jeon pulls back slowly, blinking dumbfoundedly. He never thought you’d do such a thing - but clearly, it wasn’t such a thing to you by the way you were grinning like you’d only told a joke. He swallows, mentally slapping himself in a note to get himself together. You’re already stepping inside, and he picks up to follow suit.

You follow the hallway down the main room, and no one raises any concern, probably unable to sense suspicion in their state of inebriation. The two of you weave your way through crowds of people with too much money to spend, quietly thinking of how easy it would be to pickpocket them - but that’s for another time. 

A quick scan of the room provides you with the bar, rows of slot machines, pool tables, and a large lounge area filled with the sounds of mindless chatter and glasses clinking. You order drinks to blend in, nothing alcoholic, because as much as you wish you could get drunk and have fun in a casino, that wasn’t the reason you were here. Jeon hands you your coke with a practiced movement.

In a cheesy sort of cheers, he says, “To… the Lion and the Scorpion? Or is that too soon?” He purses his lips, half scared you’ll agree its too soon. It’s relief when he hears the laugh he missed so dearly.

“Not too soon, just a little embarrassing.” You clink your glass to his and take a sip. Jeon leads you over to the dartboards in excitement, one of his favorites to partake in. He chooses the one at the end of the row so you can stand beside him, supposedly to be impressed by his skills and praise him.

“God, this reminds me of Macau,” he sighs out contently. His coffee eyes roam around the large expanse of the hall, seeming to glitter under the crystal chandeliers hanging above you as he walks back from the controls, darts in hand. He gets into position and throws his first, landing for two points in the ring of red. As if you didn’t already know, he adds, “I loved Macau.”

You scoff. “What, because of the way our covers were blown and we had to massacre the lobby, or the sex?”

“Why not both?” He shrugs, smirk creeping onto his face. Another dart leaves his grip, expert aim leading right to the bullseye.

You take another sip of your drink. “Careful,” you warn, “Can’t be too good at this. It comes with questions.”

He hums, and you wonder if he’s even listening. “And you still had blood on your chest. Weirdly sexy.” His eyes narrow jokingly as he speaks just low enough so only you can hear it, and the reaction it pulls from you is exactly what he wanted when he starts to laugh. He lets go of his last dart with a shake of his head, either at the memory or his bad throw that says he’s going fishing.

He turns back to you. At your annoyed expression, he takes another swig of his drink and leans down to your ear. “Seriously though. That was hot.”

You roll your eyes before sending a scowl his way. “I’ll make sure to be extra messy tonight, just for you.” Your eyes crinkle peevishly. The sarcastic tone doesn’t escape him, but he does look hopeful.

“Hey, speaking of, this could be my New Macau. If you’re feeling frisky after the mission.” He throws you a flirtatious wink. While your poker face implies disinterest, your stomach is somersaulting head over heels, and you have a feeling he knows it by the way his eyes linger on you when you raise your glass to your lips. 

The phone in your purse vibrates. It’s a text from Yeji - need to get a move on. Jeon already has your gaze when you look back to meet him, but he knows it’s time from your expression alone. With a small nod, he goes up to end the game on the machine’s screen. Instead of coming back to you, though, he subtly taps your arm as he walks past and heads off to the door of the main floor, disappearing from your sight. You wait for a good thirty seconds, let people pass across the camera view at random, before hopping down from the barstool to follow in his footsteps.

You find him waiting in a secluded hallway, away from crowds or casino-regulars. He looks solemn, back pressed against the wall, and you have a feeling that what he has to say might upset you. He thinks so, too.

“Listen, you have to make a decision now. Before we split up, because there’s a chance I might not see you after this.”

You shrug. “I haven’t decided yet.” His eyebrows draw together as he gives you a pleading expression. His eyes flick to both sides of the hall before coming back to you, releasing a deep breath before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“I gave you the time, Y/N. You have to before it’s too late.” Jeon gulps, fumbling for the words. “Just come with me, please. I know it’s a lot to ask and I know you’re scared but you can trust me. I can help you.”

“No, Gguk. You don’t get it - It’s not possible. It’s not an option.” You sigh in resignation. A depleted smile surfaces as you shake your head. “Not in this life.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You did it once, you can do it again.”

“I’m not… I- I won’t. Y/N, please…” His lip quivers, his eyes glossing over.

He can’t accept the answer your silence provides. It’s not enough, not something he’s willing to endure. If it’s going to be a no, he has to hear it loud and clear.

He purses his lips tight. “I’ll flip a coin then.”

“...What?”

“I’ll flip a coin. Heads, you come with me. Tails, I’ll go,” he says shakily, swallowing, “...and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s wiping away the tears that have not yet had the chance to escape and aggressively fishing a quarter from his pocket, placing it on the tip of his thumb. Desperation burns in him, but you’re paralyzed. All you can do is stare, a fish out of water being held in the grip of an angler who just can’t let go. Or maybe one that’s urging you back out to sea.

His thumb flicks and the coin flies, the sound barely audible in this corner of the building but piercing to your ears. It flips in the air, every rotation executed with purpose - in that moment, as its arc nearly completes, the thought strikes you like lightning and without a second thought, you hand reaches up and snatches it midair.

Jeon is awestruck. He searches for something to say as his fountain of hope runs dry.

Weakly, you mutter, “Okay.” Its compliance, but a strange relief that makes you feel guilty the second it washes over you.

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

A tight-lipped smile spreads on his face - it’s the best he can do after such stress. In a heartbeat, he embraces you tightly, broad shoulders enveloping your form. His grip is familiar and only full of good things, even if it might suffocate you. His long, wavy locks brush lightly against your jaw as he buries his face in your neck. For once, you let yourself have that rare moment of comfort. 

“I won’t let you down,” he says, a vocal assurance for himself maybe more than for you. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t say it, but he has to. “I promise.” 

It’s his first small triumph tonight. If nothing else, it is a debt repaid. He won’t push for more. He pulls back, lets you fix your hair and readjust your dress.

“Let’s get a move on. I’ll search the main floor, you take a look around the building. Keep in touch.”

You’re about to turn away from him, but his arm catches your wrist at the last second. When you look back to see what he has to say, he has trouble finding the right words.

“Listen… Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but I have this awful feeling. And I’m trying to ignore it, I know I’m probably just nervous, but I just want you to know in case. You don’t have to say anything…”

The hair framing your face bounces as your head begins to shake, trying to deny him before he can even say it. “No, Gguk, I know-”

“No. I...I love you. And you gotta know that, no matter what happens.” His thumb traces small circles on the patch of skin where yours meets your index. Before you have a chance to respond, he gives your hand a tight squeeze and plants a chaste kiss to your cheek, lips plush and sweet against your dimple, his last action as your token of remembrance. 

He doesn’t know why he feels so frail as he walks away, wiping away the wetness leaking from his eyes as he tries to calm himself down. Maybe it’s the lack of information, maybe it’s you possibly being in danger again. He tries to push it down as he struggles to resist the urge to look back at you; He’s just all up in his head, right? You can defend yourself, you’ll be fine without him, he reassures himself. You can make rope from kitchen twine.

You’re stuck on your own as the distance between you grows, heart racing as your time to say it back runs out like sand in an hourglass. In less than seconds, his figure has already disappeared around the corner.

A delicate finger reaches up to press the small button on the spyware piece tucked behind your ear. The whisper is low but you mean every syllable, regardless of the leftover turmoil that has consistently tempted you into anger the past few years - “I love you, Jeongguk.”

It’s a shot in the dark for you without his physical presence, but he hears it. It’s barely audible, but he hears it, and rings in his mind for moments after. It makes him feel right, like the moment when everything sifts into the bowl perfectly, no clumps of doubt left behind in the minuscule metal crosshatches. Even if just for a few seconds, the feeling of relief stays frozen in time.

You’re on your way back to the main hall when a buzz from your purse alerts you to an unknown number calling your phone. Typically you’d let it ring, thinking it was spam - but considering this was an agency phone, that wouldn’t make much sense. Your finger hovers over the green accept button, hesitantly pressing down and lifting it to your ear. 

The response is immediate. “The Scorpion,” a man on the other end addresses you, sounding much too enthusiastic for your taste. His voice is masked with a changer, the tone fluctuating as he speaks. “I’m glad you could make it tonight. I’ve spent a lot to make this place nice.”

The theatrics elicit an impatient eye roll from you. “Who is this?”

“Who do you think? You’re a smart cookie. There’s a reason they call you the Scorpion, isn’t there?”

He lets the pause marinate and continues, “I actually wanted to meet with you. I need to discuss something vital to you in person, but you’ll have to do some things for me first.”

You begin to turn around, spinning on your heels and intent on heading to Jeongguk downstairs, but the voice on the phone stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze, an eyebrow raising at the voice’s inquiry. Keen eyes scan quickly, landing on the faceless lens of a security camera - 

“It’s my casino. Of course I can see what you’re doing.”

A skeptical breath escapes you, squinting at the camera focused on your position. “...What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” It’s casual.

“How do I know it’s not a trap?” “You don’t. But you don’t have any other option, really. If you need convincing… why don’t you check your home security?”

The dubious persona falters as your heart stops. It couldn’t be. You exit the call and open the app on your phone right away, and a sinking feeling hits you like a truck on the freeway, full speed and with reckless abandon. The view from the camera, grey and grainy, displays the apartment in pieces, furniture overthrown and papers scattered. The dread crawls up your spine as your worst nightmare, the one thing you always prayed for despite the lack of faith, comes to life; Penny is gone.

You call the number back.

“What now?” you say, jaw clenched. trying to calm your breathing.

“Take out your earpiece, toss it to the floor, and crush it. I need to protect my location somehow, right? Just a precaution.”

You slowly remove the receiver from its spot nestled in around your ear, thumbing the tiny matte black tech. It’s your connection to the outside, to safety. It’s your connection to Jeongguk. But the Falcon has played his cards right, leaving you with no other option. It falls from your fingertips, clatters to the linoleum, and you crush it underneath your heel.

“Now, your weapons. My guards will come to escort you - hand over your gun and any knives you may have on you. I know you’re sneaky, but now… really isn’t the time. I’ll see you in a bit.” A cold click ends the call and he’s gone.

On cue, two masked men dressed in all black emerge. They don’t frighten you, you know you could take them if you needed to. However, the priority is Penny, so you have to. You surrender your weapons and phone to them, and then they begin to shuffle you away to wherever the Falcon had made his nest.

Despite the nerves prickling like electric shocks, uneasiness itches in the back of your mind. Something about the phone call - was it the strange familiarity that made you feel so nauseous? You couldn’t quite place your finger on what was so off, on what about it pulled the alarm, but something besides the obvious situation at hand was wrong.

☆☆☆

Jeongguk doesn’t have much to go off of. He’s looking for something, anything, that can clue him in. He finds a creepy looking stairwell and decides to take it down. That’s how you find everything in need of being found, right? By following what feels off?

He comes to a storage room full of dusty metal shelves, all lined with boxes upon boxes. He takes a quick sweep of the room, shrugging to himself before delving into one. It’s just piles of text he doesn’t understand, pages and pages of orders and receipts dating back years and years. Maps of the building, information of repairs and inventory and renovations. It doesn’t mean anything useful, until he sees orders under names that ring a bell.

But from where? People he went to school with, maybe? For the life of him, he can’t remember where he knows them from.

He’s frantically flipping through pages, pulling boxes from the shelves and trying his best to read under the dim light. It’s not making any sense, until he lands on orders filed under the name… Jeon?

He freezes, all alone in the middle of a storage room full of thousands of documents, a sickly feeling washing over him.

A trembling hand reaches up to press the button on his earpiece.

“Y/N? I think I just found something.”

He waits, and no response from you.

“...Y/N?”

☆☆☆

The penthouse is in the heart of the city, just a few blocks away from the Belvedere. The view is enough to tell it to you - it overlooks miles of blinking lights and busy streets with which you have an archetypal love-hate relationship with. 

You’ve stepped fresh off the elevator into an open room that is in dire need of an interior decorator, or at the very least some basic furnishing. It’s basically empty, the dark hardwood floors even coated with a light layer of dust. Nothing except the moon and the fireplace at the other end of the room illuminate the space.

There’s shuffling, and the guards on either side of you are grabbing firmly onto your arms.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You struggle against them, fighting to get out of their grip, but one of them mutters how it’ll be better for you if you cooperate. You strain against the instinct to escape, every bone in your body screaming disgusted by the forced submission. Handcuffs click into place, and pressure on your shoulders pushes you to your knees. Then, they resign themselves to the back corners of the room.

A door creaks open at the far side of the room. The man sports a dark coat that obscures his figure, and long, dark hair hangs over the man’s face. His steps are slow and calculated on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the fire. Slender, practiced fingers grab onto the poker and stir the fire, glowing orange embers soaring in a blizzard of an inferno. A silver ring glints in the moonlight - one you’d recognize anywhere.

The details flood back, chains of connections like dominoes tipping over the edge of gut-wrenching betrayal - 

“...Boss?”

The man pauses, followed by a sudden clasp of his hands in… delight?

He spins on the heel of his oxfords to face you, hair sweeping back as he smiles at you.

“Keen as ever, my dear. You truly are the Scorpion. I know how you feel about your title, but you’re deserving of it.” 

A shaky breath leaves your throat, eyes stinging as you make out a low, “What is this?”

At the sight of your panic, the boss hurries over to you, making a show of how he takes your jaw in his hands. Though you flinch, he wipes the escaping tear with a calloused thumb.

“No, dear, no need to cry! This doesn’t have to be difficult. You are just leverage - you won’t be hurt as long as what needs to happen, happens.” The way he shakes his head, the twisted compassion in his eyes, makes you sick.

“Then where’s Penny?”

His sigh is accompanied by a sad smile. “Penny is the leverage over you. In case you get any funny ideas.”

“For what? What is this about?” you press, “What about the Syndicate, huh? Aren’t you gonna tell me what this is for?”

A rush of air, and then a sharp pressure on your throat. The Boss’s blade creeping up your throat - a small burn as he nicks your skin. 

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you. You should remember where your loyalties lie.”

You swallow thickly, and he continues.

“The Syndicate is real. Their presence in this city is real - but we are on good terms with them. I help them, they help me. They sacrifice a few men because they do what’s needed for the terms of the agreement, just like us.”

He blew up a building, ransacked the agency, led you on a wild goose chase in search of a threat that didn’t exist? There was always something psychotic about the Boss, that’s why he instilled so much fear in you - his lack of empathy, the lengths he’d go just for a show of power, but a ploy like this?

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

He scoffs. “It’s not about you, my dear. It never was. It’s about your connection to who it is about…”

His grin grows inverse to your pained frown, lips quivering as the realization dawns on you. “Jeongguk.”

“You’re the link, Y/N. I know how much you hate to love him. Only if you were forced to for the sake of the city. The reconnection wouldn’t be easy, but that boy is persistent, and the moment he heard you say those words back, it was sealed.”

You’re choked by the weight of his words crashing down on your throat. It’s horrifying, the way the tears well up and spill recklessly, finding it hard to breathe with your arms restrained. You focus your hardest on the effort to stay conscious, but the nausea is eating away at you.

“He was honest, too. He’s tried multiple times to fish you out of here. And it always rubbed me the wrong way. He’ll leave me behind, but not you? You’re my best, Y/N, but I despise you simply because of what your existence means.”

“You’re going to kill him?” you bite your lip to hold back the sob trying to crawl its way from your chest.

The Boss blinks, tilting his head in a faked compassion. “Only if he makes the same mistake again.”

An alert sounds out from his pocket. He fishes out his phone and holds it up to show you a map with a green dot steady on a location, seemingly yours.

“And it looks like we’ll find out right about… now.”

The elevator behind you opens, and the guards point their guns straight at the figure stepping off. His gun is held up protectively, but he has nowhere to go, face falling as he reads the situation - reads the pain on your face as you stare back at him on the floor.

He lowers his pistol, glaring at the man waiting smugly in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, Jeongguk.”

His lip turns down in disgust, spitting rancor - 

“Can’t say the same for myself, Dad.”

☆☆☆

The tension in the air is tight, like a thousand strings of yarn pinned wall to wall and floor to ceiling and impossible to maneuver. The Boss tsks at the cold reunion, more bitter than he had hoped. 

“What, you didn’t miss me all these years? I raised you, after all.”

“Raised me?” Jeongguk scoffs incredulously. “Try training me into your personal pawn, like some fucked up trophy for you to flaunt.”

“It was only so you could someday take my spot, son. I treated you the same way my father did me.”

The bitter timbre of his voice is laced with venom, so uncharacteristic of the Jeongguk you know. “Well, I worked out my daddy issues with a therapist. Maybe you should give it a shot. You should also probably mention how fucked up you are to plan a scheme like this just to bring me here.”

“You left, Jeongguk. I’d do anything for my son.”

“Oh, please-”

A loud click, and cool metal pressed against your forehead. Jeongguk freezes, and he knows the stakes. His blood boils from the blatant manipulation. There was a reason he left - he hated feeling this exact moment, and he hated reliving it even more. It was a place he thought he’d never be in again.

The Boss rolls his eyes again. “Always with something to say, forgetting I’m your elder, your father no less. Plan on letting me speak soon?”

His eyes are as cool as Jeongguk’s now. Dark, disappeared from dramatic frills or drawn-out tones. The resemblance is stunning, strikes fear in your heart, both physical and the mannerisms long-buried by time now resurfaced by each other.

When you meet the Boss’s eyes, they show no remorse for someone he claimed thinks of as his best.

Jeongguk’s eyes flick down and back up. Cooperation.

“Thank you.” He pulls the gun away, letting you catch a breath. “It’s simple, son. You agree to come back, and everything goes smoothly. If not, you won’t be leaving this room alive, and neither will she. Can’t have my trump cards playing against me.”

“Leave her out of this.”

“She’s the reason you’re here, how could I leave her out of this?”

“This is you and me. Not her.”

His father muses the idea, chews it up, spits it out. “Okay,” he grins. “Just us. I’d say go until one surrenders, but that’s not how us Jeons do it. If you can kill me, you’re free to do what you want.”

The guards lower their weapons, leaving the room at a snap of the Boss’s fingers, and Jeongguk’s grip on his tightens, knuckles turning white as he nods sharply in agreement. He’s been caught, a three-year-long game of cat and mouse finally come to a standstill. The man he looks at is just another cruel, cold-hearted crook on a power trip. The last thing he wants to do is fight him, because as skilled as Jeongguk might be, his father is equally such. He also has the upper hand: No feelings of remorse.

But he sees you on the floor, and when it comes to your life on the line, he knows he’d do anything. No matter the risk or the cost, he’d play a losing hand if he had to, if just to keep the fear from your mind. He steps past you, eyes speaking of reassurance when they meet yours, but it’s not a promise. 

Once Jeongguk has made his way around you to the center of the room, the Boss’s attention falls to you.

“Hear that, dear? This is a family issue. But in case you need any more convincing…”

The same door he creaked through minutes ago flies open, and in shuffles two people. Penny’s figure mirrors your own, arms tied behind her back. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled. There’s no blood or bruising visible, but it kills you the second you lay eyes on her. Your chest heaves silently, panic rising as she is brought in front of the fireplace, led by… Yeji?

The sleek, dark ponytail is unmistakable, and her cat eyes flick over to you in guilt as your words confirm her presence.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths, tears clouding her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

It was impossible to believe how easily everything was collapsing. Maybe your foundations were not as strong as you once thought. Wasn’t it just a week ago you had last spoken to her, taken her advice on working with Jeongguk?

“Again. No need for anyone to get hurt as long as you don’t interfere.”

But would Yeji hurt Penny, even at the Boss’s command? Was she that scared of him? Penny finds you, and you try your best to communicate reassurance, but you fall short. She trembles in fear the same as you.

Without warning, the Boss’s blade flies across the room. Jeongguk side steps, but the red gash sliced along his cheek taunts him for being a second too late. He reaches up a finger to dab at the blood in awe.

His anger fuels him forward. He raises his gun, ringing out shots that bury themselves in the drywall as he closes the gap. The Boss dodges each one. Slender fingers pull the gun from its holster, firing back immediately, glass shattering behind the younger.

Jeongguk zig zags on his feet, blade swinging up viciously at his father while he pulls the trigger in his left hand. The Boss is quick despite his age, no hesitation to his wide, ruthless swings. Jeongguk ducks and spins, changing their positions, knocking a knife from his grasp.

The man laughs. “That was good, but you can do better!” he yells, evading Jeongguk’s relentless swipes. As he taunts, a shard of glass reaches your vicinity. “Or are you too scared to hurt your old man?”

Your fingers bleed hot as you force the shard into the keylock, lifting up the metal lever.

It only fuels Jeongguk’s fire. A firm kick to the chest sends the Boss stumbling back. Jeongguk progresses, his knife dropping around in his grip, taking the slim moment to drive a sharp ice pick stab to his father's shoulder.

His eyes flick to you, and he doesn’t have the time to pull it back out. His father parries his left wrist outward and the gun is knocked from his fingertips, skidding to the floor, arriving kindly right in front of you. A single shot blasts out and Jeongguk lets out a clipped yelp. Your wrists free from the lock and reach for the solution just inches away.

But it’s already checkmate. The Boss’ blade is pressed up against Jeongguk’s throat, who is on his knees as he clutches at his thigh, crimson seeping through his fingers.

“Has the Lion been tamed since I last saw him?” The Boss mocks. There is nowhere for Jeongguk to go. “I’m disappointed, son. Love has made you weak.”

It steals the breath from your lungs. His eyes dart to your figure, mirroring his son’s actions just moments ago. He dares you to make a move. With his play, you can’t.

But that’s where the Boss is wrong. The man void of love sees it as a shot with a predetermined course from point A to point B, easily interfered with by the right tools, by the right move. However, love should not be mistaken for something meager. It’s an ever-weaving thread, crossing and connecting each and every way. Love does not have to be star-crossed and dire, it is not always a fated, tragic romance. There is no one love to outlast all others - not when it can be one you choose.

Yeji meets your eyes from across the room. The Boss has only a bluff catcher against her, the mistake of expecting loyalty before knowing for sure. It’s a twisted collusion that you never would have chosen, but it’s not your hand to play anymore.

Her vision is blurry through her tears. Yeji takes a breath she’s sure will be her last and releases it shakily. She has to do it now. She thinks of every other woman roped into his scheme, every future Penny that will be taken if it doesn’t end here, and she knows you can do it, because she was never strong enough to.

“Forgive me,” she croaks. 

An enraged bellow leaves the Boss, but all too late. She has already fired, breaking the lock that has held you captive all these years. A scream rips from your throat as Penny’s body falls forward and collapses to the hardwood.

Yeji is shredded by the entourage of bullets ripping from the Boss’s gun. She stumbles back, hits the wall, sinks to the floor.

Your hands instinctively reach for the weapon in front of you, hands fumbling as you pull the trigger with the weight of a thousand lives behind your index alone. The Boss falls, knife slipping from his fleeting grip, the third and final seal to the game.

The silence is stunning. Nothing feels real. It’s all shock before the pain rushes in, the inability to breath, the feeling of drowning. It’s utter anguish as you fight to the other side of the room, but Jeongguk holds you back. Pushing past him, only for him to spin you around and make you look him in the eye.

“We have to go,” he says through gritted teeth, voice cracking. His eyes plead with you as they blink away tears. Blood coats his hands, urgently dripping down his wrists as they grip yours. “Y/N, we have to go.”

 It dawns just as the day on the glowing horizon behind him that it’s over, but there is no victory in sight.

☆☆☆

The coming days are a whirlwind. Most of the time you’re numb, finding yourself stuck in your mind replaying memories over and over, and wincing to pull yourself out of them to the real world that is not much better. The funerals are a blur, long and tiring processions of black and sympathies you are not capable of accepting that leave your head pounding by the time you finally can sleep. But the dream world is not as kind to you as you would have hoped. 

It isn’t the memory of her death. It’s the memory of her smile, bright and tender, that could not see another day to shine. You haven’t stepped foot in the apartment yet. You will at some point, but not yet.

Yeji is another story. It’s a moral dilemma of what your inner compass tells you is wrong and your love for the only friend you ever had. Yeji was not bad, you know that. But it was murder, and perhaps that was why it did not go unpunished. Were her actions the results of weakness, or strength? Of personal desire, or wide-scale consideration? You could spend hours wondering whether things might have been different if she hadn’t done it, but at the end of the day, you would never get the chance to know. 

In the meantime, the mafia is collapsing. Those who wanted to leave took their chance the second the news of the Boss’s death came in. Ran away to other cities, shelters, anywhere they could to get away from the struggle of the organization. Others who had nothing else are stranded picking up the pieces. They won’t be able to make a comeback, you know that. They’ll turn to other forms of crime, maybe even those that you’ll have to face again in the future.

You can get away from it all for a few moments of peace, but not much more.

Jeongguk’s apartment is close to the marina. He’s lucky for such a beautiful view. This early in the morning, the world is silent, relaxing without the mindless bustling of life. Boats float calmly across the harbor, sails reaching up to the sky streaked with blossoming pinks and clement oranges. Daybreak’s retiring light glitters as it touches the surface of the water with a gentle hand.

The glass door slides open slowly behind you, and Jeongguk’s presence enters to calm your thoughts. The slight limp in his step is barely visible, and he’s lucky that his father’s bullet avoided his femoral artery. If it did, he’d probably be in a much more dire situation than he has now. Since that night, rumors have surfaced that the Boss missed due to nervousness, or fear. Jeongguk knows that his father’s aim was too sharp to miss, and also that he was a hypocrite.

He takes a seat in the chair beside yours. His hair is mussed from a long night of tossing and turning, the same as yours.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mutter, tongue coated with exhaust.

He hums. “Me neither.”

The flux of air from his sturdy chest is a comfort that relieves the pain for just a little while. Lifts it away like a fog being cleared, and the weight falls off your shoulders so you can breathe again. His eyes swim with affection, and you’re sure that a thousand particles of stardust must be locked away behind his irises.

It never fails to amaze you how Jeongguk always seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

“I know.” It’s weak, barely a whisper. Your head drops to your palms despite your claim. “But it really feels like it.”

He takes a deep breath, atmosphere placid and unassuming. “You did everything you could. Some things are just out of your control, no matter what you do. It’s not fair, but just because you couldn’t stop something bad from happening doesn’t mean you caused it.”

You swallow blearily. “I just don’t even know where to go from here. It’s never going to be the same. So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know,” he speaks gingerly, “Maybe you should get out of here. Start again, somewhere else. I’ll probably do the same eventually.”

Your head begins to shake at the thought.

“I don’t want you to go,” you pause. “I told you that.”

Jeongguk softens. “Oh… okay. I, I won’t then.”

Finally, your head raises to see him properly. His calm guise masks the need of reassurance beneath. “I mean it. Do you remember when you said to tell you the next time so it didn’t land on what I didn’t want?”

He nods slowly.

“When it was in the air, there was just this split second watching it that it hit me. I knew what I wanted. Despite everything,” the corners of your mouth upturn, but not all that happily, “I wanted to choose you.”

Dark, wavy hair falls in front of his eyes, brushing at the healing cut that will certainly leave a scar. His gaze is tender and soft and all that’s good in this world. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And if you asked him, he wouldn’t hesitate to agree.

“I forgive you, Jeongguk. For everything, I don’t care. I’d go through it again and again if I had to.” A fleeting smile pushes the tears from their deep wells. “‘Cause I need you.”

Jeongguk suffered the subtle heartbreak of unknowing for years on end. He’d sit on his balcony just like this, mild evenings under the setting sun, knowing you were out there living under the same sky as him, yet so far apart. He thought of you crossing city streets, breathing the air of the home you loved and hated simultaneously, maybe even sitting out on the fire escape of your own apartment. You were within a radius of just miles, which sounds like nothing compared to how far he’d go for you. 

He saw you everywhere. Saw you in every crevice and crack of the city. When the sun was shining brightly, when rain poured like bullets. From the window of the train, from the coffee shop. Retracing his routine steps was hard when he always saw your footprints right beside his own.

It was the feeling he’d been waiting on. At last, he feels contentment in his chest. It’s all he’s ever wanted. His pulse stutters as he thinks that he might just be dreaming, but when he reaches out to touch your clasped hands, steady fingers curling over yours, he knows it’s real. You’re real. It’s pure, unadulterated sunshine splintering over his soul.

Jeongguk stands, holding out his hand for you to take. He pulls you up with care and tugs you into his embrace, warm and kind. His arms around you are safe and sound, and the gentle beat of his heart eases the noise in your mind. It’s the heart that wouldn’t quit on you, the one the angels must either admire or envy. It’s the only thing that feels okay.

One day, things will be better. It’s far away and hard to grasp, but it’s there, waiting for you. Things that are meant to be will find a way, no matter how long it takes, just as Jeongguk and you found your way to this very balcony. But for now, sharing the weight of a heavy heart soothes the lonesome burden of loss, and what it means to love.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 78: The Great Provider

Chapters: 78/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, Alarr Is A Little Bitch Now And Forever, Seriously Bull Cults Are Super Old, And Super Important

Summary:  You face the bull.

“There's a lot of people looking at me.” Your father whispered to you, fiddling nervously with a crumbling slice of dark buttered bread. “Your asshole beau got me good this time.”

Seated on the other side of you, Loki sighed. Of course he could hear, even with the din of the First Feast all around. You shook pepper onto a peeled, boiled egg.

“It wasn't planned like that.” You whispered back. “All of the humans are seated on this side, me included. The planners just thought you should be next to me.”

On the one hand, you were glad your father was acknowledging your relationship without major pushback. On the other hand, insulting a prince within earshot of that prince, and many of his vassals, was probably not such a good idea.

“I mean, I can ask them to change the seating order. Put you down at the farthest table, with a bunch of Asgardians you've never met.”

He shuddered. “You wouldn't. My own daughter wouldn't do that to me, her poor old father, who has so few years left to him. You wouldn't show such cruelty to a vulnerable old man.”

“Yeah, yeah, you've got one foot in the grave already. You could fall over dead any minute now. You're practically dust.”

“Well, that might be going a little far.” he huffed. “I've still got some vinegar in me.”

“You even talk like an old man.” you teased. “Besides, you don't get to pull the Old Man Card, and then complain because I play along. Make up your mind.”

You passed him a serving bowl full of bilberry porridge, and he dipped some out. One thing your father was always willing to do, was try new food.

“Speaking of, what counts as 'old' to these folks?” he asked. “You've been saying some stuff about that, but it seems unbelievable.”

“You gotta start believing this stuff, Dad.” you chided.” It's all real. I know it's hard. My head has been swimming for months. But it gets easier to accept the more you learn. Anyway, for an Asgardian, about five thousand puts someone firmly into the 'elderly' category, but for an Aesir, like the king, or Saga, or Loki, the sky is the limit. I can count the number of kings Asgard has had in it's whole history on one hand. They just live that long.”

“Five thousand? Damn. That's...That's like, pyramid building times, isn't it? Say...did they...?”

“No, they didn't build the pyramids. I already asked. And even if aliens did build them, it wouldn't have been Asgardians” you pointed out. “They would have been in the north, making, I dunno, runestones? Longships? Something like that. The people in the north never really did the large-scale monument building like they did in Egypt. But Asgardians sure did. You saw the paintings of the old palace?”

That thing that looked like a pipe organ? Yeah.”

“So, if they were building our monuments, they'd have looked like that, wouldn't they?”

“Okay, but what if it was different aliens? We know there's more than one kind of alien.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but...I never found out if the other gods of the world were aliens or not. But even if they were, I'm pretty sure the pyramids were built by humans, even if they were built for their gods.”

“They were.” Loki interrupted. “But they also made for interesting sight-seeing expeditions for many peoples across Yggdrasil, so yes, aliens visited Earth quite often in your distant past.”

Your father clammed up and glared. After a few awkward moments, Loki turned back to his plate, passing along a crumbly cheese that turned out to be similar to feta. You added some to your grain salad.

Just get through dinner, you thought to yourself. Why did the men in your life always have to be so difficult?

Time was left between courses for the making of toasts, and there was a lot of back and forth-between the Icelandic dignitaries praising the Asgardians for being such gracious hosts, and the Asgardians praising them for hosting all of Asgard in the first place. There were toasts for the Avengers in attendance, though they were somewhat subdued; the Maximoff girl was still a fairly controversial figure, Dr. Banner continued to be visibly uncomfortable with the attention, and the Vision was simply not as well known. But they were dutifully honored nonetheless, and then the humans of Trolerkaerhalla turned their adoration on you.

'The People's Seidkona', they called you. 'The bridge', and 'the Huldra shield'. Even 'the Sapphire Brand', a kenning Loki had invented for you, which made you wonder what he had been discussing with his worshipers when he was out working on the longhouses.

The dessert course was mixed dried fruit, cooked down into a compote and served over bread.

It was also the last course before the slaughter of the bull, for tomorrow's Second Feast.

You'd told Tara and your father about it, to mixed reactions. Tara was repulsed, but your father, who presumably saw more dead animals along the side of the road than you would be comfortable with, seemed to take it in stride.

“Someone has to do it.” he'd said, “They gotta get to the plate somehow. Sucks, I know. There's no way out of it?”

“It's tradition.” you'd sullenly explained. “And it's really old. Like, Proto-Indo-European old. Back when kings used to be worshiped and held responsible for everything. If the crops failed, they sacrificed him. So it was in a ruler's best interests to make sure his people were provided for. I think, eventually, the bull became a stand-in for the king. I don't know if the Asgardians influenced us in this case, or if it was the other way around, but there's a whole deep layer cake of symbolism involved, and I really do have to participate.”

The bull and the ruler. Symbols of power, fertility, plenty, and prosperity. It was poetic, in an ancient, rustic kind of way.

You had thought that you had it all together, but when you heard the bellowing sound of the bull somewhere close, and your heart clenched in your chest.

Suddenly dessert didn't taste so good.

                                                                              ******

There had been an arena built between tables for the bull to be driven into, with a raised platform that you were currently perched on, holding a goad with a trail of ribbons at the end. You would be enticing the bull towards you with the movement of the ribbons, and once it was within range, Loki would strike.

Then the beast would be butchered on the spot, to prepare for the next nights festivities. It would be very educational.

The human guests had been informed of what was about to happen, and of course, the Asgardians already knew, but they still cheered you on anyway. Skaldic students picked up a slow drum beat, that pulsed like a heart.

How many thousands of years worth of rulers and seidkonas doing this? Odin and Frigga had done it. Bor and Bestla had done it. Buri and Audhumla had not-the holiday hadn't been declared until after Buri's passing. But one had to assume that they all gazed out from Valhalla, within it's great black hole, and saw what their descendants were doing. Presumably, Buri could now see that two people who had no true relation to him, were now the ones honoring him. How would he feel about that?

The bull bellowed behind the gates, the sound echoing and distorting strangely. Loki lurked next to the platform, waiting. This wasn't going to be like a matador facing down an angry beast. This was going to be an ambush.

The gates slowly begin to open, and your adrenaline spiked into the sky.

Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes

The bull entered the arena and you froze in shock, almost completely forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

The bull was...wrong. It was completely still, standing on a board on wheels. It did not walk into the area, but was pushed. It's head was oddly textured, almost shiny, and strangely shaped. It bellowed again, weird and distorted, but did not open it's mouth.

Its strangeness blended into your anxiety, becoming a potent cocktail of revulsion and dread. Loki patted the platform next to you, and you started, jerking your ribbons to and fro. The bull bellowed one more time before Loki strode up to it, and, with one smooth and elegant swing, beheaded it.

There was no blood. The wound was hollow, and the head sprouted the legs of a child as soon as it hit the ground, running around and mooing irreverently to the amusement and obvious confusion of the audience.

It was fake. It was a fake bull. Loki had mentioned to you that you need not worry because he had taken care of her bull problem, but hadn't had time to elaborate before you'd had to scramble up the platform. You would have never guessed he meant this.

With a flourish, Loki whipped the tanned hide off the bull, revealing a hollow armature beneath, within which was an ice-covered table, piled up with cuts of meat, bowls of organs, piles of stew bones, and a bucket of blood. The bull reduced down to its edible parts, all ready for tomorrow's feast.

The drums stopped abruptly, the child who had been hiding in the paper-mache bulls head discarded it to the side and ran off into the cheering crowd, as people came forward to carry away the bits of bull.

Loki draped the bull's hide over his shoulders and helped you down from the platform.

“Did I not tell you?” he said smugly. “I took care of it for you. Truly, the symbolism is the most important part, and this speeds the process along so that we may get to the dancing all the sooner!”

“That was freaky as hell!” you scolded. “You shoulda told me it was gonna be a fake! I spent that whole time all bent out of shape because of it, ugh, what a lot of wasted sleep!”

“In my defense, I didn't find out that you were troubled about it until yesterday. I had only a limited time to come up with something.”

“And you decided to stuff a kid in a fake bull's head? That's what you came up with?”

“That's Beli's youngest great-great-great-grandson, and he volunteered! My dear, what's wrong? I thought you would prefer it this way?”

“I do!” you huffed, irritated. “But I need you to start telling me when you do things like this! How am I gonna do my job if you already make all the decisions by yourself? Stop trying to surprise me all the time. I froze out there because of it! What did that look like to everybody else, huh?”

“I think they were too captivated by the bull to take notice...” he didn't sound so sure. “But yes, you are right, of course. It is a bad habit. I will be better.”

Somewhat mollified, you took his arm and allowed him to lead you to the dances.

                                                                              *******

“It's an insult!” Alarr raged. “He reduces our history to mere spectacle!”

“It may have been for convenience.” his wife pointed out. “Our Midgardian guests need more frequent rest. It wouldn't do for his Highness' little seidkona to collapse from exhaustion.”

“Do not call her that!” he snapped. “She doesn't deserve the title! What part of her is a seidkona? The part that graces Loki's bed? Or the part that gets into cat fights with her betters? This is exactly what I am talking about though! The Midgardians are weak, but we are the ones expected to lower ourselves to their level? If they cannot keep up, they shouldn't be here! The prince is a fool, and the Allfather merely enables him. Together, they will reduce us to infants.”

“Watch your tone with me, Alarr. I tire of your temper.”

“And I tire of watching our culture and people be diminished for easier consumption by outsiders. When does it end? If even our holy days aren't exempt from foreign influence, then what part of us can we really expect to keep? How much can we be diluted, and still remain Asgard?”

“Alarr, this obsession has already cost you dearly. And not just you, the whole family has been impacted by it. You are so preoccupied with everything you're afraid we're going to lose, that you don't see the harm that you are doing to us yourself! Now you may sit here and let your rage rob you of your Buridag, but I'm going back out there to enjoy myself! Stars know, I've had precious few chances to do so lately!”

She stormed out, leaving him behind to seethe.

                                                                       ******

“That was so weird.” Todd said. “I thought it was going to be a real cow.”

“I'm glad it wasn't!” another camper exclaimed.

“Yeah, me too, but why did they go through all that rigmarole about what was going to happen, explaining the whole thing, telling us not to fear, and then wheel out a meat-filled piñata instead? Did they think we were gonna think it was real? Like, are we toddlers to them?”

“Maybe? They're all hundreds of years old, aren't they? Even the kids.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I feel like that's a problem though. I mean, think of the advantages they have over all the rest of us! I can't help but feel like they will eventually have a disproportionate amount of global influence, just because of the monumental projects that they can put together with that longevity. And like, I know the longhouse squad might not mind having alien overlords, but I'm sure not excited about it.”

“Global superpowers rise and fall. That's just history.” another camper said. “Are you sure you aren't just worried that yours might be overshadowed?”

“No need to be rude.” Todd chided. “People were rightly worried about super powered individuals before these guys even showed up. I mean, look at what happened to Sokovia! When I was a kid, that kind of thing was unthinkable! Now we've gotta worry about nukes, and terrorists, and school shootings, and climate change, and now alien invaders and supermen on top of all that? It's no wonder people are so worried. Did you know these people haven't even signed the Accords? What do you think that says about them?”

“Hey, I'm not disagreeing, man. I'm skeptical too. But they're refugees all the same, and it's only been a couple years. I figure they're just trying to get adjusted before they go committing themselves to anything big, you know?”

“And that's fair for the average Asgardian. As far as we know, they didn't do anything wrong. But Thor...you know, as much as I like him, he's been involved in some pretty destructive events. And the least, I mean, the very least he could have done to show some kind of good faith with Earth, would be to turn his brother over to some kind of justice. But he hasn't; he's just let Loki flaunt every authority. The man committed a felony, he kidnapped my girlfriend, and...nothing! He's not allowed on United States soil, but he did it anyway, and nothing has been done. I can't help but be resentful, who wouldn't be?”

“I know what you mean, but then why did you come to this shindig, anyway?”

Todd shrugged. “I just wanted to see that she was okay, you know? We weren't perfect, but we really had something, and I just want to make sure she's okay. She didn't look okay, up there with that fake bull, and I don't like it. I know her; she's kinda delicate. All this is gonna be too much for her.”

“You have a lot to say.” interrupted an unfamiliar, accented voice. The little knot of campers jerked to attention. A young man stood nearby, arms crossed, glaring.

“Uh, yeah...” Todd said. “To my friends. Who are you?”

“Fritjof.” the stranger said shortly.

“That's the mutant.” one of the campers whispered urgently. “We saw him out in that fight, remember? He throws fire!”

“Oh.” Todd held his hands up in front of him. “Hey man, we don't have any beef with you. No need to lose our tempers or anything...”

Fritjof snorted. “Somehow, I doubt this.” he sneered.

“Frit!” A woman cried, then rattled off a quick sentence Todd could not understand. Fritjofs intimidating stance softened, and he answered back.

“I'm going to dance now.” He told Todd. “Be a more gracious guest.”

Several of the campers let out the breaths they'd been holding, as he left.

“What a freak.” One of them muttered.

“Don't know what his problem is, but I think he could use a class on minding his own business.” Todd said.

“So, you wanna go dance?”

“Not really, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to go see what it's like.”

                                                                              ******

The dancing was energized and frenetic; stomping, clapping, twirling, leaping. It was full of laughter and celebration, messy and unchecked. The commoner's dances were danced by all, and you had thrown yourself into them with relish. From arm to arm you passed, jumping and shouting in time with everyone else.

You danced, and spun, and bounced, finally ending up panting back in Loki's arms.

“Come, sit with me.” he said. “You need a breather.”

He sat you down in one of the covered seats, wrapped you in his cloak for extra warmth, and pressed a cup of hot cider into your hands. The community continued to dance, some breaking off to rest, some jumping back in. You simply watched, sipping your cider as Loki twirled Sjofn, Thor kicked with Wanda, and a very tall Asgardian lady tried to entice an increasingly uncomfortable looking Dr. Banner. Even Gloa seemed to be having a good time, though you noticed Alarr was nowhere to be seen. Andsvarr, however, was dancing for all he was worth, and rarely let Saldis out of his grasp. It was cute, but not as cute as Tara, slightly drunk off buttered rum, flirting openly with several very confused Asgardians, or your father, trying hard to avoid Dr. Banner's fate.

Loki whirled his way back to your side, and plopped down next to you, but must have noticed you were fading.

“It has certainly been a long day, hasn't it?” he asked. “Would you prefer to return to our rooms?”

“Yeah. As much as I'd like to stick around, I'd really need some sleep.” you admitted. “Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow too.”

“Then shall we?” He offered his arm, and somehow the two of you slipped away without much notice.

“Are you going back out?” you asked, as he tucked you comfortably into his bed.

“Yes, for a little while longer. It's best that my brother and I be seen out among the people for as long as possible. I'll be back later. Sleep soundly, my dear.”

The rigors of the day caught up to you quickly, and you had no inkling of how much time had passed when you finally felt him slip into bed next to you, smelling of sweet crystal mead.

[i-growl-growl-growl]

How Ateez would be as Yanderes?

Hongjoong Version

sadistic, possessive, clingy, delusional, manipulative

Cold, cruel, calculative and crude don’t even begin to describe the dark soul of this demon in disguise notoriously known as Hongjoong. Sweet to look at but poisonous to taste, this yandere seems to be one of those typical ‘cowboy casanovas’ that you hear about in songs that one needs to stay away from or face being torn apart and broken down by while in his hands.... except he’s 1000x worse than that when he really has his eyes set on someone special. Hongjoong is definitely a ride or die man stuck in his sucker-punching devilish ways with a hard cracking personality and intricately delectable mindset whose intelligence spins the ever evolving, tough to escape web that traps any and everyone who captures his attention. He knows what he wants and what he wants he gets.

This man is easy to spot and hard to forget once one has laid eyes on him even if only once. He stands out with his unusually stylish black noir fashion sense that cops him out as an elegant, mysterious, intelligent, and unattainable being. Not only does his sense of fashion, and general attractiveness, catch everyone’s attention but also his way of speech. Like a fine wine with a sweet taste and smoothness that eases the flow of the liquid as it moves its way down your throat, Hongjoongs way with words, one similar to that of a high class, vendetta seeking prince, can draw anyone into deep conversations with him that always leave those in his presence seeking more from him once time has deemed that his conversations must end. 

No one knows his true personality or profession but many have heard rumors, some of which fit his exotically dark but intriguing aura. A heartless mobster, an assassin or a detective are just a few only the list of many that those who wish to know more about him suggest he falls under when it comes to debating his true personality and work life.                  Only his darling will ever truly know who Hongjoong is as a person and what they come to learn and live with is far worse than any assumptions that other have of him. In a sense he is all of the above but he directs those traits and lifestyles towards taking and taming his ‘sweet one’.

Be careful if you find yourself beholding the presence of this demon in an angel’s vessel for, if you forgo any warning to stay away, you shall find yourself in a place of entrapment, servitude, and suffering like no other by the hands of Hongjoong who, once he has you fully in his grasps, will never et you escape.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dining guests set to partake in tonight's meeting are quite the perplexing bunch. There are a few usuals that Hongjoong easily spots from the corners of his eyes as the hoard of diners arrive on a timely manner. All dressed to the utmost degree, one looking in from the outside would deem all participants to be snobbish aristocrats with money on their mind and self-indulgence familiar to their names. For most this is true as Hongjoong is unfortunately aware but even he himself falls within that category of vile beings to a certain degree so he keeps his ‘whipper snapper’, silver tongue to his lonesome self as his judgemental eyes dart to every being who struts into the room while wearing diamond studded heels or golden brooch encrusted vests.

None of these guests catch his fancy. Hongjoong isn’t here just for the meeting, no, tonight he wishes to set out on indulging his desires to find a new toy to play with, one whose screams wouldn’t be matched and whose blood would flow with a glint of ruby red among the dark otherwise maroon shade. Hongjoong has had many a victim before but none have pleased him as his mind wishes them to so, what was he to do but to be rid of them and search for another?

Familiar with the ways that the selfish rich crumble so easily, Hongjoong easily crossed off the vast majority of those who’ve presented themselves for the meeting tonight. His last victim was the daughter of one particular participant whose name he has never cared to remember, the man sitting kitty-corner from him. Hongjoong was least pleased with his daughter and her constant begging, her cries had been deemed inharmonious and her croaking voice annoyed him to the very core. her beauty was what had drawn her to him as a victim but nothing else of her fit his high standards once he had her to himself. She had only lasted a week before Hongjoong could no longer handle the sight or sound of her, so he did as he usually does and filled her grave as she remained screaming within it until fully covered and patted down.

Although left displeased with his recent victim, Hongjoong could, however, admit that he was basking in the stressed aura of her father who sat near him. Hongjoong enjoyed raking his eyes over the man who could barely hide his distraught form while in the presence of other elites. Hongjoong enjoyed the knowledge that, although here for an official meeting, the man’s mind was otherwise elsewhere, wondering where his precious daughter had gone to and what has become of her..................................................

If it wasn’t for a new figure making their way into the dining room catching his attention then Hongjoong probably would’ve spent the night delving in the pleasure of the man’s suffering.                   Hongjoong’s eyes fell upon someone who was unlike the rest that currently stood or sat around the room chatting with those nearby. The new figure was grossly unlike the rest with their middle-class status evident in their poorly kept, wrinkled up clothes. The way this new figure stood stiff and kept their eyes to the floor except to find a free chair for them to sit in at the table and the way that they seemed to not know anyone else within the room was evidence enough that they simply didn’t belong here compared to the rest. Hongjoong knew instantly from the sight of them and the presence of their weak aura that they were someone to keep in mind and get to know. He hadn’t even met them yet and he could already tell that they had exactly what he was looking for in regards to what he desired from his next victim. Hongjoong knew that those of the lower class were far stronger and fiercely willed than those of the elite class so you’d put up a fight that Hongjoong craves and braking you down would be a joyous feat to venture towards.

Leaving his typical spot at the table to sit across from you, Hongjoong pulled out the charming gentleman within him that always suckers people into falling for his traps. With hypnotizing eyes staring deep into your soul, it was quick to catch your attention. Without even a single word spoken, he raises his glass, you doing the same without realization. “What a pleasure to behold the finesse of such a beautiful person such as yourself. Please do tell me darling, what is your name? I would like to know it so that I may address you properly during our conversations tonight and within the future.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hate the middle-end of the scenario section of this profile but I felt like I should get this done since it’s been in drafts for far too long.

I hope you enjoyed.

~Savie

[takonei]

Beta AU - Main story, Chapter 5, deadly life (Part 1)

Note of the author: Surprise, fuckers. Investigation is earlier than expected!

Chapter 5: An oath to one’s lost humanity - Deadly life

...

...

"Ding dong, dong ding!"

...

No...

"A body has been discovered!"

Not...

Not again...

"Everyone, please gather in the ultimate weapons maker's research lab!"

Shuichi could only stare at the unmoving body in front of him.

Ryoma... Committed suicide...?

But why?

They were so close to ending this game, they had a strategy, they knew full well how they were going to fight Monokuma and the exisals, so why?

Why restarting the killing game?

Shuichi tried to detach his eyes from the corpse.

The others were as in shock as he was, but the moment his gaze landed on Rantaro, he could immediately feel something was wrong.

The medic was staring at Ryoma with an unreadable expression.

It wasn't fear, shock, nor sadness.

Not a single emotion could be seen on his face.

His eyes were locked on the unmoving body of his former friend.

Perhaps he hadn't yet realized the reality in front of him.

His partner, the one he trusted the most, was dead.

Kirumi and Shuichi glanced at each other.

It was like both realized what was going to happen.

Rantaro had already gone mad from the supposed betrayal of Ryoma during the last trial, he was already slowly crumbling under the pressure of leading a continuously dying group, so to think Ryoma broke their promise to fight against Monokuma and ended his own life...

What was left of Rantaro now that the plan he carefully crafted in details was shattered to pieces by his most trusted friend?

"My! My! I was almost worried you guys would actually not kill before the time limit!"

Shuichi couldn't even look at the bear.

"But it looks like we're finally getting another trial! How exciting!"

Kaito slammed his fist against the nearby box. "What trial is there to hold?! Ryoma committed suicide!"

"Uh-uh! The rules of a class trial always remain the same!"

"Once a murder takes place, all surviving students must participate in a class trial."

"Only accidental deaths don’t deserve the luxury of getting a class trial, so if the victim and blackened are one and the same, a class trial will still be held!"

Miu was also furious. "You're not even denying it! There's no point in organizing a class trial if we already know Ryoma is the one who ended his own life!"

Monokuma was stirring the cocktail he was holding. "I didn't *say* he committed suicide, I said that *if* he ended his own life, a class trial would still take place! Now shoo! You have a crime scene to investigate!"

"What's the point?"

Shuichi felt his heart skip a beat. He turned to the source of the voice.

Rantaro was now facing the bear.

"We'll come in the courtroom and then start the vote immediately. Since none of us have done the deed, you will not execute anyone, and we'll go back to our rooms as if nothing ever happened."

The medic slowly marched towards Monokuma.

"Or maybe you are hinting on the fact that Ryoma didn't commit suicide, and in that case, you are giving an advantage to the spotless, which means you are taking sides, and this isn’t what the objective judge you claim to be would do. This trial is already unfair, if you ask me."

He narrowed his eyes at the bear.

"Unless there is something you want us to find out during the investigation?"

The bear started sweating. "N-No, not at all! This is definitely a fair trial and you definitely have to solve this case in its entirety and vote for the real blackened!"

It felt like Monokuma was lying. Or at least he was hiding things from them. But what would he want them to find in their investigation? What is there to investigate, even?

"A-Anyway! Now shoo! I have important matters to take care of! Like finding this freaking kid I swear..." The robot muttered the last part.

Shuichi frowned. "What did you say?"

"I said I have to find my missing cub!" he yelled, then put both of his paws on his mouth. "Oops! Did I say that out loud?"

... What?

Obtained truth bullet! Missing Monodam

"Here! Have the Monokuma file and get to the investigation already!" Monokuma exclaimed before leaving.

"Wait!"

It was too late.

The six who were still alive were left in the lab, a hanged corpse right next to them.

They all looked at each other.

"What... What do we do?" Kokichi asked, visibly unsettled by the situation. "The answer is right here..."

"But Monokuma was hinting that it may not be a suicide..." Shuichi muttered.

"And yet the supposed other killer wouldn't have anything to gain from this. Unless they were willing to kill because of the time limit, but then again, it doesn't make sense that they would disguise the death as a suicide." Kirumi added.

She had a point. To survive alone would be pointless.

And Shuichi just remembered something.

Ryoma's lab was always locked with no other way to enter than the main door, and he would respond to Rantaro only. That's what he learned from the past few days.

Obtained truth bullet! Locked lab

"But still, Rantaro, you said Monokuma wanted us to find out something?" Miu turned to the medic.

"I was just throwing out theories and it looked like I was right. But the question is, what does Monokuma want us to find that even he couldn't find." he replied.

That was very odd. Monokuma always seemed to know everything that was happening in the academy.

Perhaps Rantaro was wrong, but...

It really looked like Monokuma wanted to flee their interrogation and make them investigate.

Maybe there was indeed some truth in Rantaro's theory.

It looked like he was focused on the case the second Monokuma appeared, which was... Not the reaction he expected, to say the least.

What does Rantaro even have in mind?

...

"Do we... start the investigation anyway? Maybe we'll find out about what Monokuma was talking about..." Miu suggested.

"That would be following the orders Monokuma gave us, but if we do not take any risks we'll never know what he is hiding." Kirumi continued. "I suggest we investigate but keep our deductions to ourselves, just in case."

"If we find out a truth that not even Monokuma could find, then we’ll have the high ground."

Shuichi nodded. "I agree, but... What can we even investigate?"

"It's just like Tsumugi's case..." Kokichi muttered. "We don't even know what to do."

"Shouldn't we investigate Ryoma's lab?" Kaito asked. "I mean, we've been together the entire day, if someone tampered with a certain room we would have known."

Shuichi perked up. "Hold on, when did Ryoma even die?"

"He could be dead for several days for all we know!" Miu exclaimed, shocked by her own statement.

"Except Ryoma made our weapons for the failed raid of the hangar yesterday. Your argument doesn't add up." Kirumi crossed her arms.

"Besides, the body is still fresh. I would say he died several hours ago at most." Rantaro noted.

Shuichi took out his monopad. "Perhaps the Monokuma file indicates more information?"

Turning the item on, everyone looked at their screens.

Monokuma file #5

The victim is the ultimate weapons maker, Ryoma Hoshi.

The victim's body was discovered in the ultimate weapons maker's research lab.

The time of death is unknown.

The cause of death is strangulation.

No other injuries were noted on the victim's body.

Obtained truth bullet! Monokuma file #5

"This doesn't help us at all!" Kaito exclaimed. "Everything written on this file are things we already know!"

Shuichi glanced at Rantaro to try and guess what he was thinking.

The medic was staring at the file, unreadable as always.

He turned off his monopad without a word and approached the control panel.

The others could only look at him wondering what he was up to.

After pressing a few buttons, he lowered the hook to the ground.

He placed one foot on it, wrapped his arm around the chain, and gripped it firmly.

"Can someone make the hook go to the highest point so I can reach the beam?"

Kirumi stared at him. "What exactly are you planning to do up here?"

"I want to lower Ryoma's body so I can inspect it. I can't exactly do an autopsy on a hanged body."

The mercenary walked towards the panel and stared at it for a moment. She pressed a button and Rantaro started going up.

Once he was next to the beam, he climbed it with ease and walked on the narrow path as if it was completely normal.

He sat down in front of the knot. "Can two of you hold onto Ryoma while I cut the rope?"

Kirumi raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly are you going to do that?"

He thought for a moment. "... Hand me one of your knives. I know you have them."

Shuichi saw the others turning to the mercenary with looks of concern.

"Why the fuck do you have knives on yourself?" Kaito asked.

The young woman sighed. "I'm a trained fighter. What exactly did you expect."

Kirumi reached under her skirt and took out one of her sharp knives. She stepped backwards and threw the weapon up. Rantaro caught it mid-air easily.

She walked back to Ryoma and put the chair away. Miu swallowed before following her.

The two girls wrapped Ryoma's arms around their shoulders and Rantaro started cutting the rope.

After the weapons maker was freed from its deadly grasp, Kirumi and Miu laid him down on the floor.

Shuichi approached the control panel to bring Rantaro down.

The medic stepped down and faced the dead body in front of him.

The silence was deafening, and Shuichi couldn't even begin to understand how Rantaro was feeling right now.

"... I'll make the autopsy. You guys can investigate the rest."

It was clear from his voice he wanted to be alone.

"Hey, didn't we say we should investigate this lab?" Kaito asked, who visibly didn't catch on to what Rantaro was trying to say.

"I doubt we will find hints in this lab only. I don't know where, but perhaps we should leave Rantaro to his job for now." Kirumi already started walking towards the exit.

Miu shot a glance at Rantaro, who was still staring at the dead Ryoma.

"Should... Should one of us stay behind?"

Shuichi didn't know if this was a good idea, but because of how silent Rantaro was, it was hard to tell if he minded.

They looked at each other for a moment, worried about how the medic really was holding up.

He thought he had moved on pretty quickly, but that clearly wasn't the case. He simply wanted justice for Ryoma, to get to the bottom of this- and whatever Monokuma was hiding about his death.

"Maybe we should leave Rantaro alone, for now." Shuichi muttered.

Kokichi briefly looked at the medic. "You're probably right."

The group finally made their way out.

Shuichi closed the door behind him and turned to the others.

"What... What do we do now?"

...

No response. They had hope that they were finally going to end this game, and the moment they were about to do so, another death they didn't think about occurred, and it was Rantaro's best friend of all people.

The one Rantaro seemed to have talked to in secret multiple times, even going as far as to communicate in morse code to make sure no one would successfully catch on to what they were saying.

To investigate what was clearly a suicide because of what Monokuma was supposedly hiding from them...

Nothing made sense anymore. That was just torture.

"... I'll try to find Monokuma. Perhaps I can get answers out of him." Miu started walking away.

Kaito immediately followed. "I'll go with her."

Shuichi was left with both Kirumi and Kokichi.

"Do you... have any clues on what we could investigate?" Kokichi nervously asked.

Kirumi leaned against the wall. "I want to know what the blackouts were all about. Although I am not sure how we could investigate these."

There were exactly two blackouts, as far as he knew.

"I mean... The first blackout was yesterday, right?" Shuichi said. "It was at least a few hours long..."

"It happened while we, aside from Rantaro and Ryoma, were all in the warehouse. I don't think any of us could even remotely be accounted responsible." Kirumi continued.

"And it was just in the main building! The hangar wasn't touched at all..." Kokichi added.

Obtained truth bullet! First blackout

"I do think the two blackouts are related, although I fail to understand what was the purpose of this move." Kirumi pondered.

"Maybe we'll find info somewhere? There must be a way to investigate..."

"Isn't there a computer room? I don't know much about computers but maybe it can give us a hint..." Kokichi suggested.

"This entire building is the victim of the blackout. Even if the computer has info, I doubt it will be functioning in this current situation." Kirumi noted.

He didn't think about that detail.

"Then I'm out of ideas..."

"I mean, our current blackout isn't that different from the previous one, right?" Kokichi asked. "We didn't realize there was one because we were in the dorms, so it only touched the main building again."

"The thing is, we were not here when it started. It could have started right before we entered the building just like it could have started hours ago." Kirumi added. "We know the beginning of the first blackout but not the end, while for the second blackout, we do not know either in the slightest."

Both blackouts were still a mystery, then.

Obtained truth bullet! Second blackout

Would it really help with Ryoma's case? Probably not. But just as Kokichi said, it was like Tsumugi's case. They didn't know what they were searching for.

...

The group stared at each other.

"H-Hey..." Kokichi muttered. "I don't want to doubt any of you but..." he trailed off.

"What is it?"

"... What if it wasn't a suicide, somehow?"

Shuichi almost jumped.

The mercenary narrowed her eyes for a moment. "We were all together the majority of the day, so most of us didn't even have time to do anything unless it was at nighttime, which I doubt is the case since Rantaro mentioned Ryoma's death was several hours ago at most. Miu was absent this morning and Rantaro was absent for most of the day, but that's it."

However, that still left those two as suspects...

A part of him prayed that this was indeed a suicide, as harsh as it sounded.

Obtained truth bullet! Kirumi's account

And now they were left again in silence.

...

"I do not have a single clue on what we can investigate because of the blackout. This is frustrating." Kirumi crossed her arms.

Shuichi hummed. "I mean… Ryoma’s lab really is the only place where we could find hints… Should we still go there?"

Kokichi glanced away. "I… I know that after H-Himiko’s death I… I wanted to be alone, so I don’t know if t-this is a good idea…"

"Except we don’t have a choice. Miu and Kaito left to get Monokuma and we don’t know what place could even give us hints about what Monokuma is searching for." Kirumi noted.

"Perhaps we should investigate as quietly as possible…?" Shuichi suggested. "I know to disturb him would be disrespectful, but maybe he would understand?"

The three stared at each other.

"Ryoma’s lab it is."

The trio went back to the room, quietly opening and closing the door. They forgot about how dark the lab was.

Kirumi immediately started going to the back of the lab, but the moment Kokichi and he started to follow her, she gestured them to be quiet.

For a moment Shuichi forgot about the other two being incredibly stealthy- for different reasons.

Once the workbench was in view, Shuichi noticed Rantaro was reading what was written on a blueprint. It looked like the autopsy was already done.

However, he would not do the same mistake twice.

"M-Maybe we should tell him we’re there? I don’t think he would react well if he noticed our presence and didn’t tell him…"

Kirumi glanced at him for a moment, like she just remembered what he told him a few days ago.

"You’re right."

She stood up and approached the workbench, still illuminated by the flickering light that started giving Shuichi a headache.

The sound of her heels echoed loud enough for Rantaro to notice and turn around.

"You’re back."

"Sorry if we’re interrupting anything, but there isn’t much to investigate outside of this lab."

He put back the paper on the table. "I never said any of you had to leave. I just said you guys should investigate something else other than Ryoma’s body."

…

One day, maybe, he will cease worrying Shuichi.

Had he even taken the time to process his death?

"A-Are you sure?" Kokichi hesitantly asked. "We can investigate quietly if you want…"

"It’s fine."

Shuichi swallowed.

"Isn’t there a flashlight or something to help us? This place is so dark…"

The moment he finished his sentence, the room went entirely black.

He simply heard something small falling on the table, then the ground.

"U-Um…"

"This has turned into a difficult situation."

“Monokuma!!"

Rantaro's voice echoed through the lab.

"Get over here. We cannot investigate properly in those conditions."

"Hey! Hey! I am not a servant nor a maid! There is someone here to help fulfill your desires!"

The robotic voice came from behind, the sound of his light footsteps getting louder as he approached them.

He could not see it, but Kirumi was definitely rolling her eyes at the bear.

"If those are the conditions of your investigation, then so be it!"

Shuichi could hear someone turning around.

"Which means the blackouts are not accidental. Someone is responsible for them. That is one new confirmation, thank you."

Rantaro.

"Ack!"

"May I ask, is it because you don’t want to repair the blackout or because you can’t?"

…

Silence.

"I’m taking it as a ‘I can’t.’ Thank you for the answer. Which does confirm that you are not the one who provoked it to mess with us, and it is indeed one of us who has done the deed. Now-

"Enough! Just take these and investigate for real already! That’s not how an investigation works!"

The sound of something rolling on the ground was heard, and Shuichi felt a small object touching his feet.

He bent down to take the item- something that felt like a flashlight. He turned it on and finally he could see in front of him.

Other flashlights turned on as well. Monokuma had given one to each of them before leaving.

Everyone turned to Rantaro.

"… And that confirmed what I just said was true."

Someone among them… Responsible for this? But not many people could have even done so.

He would have to solve this mystery later.

… Now that he thought about it, Miu and Kaito would probably not manage to get anything out of the robotic bear anymore.

Obtained truth bullet! Monokuma’s account

"I think we can go back to the investigation now." Rantaro declared.

Kirumi and Shuichi quickly glanced at each other.

Rantaro seemed to know exactly which questions to ask Monokuma, what would make him stutter and reveal important clues.

Was it something he just knew how to do, or was it deeper than that?

He really hoped he wasn’t looking too much into that.

"A-Alright… I’ll try to investigate what I can…" Kokichi walked away.

"… Then I’ll do the same." Kirumi went the other way.

Shuichi swallowed. If the autopsy was done, perhaps it revealed something else.

"H-Hey Rantaro…"

"Yes?"

The violinist approached the body. "Did you find anything else on Ryoma…?"

Rantaro put a knee down. "Ryoma died one or two hours ago at most, and the cause of death is hanging. There’s no doubt about that. Look."

He slightly moved Ryoma’s head to expose his neck, marked by purple spots that gave Shuichi chills.

"The hematomas on his neck are here, so Monokuma wasn’t lying about the cause of death being strangulation. However, if, let’s say, someone tried to strangle him with a rope, a cable, or anything else, those hematomas would be far more pronounced than that."

"There would be also signs of struggle, on both the killer’s body and Ryoma’s." he took Ryoma’s hands to show him. There were slight stains of soot, but nothing that looked like blood.

Obtained truth bullet! Rantaro’s autopsy

… At least there wasn’t any mystery surrounding this. Which was expected from what is clearly a suicide.

"A-Alright…"

He had enough of dead bodies. Perhaps he could look around for more hints.

Earlier, when the lab went completely dark, he heard something fall near the table. What was that?

The violinist approached the table and tried to investigate near it. And to his surprise, there was a small object on the ground. He picked it up to take a look at it.

The object was a circular magnet, grey with a familiar blue symbol on it.

The one that was also on the hacking guns- Ryoma’s sigil.

Did it come from the lamp?

Obtained truth bullet! Strange magnet

Speaking of weapons, perhaps he should try to find what Ryoma already created.

Shuichi started looking around. If the weapons maker was trying to keep them secure, then perhaps they were locked in one of the boxes.

However, it seemed like both Kirumi and Kokichi were investigating them already, so he should try to look somewhere else.

He went around the lab without any objective in mind. Just finding something perhaps related to the case.

At some point, he stumbled across an object leaning against one of the boxes in the back.

After closer inspection it was… Kaito’s metal baseball bat?

There were a few scratches on it, like someone used it to smash something hard enough to resist it.

Scratches definitely not done the day they destroyed the pool area’s window.

Other than that, the bat was clean. Not shining clean, as it seems to have been dirtied a bit by whatever the person using it smashed, but there were no stains on it.

Obtained truth bullet! Used baseball bat

Shuichi glanced at Rantaro, who was still reading the papers on the workbench.

He approached him to see what these were all about.

"What are these?"

"Blueprints for weapons and tools. Take a look if you want, although I doubt you will be able to understand anything. I know I don’t."

The medic handed him the papers.

There were different plans and sketches on them. Some looked like the bombs they had not actually used a few days ago, and some looked like the hacking guns they had used in the death road of despair. But another one caught his attention.

It looked exactly like the magnet he found earlier. Which meant this was indeed one of Ryoma’s crafted objects.

However, nothing on the paper indicated what it was used for. Simply what materials should be used and how it was supposed to be assembled.

He also found a blueprint for what looked like an overcomplicated lock, for some reason.

There were some other blueprints about different bombs, from explosive ones to electrical ones, and heavy weapons that looked like they could blow up more than just the exisals.

At least Ryoma did try to craft the weapons, but…

… Why suddenly giving up, if you could call it that way?

Obtained truth bullet! Weapons’ blueprints

Shuichi gave back the blueprints to Rantaro. "Thank you… Although I didn’t understand much either."

"No problem."

Somehow, Shuichi wished Rantaro showed at least a little bit more emotion than this.

He started walking back towards the boxes to see if either Kirumi or Kokichi found anything.

The violinist suddenly jumped at a very strange noise in the distance- like a small explosion, or electricity?

He approached the source only to see Kirumi coughing.

"Are you okay?!"

She waved her hand to make the smoke go away. "I’m fine, don’t worry."

He approached the box, although he could not climb it. "What happened?"

The mercenary seemed to have tried to manipulate something. "I’m not sure. All of these boxes have huge locks, so I tried to break one. But the moment the blade of my knife touched the thing, it exploded."

Ouch.

"Oh… But is it okay now to open?"

She shook her head. "It looks like a defense mechanism. I cannot touch it. Although…"

He could not see it properly, but it looked like she was making sure no one was listening.

"I am not sure since I cannot feel pain, but it looks like the lock both creates a small explosion and sends a strong electrical charge to whoever tries to touch it."

Oh.

"Hold on, I have gloves! Maybe I can try!"

"I highly recommend you not to, Shuichi. One wrong manipulation and you could end up dead."

"I know what I’m doing! Help me get on the box!"

"Get some thicker gloves first, idiot."

Shuichi sighed, approached the workbench once more, and took the pair that was on the table. It seemed to have belonged to Ryoma. They must have been used for his manipulations and looked safe enough.

Kirumi stepped down and approached the control panel. Once Shuichi was firmly holding onto the chain, she moved it up so he could take a better look at what she was inspecting.

After moving it down, she went back and climbed up the chain by herself.

She sat down next to Shuichi. "Here. That’s the lock."

On a closer look, it had the exact same appearance as the sketch on the blueprint he found earlier.

After taking a deep breath, Shuichi placed a hand on the lock, which…

… didn’t do anything at all.

He tried to move the thing around, and his eyes suddenly widened.

There was the exact same magnet as the one he found next to the table.

"I found one of these earlier! I don’t know what they are for, though."

He tried to detach it, but he could not even move it an inch. It was like superglued on the lock.

"Weird…"

"… I am not sure how these locks work. Perhaps we should leave them be, it would be safer."

"Agreed…"

A strange lock indeed, that would definitely secure the boxes from anyone but him.

Obtained truth bullet! Trapped locks

"Hold on, what about Kokichi?! He must be manipulating these locks as well!" Shuichi exclaimed.

"Kokichi also has gloves, mind you. But perhaps we should tell him not to move these too much."

Oh.

The two climbed down the box and started searching for the smaller boy.

But before they could find him, the door of the lab opened again to reveal Miu and Kaito.

Rantaro, who was done with the back of the lab, approached them. "Anything new?"

The street artist groaned. "Nothing! We searched for Monokuma everywhere to ask him questions but nothing!"

… Perhaps he should tell them about what happened earlier.

"It’s fine. Don’t worry about it."

Kokichi stepped down from his box as well. "I mean… We did get some info out of him so it’s alright… I think."

"Then what about you guys? Did you find anything interesting?" Kaito asked.

"Nothing really relevant to this so-called case." Rantaro crossed his arms. "We've been searching Ryoma's lab through and through for a while now, and the blackened is pretty much established at this point."

And yet it felt like they hadn't found anything at all. Shuichi knew they were not searching for the culprit anymore.

They hadn't even found a 'why', nor what Monokuma was supposedly hiding.

Miu glanced away for a moment. "Say... Have any of you found some kind of will? Or even a letter?"

Shuichi froze. He glanced at those who were in the lab with him.

There wasn't any.

"N-No... I didn't find anything at all..." Shuichi muttered.

"So he just... without even telling us why?" Kaito was just as confused as everyone else.

"... Nothing. I've looked through his workbench about a hundred times already and there wasn't anything." Rantaro shook his head. "Which does surprise me. Ryoma is not the type to make huge decisions without explaining why."

Perhaps it was better to trust Rantaro on this.

"Do you think Monokuma stole the letter? Ryoma could have given us info in it... Maybe Monokuma judged it wasn't a good idea to leave it be, and we know that he can mess with us whenever he wants to..." Kokichi suggested.

"That's a possibility. We'll never know unless we harass him until he tells us the truth."

Obtained truth bullet! Absence of a will

"Should we go back to our investigation?" Kirumi asked.

"It's not like we have anything else to do." Rantaro walked away.

He was way too calm for Shuichi's liking. Was it because he got over his death quickly or because he was hiding his emotions far better than anyone else here?

Each and every single one of his actions terrified him.

But now wasn't the time.

The violinist turned to Miu. "Have you... found anything in your research?"

She sighed. "Not really. I do wonder what the 'missing kid' thing is all about, though."

Kaito frowned. "We saw Monodam like two days ago, remember? He was just walking around when we were searching for the dumbells."

The street artist nodded. "Yeah, I do! But then nothing. I don't remember seeing him even once ever since then."

Obtained truth bullet! Kaito's account

"Strange... But it's not like it's going to help us." Shuichi noted.

"I know, I know... This whole situation is giving me a migraine." The taller man complained.

"God, do I agree."

After telling Kokichi about the danger of the locks, the group went back to their investigation. Miu followed Kokichi and Kaito followed Kirumi and Shuichi since they didn't have any flashlights.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them as the mercenary tried to look through the lab.

"All the boxes are locked. There isn't anything to see here." she stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt.

The three approached the back of the lab. Now that he had a better view of the thing, Shuichi noticed the packs of food and water. Those were the supplies he had taken to survive without leaving his lab. Some of them were empty, but that was normal.

Nothing much to see here.

"Hey, what the heck is that?"

Kaito pointed at something that was hidden behind one of the food packs. However, with the darkness, it was hard to tell what it even was.

Kirumi approached it and took out what looked like... a bomb?

"W-What is this?!" Kaito exclaimed.

"Obviously a bomb that was not used. But it's different from the ones we had to raid the hangar." Kirumi noted.

Something about this bomb felt familiar. Was it on the blueprints?

Shuichi went back and started going through the papers until he found the one. "There!"

He tried to read it to perhaps learn a bit about it.

But upon a closer look, he remembered that none of them explained anything about the use of the tools.

"And of course we don't know what this is..."

Kirumi tried to inspect the weapon. "What I'm wondering is why this was out in the open. All the boxes are locked, no exception, and I thought they contained all the weapons Ryoma made. But not this unknown one."

Why the change of pattern?

Obtained truth bullet! Unknown unused bomb

The investigation was confusing- not more than the previous one, but still, in a different way.

This entire time they didn't know whether they were searching for the blackened, something Monokuma didn't find out, a missing monokub, or something else entirely.

Maybe if they continue investigating-

Ding dong bing bong!

Goddamnit.

The announcement was a bit different. Monokuma asked them all to put back their uniforms correctly as it was a 'requirement for the trial'. They had all changed their outfits to feel more comfortable -and piss off Monokuma-, but now they had to change back, unfortunately.

The three stared at each other for a moment.

"... I guess we have no choice." Kirumi sighed.

"Well we got our answer, so let's just change back, go to the courtroom, vote since this bear forces us to, and then think about what we should do next since there aren't any fucking weapons available now." Kaito started walking away, leaving the two alone.

...

"I have a bad feeling about this." the mercenary muttered.

Shuichi looked at her. "You mean for the trial?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I feel like we both missed something important and that Rantaro is not going to take this trial well, even though it should be extremely short."

If this was their first trial, Shuichi would have disagreed, but... Now he wasn't so sure.

"Yeah, but... We still gotta go and see, right?"

Kirumi sighed. "I know."

Some of them had to go back to their dorms to change, including Shuichi. He put back the vest and tie and looked at himself in the mirror.

He really wasn't the same person as before the game, was he?

Shuichi could barely recognize himself. Eyebags, messy hair, and of course, the constant expression of fear he could never drop even if he tried.

If only he could go back to the happy version of himself.

To go back to his uncle's house.

To stop fearing for his life.

To stop worrying about making someone react the wrong way.

To stop worrying at all.

This situation was completely hopeless.

He shut his eyes down and left the room. Now wasn't the time to do an existential crisis.

He found the others and the group made their way to the shrine of judgment in silence.

Only six of them were alive now. Every time Shuichi tried to think about it, he could feel himself wince.

Ten of the last survivors of humanity had died in three weeks.

They stepped into the shrine but already had the answer on who the blackened of this case was.

Ryoma killed himself. There was no doubt about that anymore.

Rantaro's autopsy proved it, and no matter what happened outside of it, the outcome was still the same.

The elevator ride was as silent as always.

But something didn't feel quite right. It was like they were going deeper than usual.

The door opened and Shuichi's eyes widened.

It wasn't their usual courtroom. This one didn't have any stained glass, nor a giant clock nor anything. It actually felt like a real courtroom, with wooden decorations, scarlet and gold curtains enveloping the walls, and red carpets on the black and white checkered floor. At least this room didn't give him a feeling of dizziness.

"I remade the courtroom specifically for you guys! After all, this fifth trial promises to be grandiose! I couldn't resist redecorating a little!" the bear exclaimed, laughing.

Everyone took their spots, ignoring him as always.

They would vote and leave.

That was it.

Monokuma explained the rules everyone knew by heart by now.

However, it wasn't like they could protest.

Shuichi could only hear white noise at this point. By looking around, there were almost only black and white portraits with a bright pink cross on each of them. More spots were taken by the horrendous reminder that they were all dying one by one than actual survivors.

How many trials would they have to go through before being free?

How many deaths would have to occur for the bear to be satisfied?

...

The courtroom was left as silent as a graveyard, although that was expected from a trial where there wasn't anything to say.

But before he could even think about how to break the silence, Rantaro raised his hand.

"I'm the one responsible for Ryoma's death."

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Knight of Time

No one ever wants to seem like the weakest link, the sidekick, the leftovers, disposable, forgettable, what have you. We all want to be someone who will be remembered, one way or another, for generations to come. It is the fighters, the warriors, the soldiers who are so often spoken about with admiration and love, and it is the act of heroism that has been so grossly romanticized throughout the ages that it has become embedded within every last piece of media out there. From the knight in shining armor saving the princess from the dragon or evil witch’s curse to something like saving the entire planet from being blown up and torn apart by some outside threat. There will always be a hero eager to fight for what is right, and they are the one who will have their story told, while everyone else just stands in the background and cheers them on. It is not the blacksmith who slays the dragon, but rather the one who gives the knight his sword. It is not the scientists who prevent the asteroid from wiping out all life on Earth, but the man brave enough to go on that asteroid and blow it up, sacrificing himself in the process. While everyone wants to admire these heroes and strive to be just like them, there is one thing that so many people fail to realize; to be the hero, you must first find the fighting spirit that rests inside of you, and use it as the driving force of your journey. Not many people are capable of raising their fists into a fight, but if they truly wish to never be forgotten and instead be a hero worshipped for years to come, then it seems as though their only option is to fight.

Everyone has a story to tell, with every day being another page added into the ever growing book that is our lives. We are all the heroes of our stories just as much as we are the villains in someone else’s story. If there is one thing for certain, one of the key ingredients for a good and flavorful story is that of the conflict presented within it. If there is no conflict within one’s story, then what is the point of it? What is the reason for characters to do anything at all, or for us, the readers, to care for them? Every good story needs a conflict, and whether that conflict comes in the form of one or more antagonists, then so be it. If someone truly wishes to have their story be remembered for the ages, then they will need to have some type of force of evil, a division in their life, struggles, trials, and tribulations. While some people have more than plenty potential rivals and sources for such tantalizing moments of suffering within their life, what does any of it mean when, deep down, all they want is to have a happy, normal life? What does it mean when someone does simply want to be the happy villager who tends to their crops, or the person who goes to work from 9-5, making minimum wage, and goes home to their pleasant little cat and TV drama? What does it mean when someone wants to live a life like this, but they are forced to instead fight and face countless unnecessary conflicts, whether internal or external, in their day to day life? What does it mean for the Knight of Time, one whose life is filled to the brim with turmoil and fighting, but they will do nothing to stop it - perhaps even being unable to do anything to ever truly make it stop? 

It’s all a lie - that’s what it means to the Knight of Time. It’s a lie made for all the kids who don’t have a life like theirs. It is those who are not the heroes actively partaking in these fights that tend to write such stories romanticizing these moments of hardships and struggles, after all. While the Knight of Time may present themself as someone who doesn’t let things get to them, chances are they are one of the Knights who has always been the closest to letting their facade crumble away, accidentally or otherwise. Because of this, they may also be one of the Knight’s who would be far more quicker, more lenient, in letting go of their facade, but not before having their own plethora of internal struggles first. As for the Knight of Time in their early life, they are someone who would have a life swarmed with almost constant dread of battles even they know are inevitable, even when it comes to their own personal life and home. They may not be as quick to snap at people as the Knight of Rage is, but they most definitely are not afraid to make a big show out of their negative feelings, whether it is anger, grief, despair, or anything that falls under such a saddening umbrella. Fighting is something that comes naturally to the Knight of Time, and it most often is their go-to solution for many of their problems, even when it comes to their friends. When someone confides in them an issue that needs to be solved, chances are that the Knight will be the one to shrug and ask if they’ve tried hitting it with a rock or something similar, even if the source for this issue is coming from another human being. It is because of this constant, instinctual fighting spirit, though, that often leaves the Knight in situations that are far less than ideal. However, even when things get extremely bad for them, and they are deeply struggling with their own demons, chances are that they will rarely, if ever, tell anyone about them.

The Knight of Time is one who presents themself as someone who is simultaneously dramatically emotionally unavailable and distant, never allowing for people to see them at their most vulnerable or worse, while also allowing their actions to contradict their words. One moment, they could be talking about how they don’t allow for anything to get to them, and how they’re way too cool to do anything that some silly little dweeb would like, but then later on would be caught partaking in things that could fall into their own definition of dweeb-ish activities or having a feelings jam inside of their closet. While they may say this hypocrisy is purely for ironic purposes, it would be hard to ignore how easily flustered, or even distressed, the Knight of Time may get when their secrets begin to get revealed and they can feel their facade beginning to slip. Two of the Knight’s biggest weaknesses is their own words and mind, because once something is brought up concerning the Knight’s own true identity, their words will be like the lyrics to the chorus of a song. As much as they may want to, or someone else may try, they cannot stop themselves once they begin talking, and if the Knight of Time is not careful, then they may accidentally reveal something about themself that they may not have wanted anyone else to know. 

Privacy is one of the most important things to the Knight of Time, and while they may try their best to respect everyone else’s privacy, those with a curious mind and even more curious eyes often find themselves drawn towards the Knight of Time and their paradoxical glory. The social life of the Knight of Time is one that often leaves many people puzzled, for while the Knight may present themself as a high status, too-cool-for-school person, their friend group will most likely speak to the opposite of that. If anything, the Knight of Time’s friend group is one where everyone they interact with has a little piece of the Knight’s true self buried inside of them. However, if there is one thing the Knight adores more than the privacy their facade gives them, it is that of their friends. Although the Knight may not exactly show it in any traditional means, they are someone who still cares deeply and will show it in the way that looks best to them, even if it isn’t in a way that makes sense to anyone else. Living life in such a way of doing whatever they want is one of the other things that draws so many people towards the Knight - their attitude of viewing themself as the best person ever, who always has their act together and is truly at the top of the food chain. While some people may be drawn towards the Knight only so that they can get into arguments with them about stuff, the Knight of Time will have no issue in participating in such fights, especially if they have been in the mood for one. Of course, there will be plenty of other people who will simply be drawn to the Knight because of the air of mystery they give off - someone who often keeps to themself and rarely opens up about their own problems, yet will often find themself being the shoulder their friends go to lean on. Granted, the Knight may make a few ironic jokes about how difficult it is to be the person everyone likes, but deep down they do truly love and care for each and every one of their friends - and their friends feel the exact same way.

However, it is this love and care that the Knight’s friends have for them that often bring many points of arguments and conflicts within their own group. Due to how quick the Knight is to fight whatever they deem to be even the slightest mistake or threat, this has not only brought the Knight to participate in many, many personal battles, but has also caused many disagreements with them and their friends. On one side is the Knight, who is more than willing to jump into battle and fight against whatever threatens them and/or their loves ones, and on the other is their friends - their found family - desperately trying to convince the Knight that they don’t always have to fight in order to solve a problem, they can just let things go and not give it the attention it wants. Little do their friends know is that, if the Knight had the option to say no to their Aspect whenever it calls for them, pulling and dragging them into every available opportunity of a battle - if they could say no to all of that without feeling immense shame, guilt, and failure, then they would. 

They can’t, though. They simply can’t say no to stepping up to a fight if only because of the fact that, if they are not going to be the hero that someone needs, then who will? They couldn’t even bear to think about any of their friends having to take on the suffering that comes with being a hero, but they also will not steal away that opportunity from them if the chance arises. While the Knight of Time may seem so eager to charge into battle and protect themself, their friends, and anyone else who is incapable of taking on such a responsibility, there is still that person deep, deep within the Knight who yearns for the day where they can finally rest and not have to fight. Due to the fact the Knight of Time is one already well equipped with their Aspect, though not entirely in a way that directly benefits them, this means that their way of life is one not very typical to anyone else’s. Their life is full of struggle and hardships, but not in the traditional way. Conflict is the one who finds the Knight instead of it being the other way around. It is often their pride that brings them to participate in these battles, even when the Knight could so easily run and hide away until it is all over, but just as much as it is their pride, it is also their fear of becoming the weakest link that often brings them to continue fighting. Time-bound simply cannot let things go and continue as they are, especially if the bump they discover within their rug is a can of worms begging to be opened, taunting the Knight until they eventually do it. 

Whenever it is opened, though, it should come to no one’s surprise that it was merely another trick into getting the Knight into another battle. While this may sound like the Knight is a true, pure-blooded warrior who has never lost a fight, do not be entirely surprised to hear that the opposite to that guess is what rings more true than anything. For what it’s worth, the Knight is one who will often try their best to fight, and fight, and fight until they can no longer stand on their own two feet, but it is the cruel reality of the Knight of Time that they are so often on the losing side of battles. Yet they still fight, they still get up, and they still continue to try their best to hone their skills until, one day, they can finally win a battle. Knights are prideful people, after all, and if there is anyone who holds the greatest pride, it would most likely be that of the Knight of Time, even if their insecurities and fear of not being worthy of claiming the title of hero often plagues them when they are alone with their thoughts.

Unfortunate enough for the Knight, though, it is their constant efforts to try and become better than who they were yesterday that will become their downfall. Although this will spur the Knight to begin their journey proper, there is still a little catch - as is often the case when dealing with Time-bound. While many Knights have their key defining moment in their decision to learn how to protect their Aspect from exploitation or protect through exploiting it before they have started down such a road, the Knight of Time, much like many other Time-bound, instead approaches their journey in a far different manner. By the time this large moment in their life happens, they have already set out and decided on what they want to do with their power, though this decision is often in one where the Knight feels the most benefits from it. You will have the Knights of Time who decided to walk down the path of protecting their Aspect, and as such they learn how to exactly prevent others from using and exploiting their fighting spirit for the wrong things. Down the line, though, they will come to realize that in their pursuit for such protection from outside influence and harm, they neglected to bring along their friends into the shelter they have so carefully crafted. On the other side, you have the Knights of Time who went ahead and decided to learn how to protect themself by properly using their fighting skills, growing stronger and smarter in their tactics for battles. During this time, the Knight of Time would fail to use this protection as a benefit for anyone else, and as such they would pay the prices gravely.

Although this may seem as though the two paths for the Knight of Time have been summarized and crammed into only a couple of sentences, that is only because the Knight of Time is one of the other few Knights who are capable of finding the gray area wherein they can jump between learning how to protect their Aspect and also how to protect through it. For the next few paragraphs, that will be the key focus in this analysis - looking into the one singular thread that the Knight of Time weaves through both pieces of fabric until, at the end, they are someone who is more than capable of protecting their Aspect so that, when the time calls, they can be fully capable of protecting through it.

To start off, the Knight of Time would begin their journey naturally leaning more towards one or the other in regards to their power. For some Knights of Time, they will begin their journey trying their best to learn how they can protect their Aspect - their eagerness to fight anyone who tries to challenge them - from those who may only seek to bring about a good laugh and easy victory from the Knight. After all, their battle skills are not entirely best, and at some point even the Knight knows that going into every battle will not only lead to handing out free victories to their opponents, but also make the Knight appear to be weak and unworthy of ever calling themself a Knight. It is because of this fear, though, that the Knight of Time’s facade will become far stronger, for as long as no one can see how truly scared and upset the Knight can become, then their opponents will have no emotional or mental upperhand on them. As they learn how to protect their Aspect, though, they would make the first slip into the other power - discovering that they can also protect through their Aspect alongside protecting it. One of the first instances of this slip would most likely be when the Knight would find themself in a tight and tough situation, specifically one where they would have no choice but to fight. It would be within this moment that, for the first time ever, the Knight would finally have a real taste of what victory tastes like.

After riding the high of having their very first victory, though, the Knight would eventually come to find that there are only more battles to be fought in their day to day life - more people to save and protect - and it is a realization that would scare the Knight back over to the other side of their powers. Going back to protecting their Aspect, they may find themself becoming a little bit more cocky, if only by pure accident. They’d be a little more certain in their ability to do things on their own, not needing anyone else to hold their hand or tell them what they can and can’t handle, and it is why they would come to protect their Aspect more and more. Perhaps, deep down, the Knight would only come to try and protect their Aspect because, as wonderfully tasteful and satisfying their first victory was, there was a part of the Knight that was scared of what they had done - or maybe it was more so they were scared of what they could do. The Knight of Time is one who does not wish to be a hero, or at least viewed as one, but it is often by pure coincidence that their actions of fighting against something they perceive to be a threat is met with praise and admiration, along with the title of hero. It’s not what the Knight wants, though - they don’t want to be a hero, they simply want to be happy and at peace for once in their life.

It is because of this desire to live a happier, more peaceful life that only seems to bring the Knight into a type of avoidance of any and all conflict, all the while desperately protecting themself and their Aspect from falling prey to anyone’s mind games. Even if they find themself locked in a problem that would require them to use their Aspect, they would most likely refuse, as that would make them something they do not wish to be: a hero. The Knight of Time is someone who does not want to take their place upon the stage, nevertheless be in the center of the brightest spotlight. Any good the Knight does is something they would much rather be left shrouded in a fog of mystery, with everyone left wondering who, or what, brought about this positive change to their life. While they may not want to be showered in love by the fans around them, this doesn’t exactly mean they want their friends to ignore their efforts entirely, either. Although the Knight may do their best to help out their friends they need it, it is what we don’t see the Knight of Time do that marks their most courageous and kindest of acts. They are the masters of doing things from the shadows, going unnoticed by the people who watch from above until, finally, the Knight can give the final blow. However, this moment rarely ever comes, and if it does, the Knight will most certainly prefer not to have an audience nor witness. If the Knight of Time is not careful in this approach to their powers, though, then they will come to find that, in their pursuit to be an unseen and unsung hero, they will have made a vast and fatal error within their judgement.

As much as the Knight of Time may try their best to protect their Aspect in regards to only themself, it is the fighting spirit within the Knight’s friends that they will fail to pick up on. Having been so caught up in avoiding all instances of heroism, they unknowingly left such tasks to fall into the laps of their friends, bringing them to do exactly what the Knight wanted to avoid happening. Now, they must bear witness to the aftermath of what happened to those they love who fell for the lie that being a hero is one of the most noble things they can do. It is not the Knight who lost a grand battle, but rather that of their beloved companions who suffered a fate that, in most timelines, was meant purely for the Knight. While the Knight may experience their own loss in some fashion, they will more than easily push away such feelings of grief and sadness, and instead leave room for self doubt and an even thicker facade to grow around them. They had all this time to be an actual hero, and instead they hid away, scared to be the person who could become everyone’s little errand-runner. Now, here they stand, their friends old selves left to rot away as the new identities of them bloom from their husks, like that of mushrooms on a log, or flowers in a scorched field. They were so caught up in their own little bubble - their own world - that they neglected to even check in with their friends, as well as protecting their own fighting spirits, making sure they weren’t about to bite off more than they could chew.

From this moment the Knight of Time would begin to have a grand personal, internal journey, one that would bring them to swing, stitch, sway, and suffer. Bouncing from one power to the other, never seeming to ever really take a moment to try and settle down on who they are, especially if it conflicts with who they want to be. Who do they want to be, though, after experiencing such a stark moment of pure misery? Do they still want to be just a person, a bystander who is ignorant to all of the suffering in the world - all of the injustices that are around - and as such allow those far less capable of remaining rational, headstrong, and sturdy in the face of danger take charge of such battles? Do they, perhaps, dare to finally approach their Aspect, and learn how to properly protect not only themself, but everyone else around them, through their Aspect? Do they dare think of even picking up the sword? While fate doesn’t target the Time-bound to be those who suffer, the Knight of Time is still one who seems to always find themself in situations wherein they must make a decision. Oftentimes, that decision can be boiled down to either becoming that of a hero, whether it is sacrificing themself in one fashion or simply being there to listen to and help out a friend with a problem they have, or becoming that of a bystander, wherein they give up on their title completely, and do everything within their power to avoid being a hero.

There will most definitely be the Knights of Time who would rather take this as their final chance to fully rest and never get up again, which, to an extent, is all they have strived for their entire life. Fate may have no real immediate punishment for these Knights of Time, but in the long run, they will be the ones who will never be remembered - at least not fondly - and instead have all memories and tales of them be lost and buried within the sands of time. As for the Knights of Time who would say no to this, and instead go forth to, perhaps begrudgingly, become the protector, friend, and Knight they are meant to be. They are the ones who will have learned from their mistakes of accidental selfishness, and instead look for more instances wherein they can commit to the acts of both protecting their Aspect, while also protecting through it. Of course, they would still have moments of self doubt, and would most likely be very, very picky in regards to which fights they exactly take part in. However, through it all, the knight of Time would most likely take into mind the people around them when trying to make a decision, for while the Knight of Time may benefit from picking a fight with one person, it may greatly harm someone they adore in the process. Eventually, though, after having a confusing journey of bouncing back and forth, then becoming stuck like that of a gear in a clock, only for their true powers to become fully formed through a miserable lesson and wake up call, there is no doubt the Knight of Time has the promise to be one of the strongest warriors, but also the most carrying.

Before their journey truly began, the Knight of Time was someone who had been dealt quite the unlucky hand, having been left with a great need to battle and fight against what they deemed to be wrong and unjust, or at least someone who promised to be a worthy opponent. However, despite having their life plagued with conflict, they still were someone who seemed to almost constantly struggle to ever come out of these fights as the victor. It is because of this streak of losses that the Knight of Time would become far more attracted to the idea that they simply aren’t meant to be some big hero. Not the knight who saves the princess, nor are they the scientist, the soldier, the doctor, what have you, who can help to save the Earth and its people from a big threat. As much as the Knight may try their best to live a life wherein they avoid all conflict, there would forever be that scratch-scratch-scratching inside of their skull - their Aspect desperately clawing away at their mind as it so desperately pleads for the Knight to be the hero. Yet the Knight will refuse, or at least try their best to do so, until eventually they will be pulled into one or more situations where they have to do what is right - where they have to be the hero of the day. For once, they would finally get that taste of actual victory, as well as the love and admiration that comes with it, and while the Knight may enjoy that feeling of strength and pride for vanquishing some of their very first foes, it is the attention and spotlight being shined down upon them that brings the Knight to hide away from the world. They don’t want to be a hero, but now that they have gotten a feel for what it is like, it has only brought their Aspect to become hungrier.

If you believed the Knight of Time to already have an air of mystery, then you truly have not seen the Knight when they are in a heroic mood. The way in which they present themself as a hero, though, is one filled with shadows and puppeteering, for while the Knight knows who they have helped and have saved, very few people will ever actually know who their mysterious savior is. In a way, this is a facade for which the Knight can comfortably live with, as it does very little to halt their progress of jumping back and forth from protecting their Aspect to protecting through it. Their power is much like that of a can of soda - docile, unassuming, and looks no different from the rest of their people when they are too busy protecting their Aspect. However, if one were to shake the can of soda, then you should not be too surprised to find yourself on the receiving end of a blast of energy - one of which may knock you off your feet. Although this all seems well and good for the Knight in regards to being a mysterious, shadowed hero, there is one thing the Knight will have sorely overlooked in all of their calculations of actions to take. What the Knight will have forgotten to protect most of all is that of their friends. Unfortunately, by the time the Knight will have realized this, it will have already been too late - a great tragedy and pain will have already marked their friends. While some Knights may take this failure of looking after their friends as a sign that they should simply hang up their capes, going back to a life of normality, there will also be the Knights of Time who will take this more as a challenge to do better and become better than the person they were yesterday.

As mentioned before, the Knight of Time is one who naturally jumps back and forth between one power and the other. There will, of course, still be some Knights of Time who prefer to commit to one specific power, but the option to lean on the other one will still always be there for them. Although most Knights of Time are capable of wielding a shield and sword at the same time, let’s still take a moment to break down into the two separate categories that have been established before, starting with the power of protecting Time. This is a rather interesting power to think about, especially when looked at from the metaphysical or more metaphorical view of Time - with those bound to it often having grand rebellious and fighting spirits - and also with the more literal version of Time i.e. the literal passage of time. Because of these different perspectives on the Aspect, both will, obviously, be taken into consideration for the powers of the Knight. 

Let’s start with the more metaphysical version of protecting Time - which would look a lot more like protecting the morale of the team, as well as making sure their friends and allies don’t bite off more than they could chew. They are someone who would simultaneously have to keep the energy high in the team, make sure they are confident and ready to fight, as well as also keep it contained within each person’s limits. If there is something more capable of playing the role of cheerleader for the group than a Blood-bound, it would have to be that of the Knight of Time, someone who not only knows the various rhythms in which actions can and/or will play out, but also how to make sure everyone stays on track to victory throughout. The Knight of Time would most definitely be the friend to go to if you are ever feeling lost or unsure of yourself - or rather, what you are fighting for. They’ll always be there to give their friends reassurances that they are far stronger and more capable of fixing their problems than anyone else even could - the Knight included. 

However, they are also someone who would be there to, in a way, keep everyone’s egos in check so as to avoid them from becoming too inflated. If they have any reason to believe someone is about to do something foolishly and overly heroic, and they know for certain that only a great loss will come from their friend’s actions, then they will do all they can to step in and try to lower the heat that is causing their friend’s confidence to swell up. Protecting the Time of their friends may also come in the way of essentially tying everyone into a type of person-link-chain, ushering them through the important parts of their own journeys and making sure no Time is wasted on anything the Knight finds to be miniscule. They, of course, would also try to protect their friends and their own fighting spirits from being taken advantage of or exploited, especially if the people trying to do such a thing do not have the best intentions in mind. While all of these gestures of protection can come from a place of kindness, care, and love, if the Knight is not careful in how much effort they put into it, along with how often they do step in and nudge their friends back into being humble and modest, then the Knight of Time could eventually see the opposite effect occur. Their friends may start to hide these courageous acts from the Knight, as well as begin to tiptoe and lie more often, assuring the Knight that there truly is nothing to be worried about. However, the Knight is someone who has always been protective of their friends to some extent, and so if they were to discover that their friends would hide such a thing from them, it would not only break the Knight’s heart, but also possibly ruin their friendship with these people. It is a difficult job, but someone has to do it, even if that person is the Knight who, admittedly, most likely still has some issues with being viewed as some hero in their own right.

As for protecting the far more literal version of Time, this is when the powers of the Knight of Time truly begin to shine. To protect Time is to easily have one of the toughest jobs out of many of the people in their lives - for as vast, powerful, and important as Space is, Time is what truly drives everything to continue moving forward. If the world were to stand still, then countless people would meet their frosty demises. If the clock never ticked onward, and our bodies did not age as they are meant to - or at all - then what would be the point of living? The passage of Time is what truly keeps everyone in the world moving. Whether it is the hope for a better and brighter tomorrow, anticipating the day we get to see our friends or family again, or when we get to cross a great milestone in our lives, Time is what makes it possible for any of us to get to experience these things. However, it is due to the finite and limited, yet never ending nature of Time that so many people wish to take advantage of and distort it in one fashion or another. Freezing time, reversing it, manipulating it in one way or another, disrupting its perfect and ever-marching-onward flow - that is what the Knight of Time is meant to prevent from happening. They are meant to go forth and try to stop anyone from messing with the timeline, changing things that will lead one or more people to their untimely ends, bringing something back that was meant to be buried in its ancient sands, and so much more. Keeping harmony amongst the timelines, being the mechanic who makes sure the machines keep running smoothly and perfectly - this is one of the many, many jobs of the Knight of Time. They are to watch each and every timeline, alternate self, and action of those around them so as to make sure no one tries to break or disrupt anything. If the Knight of Time is to suspect anyone of trying to perform such dangerous actions, then they will do their utmost to shield, guard, and protect this harmony, even if it means their own death.

Finally, the final power of the Knight of Time is that of protecting through their Aspect. While there is the difference between the more metaphysical versus literal versions of Time, this power is one that seems to blend the two together. How this occurs is by the Knight of Time harnessing their fighting spirit - their refusal to simply sit by and allow harm and injustice befall their loved ones - and turning it into a rather exquisite and fine blade. By wielding such a powerful weapon, they would use their capabilities of traveling through Time itself to find the foe they must defeat, and slice them down. Although some Knights of Time may not enjoy the action nor even the thought of having to exploit something they spend so long protecting, they will still have to step forward and be willing to bend their own personal rules if it means saving the lives of those they love and care for. This is the power that truly shows a Knight of Time at their best - they are daring, clever, strategic, as well as, most importantly, quick on their feet and even quicker in their own mind. They know the rhythms and dance steps to all possible outcomes, and while at the beginning of their journey, they would simply go on blindly swinging at their foe, it is in these moments that the Knight of Time can truly show how much of an excellent dancer, conductor, fighter, and protector they can be. To use one’s own Aspect as a weapon very few Classpects can achieve, and while there may be some Knights of Time themselves who far prefer the shield over the sword, there is still no doubt that these Knights of Time who protect through their Aspect are one of the more vicious individuals within the group. After all, when one spends such a long time collecting and suppressing something as volatile and rambunctious as a fighting spirit, chances are there will be quite the performance once the Knight finally unleashes all of it. It takes a lot to bring the Knight of Time to do such a thing, though, so if you are to ever find yourself staring up from the tip of the blade towards the Knight, then it would be wise to not play dumb in the wrong you have done to bring you there.

The Knight of Time is someone who has had countless struggles within their life - perhaps enough to write down an endless amount of stories to tell. However, many of these stories have left the Knight to become someone of a scarred and wandering soul. Wandering for what, exactly, no one exactly knows. More fights to win in secret? A peaceful, happy ending? Who is to say except the Knight themself? Even after all of the progress they have made in their life and journey to become the protector they are now, there will still forever be a piece of the Knight that yearns for the day where they can finally rest. Although they may be strong and ferocious in any battle they find themself to be in, having proven themself time and time again that they are not the weakest link, the Knight still finds themself asking the same questions. What does any of their efforts mean? What is the point of all that they do? Will they ever truly know a moment of peace in their life? Do they have to be the hero? For every singular job one of their fellow Knights have, chances are that the Knight of Time will have twice, or perhaps even thrice, as many tasks and jobs to do. Although each Aspect is meant to represent one of the key ingredients to creating a universe, Time is one of the most crucial ones, and those who are bound to it are often the ones left with far too much responsibility for just one person. 

They may have the luxury of being able to use their doomed selves to perform certain tasks, yes, but it still is not a job many of the Time-bound truly ask for - the Knight of Time being one of them. Having the ability to interact and delve in Time itself can often be alarming to many people, and for the Knight of Time, there may be some moments in their life where they despise the thought of doing anything related to their Aspect. Yet, they often still do, if only because of that same question that has forever left itself to burn into the back of their mind: if they won’t step up and be the hero, then who else will? The Knight of Time had made the mistake before of leaving those less prepared and inexperienced to try their hands at becoming heroes, and it is not a mistake the Knight of Time is willing to forget. After all, if there is one thing the Knight of Time values more than keeping peace and order amongst the timelines, as well as making sure that they are not made to be the center of attention, it is that of their friends. If there is anyone who has promise to be one of the most dedicated, loving friends of them all, along with being an excellent cheerleader, it is that of the Knight of Time.

[lucrloux]

— meet LUC RIOUX !

hello ! my name is ani and i am so excited to be here ! below the cut you can find some information on my son, luc ! if you are interested in plotting please feel free to like this post or simply shoot me a message ! 

— the OVERVIEW !

( WOLFGANG NOVOGRATZ, CIS MALE, HE/HIM — oh gosh, sorry LUC RIOUX ! i didn’t see you there ! y'know, i can’t believe you’re already 26 years old; seems like just yesterday you were tripping over yourself, or was that yesterday ? just kidding, just kidding ! anyway, i hear that you’ve been here since 1955, or so you think; congratulations ! at least that shining EXTROVERTED personality of yours hasn’t changed a bit, especially that OBSERVANT + CHARMING, but IMPULSIVE + FRAUDULENT way about you. look, i gotta get back to the group, but i’ll see you around ! 

tw: ww2, alcohol, smoking.

— the BASICS ! 

full name /  luc rioux.

nickname /  lu, lucky.

age /  twenty-six (26).

year of disappearance /  1955.

date of birth /  7th april.

star sign /  aries.

hometown /  paris, france.

current location /  raven house.

nationality /  french.

gender /  cis male.

pronouns /  he/him.

sexual orientation /  bisexual/biromantic.

occupation /  art forger.

language(s) spoken /  french & english.

faceclaim /  wolfgang novogratz.

— the STORY ! 

there is meaning in all things… but are you paying attention? 

tiny fingers curled around mother’s hand, green eyes glossed over in an attempt to take in the world but it is too much– there is too much for you to see. you hear whispers of difficult times, hushed tones floating through otherwise empty halls. mother and father try to hide their worry from you. they try their best to keep the world beyond arched windows hidden, though even a simple glance outside gives way to their delicately spun tales. you see figures rushing past, always in a hurry– never stopping to look at the beauty in this world. as the months grow colder, their features fall– worry encompasses all the shadows you have yet to know. 

would you look at it? 

the world as you know it crumbled, nothing is as it was. nothing will ever be as it was before, times are changing and so are you. your heart yearns for simpler days spent chasing your sister up and down flights of stairs, dancing in the rain and watching father unfold the morning paper without scowling at the newest headlines. this world is not for you– this world is rough, it is cold, it is void of what makes us human. you are yet too young to understand the gravity of it all, but you see the pain. you see the exhaustion in people’s faces, the darkness beneath growing with each moment that passes. you watch it reach out from the corners, you watch it divide those you know and care for. you don’t understand, but you are filled with sorrow for them. you roll up your sleeves, and help where you can. 

you watch father leave for war, his head held high wearing his pride visibly on his chest. for a moment you fear you might never see him again, but mother is there to hold you, to carry your burden. you fear he might never return. and then a letter arrives, you only catch a glimpse of it before mother tears it from your grasp. you see her tears fall, and though you cannot know for sure– you know it must be about father. you pray for his safe return, but in his stead soldiers enter your home. they speak a foreign tongue, and though you do not understand– you are told to fear them. and most importantly, to keep your sister safe. 

your life has changed so drastically. you now serve the soldiers who have taken over your home, you bring them their morning coffee and scramble away as fast as you can. every part of you is filled with rage, you wish for nothing more than things to return to what they were before. you yearn to see your mother’s smile, but these days even the light in her eyes seems to have vanished. and though you are young, you must grow up fast. you must protect your family at all costs, but even so you cannot bear to bite your tongue and hold in your obvious distaste for these men. your sister tries to keep you in check, but you cannot help spitting in their cup, you cannot help calling them names, you cannot help making them feel unwanted in your home. and whilst you feel good in the moment, the punishment is always severe. though, in your eyes your little acts of rebellion are worth every moment of them. even if you tried, you could not sit quietly by. 

the tides are changing… 

the times are changing yet again, the men who occupy your home are no longer composed. you can see the terror in their eyes, and it brings you joy. they become crueler, and that fills your heart with hope– for even they know that their time would come to an end soon. there are whispers of forces liberating your country– and you hope it to be true. 

c’est la vie…

you watch as horrid flags are taken down, and your own are raised once more. the city you call home is far from glory, it is in shutt and ashes. the very foundations collapsed under the turmoil of the war. and yet, everywhere you turn you see life return to empty shells. and with such a return, so does your father. but he is a changed man. he is not the sweet and tender man you remember him to be. his gaze has hardened, blue eyes turned cold as steel. you cannot find your way home to him, for his heart is shut with the despair of what he has lived. 

you try so hard, but you are always met with disappointment. 

you have a pale memory of that time, but why? 

you are old enough to sit at the table, you are old enough for your voice to be heard. and yet, in your father’s eyes you are but a child. he pushes you aside, in his eyes you are worth nothing. and you have to wonder why is it that you are so wrong for this world? but you never learn the answer beyond never being good enough in his eyes. and so, you stop trying. instead, you follow your heart. 

though the war is over, its remnants loom over your shoulders. you cannot unsee the things that have come to pass. the graveyards filled with bodies– old and young alike. the city is a ghost town, lights flickering as you walk past. when you wake in the middle of the night, covered in a layer of sweat, all you can think of is those horrid soldiers leaning back on your living room chairs, their dirty boots placed on the table. all you can remember is your mother running through the house fulfilling their every demand and you are angry. you are angry at the world for being so disappointing. 

setting fire to our insides for fun, to distract our hearts from ever missing them… 

*tw alcohol*

for a while, you think, it would be best to feel numb. you want to forget– you want to bury the terrors you have witnessed. but you cannot seem to forget. and so you turn to the bottle, you hope that maybe the answer lies at the bottom of your glass. but there is none to be found, instead, you watch the world go blurry. and you decide, you have seen enough– as well as far too little. you want to enjoy your life. you want to dream. you want to escape into different worlds all together. 

*tw end*

art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self…

your sister urges you to follow your dreams. she urges you to showcase your talents. and for a moment you believe her. you believe in yourself. regardless of what your father might think, you enroll in art school. you study the grand artists of your time, but you will never measure up to them. and once more you are met with the word you despise the most: disappointment. though you see your professor’s lips moving, you hear your father’s voice. and once more you run– you run from responsibility. but you are not willing to give up the life you love. and so, you turn elsewhere for guidance. 

people leave pieces of their soul in their art… 

you look to the masters for guidance, you know their work– and you can paint fairly well. you may not know yourself, but you search for pieces of yourself in their art. brush on paper, you begin to duplicate their works. after the turmoil of the war, art is lost and scattered and you abuse this. you sell your work for theirs, forgeries none the less– but good ones. 

suddenly you have more money than you know what to do with. and you spend it foolishly. you spoil your mother, your sister and most importantly yourself. finally you have the means to do as you please, and so you do. you treat life as though it were a game, an illusion. you aren’t sure what is real and what is not– for you haven fallen under a spell, intoxication. but one thing remains certain: you are in for a wild ride. 

— the THE FACTS ! 

luc was born and raised in paris, france. 

his family was well off, but like many others they still struggled with the economic demise prior to ww2. 

during the war, his father participated in the battle of france, but never returned home. like many others he was taken as a prisoner of war. leaving his mother to take care of luc and his little sister. 

during the war, their home was occupied by german soldiers and they were forced to serve them. he hated this more than anything in the world, and acted out despite severe punishments. he was never one to sit by quietly. 

during this time, his mother helped smuggle people out of the country and while luc was but a child, he aided her as best he could. 

after france was liberated and his father returned home nothing would ever return to as it was in the time before. his father was a changed man from his time spent as a prisoner of war. he was cold, and distant. luc did not know how to deal with him, nor did his father know how to deal with luc. 

he went on to study art and art history at university. but, there too he was met with disappointment. his professors did not agree with his style of work and eventually luc gave up and dropped out. his father, ever the more disappointed in him threatened to cut him off. 

luc is a very proud young man, and so he essentially dared his father to cut him off. which the man then did. forcing luc to try and make ends meet himself. 

luc was used to luxuries in his home, and he was not willing to give up such a life. so he turned to the other side of the law. he began forging famous paintings that had gone missing during the war. selling his own work as those of renowned painters. with the money he lived a lavish lifestyle. 

he worked hard in this illicit career, but he partied even harder. 

the young man had been dabbling in matters on the opposite side of the law, fraudulent behaviour on the verge of being uncovered. his sister had been so kind to pass him a note at breakfast, it hadn’t been signed by name though the message was threatening: ‘ we know what you are doing, it’s only a matter of time until we can link you to the crime. ‘ alas, he sought out a space, in which he could go about his work undisturbed. 

checking in under a false name, jacques de villiers, the young man patted himself on the shoulder in the belief that this would solve all his problems. he would be able to use his hotel room to forge artwork, all evidence placed in the hands of the hotel, whereas at his home there would be none to be found when the police came knocking.

— the RAVEN HOUSE ! 

the year was 1955. 

the young man decided to check into a hotel, tucked away in the heart of paris. it was far from modest, but truth be told he wouldn’t settle for less. luc had always been drawn to the luxurious aspects of life: a glass of champagne in the morning, silken sheets hugging his body, and leaning out the window to smoke his first cigarette of the day with a perfect view of champ de mars. 

perhaps he had indulged in too many pleasures the night before, for when he pushed the door to his room open he was greeted by an entirely different interior. it was beautiful nonetheless, crystal chandeliers and ornate decorations. and yet, something was off. he caught glances of people passing by, each dressed in a manner he could not recognize to belong to his time. with a smile plastered on his lips, the young man left to discover the place he found himself in only to become aware of the fact that he now resided in the raven house. 

— the PERSONALITY ! 

his unpredictability made him a menace to society, or better said the social circles his family operated in. he was everything but poised and calm, he had a certain spark in his eyes: the desire to live life to its fullest. luc was charming at his root, equipped with honey lips and a serpent’s tongue. though he didn’t necessarily say the right thing at the right time, he had a way of getting away with it. perhaps it was his sociability, or the way he would make the person he was speaking with feel as though they were the only one in the world. that was until his attention drifted elsewhere, which it always did. ever with a drink or cigarette in hand, he was the life of the party, one debacle after the other– a sight to behold, but never to own. he came and went as he pleased, making himself at home in any environment that he deemed acceptable. in his core, he is an extrovert– though a rather chaotic one. 

— the HEADCANONS ! 

001. his most treasured item: it was a gift from father to son, the one object he owns that symbolizes his father’s acceptance. gifted to him upon his birthday, it came with the words, “now you are a man.” it was the only moment his father seemed to stand eye to eye with luc, as though they were equals. but this is not why the object means so much to him, no– he couldn’t care less about that man. he holds it dear for the words so delicately scratched onto the bottom by his sister, “l’artiste est semblable au prince des nuées “ (the artist is alike the prince of the clouds). the object is none other than a silver lighter with his initials engraved onto the center of it, always found in the comfort of his pocket. 

002. when luc first entered the raven house he was content simply enjoying every day that passed without responsibility. however, when it dawned on him that he would never be able to see his family or friends again he became obsessed with remembering their likeness. he tried his best to draw images of those close to his heart, but with each day that passed he came to realize that those memories were lost. there are a vast amount of ripped up images, or unfinished pictures scattered around his room that he furiously scribbled over in frustration. for he was only ever able to draw one person from his past life: his father. the look of disappointment ingrained in his mind for all of time to come. though, the worst part of it all was that he couldn’t manage to create a single image of his sister, who he was really close to. he felt so guilty that he could not remember the details of her features beyond the green eyes they shared– and even then he was unsure if he remembered her eyes or if he was simply drawing his own. 

003. after his mysterious disappearance, the note was discovered by his family. his story quickly became a rather large investigation, but as no trace of him was found his family grew impatient with the investigation and offered up a rather large reward for any news on their lost son. the case found the tabloids, the newspapers, and general gossip quite quickly. his story influenced the character « charles bonnet » in the movie “how to steal a million” years later.

004. when luc first entered the raven house he was only able to speak french, but one of the other guests was so kind as to teach him english. he still struggles with the pronunciation of words to this day, but he tries his best. it doesn’t exactly bother him either that his mothertongue often slips through when speaking in this foreign tongue, for he never cared much to perfect this skill-- he only wanted to be able to communicate. (this could be a possible plot ??? one of the other guests that teaches him english !!! ) 

[muffinapologist]

Birthday Cake

On A03

warnings: moralitwins, platonic demus, platonic logicality, platonic loceit, graphic depictions of baking cakes, mental breakdowns. angst and fluff.

When it comes to ‘birthdays’ Janus is more inclined to agree with Logan. As sides of one personality they don’t truly have birthdays. Their birthdays, like the rest of them, were constructs. Closer to anniversaries than actual birthdays. No real reason to celebrate.

No reason to get all depressed and angsty when one spends it alone.

February 3rd, the anniversary of when Janus started appearing in Thomas’s videos. The anniversary of when the man first became aware of the deceitful side.

This would be his third year celebrating such a date as his ‘birthday’. So, really, it isn’t too much of a shock to the system for it to also be the first year since then that he’s spending February 3rd alone. Two years in a row is hardly a tradition make.

Not like before, celebrating June 6, as close to a real birthday as anything could be for a side. The day he first formed. He remembers it more clearly than a side like Logan, or Virgil would. Because he wasn’t formed over months and years. It had happened rather suddenly, actually.

But there was no need to reminisce over lost childhood. It has been decades (nearly plural). And Janus isn’t about to spend his day sentimental over spilled batter and the sound of bubbling laughter.

Nor will he spend it mourning the loss of hands over his eyes--scratchy material of long sleeves against his nails--that warm and familiar obnoxiously flamboyant voice declaring “happy birthday Janny”. Over the reveal of some monstrous cake that absolutely did not taste delicious anyway.

So what if he and Patton didn’t celebrate the same birthday anymore?

So what if the ‘light’ sides abhorred his existence? (well, with the exception of Logan who insisted he was neutral)

So what if Remus was a bit sour over being used for Janus’s plans?

It is what it is. Janus does not feel sorry, he does not regret anything. He got what he wanted. He got his seat at the table.

Today is a day like any other. Not a birthday. His birthday is June 6th . He doesn’t have a birthday.

He doesn’t need to be on good terms with his brother; Patton is willing to work with him and that’s all Janus needs to gain a foothold. He doesn’t need the friendship of the lightsides. Remus will forgive him eventually.

Lies come easily to Janus, always have. He lies to the others, he lies to Thomas, and he lies to himself. He tells himself these lies on a loop the moment he realizes Remus isn’t going to even say ‘hi’ let alone his usual insistent celebration.

(and Janus has always wondered, how the others had so easily forgotten that aspect to Remus; the loyalty, the love. Perhaps his way of showing it was a tad… disgusting. But he had somehow found a way to love Janus for all his faults.)

Janus lies to himself and insists that it is not at all significant that he’d done something bad enough to drive even Remus away.

At some point he convinces himself he needs cake. That's what’s missing. All this birthday nonsense has given him a craving , that’s all. So what if Remus wasn’t here to make one? Janus could do it on his own. He was an adult, perfectly capable of baking a simple pastry.

He lands on the page in their old cookbook for a ‘funfetti’ cake (a plain vanilla cake recipe with additional instructions scribbled over it in blue crayon) and tells himself he selects it for its simplicity.

It absolutely does not fill him with a hollow longing feeling.

“Don’t stir so fast it’s going to--”

The warning does not come nearly soon enough to stop the enthusiastic over-stirring that causes cake batter to splash everywhere.

Patton halts, gives him a lopsided sheepish smile “sorry Jan”

“S’okay Patt. You know what they say; no use in crying over spilt batter.”

“Isn’t it spilt milk?”

“No, i’m certain the saying is batter.”

When Janus feels his eyes sting he tells himself it’s the sun in his eyes, and he closes the kitchen’s blinds to block out some of the light.

Cakes are simple, really. Straightforward. Eggs, flour, sugar, butter, baking powder.

Rainbow sprinkles.

Sometimes Janus wonders if that’s why he struggles so much with baking, straightforward is against his nature. The batter looks wrong, he can already tell it won’t turn out. But he pours it into a greased cake tin regardless. Because the longer he spends on this endeavor the longer he can pretend that his problem is a lack of cake.

“What is that monstrosity?” Janus asks, with exasperated fondness.

“Cake!” Remus declares proudly, as if not sensing the disgust in the other’s tone (or possibly simply preening at it)

“It looks like something’s already eaten it”

“Aww, thank you Janny!”

“Do I have to eat this?”

“Yes” a pause and an eyeroll “Don’t be dramatic snakey, it’s all decoration. It’s a real cake underneath.”

“Thank you Remus”

“Happy birthday Jan”

Janus decides it’s a bit too pathetic, even in his current state, to watch the cake baking in the oven. So he preoccupies himself with cleaning up the preparations. Slowly, because the sooner he finishes the sooner he has nothing to do and he cannot be left with his thoughts right now.

It doesn’t matter, no matter how he stretches it out, he can’t possibly clean for the entire duration of the cake’s cooking time. So he makes frosting. Something he wasn’t originally planning on bothering doing. But you know what they say about idle hands...well, something or other about the devil.

Mixing frosting is also straightforward. Softened butter, milk, vanilla, confectioner's sugar.

Rainbow sprinkles.

“The sprinkles go on the frosting, not in it.”

“But there’s even more sprinkles if we do it both ways. Besides, it’s our recipe. We can make it however we want right?”

“Careful Patt, you’re turning into a rebel.”

Patton sputters and Janus laughs.

The frosting turns out better than the cake, slightly lumpy but speckled with color. Janus covers the bowl with cling wrap and sets it in the fridge while the cake cools on the counter.

Baked, the cake doesn’t look so bad. Although it does fall apart as Janus removes it from the tin. Distantly, he remembers some baking show Thomas watched-while extremely bored and procrastinating- had mentioned to wait for the cake to cool before removing it from the tin. But it’s too late now. He can always plaster the pieces together with frosting later.

No one other than Janus himself is going to see the cake anyway, who cares if it’s ugly as sin?

Janus does have enough sense, however, not to attempt any frosting related reconstruction while the cake is still hot. Cleaning up the mess from making the frosting doesn’t take very long, especially since he can’t clean out the bowl just yet. (he is able to clean out the cake tin but due to the baking spray there’s not much to scrub and he’s done in minutes)

“Happy birthday,” Logan-still called Curiosity rather than Logic at that time-holds out a poorly wrapped gift, one for each of the twins. One with yellow paper and the other with blue.

Janus briefly considers not opening his at all, even with the lack of skill it’s probably the prettiest gift he’s ever seen.

But Patton rips into his and soon Janus gives in as well.

“Thank you Lo,” Patton jumps with excitement and wraps his arms around the Curious side. Janus repeats the sentiment, with only marginally less enthusiasm.

It’s just the three of them for right now. A happy little family on June 6th.

Patton would have celebrated his birthday on January 15th this year, Janus’s mind supplies without permission and without warning, just as he had for the past five years. He wonders, before he can stop himself from doing so, if Patton ever feels the same sense of wrongness on January 15th as Janus feels on February 3rd.

Unlikely. Patton seemed perfectly content to forget that he has a twin.

That was their long standing lie. One that still joined them together as equal participants. Patton was morality and Janus was deceit and that was that. Nothing more to see here folks. Move right along.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, and the cake on the counter is still warm to the touch, but Janus figures that not losing his sanity further is worth some melted frosting; so he starts piling it on anyway. When it melts and slides off he just layers more on.

The benefit to this-objectively awful-approach is that it requires three times the amount of time than frosting a cake like a competent person would. As far as Janus is concerned, the more wasted time the better. The closer the clock ticks to February 4th the closer he is to being relieved from his not-birthday.

No amount of decorations can save the cake at this point, but Janus tops it with more rainbow sprinkles anyway. Because it’s what Patton would have done. Because it’s something to do to take up a little more time.

When it’s finished, though; when Janus has cut himself a piece, setting it on the counter; it doesn’t get tasted. Ofcourse, Janus had known from the beginning that he wasn’t really craving cake. That he didn’t even particularly like sweets, and the only reason he associated cake with birthdays was because people always insisted he partake.

And it wasn’t cake that made those moments sweet.

It’s a good thing he’s alone, Janus tells himself, when he stares at the drooping, crumbling cake and thinks ‘well isn’t that just a metaphor for my entire existence’ and can no longer hold back tears.

So much for Patton being the cry baby.

“Oh”

The sudden sound of someone else’s voice most certainly does not make Janus jump.

Patton looks a bit awkward, clutching a plate with an equally disastrous looking cake on top. White with rainbow sprinkles. Funfetti. Janus has just enough awareness to flush with embarrassment and wipe the tears from his cheeks.

He clears his throat and straightens his cape slightly. “Can I help you?”

Patton opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. He appears to be thinking really hard about something and Janus is about to say something about not needing pity when Patton finally speaks;

“I miss spending our birthday together.”

“It’s not our birthday,” comes Janus’s immediate reply.

“I know.” Patton replies.

They stare at each other a moment longer before Janus motions for Patton to take a seat at the counter. The father figure does, and the reptilian side slides his untouched piece of cake towards the other. Patton gives him a slice of his own cake, and both twins eat in silence for a moment.

Janus cuts through the silence this time, with a sly grin “Patt, this is the worst cake I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really? Because I think yours is pretty good,” Patton replies. “In fact, I think it’s maybe the best cake i’ve ever had.”

Janus gives him a skeptical look, but digs his fork into the remains of the cake he baked to taste it. The frosting is grainy and off-putting and the cake is crumbly and dry and he barely avoids coughing afterwards. “You’re getting better at lying.”

“I learned from the best,” Patton jokes back. “But I mean it. I think it’s the best cake i’ve ever had. It tastes like...not being alone anymore.”

“That’s a lot to put on a cake.” Janus retorts. He’s never been especially good with sentimentality.

Patton just shrugs in response.

“Hey Patt?”

“Yeah Jan?”

“On June 6th let’s just order a cake.”

Patton gives a snort-laugh hybrid. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

-----

When Janus knocks he’s somewhat surprised he even gets an answer. He supposes it shouldn’t be surprising, Remus may be mad at him but he’s not cruel. Still, the creative side glares at him.

“What?”

Janus holds the road-kill esque funfetti cake out to Remus. His best friend. “I’m sorry, Re. I…”

He’s not good with apologies, either, but apparently, that’s enough; because he’s pulled into an immediate-sticky-hug.

“Happy birthday Janny.”

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 9: Salvation

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Nine: Salvation 

Note: As always, I loved your comments on this chapter! Keep being you! This chapter was one hell of a wild ride to write...

-~-

The road forward was treacherous, much like the road behind them, but they carried onward regardless. At this point in their journey, they were tired and beyond thinking about the little things that affected them such as falling to their death into a crevice. In all truth, that was less of a small issue, but they were so tired that it didn’t really matter to them anymore. The two weary travelers were practically ready to willingly roll down the mountain if it meant reaching something akin to safety. The sooner that they were able to assess their situation, the better it would be for both of them.

As V and Morgan continued forward, the older teen with the white hair allowed his mind to wander for a moment. While still paying close attention to their surroundings, he was still somewhat distracted by the conversation that they had both just participated in. Everything about this situation worried him profoundly, and he wasn’t sure how to reconcile that kind of information. It seemed that no matter how far he ran from his childhood, the seemingly supernatural trapping of his reality would always find a way to catch up with him. There was a part of him at that moment that contemplated the possibility of that being among the reasons that he had grown up without his family in the first place. Was he cursed or something? With his track record, it seemed likely to some degree. While that wasn’t the sort of thing that he could strictly say he believed in, he could certainly say that it believed in him. It simply wasn’t possible to be this unlucky otherwise.

Morgan glanced over at him as he tested a particularly precarious section of the snow-covered rock face with his foot, unsure as to whether or not he trusted the structural integrity of what he was forced to work with. While he wasn’t entirely convinced that it could hold their weight, he was willing to try if for no other reason than the fact that there was literally no other way that they could get down this side of the mountain, and he would be damned if they backtracked. It was simply too risky of a maneuver to go back into the woods. It was practically a miracle that they’d made it as far as they had without encountering any further resistance. There was no reason to push their luck.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t like our chances,” Morgan said hesitantly as she looked over the edge of the slippery ledge that her companion was testing out. It didn’t take a genius to see that this wasn’t the safest option in the world. “I mean, there isn’t really a better option, but still. What if this crumbles and we fall and break our legs or something? That would make things really easy for those creeps that are after us.”

V glanced over his shoulder at her, internally agreeing with her sentiments. To be perfectly honest, he’d never been very keen on heights. There were certain things that just instinctually creeped him out, and the idea of benign this high up was pretty far up that list. The only thing that made it even remotely acceptable was the fact that everything was covered in snow, so it made his depth perception less accurate. That was both a blessing and a curse considering the fact that the one thing he truly needed in that situation was accurate depth perception. Well, that and a warm blanket. It was truly cold outside, and they both needed to get out of the elements as quickly as possible.

“You make a good point. We must not willingly go to our deaths in our haste to find salvation. It would be rather unfortunate for us to tumble over the edge due to impotence and impractical thinking.” V shifted uncomfortably, looking over to his left side at the woods. Something stirred in him as he gazed at the unfeeling wall of dead foliage, practically acting as a physical counterargument to his point. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but the longer they stood there, the more compelled he felt to get the hell away from their current location. “That being said, while this is far from the safest route down, it is the quickest. And since it was my idea in the first place, I’ll do the right thing and volunteer to go first.”

Swallowing heavily, he peered over the edge again, regretting it immediately. That’s right. I truly dislike heights, don’t I? The self-sabotaging thought was almost enough to make him backtrack on his former statements, but he liked to think that he had more integrity than that. It would make little sense for him to bring them both this far only to dangle his young companion to the wolves at the critical moment. He was an adult, and it to say that it would be cowardly to allow a young teenager to go headfirst into danger because he was too scared to act first would be an understatement. 

And it would be even less acceptable if he took the fact into account that she had stayed behind and saved him from their attacker when she’d had a perfect opportunity to flee and leave him to his fate. They were basically strangers, after all. She’d demonstrated resolve and bravery, and now it was his time to do the same. And while he knew this and accepted his fate, he only wished that the universe had been kind enough to present him with another obstacle instead. But then again, when did he ever get exactly what he wanted? That wasn’t the nature of human existence, especially when it came to the nature of the wilderness. Mother nature hated humanity with a burning passion, and that was a fact. Maybe he could get lucky and just crack his entire skull open on the way down?

“Oh, you don’t have to-” Morgan began as she took in the gravity of what V had proposed, a tinge of horror coating her tone of voice. The idea of watching her new companion plummet to the depths below shook her deeply. He didn’t deserve such a fate. But before she could continue, he hushed her gently.

“Please don’t. Let me do this for you. Before I lose my nerve.” He gave her a gentle but serious look as he waited for her to comply. With a heavy, disgruntled sigh, he relented and lowered her arms to her side, worry evident in her face. He was a grown adult and she knew that, and if there was one thing that she’d learned in her young life, it was that adults didn’t tend to make the best decisions at times, but it was probably best to just let them learn the hard way. She knew that at the end of the day he meant well, and could only hope that this particular lesson wouldn’t cost him his life. He didn’t deserve to die, and she didn’t deserve to see yet another death that day.

With a heavy sigh and a nod of confirmation, V turned towards the edge of the rockface that could easily spell his doom. crouched down and put his hand on the ledge. Everyone had to die at some point, right? He hadn’t expected to have his nerves tested so vigorously when he’d left the house that day, but here he was, looking down an icy slope and seriously readying himself to clamber down it like he actually knew how to do that. The situation had called upon him to be brave, and he knew that that wasn’t something that he was capable of doing at that moment. But what he could do was take a deep breath and take things slowly. This wasn’t the first time he’d been called upon to descend a great height in order to procure his salvation. This was but another unfeeling stepping stone in his path. He could overcome this.

Crouching down on all fours, he tested the edge on the ledge with his grip one last time before gripping it as tightly as he could and sliding over the edge, trying his best not to mentally consider the fact that he was now dangling just over a story up in the air. Below him was a ledge at least ten feet wide. If he could get down to it safely, then he could get Morgan to safely. And at that moment in time, that was all he cared about. Perhaps that was the kind of single-minded focuses that this situation required.

He tried to ignore the dull aching that came from the cold ice making contact with his fingers as he placed his right foot on a chunk of ice, pulling his body into an uncomfortable vertical position. His gloves were the typical cheap sort that you got from a hole in the wall general store, and as such, had not been constructed with this kind of activity in mind. They barely carried out their most basic function of keeping his fingers warm in the first place. This was asking a lot of them.

As he attempted to place his left foot on something solid below him, he quickly realized that his right hand wasn’t coming loose from the ice above him. It seemed that the thin fuzzy fabric was now stuck to the ice, the combination of cheap material and heat from the palm of his hand making it impossible to pull free, at least from this position. He cursed himself internally, opting to try and recenter himself with his free hand as he tried to pull his hand out of the glove. It would have to stay in his pocket. Much to his surprise, his hand was not budging, seeming caught in the position that it was in when it had frozen in the first place. 

Somewhat miffed, he yanked the appendage harder, earning him a sharp pain in his wrist, and an unsettling cracking sound for his trouble. But, much to his dismay, he knew that the cracking sound hadn’t come from his wrist. There was a part of him that wished it had, but he knew that wasn’t the case. V was granted a momentary second of horrifying clarity before he lost his footing and slipped downward, hitting the ice blow side first with the kind of impact that he imagined a wayward car would probably do to a fire hydrant. Morgan covered her mouth with her hand and yelped in horror as he hit the ice fifteen feet below with a horrifying crack, his left side catching a stray branch that stuck out of the side of the cliff face before he teetered to his right and made his final impact with the frozen ground below.

For a moment, V laid there and wondered if that was what death felt like. Both sides of his body ached horribly in what had to be the worst dull throbbing sensation he’d ever felt. The only emotion that he felt was profound regret, his sides now burning like he’d been lit on fire. Somehow he mustered the physical energy to be able to curl up into a ball and shiver in discomfort and squeeze his eyes shut, all the while noticing that a distant sound from above him. It sounded like he was underwater, his ears ringing and muffled as his entire upper body throbbed. He sucked in as much air as he could get into his body, yet the dreaded lightheadedness that he felt indicated to him that he might still not be getting enough air. 

It was perhaps the most discomfort he’d ever felt all at once, and though there was a part of him that was sure he should probably count himself lucky, all he felt in that moment was horrible pain and immense regret for everything that had led him to that momentary outcome. Perhaps it was easier to just lay there and let the elements get the best of him? Would anyone even notice if he did that? Before he could ponder that thought any further, his ears stopped ringing, and a quiet but distant voice registered to him. It was Morgan! How quickly pain had made him forget that she was still above him! 

“Holy shit, V! Are you okay?!” A horrified voice shouted as quietly as it could from about him. Morgan was leaned over the edge of the ice shelf, her messy curly hair hanging down from above him like curtains framing a window. “ Try to breath slower and deeper. It might help. That’s what I did when I broke my arm leg in a skiing accident as a little kid. Just calm down, okay?!”

He tried to calm himself, a potent mixture of anxiety, pain, and confusion overloading his senses and overtaking any rational thoughts in his mind as he tried to take slow, deep breaths. After a moment, the pain began to relent slightly, giving him a brief window to attempt to sit up. He needed to know if he could still move, and he needed to find out as fast as possible. With a pained, shuddery groan he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the ground, his trembling arms barely holding his weight. His hand was badly scraped, his head felt like he’s been hit with a cinderblock, his eyes throbbed as they made contact with the light again, and he was certain that he was going to be covered in bruises soon enough, but he was still alive, and he was positive that with the extreme amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he would be able to stand.

With a low, pained groan, he stood up and steadied himself, brushing the snow off of his soon to be bruised body and collecting his shoulder bag. Part of him was sure that the garment bag had probably contributed to his fall, but he didn’t care at the moment. At least nothing inside of it could break, and nothing inside of him was broken, either. At least as far as he could tell. He couldn’t say for certain just yet.

“T-thank you. I think I’m alright.” V took a few steadying breaths, positioning himself so that he could maintain his balance as he held his sore arms up towards Morgan. “If you jump, I’ll catch you. We might both roll the rest of the way down the hill, but it’s much less steep here. Can’t be more than twenty feet or so.”

Morgan gave him a hesitant look, her large hazel eyes containing a mixture of apprehension and concern at the prospect. She was more than certain that she didn’t want to experience what she’d just seen V go through, but he did have a point. She just hoped that it didn’t have to come to that. With a deep breath, she sat down on the ground and slid over the edge of the frozen embankment and towards V, hoping with everything in her that he actually managed to catch her as terror flooded her bloodstream with adrenaline.

To the surprise of both of them, V actually did manage to catch her. They both groaned in discomfort from the impact as he set her down, the pare of them rubbing their shoulders as they attempted to massage the sore muscles in their shoulder blades. Morgan exhaled in relief, the realization that they were not technically out of the wood and in the village settling in. Now if we could just get off of this damn mountain in one piece…

Suddenly, a loud cracking sound echoed through the air as they turned to face what looked to be a way down. Something hit the icy wall behind them, ricocheting elsewhere out of sight. The pair yelped in terror as the realization that something had just shot at them registered in their exhausted minds. Morgan grabbed V around the waist and tackled him to the ground, sending them both rolling down the hill. They kicked up large plumes of powdery snow as they went, a sight that they might have found reasonably funny if not for the circumstance. 

As soon as they rolled to a stop, they were met with the barrel of an old rifle, several villagers with guns standing over them. One held back two barking dogs on short leashes, the two slavering hounds eager to do their master’s bidding. Morgan and V sat up, immediately raising their hands as disbelief, confusion, and fear set in. What in the world was going on here?!

“Hey! Put the guns away! What the hell is your problem?!” Morgan shouted in horrified frustration. She’d had more than enough bullshit for one day. “Some crazy people are after us! Were just trying to-”

Before she could finish or V could interject, one of the men fired off a round into the air as he approached from behind the mob, eliciting a startled scream from Morgan. V placed himself partially in front of the young girl as she backpedaled, the pair completely at a loss as to what was going on and why. Perhaps a calmer approach would elicit a more positive response?

“She speaks the truth. Were being pursued. We only seek safe passage through your town. We were hoping to contact the authorities… The town we live in, Lympha, was attacked a few hours ago.”

The man who had approached from behind nodded, cocking the gun and pointing it down at them as he approached. “Oh, we know, boy. We know. They told us you might be coming this way. Said that they’d leave us alone if we handed over any stragglers to them that they missed, especially if they were young like you lot. You’re the only ones so far. Everyone else, well…” He looked around at the rest of the group, his eyes lingering on the dogs for a moment. “Well, it looks like your going on a little trip.”

Morgan shook her head in disbelief and horror. “Your working with them?! How could you?! Their murderers! Shoot them, not us!” The anger and pain in her voice was evident as she gave them a fierce look, V sliding further in front of her to both hold her back and to hopefully block any stray bullets if things took yet another nosedive for the worse. “Were not going anywhere with you, especially back into that forest! Your all crazy!”

Laughter irrupted from the group of men as they disregarded her words. V felt a chill colder than with winter air run down his spine as he considered the reality of the situation they were in. Had he helped walk them into a trap? Were they going to die here? They couldn’t fight nearly a dozen armed men, especially with the condition he was in. Had this entire plan only ended them back up in the same situation that they had hoped to escape in the first place?

“You see, that’s where your wrong, little lass. Our town has lived in the shadow of that mountain for as long as any of us can remember. They promised to free us from it. And all we’ve gotta do is bring you to the witch vault. Pretty sweet deal if you standing where we’re standing.”

V shook his head, sharing Morgan’s seething fury. Well, if he was going to die, then he might as well do so spitefully. “I would imagine that it is. But we wouldn’t know since we actually have a sense of morality and we’d never willingly ally ourselves with mass murderers. I’ll have to take you at your word.”

An angry look crossed the man’s face as looked down at V raising the but of his gun. “We’ll see how funny you are after you meet your new friends. We weren’t asking for you to cooperate. We don’t need you to.”

Before either V or Morgan could respond or even hope to register the reality of their situation, the butt of the gun came down on them, and everything went black. As he faded into concussive blackness, V could only hope vainly with what little faith in humanity that he still possessed that things couldn’t get worse. But one way or another, he was determined to get them out of there alive. He’d made a promise, and he intended to keep it. Even if it meant that he didn’t leave that place, he had to make sure that Morgan got to see her mother again. He’d never be able to live with the guilt if he did.

-~-

Mini arc my ass lol! This probably has about 2-3 more chapters before it’s over. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Well, enjoyed is probably the wrong word for this, isn’t it? It’s okay, V is tougher than he looks, and I’m sure Morgan, too. She’s got a lot of spunk in her. See you in the comments, and hopefully again next Friday. Something tells me that V’s hope that things can’t get much worse might be a little bit off base.

Boy, this fic is one hell of a bittersweet pain train. That angst tag wasn’t playing around!

[zincpurple16]

Family Mediation

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When the woman was five years old the connection between the parents started to crumble, as well as it became apparent that treatment was required.

In the initial session, the conciliator will stress that the mediation process is confidential which what is said throughout the arbitration is legitimately fortunate.

There was mediationeurope.net ex pats Greece mediators service ideas signed contract by the parents about their roles and obligations.

Sadly, just one baby girl was birthed, yet at first this did not create an issue, as Michelle, Angelina, Matthew and also Teddy all played an energetic part in the youngster's life.

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What makes a successful mediation?

In a successful mediation, all interested parties work cooperatively toward a settlement or fair resolution of their dispute, with the help of a neutral mediator who facilitates the process.

Family Mediation can be free for those who are eligible forLegal Help. This will certainly qualify clients to free legal help from a Family members Solicitor or Separation Lawyer, in addition to having a contract written cost free.

# 21 Family Mediation & Kid Arrangement Situations.

The moderator has a task to assist you consider the stability of any agreement reached. Completing the forecast budgets can help you strategy and also be re-assured that the arrangement you are getting to is a feasible one relocating forwards. Yet it is not vital as well as you can just say you have actually considered this or show a top-level expenditure figure for the documents we produce. When doing Types E, these are generally exchanged between lawyers in advance of any type of settlement on settlement as they require to be ratified and also concurred.

If the propositions are accepted by you both, these are then written by the family conciliator into a Parenting Strategy or a Memorandum of Understanding with an Open Financial Statement. Family mediation is really organized and complies with a defined process. By mosting likely to mediation, it can assist you and also your ex-partner get a separation quicker.

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Bitcoin is further evidence that the “glass ceiling,” the idea that women are kept from reaching the ranks in corporations and in financial success because of a nebulous “patriarchy,” is nonsense.

Economists have disproved the glass ceiling on more than one occasion in the past, so the more well-read will not be shocked by this. Yet, the existence of the glass ceiling has remained a major talking point for feminists. The silence of feminists during the rise of Bitcoin has been deafening.

Bitcoin is an interesting case study because it is modern and doesn’t have the excuses that you hear when the glass ceiling argument breaks out. There is no Bitcoin establishment or “old boys’ club,” because Bitcoin has no establishment. Bitcoin is hardly established, and there is no one central authority.

Feminists claim that “institutions have always had biases” and “it’s a man’s game,” but Bitcoin didn’t come with any biases. It didn’t come with anything. It was nothing ten years ago, and its meteoric growth is well-known.

Bitcoin was created in 2009, a time where women had established themselves in various industries, most notably tech (see: Meg Whitman, Sheryl Sandberg). Nine years later, only three percent (at most) of Bitcoin use (suggested through Bitcoin community engagement) is by women.

Is this the patriarchy keeping women from investing? No. There is nothing that stops women from investing in Bitcoin. Women don’t even need to go to banks to introduce an intermediary which could discriminate against them.

So why aren’t more women investing in Bitcoin? There are a number of reasons for this.

1. Bitcoin is Boring

There are no emotions involved in cryptocurrency investing. Women are more likely to get involved in areas that stir their emotions, from the social sciences to humanitarian work to political rallies.

Bitcoin is mathematical. It was created with a white paper and some computer programming. Since more women take up studies in the arts or humanities than math, it is more difficult to understand the concept and takes more work.

Also, because women prefer soft subjects to hard ones, women end up in jobs related to the arts and humanities versus the hard sciences. They will be more likely surrounded by men and mostly women that also did not study math and computer science and will not be interested in—or understand—Bitcoin.

In addition, Bitcoin isn’t tangible. You can’t feel it in your hands, so you cannot wave it around to boost or lower your status without hopping on a male-centric Reddit page (HODL!!). This reduces the emotional connection to it because there is no physical thing to attach a feeling to. Where money can be a sign of prosperity or options, the numbers in a bit wallet are less tangible.

2. There Is A Lot Of Risk

Women generally value security and strength, which we have seen in relationship dynamics and the number of careers chosen as opposed to entrepreneurs. Men are more willing to take chances.

One of Bitcoin’s tenets is that it is less risky than fiat dollars because it is not subject to inflation and to crumbling governments, so it should be more stable. However, Bitcoin is still young and has a wildly fluctuating value. It is this perceived value that people see as risky, not the idea. It is these wild fluctuations in value that appeal to men.

Bitcoin is also a long-term investment. Bitcoin believers believe the cryptocurrency will be more durable than fiat and will be a superior currency. Women are much more likely to spend and distribute wealth than to build it through investing.

3. Bitcoin Is Competitive

Men eat what we kill. We evolved to eat the animals we hunted, and we still do that in the modern economy. In a tribal setting, the man that hunted the most for his tribe was rewarded with more power and more women to bang. We evolved to be competitive and to fight for the top spot.

These days, men are more likely to participate in sports and more likely to try new things to get ahead (see here). Bitcoin is competitive with other cryptocurrencies as people (men) race to market and grow their currency of choice. Bitcoin is also competitive as a store of wealth. The more men own, the more men can use our primal brains to associate with power and sex.

These are the reasons why only three percent of Bitcoin users—a completely decentralized, open world without bias—are women. These are the same reasons that men make more money than women in the workplace. It isn’t the patriarchy. It’s the evolutionary and behavioral differences in men and women that decide the numbers.

Men are competitive, find freedom in long-term wealth, and are more excited about new ideas and a new, selfish way to increase wealth. At least, more than women.

Read More: Bitcoin Is Creating A New Class Of Millionaires

Right at this very second, the largest transfer of wealth in the history of humanity is underway.  It has been going on since 2009, but it’s really picked up speed in the last 6 months.  A couple of days ago, I wrote a detailed post on RVF explaining Bitcoin in layman’s terms.  I strongly suggest that every reader of this post spend 10 minutes on that explanation, but if you’re too lazy then here’s the summary:

Bitcoin is the world’s largest cryptocurrency, essentially money for the Internet.  It is an open source Internet protocol, like HTTP.  It was hypothesized and first developed by an anonymous author or group under the name “Satoshi Nakamoto”.

Bitcoin is pioneering the idea of a deflationary currency, something which has never been possible before in humanity’s history.  Gold and silver come close, but not all of it has been dug out of the ground yet.  The only two possibilities for Bitcoin are that its value goes to zero, or increases.  There is no possibility that the value ever decreases or stabilizes (in the medium term).  In the long term, Bitcoin’s value will increase at a decreasing rate, but never stop, as it can be lost but not replaced.

Unlike gold and silver, Bitcoin can be essentially perfectly subdivided, and transmitted anywhere on the planet for almost nothing between any two parties with an Internet connection.

Bitcoin is decentralized like the Tor network, so it cannot be regulated or controlled by any government or authority body.

One Bitcoin has climbed from less than $200 to peaks over $1000 in the last month.  Every currency and medium of exchange on the planet is down against the Bitcoin over the last year, including gold and oil.

Innovation Means Winners And Losers

There is a hard limit of just under 21 million Bitcoins.  That means less than 1 in 300 people could own a full one, even if evenly distributed, which they are not (there’s already a number of investors that own hundreds or thousands or more).

One Bitcoin can be subdivided down into 100 million Satoshis (the smallest unit).   Even if the world’s money supply was entirely Bitcoin, one Satoshi would be worth just a couple of cents in today’s USD, allowing for small transactions.  If this were to happen, many many people would be reduced to poverty, living their entire lives on a few Millibits (thousandths of a Bitcoin) or Satoshis.

The new 1% is anyone that currently owns at least one Bitcoin, the world just doesn’t know it yet.  Like this, but on a world scale.  For the most part, this includes white, technically-minded, middle-aged American men but increasingly comprises Chinese technophiles and a cross section of society in economically unstable countries like Cyprus and Argentina.

The US government is starting to clue in and realises it needs to know what’s going on, but all they need to understand is that they can benefit from supporting it, or be trampled as they attempt to regulate something beyond their control.

I can’t say it any better than one of the commentators on the linked article (although I disagree about the inevitability of war and death), so here’s “Dumbhandle”:

US Government: Pay attention. You have almost destroyed the future of our country by retarding bitcoin usage in the US with the ham fisted application and mismanagement of various regs. Wealth is fleeing already to China and accelerating. You have a very short time to deregulate in order to attract bitcoin wealth to the US before the bitcoin black hole inevitably sucks in all world fiat currencies and the flow of XBT wealth to China and other counties accelerates.

Against all odds, your Chinese colleagues have realized this and are working as a team to effectuate capital accumulation over there. They are winning, because they understand fiats and the petro are finished. You need to immediately pull in some experts from the bitcoin community to explain this to you so you can take proper emergency evasive action to reverse the flow back to the US. Here is your goal: deregulate to reverse the capital flight. Then watch the global conversion of fiat to bitcoin. Watch bitcoin accumulate in the most innovative place in the world, the US. Sit back and watch a golden age bloom here and it spreads globally. Any other course will result in wars and death on a massive scale. Now we will watch you screw it up.

Bitcoin Doesn’t Care

Just like hypergamy and evolution, Bitcoin doesn’t care.

It doesn’t care if you didn’t know

It doesn’t care if you don’t understand

It doesn’t care if you don’t believe

The critics will cry that “Bitcoin is just a bubble” (alternatively: pyramid scheme), and they’d be right.  It’s a bubble in exactly the same way as the US dollar, which also gets its value entirely from community consensus (the paper it’s printed with cannot be eaten, used as construction material and is pretty poor fire fuel).  I am more prepared to trust a democratic, distributed, deflationary technology than the self-serving government printing press, and I suspect a lot of others might too.  I’m not alarmed by Bitcoin’s incredible growth, it’s just following the same S curve that tech giants like Facebook and Twitter tend to.

Absent any flaw being found in the source code (which has been publicly available and reviewed for years), or more likely one being introduced by the core development team (still a vanishingly unlikely proposition), I believe 1 Bitcoin will be worth at least US$ 100 000 by 31st December 2016.  The Winklevoss twins think even higher.  Max Keiser thinks even higher.  Even Peter Thiel (Paypal co-founder) agrees the revolution has begun.  Although ultimately, we’re all pure speculators on a very untested new technology.

The only other potential issue is advances in quantum computing that smashes apart current encryption standards, but that would cause far larger problems with all online privacy.  If anyone would come out on top it’s the forward-thinking and technically-minded Bitcoin community.

Adapt or live with regret among the masses.  You have been warned.  At the very least, do some reading and make an informed decision.

Bitcoin daily closing prices on MtGox for the last 4 years (to Nov 29), from sub-5 dollars to over $1000.  The closing of illegal, anonymous online marketplace Silk Road knocked the price off for a while, but it freed Bitcoin from any accusations of being useful only for drug deals.  The road up is going to be rocky, but there is no stopping the train now.

NB:  In the time taken for this post to go through the ROK submission and editing process, closing prices have doubled.  The original version of this article had the graph below finishing at $450.

https://www.returnofkings.com/10595/there-is-no-hedge-against-inflation