#its not said maliciously but its practically goading | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hollyethecurious · 2 years ago

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CS AU: Conviction (8/?)

Summary: The story had been front page news for months. Scandalous details of a married woman of low birth and with limited means, murdering her husband; hatcheting him to death in order to save her own life and that of her unborn child - or so she claimed. No evidence to support her allegations of abuse had been presented during the trial, but in the end, it was the fact that Mrs. Cassidy was with child that saved her from a verdict of murder in the first degree, a judgment that carried the death penalty for both men and women alike. As an act of mercy, a lesser charge was issued, one that spared her life but now made her Misthaven Penitentiary’s problem to contend with, and more specifically, the Captain of the Guard charged with keeping order within its walls.

A/N: Thanks to my amazing betas, @snowbellewells and @kmomof4. Also, shout out to @sotangledupinit for the assist in defringing Killian for the art.

Rated T-M (for themes, mentions of abuse, murder, and attempted assault) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list

Chapter Eight

March was living up to its reputation - in like a lion - the blistering winds practically blowing Killian through the main prison doors and up the stairs. It was a wonder he’d managed to keep hold of his cap during his trek from the boarding house. Now safely inside, he whisked it off and ran his hand through his hair as he passed cells and reciprocated greetings with a nod.

Henry’s cries echoed through the structure, and the closer he got to the Officers’ Hall, the more strained and weary the addresses from the inmates.

“Glad you’re here, Cap’n,” one of the older prisoners said as he passed, his concerned expression stopping Killian in his tracks. “Nothin’s been able to quiet the lad today. Poor mother has to be at her wit’s end. ‘Oping you might be able to--”

“I know how to stop the racket,” Teach interrupted from the next cell over with a malicious sneer. “Bash the little bugger’s head in, then we might all get some peace and quiet.”

Killian grabbed the man by the shirt and hauled him forward, slamming him against the iron bars as he seethed into the man’s face. “Any more talk like that and the only head that’ll be bashed in, is yours. Do I make myself clear, Teach?”

“Careful, Captain,” the man grunted in disdain and defiance. “Or I might be liable to forget meself the next time a representative from the Board comes ‘round for an inspection. Wouldn’t do for someone to insinuate that certain protocols are being overlooked, or that relations of an unsavory sort might be occurring between a certain murderous wench and the guard staff… or one specific guard, that is. Now would it?”

Killian released the man, but continued to stare him down with contempt. It goaded him that Teach had a point. Knowing he could not give credence to the man’s threat, Killian warred with himself as to how to respond. Silence would be taken as compliance to Teach’s warning, shifting the balance of power between them; however, seeing as the guards - and most especially their captain - were not in the habit of justifying themselves or their actions to the prisoners, any manner of defense would give up similar ground, and Killian could not afford to grant even an inch to a man like Teach.

Shifting his weight, Killian tucked his thumb in his belt, projecting an unaffected air, and opened his mouth with a fresh retort; one that died on his tongue as his brother rounded the corner.

“Ah, Killian,” Liam called out. “Officer Booth said you’d arrived, but I wanted to make sure before I departed.”

Flicking one last steely look towards Teach, Killian turned and joined his brother at the end of the hall, Henry’s squalls now ear-piercing and causing him to wince.

“Did you need something, brother?”

“Uh… no,” Liam replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the cacophony coming from Swan’s cell. “I simply wished to… that is… I wanted to assure myself that things were…”

“One of the prisoners said he’s been like that all day,” Killian informed his brother, wondering how long Liam had been desperate to escape the sound of Henry’s cries while determined to set an example for his officers, acting as though he were completely unaffected by it, no doubt. “Is that so?”

“Aye,” Liam sighed wearily. “See if there’s anything you can do, otherwise I fear mutiny may be on the horizon.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Liam walked with Killian towards their offices, relaying a few items of note before bidding him a good evening. Though Killian was eager to check in on Emma and see if there was anything he could do to help calm little Henry, he had to first make sure there was nothing of even greater urgency awaiting him on his desk. Satisfied that all the paperwork and correspondence could wait, Killian made his way across the hall and through Swan’s open cell door; one of the protocols Teach had alluded to that was currently being overlooked.

The morning after Henry’s birth…

“You cannot be bloody serious!”

When Elsa had suggested that Emma’s cell door remain open whilst she and Ashley remained at the prison - unable to leave because of the blizzard and committed to staying by the new mother’s side anyway - since their cots, which had been brought up from the barracks, had to be placed in the Officers’ Hall due to the limited space within the cell, Liam had been amenable. However, when she further proposed that such an allowance remain permanent, owing to the fact it would become tedious having her cell unlocked as often as it would be needed now there was an infant to care for, Liam’s reaction had been… well… he at least managed to keep his volume down, so he did not wake the prison which had only just settled back down again.

“It’s either that, or you assign an officer to act as her doorman,” Elsa replied. “Permanently stationed outside her cell for the sole purpose of locking and unlocking her door as we have need.”

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. “I understand, and I am willing to make certain allowances, but leaving an inmate unsecured flies in the face of every protocol, procedure, and practice the Magistrate requires. How am I to justify it?”

“Perhaps,” Killian suggested. “Her cell could remain open only during daily visiting hours? That way Elsa, and any of the other women who arrive to assist Em, er… Miss Swan, can have access at their convenience. The prison is better staffed during the day, ensuring a suitable amount of eyes and attention can be kept on the situation, and the expectation that Miss Swan herself is not permitted to leave her cell without proper escort, regardless of whether her cell door is locked or not can be firmly set as well.”

Liam scratched through the stubble littering his jaw, its presence a testament to the long night and unorthodox morning they’d all experienced. “I suppose I could make a justification for such a concession.”

“In that case,” Elsa said sweetly, causing her husband’s eyes to narrow in suspicion of her tone. “Might you consider authorizing the ladies use of the side entrance?”

“For what purpose?”

“Well,” she hedged, wetting her lips and flicking her gaze up to Liam’s through her lashes. “If they were permitted to enter through the Officers’ Hall, then your men would not have to take time out of their duties to escort them since they won’t be traversing through any areas where inmates are housed, with the exception of Emma.”

While Liam mulled over the suggestion, Elsa pressed on in an attempt to fully convince him. “Ashley has volunteered to see to the nappies. Either she or Thomas will collect the soiled ones and bring freshly laundered replacements each day. Granny will continue to bring foodstuffs and meals for Emma, ensuring she receives proper nutrition, so she can, in turn, feed Henry. There are a number of ladies who have volunteered to be added to the walking rotation. Some of them have even inquired whether it would be permissible for them to bring along their own babies during their visits, and despite the library that now exists within the prison, Belle still brings volumes from--”

“All right, All right,” Liam conceded. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good! Now let’s discuss which officers are allowed to enter her cell when I am not here to assist her.”

Killian lightly chuckled to himself at the memory, but was then pulled back to the present by another round of Henry’s wails.

“Swan? Is everything all--”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Emma replied, her tone a disquieting mixture of exhaustion and exasperation. “He’s been fed, burped, bathed, changed, swaddled, rocked, walked, sung to… nothing seems to work. He just won’t stop.”

Agitation and anxiety permeated the cell. It was little wonder the lad could not quiet himself when his mother was so worked up; the two of them feeding off one another’s distress until they were both now in quite a state.

Stepping forward, Killian held out his arms and commanded, “Hand him over, love.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” he murmured softly, compassion and care crooning through his words. “You are at your wit’s end and are in need of a break.” She tucked her lips between her teeth and tears shone from her eyes as they fell to the fussing babe in her arms. “You’re both exhausted,” he continued. “Let me take him for a bit so you can try and get some rest.”

“But… what if he--”

“You said yourself, love,” he interjected, cutting off her protest. “He’s been fed and changed. All his needs have been met. Perhaps he simply desires a change of scenery.” Reaching forward, Killian gathered Henry and secured him to his chest. “I’ll walk him down the lower Officers’ Hall for a bit so you can rest.” His brows rose and he tilted his head meaningfully to the side, quipping, “You and the rest of the population.”

Emma swallowed and her shoulders sagged. Wearily, she nodded, then stepped forward to place a soft kiss to her son’s cheek. “Be good for Captain Jones,” she told him before offering no further protest and slipping beneath the blankets of her bunk.

“Come on, my boy,” Killian crooned, making his way out of the cell and leaving the door open behind him. “Let’s let your mother rest, aye?” Henry continued to fuss and fight against the blanket that had him swaddled tight as Killian descended the back stairs. “You shouldn’t be so hard on your mother, lad,” Killian murmured, patting the babe’s back as he paced the long corridor. “She’s doing her best in less than ideal conditions. We all are.”

Killian marveled at the way Emma had taken to motherhood, although, admittedly, those first few days had been a struggle. Failure to thrive. That was the fear they all silently contended with as they awaited Emma’s milk to come in. Her tears and whimpers of pain each time she attempted to nurse Henry had broken Killian’s heart, and for five days he had agonized over whether she’d be able to provide for him. Elsa had determined they would have to find a wet nurse, fearing Henry might succumb if they did not intervene, but no suitable candidates had been found, causing them all to prepare for the worst.

He would never forget the night his dread had nearly consumed him, thinking the worst had come to pass.

Whilst on patrol, walking the cell block, he heard Henry’s feeble cry. Making his way back towards Swan’s cell, his stomach fell away when the lad’s cries suddenly stopped, only to be replaced by his mother’s.

No! No, no, no, no! Please, God. No!

Sprinting, he barely made out Swan’s form in the rocking chair, clutching Henry to her chest as she fought back sobs. The time it had taken to get that infernal cell unlocked took years off Killian’s life.

Barely capable of drawing breath, Killian choked out utterances as he made his way to where Emma sat before the fire. “S-Swan. The baby. Is he… He isn’t… Tell me he isn’t…”

When she cast her gaze up at him, he could not reconcile the tears clinging to her cheeks with the smile stretching over her lips.

“He’s eating,” she told him in a whisper. “My milk came in and he’s…”

Killian glanced down and saw Henry contentedly sucking from his mother’s breast, his eyes wide and alert for the first time in days. Knees giving out, Killian managed to control his descent by bracing himself against the rocking chair, a watery chuckle falling from his lips as he continued to stare in awe and relief. The feel of Emma’s fingers carding through his hair sent a ripple of wonder down his spine and he shivered.

“He’s going to be okay,” she quietly imparted.

Flicking his gaze up to hers, his breath caught and his pulse quickened. Not from any rush of lust or desire, but from the sheer beauty of the moment. Emma’s long, soft curls framed her and Henry as the baby continued to nurse, and her sea glass eyes fell to him, filled with loving adoration as she cooed and hummed at him. When she switched him to her other breast, Killian caught a glimpse of the raw, red nipple that lay beneath her nightgown; a testament to her resilience and determination over the past few days.

Never giving up.

Fighting for her child’s survival with all she had.

Not for the first time, and quite possibly not for last, either. Unfortunately.

Which was why her cell door would remain open, even at night. Ensuring that Killian would never again be delayed in joining her in that fight.

Killian shifted Henry further up his shoulder so he could reach the next item awaiting his attention on his desk. The lad had finally fallen asleep, but Killian was loath to return him to his cradle, lest the movement awaken him and begin the entire, awful affair over again. Better to let the babe rest peacefully against Killian’s chest whilst he picked through the correspondence and reports he’d been neglecting, even if he was assured a drool stain on his waistcoat that Granny would be certain to tsk over later.

Lifting up a page of visitor requests, Killian stifled a yawn, his chest stuttering upward and jostling Henry. The lad, in turn, yawned, letting go a soft squeak as he nestled his little face against Killian’s neck. Shushing him softly, Killian waited until he was certain Henry remained fast asleep before turning his attention back to the requests.

Perusing the page, Killian noted that Mr. Hopper was expected for a visit in early April, hoping to have a report on the on-going investigation against Emma’s former solicitor, Mr. Glass. A smile lifted the corner of his lips when he saw Graham Humbert’s name down for an early May visit.

A former officer and long time mate, Graham had transferred to Glowerhaven a few years back after wedding Granny Lucas’ granddaughter, Ruby. With the impending retirement of the current warden, Graham had already been selected to act as the man’s successor (which had opened the captaincy spot for Walsh). No doubt the May visit would be so he could glean all he could from his mentor and former warden before fully taking on the mantle himself come June. Killian made a mental note to discuss a few things with him whilst he was there, then carried on with his tasks, even as his eyes began to hang heavy.

The last thing he remembered was thinking how he needed to follow-up with Mother Superior about having her round for a visit when the feel of a hand brushed through his hair before tentatively shaking him awake.

“Shhh, it’s only me,” Emma soothed, placing a hand on Henry’s back to steady him when Killian jolted awake.

“Swan?” Killian croaked, his tongue dry and throat parched, no doubt from sleeping with his mouth open. “What are you--”

“I know I’m not supposed to leave my cell, but when I woke up and couldn’t find Henry, I…”

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t want to disturb you once I had gotten him settled.”

“No, it’s all right,” she assured him. “I appreciate you stepping in so I could rest, but now,” she reached out and lifted Henry off his chest, shushing him softly when he whimpered, “it’s my turn to relieve you so that you might get back to your duties.”

“If you must,” Killian sighed dramatically, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then running his hand down his face as he turned his attention back to his desk. “Booth will see to the patrols tonight, so if you need anything I’ll be…” he gestured at the haphazard piles before him and let out another long suffering sigh, “here.”

“I will leave you to it, then,” she said, offering him a commiserating look of pity. “When you find yourself in need of a break, you know where I’ll be.”

“Aye,” he replied with a chuckle at both her tone and impudent smirk, watching her exit his office as Henry began to suck on his fists, making his protests of hunger known by the time she returned to her cell.

Killian sat and listened to the softly hummed melody and creaking of the rocking chair as it drifted in from across the hall, almost lulled back to sleep by the soothing sounds. Shaking off the stupor, he straightened his posture and forced himself to focus on the work before him, promising himself he’d take that offered break at Henry’s next rousing.

~/~

“I am pleased to report the Board has found Sydney Glass guilty of negligence regarding the way your case was handled, Miss Swan.”

Emma’s jaw dropped open, and Killian could scarcely believe his hearing. He had to temper his emotions, though, knowing it was most likely too soon to celebrate such a victory just yet.

“What does that mean for me going forward?” Swan inquired of her solicitor, clutching Elsa’s hand.

When Mr. Hopper had arrived for his scheduled visitation, Elsa, Emma, and Killian had been making their way back into the prison from their morning stroll with Henry. Emma had asked if Elsa could stay to hear what the solicitor had to say, so after she’d fed, changed, and put the baby down for his morning nap, the ladies had joined the men in Liam’s office for the report.

“The case against him will be handed off for prosecution, and efforts will be made to bring Mr. Glass back here to stand trial. In the meantime, the Board does plan to consider the rest of the petitions made on your behalf.”

“When?” Killian pressed, forcing himself to remain at Liam’s side and not wander over to Emma’s, wanting nothing more than to take her other hand, yet knowing he had to remain at his station.

Hopper sighed. “It’s tough to say.” Removing his spectacles, he pinched the brow of his nose, then removed a handkerchief from his pocket so he could clean his lenses. “They might rule on each petition individually, which could mean addressing one issue at a time at individual board meetings, or they might rule on them all at once. We won’t really know until next month’s gathering.”

“So what can we do to help you prepare for the Board’s next meeting?”

The sincerity in Liam’s question, the earnestness with which he had been listening and weighing in on Swan’s case, made Killian’s chest constrict with brotherly affection and gratitude. He could not say for certain when the shift had occurred, but his brother was now every bit as much an advocate for Emma and her baby as the rest of them.

Hopper put his glasses back into place and began to gather his things. “Another round of letters would not be a bad idea. Perhaps you can beseech some of the more prominent townspeople to join in the campaign?”

“I know Granny would certainly write to the Board on Emma’s behalf. She’s been a fixture of wisdom and respect in this community for as long as I can remember,” Killian suggested.

“And Belle,” Elsa added. “She would happily write one as well, and as town librarian she does hold a mantle of prominence.”

“I can ask Mother Superior when she visits from Glowerhaven in the next few weeks,” Emma said, though they all knew the woman would not need asking.

“And I’ll invite any of the guards who wish, to add a letter of support with my own.” Liam’s declaration of support hung in the room for a moment, earning him warm smiles and grateful nods.

“Excellent. I will be sure to keep you all informed should anything more come to mind. Until then…” Hopper stood and held out his hand towards Swan. “Take care of yourself and your little one, Miss Swan.”

“I will,” she replied, shaking his hand. “And thank you again for everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sound of Henry stirring from across the hall echoed through the corridor, prompting Swan to turn her attention towards Liam. “If you’ll excuse me, Warden?”

“Of course,” Liam said, gesturing that she take her leave. “Go and see to Master Henry.”

Elsa told her she’d be there to assist her shortly, wishing to see Mr. Hopper out first. After Emma withdrew, Elsa turned to pose a question to the solicitor, but it never made it past her lips before a blood-curdling scream left Emma’s.

“Swan!”

Killian raced past the others, making his way to Emma’s cell in time to see her wrench a screaming Henry from his cradle.

“Rat!” she cried out, clutching Henry to her chest. “There’s a rat in his cradle!”

Lunging for the rodent, Killian was unable to grab it before it scurried out of the cradle, between the cell bars, and down the corridor towards the greater cell block.

“Bloody…”

“Is he all right?” Elsa’s concerned question, as well as Henry’s startled cries, pulled Killian’s attention from the corridor where the varmint had disappeared and back to his distraught Swan.

“I-I think so?”

Killian straightened and started towards them, wishing to reassure himself that was truly the case, when he was halted by Mr. Hopper, who rounded on both him and his brother.

“This is outrageous! Have you no measures in place to curb the rodent population? Surely, there must be something you can--”

“We have a number of cats that act as mousers within the prison,” Liam told him. “However, the number of vermin always increases in the spring and fall.”

“Moreover, we lost a fair few of them during the winter, and those that remain are sometimes lured to the barracks, ensuring the officers’ quarters are better guarded against the pests,” Killian added while mentally attempting to calculate how many cats they currently had on hand to combat the ever increasing problem.

“Well, perhaps it is time to acquire a few more?” Hopper suggested with a tone of censure before taking in a deep breath to calm himself. “I do not wish to appear ungrateful for all you both have done in caring for and making allowances for my client’s comforts and needs, and the last thing I want to do is to disparage either of you, or the way you operate this prison, but I will not hesitate to use this incident as a means of making my case with the Board.”

“Mr. Hopper, you must understand that we are--”

“We’ll get more cats,” Killian said, interrupting his brother. “And additional traps, like those we employ in our offices and barracks, will be commissioned for Miss Swan’s cell. I’ll see to the matter myself.”

“See that you do,” Hopper replied before making his way to Emma, offering her words of support and encouragement as she continued to try and comfort her son.

“When, exactly, do you plan to find the time, much less the funds, to accomplish such an endeavor?” Liam inquired under his breath.

“The local farmers have always been generous with their litters,” Killian responded. “I’m sure they can each be persuaded to donate a barn cat or two.”

Hopper nodded his farewell to the ladies, then gestured for Liam to lead the way as escort so he might take his leave. Before his brother could depart, Killian added, “The cost of the traps is a small price to pay for her peace of mind and Henry’s safety, so if it comes down to it, I’ll pay for them myself.”

Liam gave him an assessing look, but made no further comment now the solicitor was back in earshot. As the two made their way out of the cell, Killian approached Emma, who was still doing all she could to settle Henry whilst tears burned in her eyes.

“I can't do this,” she said, choking on a sob. “I can’t do this to him. I know being locked away in here is what I deserve, but he doesn’t. He deserves better than this.”

“Neither of you are deserving of this, Swan.”

“Killian is right,” Elsa said, finally able to coax Henry from Swan’s arms so she could look him over. “Neither of you deserve to live in such conditions, which is why both your captain and warden will be implementing some sort of--”

“The issue has been discussed and decided upon,” Killian said, recognizing Elsa’s tone and knowing he needed to reassure her a plan was already in place before she worked herself up into a tongue lashing for both him and his brother. “Is Henry all right?” he asked, turning all their attentions back to the most important matter at hand.

“A small scratch on his cheek, but no evidence of bites or any other injury,” Elsa assured them. “I think it best to bathe him and change out the bedding. Maybe do a thorough cleaning of the cradle as well.”

Elsa handed Henry back to Emma, then began heating water for his bath before turning her sights on the cradle. Clearly still distraught, Emma bounced the baby in her arms, placing soothing kisses to his forehead as she sniffled and fought back against her emotions.

“Swan,” Killian began, though he was unsure of what to say. His own emotions, which he’d managed to keep at bay so his objective and rational side could formulate a solution, were beginning to bubble to the surface. “I swear to you, I’ll--”

“Don’t,” she said, raising her hand to stay his words even as she clutched Henry tighter to her chest. “Please. Don’t tell me everything will be alright. Don’t tell me you’ll fix this when there is no fixing this. Please just… don’t.”

Brushing past him, she joined Elsa, who was filling the basin with the kettle, now heated by the fire. The two began to undress Henry, the baby thankfully cooperative now that he’d settled down from his ordeal. As the women cooed and indulged their charge, Killian felt his chest constrict.

Swan was right.

While additional cats and traps might fix the issue of the rats, it did not fix the circumstances Emma faced in raising her son in such an environment where other vermin and pests were prevalent. It would not change the fact that it was he, and not her, who was free to leave the prison in order to make the necessary provisions to ensure her son’s safety from the rodents. Nothing he could say or do would provide them with what they did deserve, unless he…

A plan began to form in his mind, and he was powerless to stop it. Contingencies that could be put into place in case the Board did not rule in her favor. It was not the first time he’d had such thoughts. Ever since Hopper had made him aware of the dire consequences that could befall Emma should a retrial find her guilty once more, he had indulged in the occasional musing, but never to this degree.

Shaking himself, Killian did not bother to even bid the ladies farewell before rushing back to his office. Raising a shaky hand to his mouth, he leaned against his closed door and considered whether he could actually do it. Could he orchestrate, and potentially implement, the means of her escape if it meant saving her from the gallows, or even having to endure another four and half years of unjust incarceration? Were there any lengths to which he would not go to ensure her freedom, by whatever means necessary?

A soft knock at his door pulled him from having to face the conclusion of his deliberations, and he hoped none of his treachery was evident on his face when opening the door revealed Robin on the other side.

“I thought you might have already left,” his second said. “I was hoping to get the armaments ledger from you before you go, so I can begin the inventory.”

“Of course,” Killian replied, procuring the item from his desk. Handing it off to Robin, he made himself busy by donning his coat and hat, then gathered his satchel.

“Are you all right, mate?” Robin inquired. “I heard about the rat in Miss Swan’s cell. Imagine it shook everyone up?”

“Aye,” he said, hoping any perceived uneasiness in Killian’s demeanor would be attributed to the abhorrent event in question and not the grievous plot continuing to formulate in his mind. “Fortunately, Henry was unharmed. I’ll be acquiring a few more mousers, as well as commissioning some traps for Swan’s cell.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

“Aye. Thank you, mate,” Killian said, even as he held his tongue against the desire to unburden himself. After a moment’s pause, during which Robin’s eyes began to narrow, perhaps sensing there was more going on with his captain than he’d first considered, Killian cleared his throat. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

Scrutinizing his captain a moment longer, Robin relented, “No, there’s nothing else. Go get some rest. You look like hell.”

Blowing out a breath he’d been unintentionally holding, Killian gave Robin an unamused look before making his way out.

~/~

Killian’s boot falls were heavy against the side hall stairs when he made his way back into the prison later that evening. Boots that were covered with a layer of muck from the miles he’d walked and the farms he’d visited. His entire body ached and cried out for rest, but that was a luxury he would not be able to provide himself.

Liam’s office was dark, and the sound of the evening roll could be heard from the catwalk at the center of the prison, even though the days were now becoming longer and nightfall had not quite settled over them. Securing the basket he carried with him under his arm, Killian removed his coat and hat, stowing them away in his office, then waited for the roll call to end before making his way towards Swan’s cell.

His nose crinkled at the smell of vinegar. If he’d had to hazard a guess, Killian would say the entire cell had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling, which made him pause at the threshold and look down at his mud-caked boots.

“Captain?” Swan’s voice grabbed his attention, and he straightened his posture as she laid a soundly sleeping Henry down in his cradle before approaching him. “Are you… all right?”

Her eyes swept over him, and it was only then he considered how the rest of him might look. No doubt he was as unkempt as his boots.

“Aye, I just…” the bundle beneath his arm wriggled, shifting the balance of the basket as its occupant let out a petulant meow, causing Emma’s eyes to widen.

“Is that… a cat?”

Setting the basket down, Killian opened it to reveal an adolescent, black cat with piercing blue eyes. “I know they’re typically seen as unlucky, but back in England, sailors believed a black cat on board would ensure good fortune whilst at sea, so I thought--”

“He’s lovely!” Emma exclaimed, picking up the creature and giving it an affectionate scratch behind its ears.

“Farmers will be by later this week with whatever others they manage to round up, but one of them gave me this little one in the meantime.” Killian stroked his hand down its glossy back, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips at the way it purred in Emma’s arms. “He’s still young,” Killian pointed out. “But I’m hoping that will allow him to bond with you and the lad, and perhaps come to see this cell as his domain, prioritizing its sanctity against the vermin.”

His eyes followed her as she took a spare blanket from her wardrobe and laid it beside the hearth before lowering the creature onto it. Sniffing and scratching, he circled a few times, then made himself comfortable in front of the fire, licking at his paws and swiping them behind his ears as he took ownership of his new surroundings. Killian chuckled at the way the cat took immediate command of the cell, then met Emma’s gaze which was filled with perplexity over the fact he was still hovering in her doorway. When her eyes fell to his boots, comprehension dawned and she sighed as she stood and made her way back over to him.

“Did you spend your entire day tracking down cats from the local farms?”

“No,” he replied while sheepishly raising his hand to scratch behind his ear. “I actually started at the docks. There’s a man there, Mr. Smee, who supposedly makes the best rodent traps in the county. I commissioned a few for your cell. They’ll also be delivered in a day or two.”

“Killian,” she sighed, and as it was wont to do whenever she used his given name, his heart stuttered in his chest and his breath caught. “You cannot spend your days exhausting yourself on my behalf. You need sleep.”

“You get very little sleep these days,” he countered. “Exhausting yourself on Henry’s behalf. How is this different?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she arched a brow at him. “For one, I receive a fair amount of help. And two, Henry is my responsibility.”

“Aye, and both of you are mine.”

“But--”

“No ‘buts’, Swan,” he said, cutting her off. “What’s done is done. I could not bring myself to bed down in the comfort and security of my room knowing you and Henry were still vulnerable. I know I cannot fix what happened earlier today, but do not admonish me for wanting to do something in an effort to try.”

Chagrined, Emma licked her lips and dropped her arms back down to her sides. “I shouldn’t have said that earlier. I was upset and… I know you’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to make my circumstances as bearable as they can be, and I am so grateful, I just…”

“What?”

“I don’t want you to… you don’t have to… I’m not…” A frustrated sigh rushed over her lips, and her teeth sank into the tender flesh of the lower one as she continued to struggle to find the right words. Again, her eyes fell to his boots and she released the grip on her lip, flicking her gaze back up to his with an amused glint.

“I suppose the least I can do to thank you for the cat and traps is to clean those for you.”

“There’s no need to--”

“Shut up and give me your boots, Captain.”

Killian’s brows shot up his forehead, even as he obeyed. Taking a step forward, he sat down on her bunk so he could remove the soiled boots, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. Over the past several months, they’d almost developed a bit of a shorthand with one another, able to convey so much to the other with a simple look or expression. As Killian unlaced his boots, he knew there was no further need for either of them to make apologies or amends. All had been forgiven, and no more would be said regarding her words or his actions.

“Leave them there,” she instructed before making her way to her bathing corner to gather supplies. “I’m sure you have important matters awaiting you in your office that will keep you busy whilst I work on these. Rest assured, I’ll have them ready by the time you start patrols. Wouldn’t do to have to make your rounds in your stocking feet, now would it?”

Killian smiled up at her, and it only broadened at the sight of the smirk that matched her cheek. “I dare say,” he replied, setting the boots aside and standing so they were once more eye to eye. “Imagine the mocking I’d receive from Scarlet.”

Emma tilted her head to one side, as though giving that thought some consideration. “On second thought…”

Chapter Nine

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs 1800s prison au #conviction #words by hollye

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devilxhunted · 3 years ago

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@devilsworn said: [ challenge ] Yknow, D4 Nero just be like that 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 // accepting!

“Aw, c’mon, kid -- haven’t you had enough?” The complaint bordered on a childish whine with pursed lips and furrowed brows to match it. A gloved hand settled on his hip, the other keeping a firm hold on Rebellion as she rested on his shoulder, and he appraised the youth before him with a lazy gaze. He took in his slightly battered state, the almost indiscernible tears in the denim of his clothes, how the ocean blue of his eyes would sometimes become a sea of red, then adorned a trimming like rubies encased in white gold.

They had been going at it for hours. Ever since the boy had followed after him (practically chased him down with the energy of a feral mad man, jesus christ) and made himself a residence at the office, a day didn’t go by where he wasn’t goading Dante into some sort of fight. Nothing serious, of course. There was no malicious intents behind it, nor did they cause damage that edged towards too much. It was exhausting all the same and Dante could only conclude so many reasons for himself, as perceptive as he may be.

He could only liken Nero to a wild wolf -- a predator only fools thought would make a pretty pet, that they could domesticate something already born to be wild, try and keep it in their little cage and feed it their false beliefs -- finally let off its leash. Free from his collar, Nero let himself run free through unfamiliar forests of neon and concrete. Bared his teeth and, bit by bit, uncovered who he truly was. What he could be, was meant to be.

Though it begs the question why Dante having to give up his comfy seat at the office to give him a few pointers had become part of the equation. It was fun and all, true, and he couldn’t deny that he felt a certain sort of warmth bloom in his chest (something like being proud) upon watching Nero grow with each loss or victory, but upon the fifth hour of endless banter and just as endless bullets -- well, he was ready for the trek home.

“I’m up one again!” He announced, making it firm that this will be the final victory today, “So let’s call it quits and head back to the office, yeah? I’m starving, and that stuffed crust is calling my name.”

#devilsworn #( TIMELINE :: ♡ Blackened Angel ♡ )#( AH YES 4NERO #THE MOST TSUNDERE OF TSUNS #dante vc: nero pls i'm proud of you but i'M HUNGRY )

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husbandomail-archive · 4 years ago

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So, how would the demon bois deal with an MC who is initially argumentative, but calms down as they get used to being in the Devildom and dealing with them regularly? (Psst, it’s how I’ve been playing my MC!)

ah yes, I hope you’re enjoying your stay in literal Hell

Lucifer:

He finds your nature incredibly frustrating— of all the possible humans for the exchange program, it just had to be you, someone who’s inexplicably not afraid of him. It definitely hurts his pride to have a human tell him no. When you consistently defy him, he finds himself halfway through chanting a hex before he remembers he’s not allowed to hurt you. Damn. You’re getting annoying.

When you finally begin calming down, though, Lucifer immediately reverts to being smug; he feels like he’s conquered you, even if he had nothing to do with your change in attitude. By this point he’s gotten used to arguing with you at all hours— he almost misses it, and because of that, you can get away with a little more than you used to.

Mammon:

Initially, your comments just roll right off his back; there’s nothing you can say to Mammon that his brothers haven’t said already, so he doesn’t put much weight to anything the tiny fragile human says. If he begins falling for you before your attitude changes, though, he gets dramatic and pouts whenever you say something mean— and then does a terrible job of acting like he doesn’t care either way.

Listen. Tsunderes are not immune to tsundere behavior. You’re slow to warm to the Devildom and its residents, so when Mammon notices that you’re a lot easier to get along with lately, and maybe you’ve even been complimenting him instead of insulting him? His heart won’t stop racing, because he adores the idea of being the only boy here that gets to see this side of you.

Leviathan:

Unsurprisingly, Levi generally avoids you; he’s already not too keen on meeting new people, and the fact that you’re so argumentative sets his anxiety off. He doesn’t want to start a fight with you because he has a lot of trouble with controlling himself, and if Lucifer kills him, then he can’t play any more video games— so, he’ll just stay in his room, like always.

In the process of you calming down and adjusting, he’s learning to do the same thing. You’re both hotheaded, so for a long time you just can’t be together for too long, but as you get used to each other, he’s less volatile to the things you have to say. Once the two of you can stand to chill out and game all night long, he’s amazed at the shift in your personality, and almost wishes he’d reached out to you earlier.

Satan:

On one hand, Satan loves how damn defiant you are— it pisses off Lucifer, and that’s what he lives for. But on the other hand, you don’t discriminate, and you’re just as rude to him as you are to everyone else; that’s a dangerous game to play, because he’s not as scared of Diavolo as the others are, and you’re not quite as safe with this brother.

Satan is probably the first to see through you, even before your hot temper turns into a slight simmer. He manages to turn your constant bickering and defiance into back-and-forth snark— once he knows you’re more defensive than you are malicious, he’s able to have a lot of fun throwing verbal jabs and watching you try to keep up. To outsiders it looks like you hate each other, but the two of you bond over the force of sheer rage.

Asmodeus:

Even if he doesn’t personally want you— which I mean c’mon, he totally wants you— Asmo is super used to having people at his beck and call. He can goad anyone into doing anything, so he uses it to score a lot of favors, be it exam answers or even just extra cash. So the fact that you’re not only immune to his seduction abilities, but actively snark back at him? That’s awfully rude of you. He gets frustrated and a bit bratty.

He’s as headstrong as his brothers, though, so he’ll just keep pestering you; once you’ve finally adjusted to the Devildom and your temper has cooled off a bit, he’s practically glued to your side. Now that you’re not actively defying him at every turn, that feisty personality is a huge turn-on.

Beelzebub:

Despite being a demon— and the most physically intimidating brother, at that— Beel is pretty docile. When he makes a casual suggestion and you respond with a harsh insult, instead of getting mad, he’s apologetic; he really didn’t mean to insult you, it must just be a cultural thing? He’d offer you dessert as an apology, but he’d accidentally eat it first. Beel assumes that you just don’t like him, and unless he’s ordered to watch you for awhile, he’ll probably avoid you because.

He’s super relieved when you start softening up; of course he’s interested in a human, but he didn’t intend to push you past your own comfort zone. The fact that you’ve calmed down enough to have a decent conversation makes him happy— and when you admit that you’d just been [understandably] nervous, he’s sad he didn’t catch on earlier. He of all people understands how it feels to be alone; there’s a sense of solidarity in that.

Belphegor:

Belphie also loves how rude and aggressive you can get. Admittedly, it can be irritating while he’s still trying to build trust with you, but it does make you a fun little toy— he loves hearing about your daily adventures pissing off his older brothers, and knowing that you’ve got such a strong personality makes the idea of breaking you even more appealing.

If you calm down before he’s out of the attic, he starts seething internally; you can’t lose that fire, because then, you might lose the drive needed to set him free. After he’s free, though? He both loves and hates it, because you’re willing to forgive him before he can forgive himself.

#shall we date #obey me #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #headcanons #imagines #agirlinsearchof

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millennial-star-gazer · 4 years ago

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Tantric Flames: Chapter: 9

Tantric Flames

Nalu lovefest 2019 Prompts: Magic, Worship, Reckless , Forbidden and Cravings (All Implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing:Nalu (Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: One look, one smouldering hooded gaze, one word, one fiery kiss, one magnetizing touch was all he needed for her to completely unravel at his mercy alone, succumbing to the sinful temptation of her inhibitions, his love, his feral passion, his raw, insatiable desires, his "Tantric Flames". Originally an Submission for Nalulovefest 2017 (on previous accounts) in which Natsu gives his mate a tantric massage-after much persuasion- she won't soon forget when it turns into so much more. Also previously featured in Nalu lovefest 2018 (on current accounts) , as well as Nalu Week 2017, Nalu Fluff Week and Nalu lovefest 2017 (as stated) with first three chapters on my previous celestialgeekmage accounts . Chapter 7 was also an entry for nalu week 2019 and Chapter 8 for Nalu Lovefest 2019. ( Nalu-centric) (Slight Au).

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Chapter 9: Tempted by A Tantric Touch

A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl Millennial StarGazer! This time I'm returning with another long-awaited installment of Tantric Flames. Once again, a major thanks to and koodos to @bmarvels, @mannyegb, @animezing-fandoms/princess-starry-night, and @allie-and-her-fandoms for helping me edit and further develop this chapter! Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

(Note: Scroll down pas the keep reading button/ cut for the designated links, legend and actual chapter. The tagging feature and keep reading button might not show up or fully work on the desktop site but should function just fine on the app and mobile version.

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Read More of Tantric Flames and the rest of my writing on here and other plaftorms.

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1. Tantric Flames

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Chapter: 9 (Next Chapter ) (Coming Soon)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) ( or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13114990/1/Tantric-Flames-reupload-from-cosmicdragonwizardaccounts)

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Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized Word(s)

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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"You run your fingers over every part of my body and tease me with your touch".

(Source Unknown)

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Oh God, those love bites. So many love bites that decorated the blonde's creamy skin like jewels; far too numerous to count that always sent a red-hot line fire rippling through her nerves with with every nip, every suck; each every and stroke of Natsu's velvet tongue. Plus, he's usually doing other things at the same time. Racy images of the couple's steamy moments together from the last soak flooded Lucy's mind.

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Flashback

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The celestial mage's back arching of its own accord into Natsu's touch from robust hands cupping her breast; Blazing digits kneading the twin peaks in time with lips sucking along Lucy's pulse with so much skill that she couldn't help the heady moan that escaped her throat.

"Ya feel that, Luce?" Nastu growled in his princess's ear, the dark undercurrent of his territorial voice pulling a tingly shiver from her. "My marks all over that perfect body of yours— and not just the permanent one when you swore your heart to me . All of those are symbols of my essence, my claim, my love. That you belong to me and me alone. My mate and queen, forever and always. And those sounds you're makin'? Hot as hell."

Pretty sure, dude leaves marks on me as his way of announcing to the world I'm off limits as his mate. Explains why he's always quick to leave a fresh one in its place even after I cover them— not that I'm complaining. Plus, it's not only for his benefit but mine. It's great that he knows how much I love receiving hickeys and gets off from it.

Seriously, what more could I ask for?

Not to mention how lovely it always was to unwind with Natsu after each bath. The wizard was often keen in his offer to dry the blonde's damp hair with a towel or fire-magic-powered steam; from her perch on his lap or between his legs.

Much more relaxing than using a hair dryer if you ask me.

The dragonslayer would sometimes even hum or sing a familiar tune from days past in that appealing, gravelly baritone of his; would usually lull the already-zen mage into the world of dreams when combined with the sooth dual sensation of fingers combing through her hair, .

"I tell you, I tell you, the dragonborn comes ..."

Anyother guild member who might be eavesdropping, however, would often be quick to lightheartedly goad the blonde mage ( much to her chargin). Natsu no doubt would find this hilarious of course; which would serve for Lucy's cheeks to flush an even deeper shade of crimson than she already was.

"Say Luce, is that a blush I see?" he once crooned, a teasing edge to his words; though the affectionate mirth sparkling in his eyes warmed her heart just a little. "Aw, is my girl a little embarrassed? That's okay though— makes ya all the more adorable and endearing than you already are. You want me to make it all better? Cuz I can! Got plenty of kisses! Come on, you know you want some which I'm more than happy to give. God I love ya' so much, you know that?"

It's amazing really... Lucy ruminated in fond awe. How Natsu can switch between the different roles and sides to him with relative ease. From Romantic and tender to dominant, playful and affectionate; then back again on top of everything else all seemingly at the drop of a hat. All an innate part of his overall nature I guess— essentially what makes up who he is. Some people may find this a bit confusing to keep up with— but I don't. Just makes him all the more complex.

Though those people would also be right when they say that the dude still has a devious streak, she couldn't help but add with wry smirk. Even with me, though never with malicious intent. German suplex, non-stop tickling, dumping me in a tub of freezing cold water during one of our baths— too many pranks to count really. At least he's always quick to follow up with plenty of affection ever since we became an item— can't complain about that."

"You ready to get started Lucy?" Natsu's keen voice broke through Lucy's reverie.

"You know it!" The celestial mage chirped, unable to mask the pure enthusiasm in her voice; earning an amused chuckle from the dragon wizard . "Can't wait. I take it you'll be hoarding me for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Mhmm" Came his content hum in response." That really a bad thing, though?"

"No, definitely not."

"I figured. Why don't we get you up on that massage bed?"

"Sure thing!"

A buzz of anticipation was practically thrumming in Lucy's blood from such tantalizing implications of his words; the stunt Natsu pulled next , though— that was what really shot a thrilling jolt up her spine.

"Let's finish what we started later, yeah?"

The dragonslayer's proposal was punctuated by a light tap on the summoner's ass for good measure,; which resulted in a delighted squeal.

"O-okay!" was said female's response in the form of a breathy giggle.

"Let me get you that towel while I'm at it."

"Sure— thanks."

"My pleasure."

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A Few Minutes Later

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"Ugh...do me a huge favor and burn this towel. Will ya?"

Lucy couldn't help but let out an audible groan along with the heat rising in her cheeks. Good god was the particularly moist spot on the white towel a truly mortifying sight to behold. Basically tell-tale remnants of liquid arousal that had been wiped clean from her legs just moments before.

Mavis only knows what would happen if Levy or Cana noticed during laundry duty.

" Okay... why though?" Natsu questioned, brows drawing together in mild confusion. "As in why do you want me to?"

"Guild Laundry day" came Lucy's automatic reply."That's why."

"Not following ya.' Natsu blinked owlishly in uncomprehension.

"Levy…..and Cana….." Lucy supplied, a finger twirling an errant strand of blonde hair in :a self-conscious display." "I... uh.."

"Still don't know what you mean here, Luce."

"It's their turn to do laundry duty." She attempted to break down what was apparently such an abstract concept into simpler terms; not able to help the aggravation rising in the back of her mind.

"Yeah? So?"

"They'll probably see the moist stain on the towel." Lucy clarified, forcing her voice to remain level.

"I see— don't see the problem though."

"Think about who'll most likely be with them ."

"Gajeel and Laxus but…...ahh—"

Realization dawned on Natsu's face. "I get it now. What you're saying is that they'll probably catch a whiff of your arousal? "

"Well, the lingering remnants of the scent anyway. Seriously though?" he tacked on, lifting a questioning brow."That's what you're worried about?"

"Yeah... I am," Lucy admitted, nerves leaking into her voice. "Aren't you?"

"Not really, no." Natsu gave a shrug of his shoulders—seemingly unfazed.

"Why's that?" Lucy couldn't help but shoot him a puzzled glance.

"Cuz it'll show everyone how much I rocked your world." Natsu replied, flashing his mate a cheeky grin. " And what's not to love about that?"

"Pervert — of course you'd say that!" Lucy screeched, skin flushing a deep shade of crimson.

"That's me!"

"Ugh, still don't know what to do about the moist spot— those four are never gonna let me live it down."

"You know if you're that worried, I could always use my tongue to clean ya up instead." Natsu drawled with a lazy smirk that set her heart all pit-patter .

"And of course, you'd suggest that," Lucy quipped with a slight roll of her eyes. "Did I mention how much of a horn dragon you are? "

"Yeah, but only for a certain gorgeous blonde of mine and she loves it."

"Oh, she does, huh?" Lucy raised a challenging brow.

"Yep. Don't bother trying to deny it, Luce".

"Ugh fine... you're right. I do. Seriously, you and your colossal ego though."

"Why, thank you! If you're impressed by that, you'd really should see my co—"

The rest of Natsu's words were cut off by Lucy's hand swatting him with a pillow which was met with a snicker.

"Pervert" Lucy deadpanned with another eye roll. "By way, you would've found yourself in the proverbial dog house if you actually meant the other kind of 'fighting earlier."

Only for Natsu's face to instantly fall in response to her statement.

"What?" Natsu objected, gaping at her with wide eyes. " And deprive me of the chance to wake up to your beautiful face each morning for that long?!"

"Yep." Lucy gave a nod by way of reply.

"But why? You know that's not the type of fightin' I met!"

"Well yeah, I know that now. But not earlier when you originally brought up. Just be glad that you didn't bail on our date earlier."

"I didn't though! And never would— honest Luce!" Natsu's voice lifted into a petulant whine.

"Hmm.. Okay, good to know. " Lucy responded, raising her hands to placate him. "Though you'll have to be without me for a few days anyway.

"Wait, seriously?" Natsu faltered , bewildered panic flashing in his eyes. . "Come on! What is it this time?"

"Camping retreat in the woods next week that Cana, Mira, Lisanna, and Erza are organizing— ladies only."

"W-ha?" Natsu continued to sputter, his poor brain no doubt short circuiting by now." But Elfman said that it was open to anyone who's free to go!"

"Really? Lucy mused in thoughtful interest. "That's not what I heard... huh."

"What am I supposed to do without you?"

"How about something fun with the guys? Should be nice, right?"

"Yeah, but so is spending time with you Lucy! It's always more fun when we're together like you said."

"And I don't disagree. Doesn't change anything though. The trip's still happening."

"Didn't say it wasn't but it'd still suck here without you! Natsu moaned, that desperate sense of longing bleeding into his voice. " I'd miss ya' too much! So would our little buddy! Can't we tag along? Maybe Even share an air mattress in a decent-sized tent? I'd gladly help set up and keep you cozy in my arms at night."

"What about Happy?" Lucy questioned, intrigued by his suggestion. His offer does sound really tempting.

"Obviously he'd share the tent with us but would have his own sleeping bag and could hang with Wendy and Carla whenever we wanted alone time. Plus there are all these cool spots I could take you to on nature hikes!."

"Sounds great."

"Course it is! So whaddya say? You onboard?" Natsu wheedled, flashing her what could only be described as the most flawless puppy eyes she'd ever seen.

"Aw that's really tempting and" Lucy gushed, heart contracting at the adorable pout he was throwing in too. Normally I'd say yes"— but it'll have to wait. Thank you though! I'd love to take you up on that offer another day."

"Oh come on— please I wanna go!" Natsu huffed,stamping his foot as if he were a child pitching a fit over being denied a coveted toy- quite an amusing display to say the least.

"Not this time I'm afraid. Sorry, them's the brakes."

"Lucyyyyyyyyy!" Natsu whined again, dragging the syllables of her name with such melodrama that she finally decided to let him off the hook

" Jeez.. enough with the dramatics already. " Lucy yielded with an exasperated groan, You can still come— the trip is for everyone. I was only kidding after all."

Said confession was met with a noise of stunned dimsay from from the pyro.

"Wait... so ya' mean to tell me that this was a joke?! he muttered, voice coming out with a small pinch of disbelief. "You were pulling my leg the entire time?"

"Yep— consider it payback for me making think you were gonna ditch earlier."

"That's why? That's not nice, Luce— not very nice at all." Natsu grumbled, though not with any real heat.

"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do about it?" Lucy baited, a daring lilt to her words.

" Oh —- wouldn't you like to know?" Natsu rumbled, eyes sparking in a such a calculating way that it sent a electrifying chill down Lucy's spine.

"I would— ngh! Nastuuuu!"

The rest of what Lucy was attempting to say Lucy's words were cut off by the lighting- fast sweep of Natsu's velvet tongue up her thighs . Not to mention that electric high-voltage jolt of ecstasy flooding her veins.

"There! that should show ya!" Natsu let out a cackle of glee. " Not to ever play dirty tricks on a dragon I mean. Guess you're not gonna need that towel after all, huh Lucy?"

"My God..."

"Yeah, I know . Just that amazing with my tongue, I guess. Natsu purred, voice laced with am indecorous promise "Plus, hearing ya' scream my name like that just gave me another hard-on that I'd love for you to see .. "

"Jeez … of course it'd would . and no real shocker that you would say something like that."

"Yep- you know me so well, Luce. and it's not like you're complain' anyway. Want me to prove it?"

" Maybe.. But God- you're such a pompous ass, you know that?"

"Yeah but all part of my charm, sweetheart."

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A/N: And that's Chapter 9 folks! My apologies for the delay by the way! I originally wanted to post this much sooner but got hit with writer's block after getting a somewhat stumped on a particular segment of this chapter. I've also been with my other ongoing fanfics, WIPs and responsibilities among other things in my life . That all aside, at least this chapter was finally posted! Now please feel free to do me a solid and let me know what you think by leaving a comment/ review! Stay tuned for Chapter 10 too! Oh and please feel free to check out the rest of my writing which can be found above, on my profiles and in master post if reading this on tumblr. All right, that's pretty much all I have to say for now! Thanks to all my mutuals/friends, readers and followers for their continuous support over the years! (Corresponding links for the master of my writing and profiles can be found above, in the navigation bar of the desktop and bio if reading this on tumblr.) Until next time-take care!

#fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #e.n.d natsu x lucy #tantric flames #my writing #millennial star gazer writes #millennial stargazer #please reblog

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dinfeanoriel · 5 years ago

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In Memoriam II

At long last, the second to last part of In Memoriam! I may have strayed a little from canon (you’ll know where) but there was a purpose behind it.

~~~~

“We meet again,” The clipped, but no less meaningful, greeting resonated across the ethereal world. The first thing to meet Link’s ears after he watched the Golden Wolf howl and transform into his proud and tall, skeletal, mentor.

A moment passed in which the Hero Shade critically scrutinized Link before nodding to himself in approval.

“You have a little more of the look of a hero than you did before…”

Link’s expression flat-lined. The Hero Shade certainly knew how to boost one’s confidence.

Link could have sworn the Hero Shade smirked but...given the form he was in, it would be impossible. Perhaps he’d merely sensed it?

His wolf senses did pick up subtle, less-than-noticeable, things humans couldn’t. Shifts in demeanor, genuine feelings, and ulterior motives. Ripples of joy, coils of anger, and stabs of pain. He could hear the steady beating of hearts, listen to the melody carried by the wind, and the rustling and scurrying of the smallest critters across the forest floor.

At first, everything was far too overwhelming for him, but he’d soon adjusted. He’d had to. Besides, honing his wolf senses came in handy. “Do you feel ready to learn your next skill?” Hero Shade’s cool and steady voice broke through Link’s thoughts, scattering them.

Link frowned, face set and eyes flaring with determination. He’d mastered the last Hidden Skill and had grown more experienced with handling a blade. It came almost naturally to him. As though he’d been born with the inherent ability of mastering the sword.

He was ready to learn a new skill.

He met the Hero Shade’s gaze, feeling eyes watching him although the skeletal being had none.

“I do.” Link answered, voice echoing his resoluteness.

“Very well,” Link could practically feel the ‘but’ incoming, “But-”

And there it was.

“-before we begin, I must test you to ensure you have mastered the last skill I taught you...the Ending Blow.”

Link’s heart thumped once against his chest and sunk slightly.

What exactly did the Hero Shade have planned?

“Now then,” The Hero Shade’s voice thundered, startling Link, “Come at me!” It was a thinly veiled order. A not so concealed challenge. Already, the skeletal being had his sword and shield drawn in preparation.

Well...Link was never one to back down, and he felt prompted to follow through with his mentor’s command. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so inclined to do as the Hero Shade told him. He supposed it hardly mattered.

Link swiftly drew the Ordon Sword from its sheath and slid his shield from his back. Twirling the blade expertly in his calloused hand, Link reaffirmed his grip and watched his mentor lift his own sword up along with his shield.

Faster than one could blink, Link shot forward and leapt into the air. He swung the Ordon Sword in a downward strike. The blade cut across the Hero Shade’s chest and the skeletal being flew back from the physical force gathered behind the blow. He struck the ground and Link immediately jumped high into the air and viciously stabbed the Hero Shade through.

The Hero Shade grunted as Link slid the Ordon Sword from his translucent form and gracefully flipped backwards.

For a moment, the great warrior remained on the cool ground before bringing himself to his feet.

“Excellent,” The Hero Shade approved, and Link couldn’t explain the abrupt burst of pride that filled him at the praise, “It appears you are certainly capable of performing my lost art.”

His lost art?

Link curiously inclined his head. These skills he was learning...were those the Hero Shade had developed himself? Then why had the Hero Shade chosen to pass his teachings to him? A Ranch-Hand-turned-Hero?

“Very well,” Decision made, Hero Shade’s tone implied Link needed to listen closely and carefully to his next words, “My second skill is…”

Ah. A dramatic pause.

Why did Link get the feeling his mentor had done so on purpose? He was purposefully goading him on, but Link couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement and willingness to learn from this ancient being.

“...the Shield Attack!”

Link perked up. This skill sounded intriguing.

“Let it be hewn into your mind!”

And so the lesson commenced!

“No matter how well-tempered a blade is, if a foe is clad in armor and bears a shield, the sword will do no harm,” Hero Shade briefly explained, “When facing such a foe, you must lock onto them and thrust your shield against the defenses of your enemy.”

Made sense…

“Lock onto me, then try it!” The Hero Shade said, “You have learned much, so I am sure you will know the moment when you can do a shield attack!” He assured Link.

They brought their swords together and Link executed the Shield Attack with hardly any trouble.

The Hero Shade staggered back from the blow before recovering. He curtly dipped his chin, approval and a hint of pride evident in his voice,

“Excellent! Open a hole in your enemy’s defenses and use your sword to strike without hesitation!” Hero Shade went on to add, “The Shield Attack I have just taught you can also be used to repel an enemy’s projectile attacks.”

He hadn’t missed how Hero Shade subtly emphasized the word ‘repel.’ As though it were a forewarning of what was to come.

“Would you practice?” Link was given no time to answer. The decision had been made for him. “Then repel my magical attack with your shield attack!”

Link sent the glowing orb back after the Hero Shade had projected it. He’d almost miscalculated but narrowly managed to salvage his slight falter.

“Perfect!” The Hero Shade declared, “When your enemies assail you with projectiles, this is how you will defeat them with ease!”

A slight grin curved Link’s lips.

“Done!” The Hero Shade concluded their lesson, “You have learned the second of my hidden skills, the Shield Attack! But I have five more secrets to teach you...in time. The path to becoming a true hero is a long one, but once you have grasped all of the hidden skills, you shall be worthy of walking it. You must persist on the lonely path of the sword to obtain true courage and earn the strength to conquer the great evils of the world!”

He spoke from experience. This Link recognized. Hero Shade was...sorrowful and understanding.

“Do not forget your discipline with the blade before we meet again!”

And those were the words of wisdom Hero Shade left to echo in Link’s ears as he was drawn back into reality and away from his Mentor’s world.

~~~~

Twilight started when his memory of the Hero Shade was interrupted by the rustling of the bushes behind him.

He turned, teeth bared in a snarl as he crouched low and prepared to attack should the disturbance prove to be a monster. He only hesitated since he didn’t sense any ill intentions, malicious or dark auras.

It hardly mattered. It paid to be cautious.

Instead, a blue-clad figure came hurrying through, long, wheat-colored hair somewhat disheveled and blue eyes snapping onto his wolf form.

Twilight relaxed upon recognizing Wild only to tense slightly at the unnerved expression he wore.

“Twilight!” Wild breathed, jogging towards him. Twilight transformed into his Hylian form at once, worry creasing his brow.

“Cub? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Wild admitted, peering past his shoulder and briefly scanning the area behind him. When he didn’t find whatever he was looking for, Wild looked back to Twilight, “Time’s looking for you.”

The statement, for whatever reason, was ominous. The tone his Cub had used, the words, and how cornflower blues cautiously darted this way and that told Twilight something was off.

“He is?” Twilight murmured and moved to swiftly make his way past Wild, “Then I’d better see what he needs.”

He didn’t get far when Wild caught his arm. Twilight turned to him inquisitively.

“Twilight, he’s acting...strange.” Wild said to him in low tones, locking their gazes together so his predecessor could see the seriousness behind his words, “He heard you howling that song. I don’t know what it was, but he reacted strongly to it. Almost daunted.”

Twilight’s eyes widened by a slight margin.

“Oh, Hylia,”

The Song of Healing.

He’d sung it to commemorate Hero Shade and, consequently, the Hero of Time. Twilight’s ancestor.

He’d sung it, both knowing and oblivious to the fact that Time might recognize it. At some point during his adventure, Time had to have learned the song. Twilight was unaware of the circumstances concerning his learning of the haunting melody, but he could infer from Wild that it must not have been pleasant.

“He asked how you knew the Song.” Wild omitted the part where Time had opened both eyes to reveal one blue and one completely white. A sight he would never forget seeing. No injury, no wound, or scar was capable of ridding someone of an entire eye, leaving it unnervingly white and blank. He might’ve accepted mutilation as a possibility if he knew it wasn’t so.

Twilight cursed himself for his stupidity. He raked a hand through his walnut colored hair, exhaling deeply.

“I have two options.” The older teen muttered.

Wild watched him closely, “And they are?”

“Face Time willingly… Or face Time unwillingly.” Came the reluctant reply. Twilight pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling. He might as well get it done and over with. “How to explain Hero Shade without explaining Hero Shade…”

Wild glanced at him in confusion.

“Hero Shade?”

“My mentor.” Twilight distractedly clarified. “Or...was. He rests now.”

Wild clicked his jaw shut and sealed his lips together. He hadn’t known this. Twilight never before mentioned a mentor to him.

“He taught me all that I know. Without him, I wouldn’t have succeeded in defeating Ganondorf.” There was sorrow in his eyes and wistfulness seeped into his tone. He chuckled somberly, “He was brusque and short-clipped in the beginning...But in the end…”

“Although I accepted life as the hero, I could not convey the lessons of that life to those who came after.”

This particular statement had stuck to Twilight. Not because the Hero Shade had admitted to him his one greatest and lingering regret he had eased at long last, but because it told Twilight there were other Heroes before him. Heroes who fought against whatever evil had risen in order to defend and protect Hyrule and her people.

Hero Shade had chosen to pass down his teachings to Twilight. His lessons had become all the more meaningful to the Ordonian and Twilight swore then and there to honor his mentor and ancestor, predecessor and leader, in all he did.

“I…” Wild began, trailing off awkwardly. Sorrow swelled in his chest and he grasped Twilight’s arm, “I get it.”

And he did.

Twilight spared him a small, soft, smile, eyes no longer as fierce but undeniably warm.

“I know.”

The two teens stood in reverent silence, commemorating their fallen friends and mentor. Twilight gazed wistfully at the tranquil moon, mind distant and eyes faraway.

“He’d come to me as a wolf.”

Wild inclined his head curiously, “Hero Shade?”

Twilight nodded with the shadow of a smile, “A Golden Wolf. With one red eye.” He said, unaware of the slow dawning look of recognition and bafflement stealing across Wild’s features. “Incredibly distinguished and proud. He would wait patiently for me to find him.”

Wild pursed his lips tightly together, glancing past his shoulder then back to Twilight with stunned disbelief.

“Um...Twi?”

Twilight’s ears twitched at the cautious tone his descendant used. He looked to find Wild with a finger raised in the air, gesticulating vaguely towards where he’d come from.

Wild?” He asked when the younger teen waved his finger in the general direction of the trees then back at Twi.

“I thought I might’ve been imagining it but…” He met Twilight’s quizzical gaze, “When I was heading down the path to find you, there was a flash of gold to my right-”

Twilight looked sharply at him.

“I wasn’t sure what it was. I was calling out for you and when I reached the bend, I saw a wolf.” Twilight’s eyes widened. “He was Golden and-” He tapped beneath his right eye, hurrying on, “Only one eye. A red one-” The Hero was cut off when Twilight lunged forward and grasped his arms, asking breathlessly and voice shaking with undiluted hope,

“Where?”

~~~~

“We meet again...It appears your efforts have begun to return vigor to Hyrule, but it is far too early to relax…” “My third hidden skill is...The back slice! Let it be hewn into your mind!”

The unmistakable pride in Hero Shade’s voice. The gradual softening of the rough and disciplinary conduct.

He ended his lessons with a single phrase that filled Link with hope.

“May we meet again.”

He always looked forward to finding the Golden Wolf.

Hero Shade would greet him the same.

“We meet again.”

Link found himself waiting to hear the familiar echo of those words.

“This next is the greatest of the hidden skills I have taught you to this point, and it may test the limits of your endurance.”

Hero Shade would issue a challenge after his brief description of the skill he wished to pass on to Twilight.

“Do you still wish to master it?”

Link would respond in favor of learning. A curt dip of his chin, a fire blazing in his eyes, and words laced with conviction.

Hero Shade would then test to ensure Link had mastered his previous skill.

“My fourth hidden skill it…”

The dramatic pause Link knew was incoming. He enjoyed the thrill of anticipation. The wonder of what skill Hero Shade would give for him to master.

“The helm splitter!”

Link would practice with Hero Shade until his mentor was satisfied with his progress. Hero Shade concluded their lessons with a reminder to train daily.

“Do not neglect your daily sword training…”

Link never did.

It was the fifth meeting Link should have known. There was a phrase Hero Shade used he hadn’t thought to delve deeper into. A sentence bearing a blatant truth.

“At last, the skills I have to teach you have entered the realm of true secrecy. They are forgotten ways that do not leave our bloodline…”

Link hadn’t caught the blatant truth Hero Shade had shared for he was swiftly distracted.

“My fifth hidden skill is...The mortal draw! Let it be hewn into your mind!”

It was in the sixth session Link found himself weighed down by reluctance and sorrow. A burden weighed heavily upon his shoulders, threatening to crush him. He listened to the Hero Shade but without the usual excitement, anticipation, and willingness to learn.

“...There are but a few hidden skills for me to teach you.”

Link could not quell the onslaught of sorrow and unwillingness to proceed. The words tore apart his fragile defences, breaking down the neutral façade he wore, and cracking apart the mask of ferocity, strength, and resolve he’d crafted long ago.

He’d known the day would soon come but he valiantly fought against the painful reminder of having to bid his mentor goodbye sometime in the nearby future.

Hero Shade took notice of his hesitation and wandering mind. The golden-armored stalfos took it into his own hands to draw Link back to attention. He drew his sword back and struck forward.

Link came close to being skewered. He noticed Hero Shade’s movements a second before the strike would hit. The Ordonian leaped back, shocked and startled. He staggered, feet tripping against one another, and he fell back. His sword fell from loose fingers, clattering loudly to the ground, his shield following close behind.

Ashamed and sorely disappointed, Link bowed his head and bit his lower lip hard. He clenched his shaking fist, pressing it to the cold ground and listened as Hero Shade drew near.

He waited for the rebuke he knew was to come. The reproach and urging to stand and face him.

“What ails you?”

The unexpected words drew Link to lift his chin and meet the Hero Shade’s glowing gaze.

It could have just been him, but Link swore he sensed a tendril of concern emanating from the proud and distinguished Hero Shade.

“Hesitation in the midst of battle can cost you dearly. A lethal price to pay. Stand,”

Link did so. He drew himself to his feet, keeping his head low and gaze averted.

“Speak.”

The invitation disguised as a thinly veiled order garnered a baffled reaction from Link. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating whether or not to tell Hero Shade of what troubled him so.

Hero Shade merely cocked his head, “I have watched you from afar. You have shown great reluctance in finding the Howling Stone and learning the melody carried by the wind. You are slow to seek for me and to learn the Hidden Skill I have yet to pass on to you. Why is this?”

“We are on the sixth Hidden Skill.” Link found himself saying, inexplicably drawn to answering his mentor- to explain the conglomeration of emotions warring within him.

“We are.”

Link deflated, grief-stricken eyes meeting the Hero Shade’s single one.

“There is only one left.”

There was no need for Link to clarify what he’d left unspoken. Hero Shade heard and understood what was implied behind those four syllables.

“Oh child of mine...” Hero Shade stepped forward, reaching with a skeletal hand to grasp his shoulder. His glowing gaze softened, an air of comfort and understanding wrapping soothingly around Link, “An acquaintance once told me, ‘Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow.’”

There was an odd, sorrowful, intonation in his quiet voice. Link’s wolf spirit curled within itself, howling mournfully, expressing what Link could not bring himself to.

And then Hero Shade said these words that remained freshly engraved in Link’s mind,

“‘However, that parting need not last forever...Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time...That is up to you.’”

Link took those words to heart.

~~~~

When Wild pointed, Twilight bolted away. The Ordonian tore through the woods, effortlessly ducking beneath low-branches and maneuvering around the obstacles barring his way. There was a trace of desperation, a billowing of hope, unrestrained yearning, and a multitude of other indescribable yet profound emotions surging rampantly within the Hero.

He sprinted without slowing, his heart thundering in his chest and ears pulsing. The timing of his breaths echoed in his mind, like a countdown of sorts.

His feet grazed the earth and his tunic blended into the undergrowth and shrubbery.

He knew he was nearing the bend when a familiar panting caressed his ears. Raspy, deep, breaths Twilight had memorized long ago and longed to hear again. A tell-tale sign he was nearing the Golden Wolf waiting patiently for him to arrive.

He burst free from the foliage, skidding into the path and drew unmistakably wide eyes swirling with a myriad of emotions to find Wild’s words rang true.

For across from him, seated regally and patiently, was the Golden Wolf Twilight had last seen two years prior before Hyrule Castle.

“Surely you can restore Hyrule to its stature of yore as the chosen land of the gods. Farewell! Go and do not falter, my child!”

Twilight’s features contorted, eyes stinging, and he whispered tremulously,

“Hero Shade.”

#Linked Universe #linkeduniverse #Legend of Zelda #Hero Shade #Twilight #Wild #Golden Wolf #Memories #At long last I have written part II of III #I strayed from canon #Purposefully #Dinwrites

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dbzebra · 4 years ago

Text

Surpassing The Strongest CH 2

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I hit a wall for a long time but finally got past it! Just a reminder, this is kind of an End of Z retelling but will have obvious changes going forward. Also i apologize in advance for the linebreaks, tumblr ruined my formatting so i had to imprpovise lol Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Goten’s Resolve

“Train hard, study well, eat well and sleep well. That is the Turtle Hermit way to learn!”

Those were the words Master Roshi had told Goku and Krillin during their first day of martial arts training all those years ago. That motto had stuck with Goku his entire life, and molded it into how he trained both himself and his sons throughout their lives, even to this day.

It was break time from training. Father and son were lying in the grass with their hands behind their heads, watching the fluffy clouds roll by. Pan wasn’t due back for a few more minutes going by the speed of her approaching energy, so they took the time to relax for a bit.

Neither really spoke for a while, just listening to the sounds of nature. Birds chirped happily, the wind softly rustling the leaves above their heads, and the quaint sound of the river flowing nearby.

It was Son Goten who finally spoke up, breaking the silence, not breaking his gaze from the clouds.

“So, what’s next on the agenda?” Goten knew his father likely had an intense training schedule planned, but he was ready.

“Well, besides our regular sparring, our next step-- is to help you reach Super Saiyan 3.”

“Me? Reach level 3?” Goten quickly sat up, pointing to himself with a dumbfounded look.

“Of course!” Goku replied, sitting up as well. “That’s been your goal from the start since you began training again, right? And after what you showed me earlier, I think all that’s left is for you to push for the top.”

“Easier said than done! Trust me, I’ve been trying, it ain’t working!” Goten said.

Goku grinned and put both hands on Goten’s shoulders. “You did it before as Gotenks, and you were only a kid back then. I can feel it in your energy, Goten. You just gotta break through that last barrier.”

“How did it work for you? Like how did you reach level three?”

Goku looked up to the sky for a few moments, trying to recall just how he ascended beyond Super Saiyan 2 back in Other World. “Super Saiyan 3 was much different than the previous two forms. While levels one and two required intense rage--in most cases, level three was a different beast entirely. It took intense training and complete mastery of Super Saiyan 2. At the time, I was wondering how I could go even further beyond or if it was even possible. So one day, I was training with this guy called Pikkon. I kept feeling this really tiny tugging feeling deep inside.” Goku pointed to his stomach, and mimicked a back-and-forth motion with his hands. “And over the years of focus and training, the more I fought the more I felt it. So I worked towards that. I kept pulling back every time I felt that pull. Harder and harder, until--” he made a fist and then opened it-- “Bam! I unleashed all my energy once. And that’s when it happened.”

“...I don’t get it.” Pulling? It all sounded like crap, if he was being honest. But to be fair, he probably wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling either.

“Just try it out. I know you did this earlier. Remember how you went level three as Gotenks, and combine that with what I told you.” Goku stayed in his cross-legged position, while Goten jumped up to his feet.

The teen took a deep breath. “Alright. Here I go…!”

Goten bent his knees and let out a mighty roar that reached the heavens. His muscles bulged and once again electricity swirled around the teen as he ascended to Super Saiyan 2, bringing his ki to its utmost limits. The earth itself seemingly began trembling in fear of the awesome display of raw power.

‘This next energy… has to come from deep inside! Push hard to find it!’

The words that Goku had said to him and Trunks that day long ago echoed in his mind. The same words from when they took a break from learning the Fusion technique to see a first-hand demonstration of the ultimate Super Saiyan transformation.

“I did it back then, so I can do it now!” Goten told himself. He gritted his teeth hard and when he closed his eyes, he could almost see the visage of a Great Ape roaring. As he continued powering up, he felt a tiny, almost insignificant tug from within. That miniscule flicker deep in his stomach was like a just-barely-lit candle. “There!”

This was it. He had found it! The tremors began increasing in ferocity as the ground cracked beneath him and small rocks rose up into the air. The ‘flame’ from within grew in size and heat. Goku watched on, smiling with pride.

But just as he had it, he lost it. Goten’s golden hair reverted to its original black color and he dropped to his knees. The stones that floated around the teen fell back to the earth and everything was quiet again. Panting and out of breath, the disheartened teenager cursed under his breath and teen slammed the ground with his fist, causing it to shatter beneath him. “I… I can’t do it, Dad! I just can’t! I’ve been stuck doing the same thing for months, it’s not working! I’m just not strong enough to turn Super Saiyan 3!!”

For the last eight months, Goten tried and failed to ascend. He thought he wasn’t making any progress at all, but that was usually the case with self evaluation: you judge yourself much harder. To Goku, however, he noticed as clear as day that his son was making leaps and bounds of progress in strength.

Goku went to console his son, gently putting a hand on each of his shoulders. “Hey, don't be that way! It’s totally okay! You are good enough, Goten. Remember, you were the youngest Super Saiyan ever, and reached Super Saiyan 2 at only fifteen! You were right there! I promise you!! It took me six years to reach level three, and I was dead! You're doing great.” Goku said, and it seemed to encourage his son going by the faint grin that dared to appear on the teen’s face. ”Let’s switch gears. How ‘bout we try some image training instead?”

“Image training? What the heck is that?” Goten looked completely lost.

Goku put his hand on his chin to think how to explain it. It was one of those things where it was easy to understand, but putting into words was a bit more complicated. But after a moment, it came to him. “Basically, it’s kinda like meditating, but you project an image of yourself in your mind. Then, you link up with someone else using telepathy, and fight that way.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How do you get stronger just by thinking about it?” Goten flatly said, causing Goku to chuckle in response. Much like himself at that age, Goten was never one to mince words.

“Just trust me, Goten. Your brother and I did the same thing while we were training to fight Cell.” Goku said and crossed his arms, keeping the same grin. “And besides, if we do this image training, you might get to see my secret ultimate technique.”

Now Goten was interested. It never took much to convince him. “Really? What’s it look like?!”

“You won’t know unless you try it out!” Goku goaded his son further. In all honesty, the new technique he developed was a finishing move, meant for a new enemy in case one ever came. It normally took a lot out of him, but just showing Goten once wouldn’t hurt.

Just as they were about to continue however, the two Saiyans sensed a familiar energy source rapidly approaching. Goku had sensed it from far off from a while ago, but he could see that his son was too preoccupied to notice until now.

“Guess we’ll save the image training for later then!” Goku said and jumped back to his feet.

Still seated in the grass and leaning backwards on his hands, Goten turned to the direction of the approaching person. It was far too large to be Pan’s. He knew who this was. The teen’s wide smile returned as another young man with short lavender hair wearing a sleeveless yellow vest and black pants dropped down on the grass in front of his oldest friend.

“Hey bro! What brings you by our neck of the woods?” Goten asked. Still a little sore from training, he held out his hand and Trunks pulled him up.

Trunks smirked and poked Goten playfully in the chest. “I heard through the grapevine that you were gonna enter the Tournament next week. Tryin’ to sneak a win by without telling’ me?” He raised an eyebrow at his friend. Knowing Goten like he did, he figured there wasn’t any malicious intent.

“Ah, Mar told you? Sorry about that.” Goten replied with a sigh. “I legitimately thought you already knew and planned on entering. I meant to tell you, really!” Between spending hours with Marron after school on their date yesterday, the excitement over his new gi the night before, and then the morning training, he didn’t really get an opportunity.

“It’s fine. I’m just glad to be out of my house. My dad hasn’t shut the hell up about it since! He was grilling me all morning! God, I had to practically throw Bulla at him just for a momentary distraction then I just bailed.” Trunks threw his hands up in frustration. His family got on his last damn nerve sometimes.

“I hear that. This one over here,” Goten said, gesturing to his father with his thumb, “pulled me out of bed at the crack of dawn while I was in the middle of an awesome dream!”

“Oh quit complaining.” Goku scolded his son while Goten shrugged.

Trunks snickered. “An awesome dream, you say? What kinda dream was it?”

Goten shot him a dirty look, but before he could think of a comeback, a little toddler dressed in a red gi flew in and landed in the middle of them.

“I’m back Grandpa!!” Pan chirped, raising her little fists in the air. “I flew around the whoooole world again, just like you said!”

With that signature Son grin of his, Goku smiled down at her. “That’s amazing, Pan! Thats your fastest time yet!”

Pan’s dark eyes lit up at hearing that she was getting better. “Think I’ll be ready for the Toonament?” She asked, innocently tilting her head to the side.

“Wait, Pan, you’re seriously going to enter the Tournament? There’s no Junior Division, don’t tell me she’s gonna fight with the rest of us!” Trunks was baffled. Pan nodded up at him, her smile still as wide as could be. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

Goku proudly pat his granddaughter on the head. “Don’t worry about her. She may not win, but she’ll do just fine!”

“She might end up doing better than Goten.” Trunks added.

“Very funny.” Goten dusted some blades of grass off of his pants, and glanced over to Trunks again, who teasing smirk only seemed to get bigger. The younger Saiyan sighed, shaking his head with a smile. “Dad, can we take a little break?”

“Sure, don’t go too far though. We’re gonna pick up where we left off in a bit.” Goku replied and Goten nodded in affirmation.

The two teenaged Saiyans walked over to the riverbank for a private chat. They kept their voices low, so a certain little toddler didn’t accidentally overhear certain stuff and then go repeating it, which would end badly for the both of them.

Trunks stood peering over the rushing waters with his hands shoved into his vest pockets. It was mesmerizing.. His phone buzzed, but decided it wasn’t that important. Meanwhile Goten put his hands behind his head and leaned on the tree nearby, staring up at the branches above. The sun was shining high in the sky; its warm light breaking through the gaps between the trees.

When he was small, he used to play a game where he had to only stay in the shaded parts and couldn’t touch where the sun hit. He smiled at the memory for a moment as his thoughts drifted back to the upcoming main event.

“So, you gonna enter?”

Trunks blew air out his nostrils and smirked. “You bet your ass I am. I’m not just gonna let you just walk in and sweep the competition against a bunch of nobodies! I’ll win, just like I did last time. If only Mr. Satan was entering, I’d smack him into next month.”

“Yeah right!” Goten fired back and puffed out his chest a bit, the confidence in his voice building.. “The outcome won’t be the same as last time, I can promise you that. I’ve been training constantly!”

“HA!” Trunks scoffed. “Good one, man. If by ‘training’, you mean you’ve just been getting handsy with Marron all the freakin’ time, then sure! Meanwhile, I’ve actually been training!” Trunks said, with his usual smug smile. He felt a little bad, but busting on Goten was too easy.

Goten’s whole face flushed a scarlet color at how nonchalantly Trunks could just bring up what he did with his girlfriend in private. Any confidence he had in that moment fizzled right out. “H-Hey!! Mar and I aren’t getting handsy!!” Goten blurted out louder than he intended and then swiftly covered his mouth with his hands. “That much…” He said again, practically as a whisper that time.

Trunks tried not to burst out laughing as Goten looked towards Pan, hoping she didn’t overhear him and then go repeating it to Videl or Gohan. Or worse, his mother. Not that she would get mad, just that her teasing comments would only get worse!

“Cut the bullshit, Goten. We’ve been friends for like, seventeen years, and I know when you’re lying. Even after all these years, you still have no poker face. And Marron isn’t exactly the best at keeping something like that hidden either.”

Was he really that obvious?! Goten kicked himself for being such an open book. He huffed and kicked a nearby pebble into the river.

“Look, no shame! I’m proud of you, man. Good for you. Marron’s a real catch!” Trunks said and proudly patted Goten on the back. The older Saiyan figured Goten would fire right back with a comeback of his own, likely about all those vulgar girls who kept throwing themselves at him at school. It wasn’t his fault he was so good looking! Trunks may have had the outer confidence and charisma of his mother, but like his father Vegeta, Trunks was a bit of a prude when it came down to it, for the lack of a better word. He was all talk, as Marron had pointed out.

However Goten’s gaze didn’t leave the gentle flowing river, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were lost in thought. Trunks’ face fell. “Hey, my bad, man. I didn’t mean it that way. I really am happy for you.”

“Huh?” Goten blinked, coming out of his thoughts. He put a hand behind his head with an apologetic smile. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s fine. I should be the one apologizing. I’m just… really distracted.”

“You alright, bro?”

Goten didn’t respond immediately, but after a moment he slowly nodded. “I dunno why, but I’m really nervous about this Tournament. I’ve hit a wall trying to reach Super Saiyan 3, and it’s stressing me out. Nothing’s working, and I don’t know what to do. At this rate, I’m almost afraid I’ll end up fighting my dad in the first round and getting wiped out like some chump.”

Trunks knew how Goten felt. Living up to Vegeta’s expectations was tough at times. And frustrating. He also had no luck on reaching the third level. What came easy to them while fused together proved to be their ultimate challenge while separate. But he wasn’t giving up. And he wasn’t about to let Goten give up either.. “Tell me something, Goten. Why do you choose to fight?” He knew the answer fully well, but wanted to hear Goten say it.

“Why does that matter?”

“Just humor me.”

Goten sighed, and then his lips curled into a smile when he thought of a certain pretty blonde. “Marron.” Her name rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Mar is the reason I started training again. She’s the reason I want to get stronger. She means the entire world to me. I’d do anything to keep that smile of hers safe.”

After the fight against Majin Buu, Son Goten slowly grew out of fighting over the years. Sure, he trained for exercise or if he had nothing else to do, but it wasn’t much of a priority for him until he started dating Marron two years ago. Once they became a couple, it was like a lightbulb went off in the boy’s head. He knew what he had to do--what he wanted to do. And so he trained intensely, day after day. To prevent anything like the Majin Buu incident from happening ever again.

Feeling a second wind, and not wanting to be left behind, Trunks soon joined him as well. It wasn’t long before Goten had closed the gap between them, and together the boys broke through the first Super Saiyan barrier: finally reaching Super Saiyan 2.

“My point is, look how far you’ve come since then. Marron may be a loudmouth, but she’s a true ride-or-die girl. If there’s anyone who doesn’t care where you place in the Tournament, it’s her.”

“Yeah, you’re right. She said something similar yesterday.”

“See?” Trunks smiled. “I’m far from being the best at pep talks, but I know for a fact that you’re much stronger than you think. I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet. Forcing Super Saiyan 3 won’t help things either. It’ll happen, man. For both of us. Basically, what I’m getting at is; it’s just a Tournament. We have our whole lives to surpass our dads. Let’s just make this one a fun reunion where there’s no genocidal egomaniacs for once.”

Goten truly started to feel better. “Thanks, man. Really.” He said and the duo did their signature double fist bump.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

Goten turned, eyeing his friend suspiciously.. Whenever Trunks Briefs uttered the words ‘I have an idea’ it usually was always something insane, but he decided to hear him out. “Lay it on me.”

“Why don’t we enter as Gotenks? Nobody could stop us that way, not even your dad!” Trunks said excitedly, pumping his fists. “I don’t care about the prize money either, so when we win, I’d just give you my half.”

Goten was touched. Trunks really was a true friend. Sure, they busted on each other constantly, to the point where outsiders may think they disliked each other, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. When it came down to it, they had each other’s back.

“I appreciate it, really, but… I can’t. I want to go up against my dad with my own strength. If we won the Tournament that way, I’d feel like I cheated. Besides, the fusion only lasts for thirty minutes; less if we went full power. And then we’d have to wait a whole hour to be able to fuse again, so it’s not exactly practical.”

“Shit, you’re right. I forgot about that.” Trunks replied, scratching his head. His phone buzzed from his pocket again, but ignored it. “Was worth a shot!”

After the third time his phone buzzed, Trunks picked up and immediately got an earful from his mother, ordering him to come home. He groaned and quickly hung up. For a moment he considered tossing his stupid phone into the river. But used his better judgement and shoved it back into his pocket.

“Well that’s my cue. Gotta get going before I really get in trouble. My mom just realized I snuck out. Besides, I should let you get back to training.”

“Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Trunks chuckled. “Next time I’ll see you it’ll be Tournament day. I hope you’ll be ready, man. It’s gonna be me versus you in the final round.” Trunks said with a smirk. “Oh, and tell Marron I said hi.”

“You can count on that.” Goten replied. “And sure.”

A translucent white colored aura surrounded Trunks’ body. He waved and he took off to the west like a torpedo. And like that he was gone over the horizon.

Goku came up, with Pan trotting along behind him. “Feelin’ up for some lunch before we continue?”

“You bet!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days had passed since then. Only four days remained until the big day.

Feeling revitalized, Son Goten continued his training. The day quickly approached, and he wanted to be ready. Super Saiyan 3 or not. The young half Saiyan blitzed back and forth, kicking and punching ferociously into the air, appearing only as a blue to the untrained eye. He kept vanishing and reappearing across the whole sky, leaving a golden trail in his tracks. Lighting swirled around his body like a thunderstorm. Goten fired blasts forward, and teleported in front of his own oncoming attacks and blocked at the last possible second.

On both of his wrists and ankles, he wore large, red colored weighted training bands. Each one had twenty-five tons of force. One hundred tons total. And yet, Son Goten made it look easy.

Meanwhile, a small hot-pink colored air jet sped towards Mt. Paozu. On the side of the left wing had the number 404 written in big black font. The opposite side sported the signature Capsule Corporation logo.

Bubbly pop music blared from the radio as the teenage girl with hair tied into twin tails piloting the car enthusiastically sang along. She had sunglasses resting on top of her head and wore a small pink crop top and blue short-shorts that showed off her fit, athletic figure. The blonde was giddy with excitement- she was planning to surprise Goten during his training today. She could already picture his adorably stupid face, and giggled to herself just thinking about it!

From the sky Marron could see Goku and Gohan’s home sitting side by side, in front of Grandpa Gohan’s old nut. It made a picturesque sight for the blonde. She wondered if she’d be living out here with Goten in a house of their own someday.

Just then, shockwaves shook the air car violently back and forth, but Marron was no chump when it came to this. She easily got the vehicle under control and continued on her path. Sure, she knew how to fly now, and her fear of heights was long gone, but she still overall preferred traveling this way. The wind while flying was still a bit too much for her. Unless of course, she got to ride on the Nimbus with a certain boy.

Out of the corner of her light blue eyes, Marron saw a flicker of gold. She could just barely see, but she knew. High in the air appearing like a golden star in the middle of the day. It was beautiful. The blonde smiled as she lowered in altitude as she approached a field next to a river located nearby from the two homes, touching down on the grass a few moments later.

Marron hopped out of the vehicle and stretched, taking in the clean air of the country and the quietness of nature. She was a city girl at heart, but in some ways this came pretty close. The blonde pressed the button on the side of her jet and with a puff of smoke, the jet returned to its capsule. She moved the sunglasses to her face to cover from the sun. Once her eyes adjusted, Marron pulled out the ribbons from her hair and shook her head from side to side, freely allowing her blonde locks to cascade down to her shoulders. Much better, she felt,

She squinted and looked up to see if she could see him, but the sub was too bright even with her sunglasses.

Just then, as if on cue, a golden haired boy dropped down on the grass in front of her.

“Hey, babe!” Goten said. Seeing Marron was exactly what he needed right now. He sensed her up in the air and he waved, but he was too far away for her to see. A warm smile curled onto the boy’s lips. He wore a white muscle shirt with blue sweatpants, and his signature yellow boots.

“Hey yourself~” She couldn’t help but gawk. Her blue eyes glanced over his muscles, and for a moment she wondered if it was more than the summer heat that made her feel hot all of a sudden. Marron fanned herself with her hand, trying to ignore the obvious that ran through her mind. But the blonde shook off her dirty idea when he walked up to her. “I hope I’m not interrupting your training.”

“Nah, perfect timing actually. Was gonna do one more thing then take a break. It’s great to see you, Mar. You look great--like a movie star.” Still in the Super Saiyan 2 state, Goten went over to his girlfriend and kissed her forehead. “I’d hug you right now, but I’m all gross and sweaty from training.”

Marron giggled, and ran her freshly manicured fingers through her hair. “There’d be plenty of time for that later~!” She winked at him and he grinned. But when she noticed he was alone, she was a little confused. Not too long ago, she sensed another ki with Goten, who she assumed was his dad. “Oh! Where’s Goku? I thought he’d be with you.”

“Dad? He’s out doing some solo training somewhere in the wilderness. We sparred earlier, but said we should train separately for a little bit. So he got me this heavy training gear. I’ve been out here pretty much all day. After today though, I’m all done training until the Tournament. My dad recommended that I should rest my muscles a bit beforehand so I don’t mess myself up for the fights. I’m free tomorrow, so let’s go somewhere!”

Marron clasped her hands together happily. “Oh, that sounds amazing!”

“Then it’s a date.”

But for now, he had to get back to work. He removed the weights from his wrists and ankles, placing them back in their box. With a click of the button on the side, the box returned to its capsule form.

Sighing with relief, Goten stretched his arms and legs as Marron watched. He punched the air a few times, satisfied with the result. She loved watching him. Not just because she generally preferred watching fights over fighting herself, the blonde genuinely loved watching her Goten grow and get stronger. She was so happy for him.

Next, he moved to doing ten thousand push-ups wearing a fifty ton turtle shell on his back, courtesy of Master Roshi. It was a bit of a struggle getting it on, but he managed. Marron sat on top of the shell, her long legs dangling off to the side. She almost wanted to mess with him, but didn’t want her Goten to get distracted when he looked so serious.. So instead she just gave him support. It was getting warmer out, but the mountain breeze made the humidity doable. She didn’t care if her hair got frizzy.

“Ok, here goes!!”

Fifty tons on your back was heavier than he thought. Harder than the previous exercise, if he was being honest. But transforming into Super Saiyan 2 made it much more doable. In his training, Goten had discovered a form, not quite Super Saiyan 3, but something beyond Super Saiyan 2. However that form was for another day. He wanted to perfect the second level as much as possible.

He started off strong, but about halfway through he really started to feel the strain. But this was normal for him. Unfortunately, it didn’t get any easier from then on. Normally, it was child’s play. But coupled with wearing a heavy turtle shell on his back, it was no easy task. Still, Goten thought it was fun.

He counted off the numbers, quickly approaching his goal of ten-thousand.

“Hey~~” Marron hummed, cutely twirling a strand of hair in between her thumb and index finger. “You’re doing an awesome job! When you finish, I’ll give you a present~”

Goten grinned. “What kind?”

“You’ll just have to see~” She said, giggling.

“Easy for you to say, you’re just sitting up there looking all hot in that little outfit!” Goten joked as he continued his workout. Marron gasped slightly and touched her blushing cheeks at the compliment. He was too sweet. Always knew how to make her blush.

The minutes rolled by. Marron happily timed him. And soon he was in the final stretch.

“9,998…” He grunted, his arms felt like jelly. “9,999…. 10,000!! Aaaand, done!” Goten cried out and practically collapsed onto the grass, drenched in sweat. In between his heavy breaths, he laughed slightly. He could feel he was progressing. A little more each day. He recalled what Trunks and his father told him, which only fueled his refound drive further.

“You beat your record! Congrats, sweetheart!” Goten winced, almost losing his balance, and it weren’t for Marron helping him up, he very well might have. With a grunt, Goten dropped the ten ton turtle shell, cracking the ground around it upon impact. She happily pecked him on the cheek for a job well done.

He dropped back to base form--his hair and eyes now their original black color. “I’m exhausted…” He grabbed a fruit from a nearby tree and ate it whole. And then loudly burped. Goten sheepishly smiled. “That hit the spot…”

Marron giggled, walking up to him with her hands behind her back. “Well, I’m a woman of my word. Time for your surprise. Okay~ Close your eyes.”

“Why should I? You might play a trick on me.”

Marron pouted. “Rude. I’d never do that!” Her voice came out squeakier than she intended but it just made him smile bigger. He thought her voice was adorable.

“There. They’re closed.” Goten said, still grinning. He liked to playfully push her buttons; her cute pouting face made it worth it. “Now can I have a hint?” He sniffed the air, trying to guess. “Is it a snack?”

“No peeking. Or else.” Marron said in a demanding voice, but it still just came off as cute.

Marron leaned up, and cupped Goten’s cheeks in her hands. Before he could respond, the blonde gently kissed him on the lips. It was only for a moment, but they were both smiling when she pulled back.

“Pretty great surprise.”

“You’re welcome.” She purred and they kissed again, deeper this time.

After breaking apart that time, she held his hand in hers as they walked along the riverbank, which led to a large lake with multiple branching paths. The same lake where he taught her how to fly. Marron smiled at the memory.

“I’m dying out here!” He took a whiff of his black muscle shirt and grimaced. “Ew. And I smell like crap too. I'm gonna take a swim and cool off. Wanna join me?”

“I would, but I don’t have my bathing suit with me.”

“So?”

“So I’m not getting down to my underwear!” Marron huffed.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you in your underwear before. Besides, nobody else is around. We’re all alone out here.”

“T-T-This is different! Idiot Goten!” Marron’s entire face turned a bright crimson-red from ear to ear at the implication. The blonde definitely didn’t mind if one thing led to another and passion got the best of them right there on the grass, but… but what if they got caught??! She’d probably die of embarrassment if that happened.

Goten only kept his smile; he could tell her imagination was running wild again. He threw off his clothes and laid them on the grass nearby. threw them in a pile nearby. He’d wash them later. Now down to just his boxers, he jumped high into the air and did a cannonball into the lake causing a big splash. He emerged a moment later, spitting water out of his mouth. He swam on his back, just relaxing. The cold temperature instantly made him feel refreshed. It was like he could feel his sore muscles being healed.

Marron dipped her feet into the water.. She closed her eyes and exhaled happily. Life didn’t get much better than this. She sighed blissfully and closed her eyes. “Hey~ Where should we go tomorrow? The waterpark? Aquarium?”

No response.

“Goten?” She opened them again to see that he was gone. Cracking a smile, Marron tried to listen for where he could be. “...Come on out, you dork.”

Something touched her foot and she yelped.

“Goten!!” Marron said again, the panic in her voice growing and she pulled her feet out of the water. She looked around, still nothing. She pouted. He was playing with her. Well she’ll show him. She had her own ways of playing with him.

Just then, the teenaged Saiyan poked his head out from underwater and splashed the blonde right in the face.

“Got ya!” He snickered.

She really didn’t have plans on going in the water.

Until of course, he just declared war.

“Oh, that’s it. It is so on.”

“Bring it, Blondie.” Goten deviously smiled back as he disappeared underwater, preparing for his next attack.

Marron smirked and dove right in after him.

She’d made him pay for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Four more days rolled by.

This was it.

The 28th ‘Strongest Under the Heavens’ World Martial Arts Tournament had finally arrived.

Skilled fighters who wanted to test their abilities against the best of the best. Devoted fans who wanted to see one of the world’s biggest events from across the planet. All flocked to Papaya Island. It was the most anticipated event on the planet. Even those who didn’t attend planned to have their eyes glued to the television and radio for this year’s competition.

Krillin, 18, and Marron were the first of the group to arrive. The family of three stepped out of their red capsule jet and then returned it to their capsule. Roshi and Oolong were next. Marron happily greeted the old man with a hug, Master Roshi was practically her grandfather: always kind to her and gave her wise advice whenever she needed it. If Marron ever got into an argument with her parents, Roshi’s island was always her first stop.

A blue aircar landed nearby, and out jumped Yamcha, wearing a yellow suit and his black hair tied back into a ponytail. Puar sat on his shoulder “Hey man! Good to see ya!” He greeted his old friend and then waved to 18 and Marron, his goddaughter. It felt like yesterday he was babysitting and telling her stories as a toddler , and now she was a beautiful young woman. Time really flies.

“Yamcha! How are ya, man? You here to enter?” Krillin asked.

Yamcha shook his head. “Me? No way. With all those Saiyans, and mostly likely Piccolo too, I’d just embarrass myself. I’m just gonna watch.”

“I’d think you’d do great, Uncle Yamcha!!” Marron exclaimed, coming to his defense.

Yamcha smiled at her. “Never change, Marron.” The blonde giggled in reply.

“By the way, have you seen Tien?” The former monk asked.

Yamcha shook his head. “I mentioned the Tournament to him when I went to visit last month, but haven’t heard much since. Knowing Tien though, he’ll be here.”

18 looked around, honestly unconcerned with what they were talking about.

She could tell Marron was preoccupied too. The teen kept fixing her hair in her pocket mirror, wanting it to be perfect.

18 smiled. “Teenagers.” She fondly remembered those times when she was that age, just her and her twin brother against the whole world. “Are you here or not, 17? You better not have bailed.”

“Goku said he’d meet us at the main gate. No use idling around here.”

“Let’s get movin’ then!”

The Son family arrived at the southwestern side of the island. The family of seven, consisting of Goku, Chi-Chi, Gohan, Goten, Videl and the Ox King all made their way towards the registration tables to meet up with their friends and sign up.

Goten felt nostalgic as he walked with his hands behind his head, wearing his new gi. This was the place he finally met his dad for the first time. Changed his life for the better.

Pan clung to her grandfather’s pant leg, in awe of her surroundings. Everything looked so much fun!. Gohan and Videl prepped the toddler for today's fights the previous night. They were admittedly a little worried, but knew Pan could handle herself. And there were so many of their friends and family around--Gohan himself included-- that in the slim possibility of something going wrong, they’d intervene in an instant.

“This place is really buzzing! Far cry from when I entered way back when.” Chi-Chi said.

“It doesn’t even feel like a Tournament anymore.” Videl added. “It’s like a festival! Even more so than last time.”

Pan tugged on Goku’s pant leg. “Hey Grandpa! Grandpa! Let’s go play!” The toddler said and ran off into the crowd.

“Be back later guys!” Goku called and ran off.

“Don’t go too far, Dad! You’ll miss registration!!” Gohan called. Goku gave his older son a thumbs up and disappeared into the crowd after his young granddaughter.

“Two peas in a pod, those two.” Chi-Chi sighed.

“They’ll be alright, Mom.” Gohan said. “Dad’s great with Pan, He won’t lose track of time.”

Pan and Goku went on a ‘carnival adventure', as Pan described it. Well, it felt like one to her at least. She got to try all types of good food, fed the birds, met a giant robot bunny, and even won first place at one of the games, winning her a giant teddy that was at least three times her size!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, a small boat arrived at the docks on the southeastern port of the island. Out stepped a small boy, no older than ten. Frail, almost appearing malnourished. He had dark skin, and black hair styled into a spiky mohawk. The young boy’s clothing was dirty and torn up a bit from his life on his family’s farm.

“T-Thank you for the ride, sir.” He reached into his pockets and pulled out a small sac. “Please, it’s not much, but please take this zeni for helping me.” He was supposed to use it to buy food, but the boy couldn’t just accept a free ride.

“No, please, put your money away, my boy.” The jolly old boat captain said with a laugh. “You came quite a long way to get here, I couldn’t take the last of your change like that. It’s the least I could do. After all, you’re fighting in the Tournament, correct? You’ll need food to keep yourself strong!”

The young boy’s eyes sparkled a bit, and he smiled for the first time all afternoon. It helped ease his pounding nerves somewhat.

“Do you by any chance know which way I have to go? It’s my first time in a big city like this, and it’s rather intimidating.” He said, trailing off and looking around behind him at the bustling crowds and stalls that seemed endless.

“Head straight that way.” The captain replied, pointing behind the boy. “You can’t miss it, it’s the huge building with the multicolored streamers coming out in every direction.”

“Thanks again! I’m in your debt.” The boy bowed his head, clasping his hands over his chest gratefully.

“Wait, I never caught your name, son!”

“Uub. My name is Uub.” The boy now known as Uub replied meekly. He always felt his name was weird,

“Well Uub, good luck in the Tournament.”

Uub bowed to the captain one last time, and was on his way.

The captain waved as he watched the boy go, happy he could help. “What a nice lad. I hope he makes it to the top.” He got back into his boat and made a U-turn back to the mainland to pick up the next round of passengers. Hopefully they were as nice as Uub was.

As Uub made his way through the city, he was shocked how big everything was. Skyscrapers that seemed to go on forever. He felt so tiny in comparison. Uub looked down to the ground, avoiding eye contact with most people. Just keep following the signs, he told himself.

Eventually, Uub reached the Tournament grounds. Bustling crowds lined multiple stalls. Food, games, merchandise, you name it. Uub was in awe. They were practically giving food away! His stomach grumbled just thinking about it. Figuring he should fight on a full stomach, young Uub got in line at the nearest burger stand. He never had one before, as his village was very poor. Uub’s village, a tropical settling to the south of Papaya Island, didn’t have the luxuries of fast food. He hoped to change that.

While he was in line, a little girl with short black hair wearing a red gi ran by a few yards behind him, happily giggling. Not too long after, a certain man with a signature palm tree hairstyle ran after the girl. When the man passed Uub, he stopped for a moment to stare to really confirm it.

“So it’s really true. He’s here!”

“Grandpa, come on!!” The little girl’s voice could be heard from up ahead. But when Uub turned around, the little girl and whoever she was talking to were already gone.

Uub paid for his burger with his last two hundred zeni. He just stared at it for a moment, his mouth watering. “My first burger… Mom, Dad, everyone, I hope you’re proud of me! I’ll try my best!”

Uub devoured his burger and got on his way. As he walked, he saw monks directing people where to go. Up ahead he saw a man at a booth with ‘Registration’ written on the front in big bold letters. Uub smiled. He made it. He really made it. Uub timidly approached the table when he saw there wasn’t much of a line.

“Hello!”

“Hi…”

“Are you here to register for the Tournament, my boy?” he smiled warmly at the young boy.

“Y-Yes. M-My name is Uub.” Uub averted his eyes. This was too nerve wracking.

The monk looked him up and down for a moment and then wrote something down on his clipboard. “Uub,” he repeated, “okay, you’re all registered. Please follow the path behind me to the courtyard. There you will draw a number.. The preliminary test will begin in about a half hour.”

“Thank you, sir.” Uub nodded and continued on his way. It was becoming real for him now. He gulped. This was it. No going back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goku returned with Pan, lugging along her prize from earlier. He found the rest of his family idling around the foot court about an hour later. Still plenty of time to register.

“Mama! Papa! Look! I won at the hammer game! I rang the bell and then it exploded!! The nice man gave me Mister Bear!” Pan cried happily, jumping up and down. Videl and Gohan looked at each other and smiled.

“That’s amazing, Panny!” Videl said. “I’ll take your bear for you so he doesn’t get lost, okay?”

Pan happily nodded her agreement and then ran back over to Goku. “Grandpa are we really at the Toonament?”

“Sure are, kiddo! You still wanna fight, right?”

“Mhmm!”

Goku’s ki sense picked up on someone familiar approaching. He turned around and saw the Briefs family: Vegeta, Bulma, Trunks, and little Bulla.

Bulla and Pan ran over and hugged each other.

Trunks nodded to Goten. The lavender haired teen wore sweatpants and a black muscle shirt with ‘Capsule’ written on the front in big white letters.. For a moment the two teens stared each other down, electricity sparking between them. Their friendly rivalry was reaching its peak, both believing they’d face the other in the final round.

Chi-Chi pinched Goten’s ear while Bulma clonked Trunks on the head.

“Be nice, Goten!”

“Yeah, don’t be a hotshot! We already have enough of those with your father around!”

Chi-Chi and Bulma playfully scolded their respective sons. Even when they were practically adults, Goten and Trunks were still easily defeated by their mothers, just like when they were small.

“You’re entering too, Vegeta?” Goku asked his former rival, now close friend.

Vegeta smirked. “For once, Kakarot, I’m fighting just for the fun of it.”

“Plus, he’s been gettin a little tummy lately!” Bulma poked her husband’s chest causing him to blush and storm off with a scowl. Trunks sighed in exasperation while Goku and Bulma grinned.

Bulla trotted after Vegeta. “Daddy, why do you call Mister Goku a carrot?”

Vegeta knelt down and patted his daughter on the head. “I’ll explain it later, Princess.”

“I almost forgot!” Chi-Chi exclaimed. “Before anything happens, boys, are you gonna ban Super Saiyan this time around too?”

Everyone glanced to Goten and Trunks. The two most likely culprits to break the rule anyway.

Goten put his hands up in defense. “Hey, don’t look at me! It was an accident last time!”

“Yeah, besides, we should give those sheep out there a show! Something they’ll never forget.” Trunks added.

“That’s that then. Anything goes.” Goku said and Vegeta smirked in affirmation. The boys high-fived each other, and with that, once the group finished their little pit stop they were on their way.

The two families went as one big group and together they reached their meetup spot and linked up with Krillin and the others. Even Piccolo and Dende showed up, but they were off to the side, not liking the attention and looks from the crowd.. Piccolo had decided to enter rather last minute, upon the request of little Pan. He couldn’t say no to her, no matter how hard he tried.

“There they are!” Krillin pointed at them, about ten yards away. Goku waved from afar.

When Marron saw Goten, standing clad in his brand new orange and black gi, the blonde practically flung herself at the young half Saiyan. He happily caught her and spun her around, and they shared a quick smooch.

“I’m so glad you came, Mar.” She looked gorgeous with that pretty red dress of hers. She was his cheerleader. His number one fan and reason for going on. With her in his corner, he felt like he was the strongest guy in the universe.

“Of course, sweetheart! You’d think I’d ever miss my boyfriend becoming World Champion? She winked at him. She started fussing over his gi, adjusting it so he looked neat. He looked so handsome, she thought. “I’ll be cheering for you~”

“Can I have one more good luck kiss?” Goten said in a low tone, so nobody heard him but her. His strong yet gentle arms wrapped around her waist. She smelled really good.

“I’d be happy to.” Marron replied with a sultry grin.. She flipped her hair behind her back, draped her arms around Goten’s neck.

Just before their lips touched again though, Goten was yanked backward. Marron pouted at the culprit.

“Come on, lover boy. You two can be gross and suck face all you want later, unless you want to watch the Tournament from the stands. As a spectator.” Trunks grumbled as he dragged Goten away over to the registration stands.

Marron only giggled and blew her boyfriend a kiss. “Byyye! Good luck! I love you!”

Goten waved back with both hands as he got dragged away, mouthing ‘I love you too’ and Marron just about melted.

The two teenaged Saiyans went to sign up while Marron went with Chi-Chi and her mother to find a seat. Krillin stayed around to chat with Goku and Yamcha, catching up and reminiscing about the previous times they were all here.

From deep in the crowd, a blonde woman with a big red ribbon spotted that signature hairstyle. That was unmistakable, even with his back to her. After all these years she could spot him from a mile away. Luckily, she kept her firearms at home. Well, most of them. She had no plans on using them. Unless they needed a crowd clearer. Maybe.

“I knew he’d be here.” She said to the taller man, her husband, beside her.

“Yes. It’s been too long.” The bald man said. He turned to the smaller man on his shoulder and smiled. “Figures we’d reunite here, right Chiaotzu?”

Chiaotzu nodded. “I’ll be fighting as well.”

And like that, the blonde ran off ahead in the direction of their old friends. She ran right up to Goku and playfully slapped him on the back. “Long time no see, boys!”

“Hey, what’s the-- L-Launch?!! Is that you?!” Goku’s irritation immediately turned to joy at the sight of his lifelong friend. All three of the former Turtle School fighters greeted Launch happily.

“Wait, if you’re here, that must mean…” Krillin started to say, and then the duo in question appeared. Tien and Chiaotzu.

It didn’t need to be said, but both Tien and Chiaotzu had gotten stronger. Much stronger. Goku couldn’t wait to see their new abilities.

“My apologies for the surprise.” Tien said with his usual serious expression. Launch stuck her tongue out and blew raspberries at him. Chiaotzu laughed at that. “It’s good to see you all again.”

Yamcha patted Tien on the shoulder with a grin. “Come on, man, we’re your pals. No need to be so serious!”

“So how’s married life treatin’ ya?” Krillin smirked jokingly.

“Great! Right Tien?” Launch poked Tien in the chest.

“Um, y-yes.” Tien blushed. The Turtle trio all exchanged similar grins. He still wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions in public, especially when teased, but they also knew him too well.

“This one is a big worrywort. Especially now.” Launch patted her stomach. She was pregnant with her first child. Eight weeks. Admittedly it was a little trippy to find out, after her blue self was the first to learn the news, but her blonde self was equally as happy. Her life on the farm in the western mountains--a life without crime-- was much better than she had imagined.

Each of the Turtle School trio and Master Roshi sported similar elated grins, as they hugged Launch and gave their congratulations to the future parents. Their little gang would soon have one more member.

A voice came over the sound system. “Last call for registration! I repeat, last call for registration. Please come to the registration desk! Registration will be closing in three minutes!”

“Well, that’s my cue!” Goku said and went to sign up along with Tien and Chiaotzu. The three fighters signed up at the very end, in their typical fashion. The three fighters waved and parted ways with Yamcha, Roshi, Krillin, and Launch, who went to join the others.

“Just wait till everyone sees you! This’ll be a great surprise!” Yamcha exclaimed. Just like old times.

The last remaining fighters signed up, and registration came to a close.

In a private room of the main building, a middle aged man with blond hair adjusted his tie in the mirror. He wore an impeccable suit, ready for another year at the best job in the world.

He peered out the window at the crowd of participants gathering in the fighters courtyard while thousands of guests filed into their seats of the main stadium. The man cleared his throat, smiling. Announcing and commentating the World Martial Arts Tournament was second nature to him now.

Tournaments past were some of the most exhilarating moments of his life.

And only one thought echoed through his mind.

“They’ll be here this time. I just know it.”

#dragon ball #dbz #dragon ball z #goku #goten #marron #trunks #uub #pan #marten #goten x marron #other background ships too #reblogs are appreciated

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a-marlene-s · 5 years ago

Text

Floating White Lotus

Book One: Water

Title: “Golden Ginger Fire Tea”

Chapter: Beginning - Previous Chapter - 8 - Next Chapter

Masterlist

Rating: T (curse words mainly.)

Genre: Humor, Drama, and more humor.

Shoutout to ProudGeek4Ever! For beta reading this! (She is not on this site far as I know.)

Summary: Floating White Lotus, a former fire nation ship that was converted into a traveling tea shop. The shop is led by the rumored the Dragon of the West, (No knows if this is true or not… yet) and his nephew who wishes to forget the ever lasting war. Well, until a certain someone decided he’d be the perfect fire bending instructor.

Archive Of Our Own: Floating White Lotus

Fanfiction.net: Floating White Lotus

Wattpad: Floating White Lotus

Golden Ginger Fire Tea

Is a blend of fresh ginger, lemon, honey and a handful of spices. It has a wide variety of health benefits.

-Ginger: Nausea, anti-inflammatory, fighting infections and relieving gastrointestinal discomfort.

-Turmeric: (Check page 15.)

-Cayenne: Boost a body's metabolism, reduce hunger, and may aid with chronic pain.

-Cinnamon: (Check page 16.)

-Honey: Rich in antioxidants, powerful cough suppressant and benefits the health of one's heart. (Natural sweetener. Very good.)

-Lemon: Prevents scurvy. Weight loss, makes the skin look good, freshen one's breath…(Reminder to pack up more of them to prevent the men from getting scurvy. Lemon water is good… especially for hiding Uncle's medicine.)

Jee handed Iroh a steaming cup of tea. "Worried?"

They stood at the edge of the boat and looked out at the sea. It was the same direction they had seen Zuko sail to get to the Fire Temple. It was by far one of the stupidest things Zuko had ever done in his life. He had done loads of idiotic things, but this easily made its way the top five, or well, possibly top three at this point.

"Of course, I'm worried. I'm always worried." Iroh answered. The horizon began to shift colors signaling that morning was quickly approaching. As much as he did to support his nephew, this had to be one of the times they didn't agree about a course of action. Sneaking into Fire Nation waters. He was going to get himself killed.

Iroh turned around to head back into the ship. He needed meditate.

Jee watched the man walk away. The last time he had seen Iroh in such a state was at the announcement of the late Fire Prince's death. That day had been a complete disaster. Many assumed that it was general Iroh that called for the retreat, but it had really been a colonel with high enough ranking that ordered everyone to pull back. Jee and several others, most now working on the Floating White Lotus, had to carry away the devastated general.

No one knew the full extent of what happened that day. It took some time for Iroh to regain his bearings. The first thing he did was ensure none of his men would be taken at fault for what had occured. They knew he still grieved his lost son, but got back on his feet to care for the people that needed him.

Jee shook away the memories of the trying times. Iroh had never been the same after that. The only time he became somewhat himself again was when Zuko was around.

-.-

Zuko knew that what he was going to do was completely and utterly stupid. It could very well lead to his death. Sneaking back into the Fire Nation to get to the Fire Temple was not something he ever thought he'd do. But here he was in a small, inconspicuous boat headed for the temple in the dead of night. His friends would still be at the village. They were probably resting for the journey they'd make in the morning.

The reason for his midnight boat trip was simple. He had to get to the temple before the others without anyone raising the alarm. There could be some sages that still followed the old ways. Luckily he knew there was at least one, but the rest were unknown at the moment.

He was thankful for his disguise.

-.-

Shyu lead the avatar and his friends through the caverns of the Fire Temple. The sage made sure they didn't cross paths with any of the others. "Avatar Roku once called this tempt his home. He formed secret passages out of the magma."

Aang's hand trailed against the walls and he was deep in thought. "Did you know Avatar Roku?"

"No." Shyu shook his head. "But my grandfather knew him. Many generations of Fire Sages guarded this Fire Temple long before me. We all have a strong spiritual connection to this place."

"Is that how you knew I was coming?"

Shyu paused. Then he pulled out a scroll from his clothes and went to hand it over to Aang, but Sokka grabbed it first.

"This is Zuko's scroll!" Sokka loudly exclaimed causing Katara to smack the back of his head reminding him to keep quiet. He ignored her in favor of reading the scroll.

"That came last night. A few weeks ago an amazing thing occurred. The statue of Roku," Shyu paused for added effect. "It's eyes began to glow!"

"That's around the time we were at the Air Temple." Katara thought back to a similar event. "Avatar Roku's eyes were glowing there too."

Shyu then turned around to face Aang with a knowing smile. "At that moment we knew you had returned to the world."

Confusion was the only emotion Aang felt at that moment. "If this is the Avatar's temple why did the sages attack me?"

Shyu took a deep breath and his shoulders dropped as he answered. "Things have changed. In the past the sages were loyal only to the avatar. When Roku died they waited eagerly for the next avatar to return, but he never came."

Guilt washed over Aang. "They were waiting for me."

Sokka hadn't said much because his attention had been on the content of the scroll. He rolled it back up and hid it in his shirt. What he read made him rethink a lot of things about his friend. But now he had to focus on the situation at hand. "Don't feel bad. You're only hundred years late."

Everyone scowled, but Sokka paid no mind to it.

-.-

He hated Zuko.

Hate wasn't even the right word to describe it.

Zhao hated Zuko with passion. He didn't remember what brought on the hate, but it had taken a foul turn for the worse since Zuko bested him during the Agni Kai. It didn't matter how much he goaded Prince Zuko. The banished prince just simply shrugged it off or general Iroh would calm his nephew down before he could get a good reason to take him out.

It was becoming increasingly infuriating as it became a race to capturing the avatar.

Zhao grinned maliciously at the thought of finally one-upping the disgraced royal. He yelled at the sages to hurry up with opening door to the sanctuary. They did open it. And a lemur covered in soot stared bark at them.

"It's the Avatar's Lemur. He must have crawled through the pipes!" The Fire Sages weren't happy at all for being duped.

Momo sprang into action. He leapt at a Fire Sage's head and grabbed the hat effectively blinding him. Katara charged from her hiding spot and pulled another sage's tunic over his head. Sokka went for a different approach and grabbed hold of a Fire Sage's lower skirt. He then pulled it over the man's body and covered his face with it

Sokka could her his sister crying out for Aang to go, but she didn't get any answer. He caught sight of Zhao holding Aang in a firm grip and he felt his heart drop. They had not planned for this. It was one thing dealing with the Fire Sages, but Zhao was different. The guy had relentlessly been hunting them down. And now he had the avatar. "No..."

Bonk!

Zhao's grasp on Aang loosened before he dropped forward in a dead faint. He was knocked out. Everyone that still had the ability to see saw a figure dressed in black. The person was carrying dual broadswords and had a blue mask that covered their face. Momentarily everyone stopped fighting to stare incredulously at the newcomer. Nobody had expected another wild card in this fight.

The masked person motioned for Aang to enter the sanctuary. Aang heard the sound of Fire Nation soldiers heading towards them. Many were calling out for their commander. One of the sages shouted out for them, but was swiftly knocked unconscious by Sokka. Too bad it was already too late. They could all hear the footsteps quicken. Aang attempted to get to the door, but a newly awake Zhao grabbed his ankle from his place on the ground.

The masked figure hit Zhao once more. Then he grabbed Aang and chucked him into the room. The door shut tight and a blinding light made them all turn away their eyes. By then the Fire Nation soldiers had arrived and they attacked.

-.-

"Listen carefully. We don't have much time." Roku stood face to face with Aang as he warned him about the near future. "Sozin's Comet will return by the end of summer and Fire Lord Ozai will use it's power to finish the war once and for all. If he succeeds even the avatar won't be able to restore the balance of the world. Aang, you must defeat the Fire Lord before the comet arrives.

"I haven't even started learning any element other than air! I don't have anyone to teach me water- or earthbending and Zuko only agreed to teach me firebending if I learnt those two first."

"It takes years of discipline and practice to master the elements. But if the world is to survive you must do it by summer's end."

-.-

"Thank you for helping us," Sokka thanked the masked figure when opportunity came. The figure was currently helping them fight against Zhao's men. Shyu had called the figure the Blue Spirit because of something with the mask. That was unfortunately after Sokka tried giving him an... odd nickname. The fight was coming to a stalemate, but it was preferable to being captured. "So, you're the silent type then?"

Oh, the comebacks he could give. Too bad he would rather not spill his identity. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to recognise him and inform his father of what he'd been up to. It was too soon in for that to happen.

"Just how many are there?" Katara yelled as the never ending horde of soldiers kept coming at them. It got to the point where they were forced to work defence. Sokka and Katara had to take cover behind the pillars while Shyu and the Blue Spirit did their best to protect them.

The door began glow again and smoke came out from under it. It caught everyone's attention. The door unlocked by itself and as it opened a blinding light forced everyone to close their eyes.

Then Zhao started to wake up. He groaned in pain and winced at the light that had only dimmed a bit. His eyes widen when he saw a pair of glowing, white eyes in the darkness of the, now open, sanctuary. Without much thought he ordered his men to attack the young avatar. A wall of fire surrounded the avatar. It revealed none other than Avatar Roku. His eyes were glowing and showed his fury as he picked his target, Zhao.

Zhao was completely horror stricken. He scrambled up from the floor, but one of his men had to help him stay standing.

The Blue Spirit cursed under his breath when he saw the deceased Avatar. That looked just like his maternal great grandfather. His great grandfather had been the Avatar.

-.-

Zuko took off his mask once he made it back to the ship. He didn't bother answering any questions about why he brought back a Fire Sage or why he was upset. It reminded the crew of how he used to be a few years ago. Iroh attempted to follow his nephew, but was turned away. This prompted him to send Jee to talk with the former fire prince.

Jee found Zuko in a storage room where he could hear him cursing up a storm. He came closer and saw Zuko throwing around empty crates with eyes that were red with unshed tears. It went up for him why the prince didn't want to talk to his uncle.

It would ruin Zuko if the man he looked up to as a father figure saw him like this. Jee was someone that the teenager could confide in when he couldn't with Iroh. "Zuko."

What am I supposed to do? " Zuko paced back and forth. "Am I supposed to help the Avatar? Am I supposed to capture the Avatar? What is it I'm supposed to do?"

It wasn't difficult to put two plus two together. The spirit of his maternal great grandfather, the one that once guided him, was the Avatar. The same one his paternal great grandfather had killed to start the war. Both individuals had left behind very contrasting legacies.

One of which his father had put him on the path for and thought he was following while the other matched better with his action despite his reservations for picking a side.

Zuko put his head in his hand as he thought over his destiny. He did not want his ancestors to decide his future and that was what he told Jee. The man patted Zuko's back as the teen sank down to the floor and told him about everything that had happened.

"Follow your own path and make your own destiny. Spirits, if it weren't for you intervening in mine I would be dead by now." Jee didn't let the glare aimed at him stop him. "Do you want to follow Sozin, Azulon and Ozai's legacy of death-"

"No, I don't." Zuko's knuckles were turning white, but his words were resolute.

"What about the Avatar?"

"I can't… I'm… I'm not…" Zuko's breathing were heavy and Jee waited until he had regained his breathing patterns. "I don't know what to do."

"That's okay. Just do what you have been doing. Forge your own path."

Zuko looked Jee in the eyes with a desperate expression on his face. "I created a spy network of people that want my father's head on a stick. I have been getting supplies to soldiers that are going up against the bastard. I've helped everyone I've crossed paths with including the Avatar who I am supposed to capture. My father is a terrible man, but he's still family. Where am I supposed to draw the line?"

Jee sighed and sat down on the floor.

Zuko was staring into the floor. "Should I teach Aang firebending?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"That's why I asked."

"No. Not only is the squirt not ready to be taught firebending, but you are not ready to teach him. You are not in the right state of mind to do it." Jee gave a slight pause. "Before today you had a general idea of where your life was headed. You don't know anymore. You need to cut this destiny crap. Carve your own destiny and make it your own."

"What if my destiny is to help the Avatar? What then?"

Jee gave a minuscule smile and slowly shook his head. "You have already decided to help the kid. What you didn't decide is when. Until then you focus on yourself. Relax, take a break and enjoy life for a bit."

"I tried that." Zuko deadpanned. "It came to an abrupt end when the Avatar came back into existence."

TBC

Tag List: @amynchan, @darkshadowguardian, @aliendoodles2

Tag list is still open.

#Tea Zuko AU #ATLA #A:TLA #Avatar: The Last Airbender #sokka #zuko #blue spirit #aang #iroh #jee #katara #floating white lotus

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scrambledgegs · 5 years ago

Text

On lockdown and pushed over the edge

As much as I wanted to, I could not easily shake off the altercation that transpired between Mr. Javier Salvador Parra and Makati policeman Senior Master Sergeant Roland Von Madrona inside the gated, private village of Dasmariñas, Makat last April 26, 2020. While I understand both sides, it is clear as day that policeman Madrona was more in the wrong. Sadly, the more popular stance is to be against Mr. Parra. I will get to that in a moment.

Desperate times call for desperate measures?

What I don’t understand and would like to know more about are the real intentions and motivations behind Dasmariñas village officials justifying the need to invite the Makati police into the gated village in the first place. Unless there are confirmed COVID-19 cases and/or widespread chaos, this is not a common practice among private baranggays. According to a statement released by Dasmariñas Baranggay Captain Rossana Hwang after the altercation, she said: “Since ECQ…the baranggay sought assistance from PNP to implement with baranggay tanods, Operation Bandillo. Operation Bandillo is conducted to educate and eliminate violators such as loitering in the streets, walking and jogging and recently wearing masks.” Her use of strong words like “eliminate violators” already gives you a sense of where her head is at.

Is the situation in Dasmariñas village that uncontrollable that it requires PNP involvement? I can understand that everyone of course wants to keep the COVID-19 situation at bay and enforce ECQ protocols, but having the police patrol the closed village certainly increases tension, paranoia and evokes fear – this does not necessarily equate to solving the problem. In fact, it escalates situations, as seen in this recent incident, and it creates a hostile, witch hunt-like environment. It seems like the police are specifically summoned to homes of pre-identified residents who have been subjectively handpicked as violators of ECQ protocols. Last I heard, Dasmariñas residents have supposedly become extra jittery and have resorted to reporting and taking photos of fellow residents deemed to be violating ECQ. So much for Bayanihan.

Witch Hunt

It makes me wonder about what sort of reports Dasmariñas has been receiving about “disobedient” residents anyhow, and if such reports are embellished, accurate or even worth addressing by the PNP. Actions that come to mind are for example, residents taking a quick call outside their door without a mask (due to weak reception), or if they quickly receive deliveries outside. If they are suddenly “caught in the act” by the Makati police, are they to be punished, assaulted, arrested, or worse, shot at, if arrests are resisted?

If anything, I think April 26th incident actually says a lot more about Dasmariñas – its leaders and Baranggay Captain. I wonder if another recent issue where Dasmariñas resident, Senator Manny Pacquiao was shown, through circulating photos around social media, to be hobnobbing with government officials who have come to contract COVID-19, has anything to do with these extreme measures. The gathering happened on March 4, 2020, but without checking the timeline, as a kneejerk response to these photos, Hwang and her office sent a letter to the Pacquiao household on March 27, 2020 (23 days after the said event), informing them to practice self-quarantine and that nobody was allowed to come out for the whole 14-day duration. This letter was suspiciously leaked and splashed all over social media again, causing more anxiety in the village and arousing animosity and ostracism towards the Senator and his family. One can say that Hwang has a knack for vexing residents. The following day, March 28, 2020, Sen. Pacquiao wrote back. In his letter response, “addressed to Barangay Dasmariñas chief Rossana Hwang, Pacquiao…asked her to "refrain from making assertions" based on unverified news items and malicious social media posts” (Rappler 2020). He and his household have all tested negative for COVID-19, and he is seeking a probe to this leaked private letter from the village. Below is the full letter taken from Rappler (2020):

The decision of Dasmarinas officials’ to grant the Makati police access into the village does not seem have the residents’ welfare at heart. Moreover, they come off so gung-ho to crucify their own residents. In my opinion, their agenda seems politically-motivated. I believe this is the bigger story in this incident.

ECQ: Short fuses; Tempers ablaze, and Reason thrown out the window

Hence, it is no surprise that Dasmariñas village officials have sided with baranggay tanod Gaan and Makati policeman Madrona over the April 26, 2020 incident. This was made clear in Ms. Hwang’s released statement which to me, paints an incomplete picture of what really happened and puts Parra in a worse light, especially since the statement is coming from the Baranggay Captain herself.

I do not agree with her, and to me it is very simple. No matter how the story is framed, it was still assault, trespassing and attempted arrest without a warrant.

To piece everything together, the very first event that set off this chain of events begins with househelper Cherelyn Escalante, simply watering the plants at the front lawn of the Parra residence which extends into the sidewalk, as their residence has no gate. She was not wearing a face mask, and there were no other people within the immediate vicinity. The whole street was practically empty. Then comes along Makati policeman Madrona and Dasmariñas baranggay tanod Bantay Bayan personnel Esteban Gaan. They admonish her for not wearing a mask while outdoors, in accordance with the Makati ordinance requiring the use of a face mask “in public.” However, there is no regulation that stipulates in verbatim having to wear a mask in your home. Yet, their interpretation is that by virtue of her being by the sidewalk, constitutes as public space already, and therefore, tell her that the household must be fined Php1,000 for this violation. On this accusation alone, I could already understand how it could annoy anyone. Firstly, the Makati ordinance was written without specificity, and secondly, law enforcers must understand what regulations such as the Makati ordinance aims to achieve. If they had just sensibly assessed the situation, they would have rationally made the obvious conclusion that Ms. Escalante was not violating the law, nor putting anyone in harm’s way. It pushes me to make the generalization that I guess many policemen in the Philippines are programmed to follow orders by the book, without discernment. In Madrona’s eyes, he was upholding the law.

Ms. Escalante goes inside the house, and we can assume that she informs the Parras about what is happening because Mr. Parra immediately comes out of the house. This is where the viral video begins.

Topless and clad in what looks like jogging pants and house slippers, we can surmise that Mr. Parra was probably relaxing inside his house, but then immediately rushes outside without a care at all for his appearance, to nip the situation in the bud. Mind you, this was a Sunday. He is angry to begin with to find Madrona and company outside his house over a matter so trivial, and the situation is exacerbated by the fact that he being videoed at his own home. It is quite the goading and provocation. This eventually leads him to step onto the sidewalk of his house without a mask where later on, the police are able to cite and flag Mr. Parra for also not wearing a mask “in public.” During the confrontation, it is also revealed that Mr. Parra has been drinking inside his home when Madrona asks him if he is intoxicated. Again, later on, I’ve read how netizens actually said he should be arrested on the grounds of violating the liquor ban for dinking inside his home. The man just can’t catch a break.

Yet even before Mr. Parra goes to dropping the slew of expletives towards policeman Madrona, he also makes some very good points, if you listened carefully. He said that the police should make better use of their time and resources to “solve the problem in the Philippines” – in countering real criminals or monitoring, helping congested locations such as Tondo where there is widespread news of people in numbers who are intentionally or unable to practice social distancing and ECQ measures. He also says that he is doing his part as a “decent citizen” by employing and supporting 80 Filipino employees during ECQ, and can’t fathom why he is being treated like some kind of common criminal being picked up at his own home. I agree with all of this, as well as with what he says after – that this kind of policing disgraces the actions of genuine frontliners who are doing their part for the country. “They [police] should be ashamed of themselves.”

His anger rising, Mr. Parra continues to tell Madrona and company to leave. They instead tell him that they can bring him to the barangay office where he can voice out his concerns, to which of course he refuses. The standoff and confrontations carry on to a boiling point that sets Mr. Parra off on an antagonistic tirade. Yes, I agree that Mr. Parra should not have used inappropriate language towards Madrona, as to be objective, Madrona was addressing him at first in an orderly manner and patiently taking everything in. However, we can’t completely fault Parra’s spontaneous angry outburst too. Does it not strike you as incredibly petty and unnecessary indeed to have a Makati policeman confront a househelper for not wearing a mask (with nobody around) while tending to the lawn which is within their property? There are so much bigger problems that need to be prioritized with the insufficient resources and manpower that the Philippines has at its disposal. Moreover, wouldn’t one feel betrayed that it was no less than your own baranggay tanod who has accompanied the policeman to your home, and more so, the one taking the video?

Mr. Parra may have said some disrespectful things, but ultimately, it was policeman Madrona who laid the first hand on Mr. Parra.

As seen in the video, he loses his cool, eventually charges onto their gateless property and brutally tackles Mr. Parra on their driveway, only a few steps from their front door. Perhaps it was also provoked, but it is fair to say that policeman Madrona’s violent response towards Mr. Parra went over and beyond, and anyone who thinks this is okay must truly think long and hard.

Abuse of Power

Another thing that must be noted is Madrona’s continuous announcements, saying, “I will arrest you in my presence.” This type of flexible interpretation of the law is exactly what I was gunning at in my most previous post regarding RA 11332 or Mandatory Reporting of Notifiable Diseases Act where last March 17, 2020, the DOJ made it clear “that if you are found outside your house and you are not among the narrow exemptions of the lockdown, then you can be arrested even without a warrant.”

This Act is easily prone to abuse whether intentionally or unconsciously. Law enforcers are able to twist the meaning of this law as they see fit, depending on the situation or the alleged perpetrator of the crime. Actions become very subjective, and this is definitely something to be fearful about. Mr. Parra is just one of many. It easily could be any of us. Yet when personalities of clout such as Senator Koko Pimental brazenly violate these regulations, they are given preferential treatment.

I’ve read on social media that many have said Mr. Parra should have just simply acknowledged Madrona’s admonishments and payed the Php1,000 fine to keep things from escalating. However, we must ask ourselves too; if we were in Mr. Parra’s position, would this alternate decision be the most fair choice? I also agree with what he said at the start, that he was expressing his right as a citizen, but I do agree that he let his temper get the better of him. He should have handled it better, or simply returned inside his house and should have just let his wife handle the situation. Then again, it’s easy to point fingers and lay down judgement in hindsight when we are mere spectators. It is hard to know what we would’ve really done, caught in a heated situation such as this.

Forgotten Humanity

I was very sad to find out that many people did not share my sentiments. More people believed that Mr. Parra deserved to get assaulted, or at least arrested because of his behavior. Instead of empathizing with someone (who was actually minding his own business at home) who dared to question a gray area of the law and its unequal application, and as one who was ganged up on and further provoked to anger, all people zeroed in on was his use of profanity, and immediately identified him as an arrogant foreigner who thought himself above the law. The facts and context of the situation had been terribly muddled with emotion. I’m not saying he is a hero; I am saying he is human like the rest of us. There are also posts all over social media calling for him, a Spanish expat, to be deported, and these reactions come from people whom I thought would be sensible and level-headed. It seems as though COVID-19 and ECQ has gotten the better of everyone that we have forgotten our humanity.

I also wondered if Mr. Parra’s Spanish nationality and affluent economic status played a role in convincing many that he was at fault. If he were Filipino, much more so, someone underprivileged, would people have reacted differently? Filipinos always claim that only the poor are subjected to unequal and unjust treatment, but as I had just discussed about Sen. Pacquiao and Mr. Parra, this is not entirely true.

Worse reality beyond gated walls

If this incident is saddening and scary as it is, one can just imagine what is occurring beyond the affluent gated communities. It is all over the news on police brutality in their efforts to enforce ECQ and social distancing. I am not saying all policemen act this way, but these surfacing news gives us a reason to feel distrustful towards them. In recent news, is the tragic death of retired Corporal Winston Ragos who was shot dead by a policeman at a checkpoint in Quezon City last April 21, 2020. Ragos was supposedly suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), as his last assignment was at war-torn Marawi. Fortunately, he was at the least given a hero’s burial and ceremony at Libingan ng mga Bayani. The details are yet to be uncovered through an investigation, but according to news, shots were fired because policemen thought Ragos was reaching for his gun.

Another recent news describes how a mask-less fish vendor (without a quarantine pass) was mauled and beaten up by the police in Quezon City just last April 27, 2020,

The New Normal

We’ve seen and heard it everywhere – this nasty pandemic has forever changed the landscape of the world. Even when ECQ is eventually lifted, things will never be as they once were. Yet, the “new normal” doesn’t mean or give us license to be horrible people. It is imprinting a lesson for humanity to be kinder, more compassionate and tolerant towards all. Many uncertainties lie ahead. Perhaps the best way to approach these uncertainties is with caution, reason and an open mind – not with violence and a disregard for human rights and life.

0 notes

pot-of-gluttony · 7 years ago

Text

To an Extreme or Two

Prompt:

Day 4 - Guns and Roses

Day 5 - Yu-Gi-Universe!

Rating: T

Category: Gen

Chapters: 1

Characters: Aki Izayoi, Yami Yugi (Season 0), Tetsu Ushio

Summary: A Shadow Game between an angry psychic and a vengeful spirit.

Author’s Notes:

More late prompts!

Also on AO3!

--------------------

“They’re made of foam,” he explains, face half-contorted into a malicious grin. “Nothing but flat cut-outs made for a harmless game.”

“Why are they shaped like guns?” Aki asks. Her voice sounds foreign, even to herself: hard and emotionless despite the tremendous fear bubbling inside her. Divine had told her wearing the mask made her immune -- and she had already tested its effectiveness a handful of times -- but she still had yet to actually hear herself speak with it on.

“The game involves ‘shooting’ opponents,” he answers. He lifts his hand to her, holds out his index finger and thumb as if he were holding a gun, and aims at her face. “The players pretend to be crime lords who have worked together on heists and split the fortune equally. However, rumor has it that one of them has been playing the others for fools by taking more than their fair share. So the players hold a meeting to weed out the rat.”

“And kill him?”

He tilts his head and lowers his hand. He squints his red glowing eyes as he studies her. “Almost sounds like you already have someone in mind.”

“Him, her, them,” she shrugs. “I’m just putting a face on a blank.”

That’s not entirely true and she worries this other Yugi can tell. She has him in her sights, after all. But right now, they’re simply supposed to be talking about a game. Right now, this is supposed to be a casual, civil discussion -- in spite of her mask, in spite of his glowing eyes, in spite of what happened.

“The premise of the story,” he continues, “is that each crime lord brings a personal treasure that can be corroborated as such by a person of mutual trust within the circle. Accusations and tensions run high, they run loud and they run bloody, until the traitor is finally executed and their treasure is claimed.”

She aims the foam gun at his head. “The rules?”

He nods at a round table in the dim-lit room. Aki approaches it while keeping the fake gun pointed in his direction. On the center of the table lies a stack of cards. She picks the one at the top.

“’No proof for now, but stay on alert,’” she reads out loud. She pulls the gun’s barrel away from him. “So you’re safe then.”

“Actually,” he moves towards the table and picks a card, “that card’s yours. Each player draws a card, looks at it and places it face-down on the table in front of them.”

He does this with his card and she follows suit with her own. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him shift swiftly. She calmly turns to face him and sees that he’s aiming a foam gun cut-out at her.

“And then?”

“Then each player takes turns accusing another of being the culprit. They aim their gun and make their case. Then the accused is given a chance to present a counter-argument in their defense. The rest of the players vote on whether or not they believe the accusation. If most of them do, then the accused’s card is flipped and based on what it reads, the accuser may shoot or withdraw. A player loses if they are shot three times or if their flipped card ends up being a confession. ”

Aki flips her card.

‘NO PROOF FOR NOW, BUT STAY ON ALERT’

The other Yugi lowers his foam gun.

“The card is discarded after being flipped over and the accused draws a new card from the deck.”

Aki draws another card, and holds it to the side of her body without looking at it. She takes aim at him again. “What if the other players aren’t convinced?”

“If most of the players don’t buy into your accusation, you may not shoot the accused. Instead, your turn ends and it becomes another player’s turn to make their case. In the event of there being an equal amount of players that believe the claim versus those that don’t, the accuser and the accused play a quick tie breaker. Can be anything from playing rock-paper-scissors to flipping coins. Whoever wins the tie breaker gets to shoot the other without flipping any cards. In the event of a tie, both get shot.”

“Can’t really trust a traitor to play fair, though,” she says.

“There are penalties,” he says. “Though, they vary with the severity of the cheater’s action.”

She twirls the card in her fingers but doesn’t dare look at it yet. He’s not trying to look at it either; he just stares at her with a thrilled, unflinching look.

“We’re going to need more players than just the two of us,” she says.

“You already know why we’re here, don’t you?” he says. “No need for story premises about thieves between the two of us.”

“I am not a thief.”

“But you are a criminal,” he remarks. “There won’t be more players, but we will have a jury of sorts. That’s something I can provide fairly if you’re willing to accept this invitation.”

“Just so you know, I don’t have time for children’s games,” she goads. “You either make this serious or I walk away.”

“That’s what I hoped to hear. It’s game time.”

It feels as though the room blurs and warps ever so briefly. In that moment, she realizes the room is partially bigger than before. All the windows have vanished along with the door.

More of his tricks, she thinks. Doesn’t matter. His powers don’t compare to this ghastly mark.

They both take a seat at the table across from each other. She finally looks at the card she had drawn; it’s blank. Doesn’t matter. She ignores her hammering heartbeats and steadily places the card face-down in front of her.

A golden box has materialized on the table, right next to him. He pats it twice and holds his hand to it, staring quietly at it.

“Here is my treasured possession,” he speaks lowly. After the brief pause, he motions to her side and smiles lightly, “I see you’ve brought your own as well.”

Aki turns to look and indeed a bloody red box of the same size sits on the table in near proximity to her. A bead of cold sweat rolls down her face. In any other situation, she would want to know what’s inside the box, but not in this one. If she can get through the game without once looking into it, she would be more than satisfied.

“I’ll start,” she declares and once again impresses herself with how detached she’s managed to make herself sound.

She holds up the foam gun at his face and four shadows gather to her left.

“Jury’s here,” he pipes up.

“Doesn’t seem so fair that I have to appeal to a bunch of your friends.”

“They are strangers to me, too,” he explains. “Souls of individuals long passed; very passionate in their convictions, just like you and I.”

“I wouldn’t compare myself to you,” she says. “You're a murderer. You come across people you don’t like and with a snap of your fingers, they’re gone.”

“I don’t kill. My... targets can corroborate that if you actually bothered to find out what became of them,” he says.��“They’re not the same as they were and they never will be, yes. But, even lying still in their hospital beds, they’re still breathing, still alive, and may still one day walk out of those rooms.”

One of the hooded figures raises their hand, but the other three remain still.

Fine. She lowers her gun.

“My turn now.” He aims at her and the shadow court moves to hiss left. “You’re responsible for the murder of Tetsu Ushio.”

She chortles, he grimaces. “Just when I think you people can’t sink any lower, you hurl the pettiest lie I’ve ever heard right at my face.”

“I’m not done,” he hisses. “Ushio was never popular with anyone. He had connections and wanted a promotion. He was not above dirty tactics or manipulation, and he certainly wasn’t above tattling. If he got his hands on the right kind of dirt -- say the kind that involves your partner’s shady business practices -- then he would not have hesitated to bring that information to the people you prefer ignorant. For the right price, naturally.”

She mouths every word he speaks underneath her mask and smiles. “For the right price, naturally,” she parrots, and for a microsecond, she swears she sees him flinch. “I could not have murdered Ushio for I never met him before. At most, I had just heard about him. Certain... incriminating things.”

“What incriminating things?”

“That he was nothing but a lowly bully picking on the weak,” she says. “Come to think about it, didn’t little Yugi have an altercation with him once?”

The shadowy figures fidget and light, indistinguishable whispers flit among them.

“He did,” the other Yugi whispers.

None of the shadows raise their hands. He holds his breath and stiffly places his gun on the table. “I end my turn.”

Aki aims at him, the shadows back on her left. “So little Yugi had an altercation with Ushio and he was found dead yesterday morning. Whatever killed him was internal,” she says. “That’s all I had heard. You seem to be fully convinced it was a murder, though. Why? Do you know something? You said you leave your victims lying still in beds. That’s a way of saying they’re comatose,” she can imagine hearing the gun click. “Did you mean to leave him comatose and messed up?”

“I gain nothing from punishing an innocent,” he replies in a low, breathless voice. “It only serves to give the guilty another opportunity to hurt my partner and those around him. I’m not scapegoating you. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”

“You would do anything to protect your partner. I know that much.”

“Do you, now?” He pauses. “Yes. I believe you do.”

Crap. He didn’t need to know that. Pick it back up, pick it back up!

“So you admit it, then,” she claims. “You would do anything to protect Yugi.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll do everything,” he says. “Some remedies are worse than the problem they aim to fix. Placing any blame of my own on you will just motivate you into making a target out of my partner.”

Two hands raise, two don’t -- the jury’s divided.

A clinking sound echoes. Before her card are three coins. One side sports the same eye as his gaudy pendant; the other is blank.

“If I miss by two or three, you get your shot,” he explains. “If I only miss by one, then both of us get the shot.”

“And if you don’t miss any?”

“I get the shot.”

She rests her hand over one of the coins. “Call it.”

“Tails.”

She flips the first one: heads. He shuts his eyes.

She flips the second one: tails. She sucks in air.

She flips the third one: tails.

A single gunshot is heard. She’s clutching her right shoulder and he’s clutching his left. It’s a wild, scorching sensation, but there’s no blood or wound when she removes her hand to inspect the damage.

The other Yugi picks his gun back up. “Don’t worry,” he speaks breathlessly. “I would not start a game where my host body would suffer permanent damage.”

She wants to say something to that, but she can still hear the gunshot ringing in her right ear.

“Dirty trick,” she mutters. She’s not sure if he hears it or not. He may have been too distracted by his own pain or she may have been speaking too low. “Every single one of you. All you ever have are dirty tricks up your sleeves to scare us for not fitting in and then throwing your hands up with self-affirmation when we choose to defend ourselves.”

He’s quiet. She’s certain he’s heard her now, but he doesn’t respond or react beyond a blank stare and his foam gun aimed at her face again. “Aki Izayoi, do you blind yourself from your own sins so that you may hurt indiscriminately?”

She stiffens. “I do.”

“How much do you block? Your victims’ faces? Their voices and names? The full extent of your actions?” he asks. “If asked you to describe what you did to your most recent victim in full detail, can you?”

“I can,” she says. “He” -- she pauses for a single second -- “was in a gang and they were fighting another gang. He grabbed hold of a kid who shouldn’t have been there toting a gun and wearing a jacket with the other gang’s insignia emblazoned on it, but so he was. The guy offered to let him choose how he would hurt him, so I stepped in and commanded him to top. Then he threatened me and I did him in.”

No show of hands from the shadows.

The other Yugi pulls back his cut-out as if to end his turn, but irritation flickers across his eyes and he aims again.

“What did you say to the kid?” Dead silence. “What. Did you say. To the kid?”

“If I see anyone wearing the same jacket as yours again, and they’re causing trouble, I’ll do the same to them. No matter who they are,” she answers.

A dark hand raises within the jury.

“But you yourself said that kid shouldn’t be there,” the other Yugi replies.

“There are always alternatives. He still made this choice.”

Another raises.

“You made a questionable choice, too.”

“He chose to go around, taking what he wanted, destroying what he didn’t and terrorizing people senselessly.”

“And you haven’t?”

A third hand raises.

She has no counter-argument.

He stands from his chair and looks down upon her from behind a gun that is looking more and more real than it should.

She places her hand over her card -- the same blank card she had at the beginning of the game.

“Hypocrite,” he snarls.

Blood boils through her veins and she stops herself short of yelling at him. She flips the card.

‘IT’S MORE COMPLICATED THAN THAT.’

He blinks and withdraws the gun. She draws another blank card and places it face-down before her. Every fiber of her being is burning up and raring to go as she watches him sit back down with absolute confusion. The second he’s settled in his chair, she pulls her gun out and motions her index finger pulling on the non-existent trigger.

Another gunshot.

He’s stunned speechless. An unholy terror creeps into his eyes as he hesitantly turns his head back and sees that yes, there is indeed a smoking gun hole on the wall behind him, precisely on the spot she shot.

“You can make the game real,” he whispers in horror and indignation.

“You want to talk about hypocrisy?” she hisses.

“Izayoi, wait. We need to stop,” he says. “My partner, the other me. He did nothing wrong. I won’t allow him to be harmed.”

“That’s funny,” she says. “My partner is safe and sound, back home, waiting for me to get back safely. Because I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m fighting my own fights and even a few other people’s fights, just to survive. And yet you impede me and accuse me of things I haven’t done, things you very well could have done yourself. We have very similar beliefs -- according to you at least -- yet you act as if you’re allowed to judge me. Then you call me a hypocrite when I try to judge what I do know. But the worst I’ve done is protect my own and the best you’ve done is admit that you’ve exposed yours to the danger you went seeking on your own.”

Four hands raise. His hand shakes as he flips his card.

‘HE HAS ENDANGERED HIS HOST FOR HIS VICE.’

“Izayoi--!”

One more gunshot. This time around a bloody scream escapes him and a flurry of rose petals are scattered all around him: on the table, on his card, on his lap, on the floor behind his chair. He’s clutching his chest and his eyes shoot daggers at her. He removes his hand from his chest, a handful of rose petals spilling out. There’s a hole in his chest, near his -- Yugi’s -- heart. No blood pours out; only more petals.

“It’s not fully real,” she admits. “But it’s still real enough.”

He draws another card, lifts his gun and aims. Or rather, tries to aim. It’s a little difficult to do when you feel like you’re dying where you sit.

“You just shot someone you know is innocent.”

Four hands to her left raise.

“I shot you,” she snaps back. “You wanted this game.”

Three go down.

“Not like this. And,” he swallows hard, “not just because of Yugi or myself, but because of you as well. I keep telling you” -- he takes a deep breath -- “I’m not a killer.”

One goes back up.

“And you think I am?”

“I don’t know what you are,” he admits in-between shaky breaths. “I thought I did, but maybe I was wrong.”

All hands are down.

“You’re a bully,” she spits.

Two hands raise again.

“Maybe we should work together.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that first,” she says. “Not that I would have agreed to it anyway. I’m not here for you. I am here for those who have been abandoned by society.”

“We could work together for Yugi’s sake, then,” he says.

“Are you only saying that so I won’t try to win the game?”

He shakes his head. “Even if I lose, the door of darkness won’t open for those who aren’t guilty. And if I am guilty, it’s me and not Yugi.”

“But I can still end the game with a very real shot,” Aki reminds him.

He swallows. “You’d regret hurting him.”

“Would I?” she taunts.

She realizes she had lost track of the jury. Three in favor at the moment, it seems. Perhaps it would be best if she admits to regret. Because maybe she would regret hurting Yugi; he’s innocent and perhaps the closest thing she has to a friend outside of Divine.

“I want to believe you would,” he says.

It’s shocking that the anger has bled out of him faster than his life. She can’t make any sense of it.

“Maybe I would,” she whispers. “And maybe he could come join me at the Arcadia Movement alongside you. We could help others like him.”

His eyes widen with a flicker of realization.

“He’s using you.”

A chill runs up her spine. “What?”

“Aki, he’s using you,” he says. “Like you said, he’s safe and found back home while you’ve gone missing and he hasn’t made a single effort to come find you. He may very well be expecting you to be taking the fall right now.”

“You’re lying!” Her voice sounds more like her own now, but with all the rage she’s never allowed herself to show.

“Aki, let’s stop the game,” he proposes, dropping his armed hand to his side. “I was wrong. The door of darkness will not open for either of us and the danger from the gunshots--”

“No!” she yells.

“We can stop him together--”

“I will end you and Yugi both if you even breathe in Divine’s vicinity,” she threatens.

Four hands up.

She’s glowering at him, and despite the mask, she knows he can tell. He’s frozen shut. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand back up at her. The other Yugi swallows hard and screws his eyes shut. As if possessed by some otherworldly being, she flips the card and slams it on the table.

‘HER REGRET PALES IN COMPARISON TO HER RAGE.’

He shoots. She chokes back the pain.

More rose petals have scattered all around them. A gaping hole has appeared on her left arm.

She draws another card and aims the gun at him. It doesn’t feel like foam anymore. Strange shadows blur its shape and she swears it feels like the real deal in her hand.

The other Yugi is hunched over the table, looking paler than usual. His breathing is labored. More rose petals than before surround him and cover the table.

“You brought me here to bully me into taking the fall for the murder of Ushio and in the hopes of hurting my partner,” she claims.

Four shadows raise their hands.

“I came to learn what became of Ushio because whoever got to him tried to frame the Mutos,” he answers.

Three lower their hands.

“You brought me here to blame me for it even though I’m innocent.”

“I was wrong,” he says.

Two more for a total of three votes.

“Then it’s over.”

“You want to shoot me, fine,” he chokes out and forces himself to his feet. “But after this, I’m coming back. For you, not after you.”

Aki swears she can see red. Actual, literal, bloody red. She leaps to her feet.

“Just flip the damn card!”

He flips it.

‘NO PROOF FOR NOW, BUT STAY ON ALERT.’

No.

“Aki, don’t.”

But she does.

She takes the shot and the invisible bullet pierces a hole right through his throat, then rounds about and enters through her back and exits through her chest.

They both collapse on the floor, a rain of rose petals gently following their fall.

The table has been flipped over and the boxes lie on the floor. She only heard them fall, though. They’re out of her line of sight and she can’t move. He’s fallen on his back and she on her side.

She can tell he’s unconscious by the haze over his eyes.

She can feel her own vision fading.

#ygo5dsmonth2017 #aki izayoi #yami yugi #yugioh 5d's #yugioh season 0 #yu gi oh #guns and roses #yu gi universe!#pot.glut.fic

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junghelioseok · 6 years ago

Text

crosshairs.

↳ he’s never letting you out of his line of sight again.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ angst | smut | secret agent!au ◇ 10.5k [1/1]

notes: i hate that i had this planned out a full six months ahead of jk’s birthday. i was never on top of things like this for hobi or yoongi, lmao. also? i actually had this done ahead of time and had a full week to comfortably edit? wild. absolutely wild. a revolutionary concept, really.

anyway. happiest of birthdays to our favorite baby bun!!! can you believe he’ll finally be able to drink legally when they celebrate their 3rd consecutive bbma win next year???

warnings: light violence. also, some dirty talk and smutty stuff.

You leave Bangtan’s headquarters for good on a rainy Tuesday evening, disappearing into the darkness with nary a goodbye. Hoseok is the one who discovers your vacated room the following morning and delivers the news in a subdued voice, his usual vigor dissipating into something flat and melancholy. She’s gone. Jimin’s smile drops off his face, and Yoongi hisses a quiet curse. At the head of the table, Namjoon can only shake his head, disappointment flooding across his features. It’s a betrayal, as far as he’s concerned, but he doesn’t want to admit that yet—doesn’t even want to acknowledge it. No one does.

Jungkook is already having a particularly terrible morning, having woken up far too early for a mandatory training exercise. The sun is shining brightly after yesterday’s storm, and he briefly thinks that you would have loved it if you were here, smiling that brilliant smile that made his heart thump erratically in his chest.

But it doesn’t matter. You’re gone, and Jungkook doesn’t expect to ever see you again. Moreover, he doesn’t want to see you again. Maybe he would have missed your presence once upon a time—but no longer. Life would be much simpler without you around.

He rises to his feet before he can even think to stop himself. His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, and all eyes in the conference room flicker to him at the sudden motion, shimmering with the sort of sad sympathy that he despises, the sort that makes him want to disappear through the nearest wall. But despite all his talents, Jungkook still lacks the ability to pass through solid objects so he marches over to the door instead, wrenching it open with little regard for the way it slams into the wall. Namjoon is saying something—berating him for being so careless, probably—but he can’t discern the words over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He needs to get away, so he does the only thing that he can.

He runs, and he doesn’t look back.

Somehow, through some malicious twist of fate or otherwise, he ends up standing in front of your room. His fingers freeze on the doorknob, and it takes every ounce of strength in his body and several deep breaths to convince himself to turn it. The door creaks open—that way, I’ll hear any intruders coming, you’d always said—and Jungkook takes one hesitant step inside before coming to a halt.

It’s desolate. The walls are bare and the room is empty save a worn dresser, a wooden nightstand, and the unassuming bed in the corner—a piece of furniture Jungkook has admittedly grown quite familiar with and fond of over the years. A mental picture of you springs to his mind, unbidden, and he quickly banishes it before he can begin to recall your soft curves and the absolutely sinful smirk that so frequently decorated your lips. Those times meant nothing—your departure is proof of that. Stress of the job drove you into each other’s beds, and now it’s driven you away entirely. He frowns at the thought.

Slowly, Jungkook backs out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind him. You’re gone, and there’s no use in dwelling on the past. This is for the best, he thinks.

And he forces himself to believe it’s true, despite the tiny, insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him otherwise.

///

He discovers your whereabouts purely by accident. By his calculations, there are twenty-seven different routes to get to your location, and an internal debate rages in his mind for a week before he settles on a final decision, one that he can be at peace with. However, not everyone seems to agree. Jimin tracks him down that afternoon in his quarters, his cherubic face pinched with worry.

“So, you’re not going after her?”

Jungkook refuses to look at his best friend, focusing instead on the monotonous thump of the ball he’s throwing against the wall. “Nope.”

Jimin sighs heavily, plopping down on the ground beside him. “I guess I can understand that,” he begins, running a hand through his blond hair. “But wouldn’t you feel better if you did?”

“Would I?” Jungkook throws the ball again, watching it bounce off the smooth alabaster surface before catching it. “It’s been four months.”

“Four months isn’t that long,” the blond man tries.

A derisive snort is his only response.

“She might miss you!” Jimin insists.

“If she wanted to come back, she would have.”

“But—“

“Fuck off, Jimin.” The dark-haired man tosses the ball again, perhaps with a bit more force than intended. It ricochets off the wall at an angle and bounces a few times before rolling to a halt on the other side of the room, and Jimin wordlessly follows its trajectory before returning his attention to Jungkook, his honey brown eyes flashing with hurt. He doesn’t speak again, though, and Jungkook knows he’s waiting for an apology.

It’s one he can’t bring himself to give, and he feels like shit for it.

“I… I know you’re trying to help,” Jungkook tries to amend. “But look, it’s not working. So just fuck off and leave me be, okay?” After another moment, he adds, “Please.”

Slowly, Jimin nods, his worried gaze raking over him one last time. “I still think you should go after her,” he murmurs softly before turning around and walking out, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Jungkook is beginning to think he’s right. But his pride and stubbornness will never let him admit that aloud, much less take one of the twenty-seven routes to get to you.

He stands up. Retrieving the ball, he gives it a long, hard glance before turning and hurling it at the opposite wall as hard as he can.

It drops to the ground sadly, and so does he.

///

Even though you’re gone, he still sees you everywhere.

Jungkook catches glimpses of your face in his dreams and touches you in his sleep. He sees you in the summer sunlight glinting randomly off of Yoongi’s silver rings during meetings and double-takes every time he passes a mirror and sees your face reflected there. You haunt him constantly, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, just barely out of sight.

Whenever he needs a distraction, he goes out of his way to goad the other Bangtan agents. Some are easier to aggravate than others, and after a while, dodging Jin’s punches and listening to him squawk becomes almost therapeutic. Sparring helps too, and Jimin and Taehyung are more than happy to accommodate him with vigorous practice sessions whenever they have a free moment to spare.

One day, it finally happens. Intelligence reports surface of a dangerous assassin group targeting Bangtan, ruthless and hungry and eliminating anyone who stands in their way. “They’re known as Lotus. Currently, they’re in Beijing, but they’re heading our way,” Namjoon says during an afternoon meeting. “We need to take them out before they cross the border.”

Yoongi snorts. “Fuck, let them come. It’s not like we can’t kick their sorry asses.”

Namjoon raises a brow. “You sound enthusiastic, Yoongi. Are you volunteering to go?”

“Not if I don’t have to,” the pale-haired man replies, slouching further into his chair. Beside him, Jin chuckles and raises a hand.

“I can go, Joon. It’s been a while since I’ve been to China, anyway.”

Namjoon smiles. “Thanks, Jin. You’ll leave tonight. Jungkook, why don’t you accompany him?”

The sound of his name jolts Jungkook out of his stupor. As the youngest member of Bangtan, he’s always butted heads with Seokjin, and he’s sure that this mission will be no different from prior ones in that regard. But now—Jungkook thinks back to how you were last seen in Beijing just a few short months ago, and his adamant refusal to go after you. He hadn’t been ready to see you then, and he still isn’t—no matter how slim the chance that you would run into each other in a city of over twenty million people. “Me? Are you sure?” he asks.

“Is that a problem?” Namjoon’s other eyebrow rises up to join the first, and Jungkook backtracks immediately, realizing his mistake.

“O-of course not,” he says, hating the way he stutters over the words. “What information do we need?”

Satisfied with his compliance, Namjoon wordlessly slides two manila folders across the table, one of which Jungkook snatches up with ease. Opening it, he flips through the papers inside, adamantly ignoring the leader’s perceptive gaze raking across him in favor of picking up his plane ticket and examining the number of the departure gate very closely, as if it’ll suddenly change if he looks away.

Jin nudges him, drawing his attention away from the inked numbers. “Let’s meet at the front door in an hour,” he suggests.

“Who made you the fucking boss?” is Jungkook’s snarky response. Ignoring Seokjin’s angry retort, he pushes back from the table and stands, walking out of the conference room to pack his bags.

///

Beijing is too crowded, Jungkook decides. He’d thought as much within ten seconds of setting foot in the airport, and his mind hasn’t changed one bit in the twelve hours that have since passed. In front of him, Jin is sauntering along the sidewalk, radiating disinterest in the surrounding people and buildings. Only a trained eye could pick out the way the older man’s hand twitches continuously toward the gun concealed at his hip, and Jungkook would’ve laughed at his paranoia if he wasn’t expending all his energy on keeping up with his partner. Somehow, Jin is managing to glide through the bustle of milling people like a fish through water, leaving Jungkook to struggle in his wake.

Dodging yet another couple with a stroller, Jungkook finally manages to pull even with Seokjin. “Thanks for waiting,” he grumbles, just loud enough for the older man to hear.

“I’m not your babysitter,” Jin replies, cutting him a sideways glance. “And as you’re so fond of pointing out, I’m not your boss either, so I don’t have to keep track of your whereabouts every fucking second of every fucking day.”

“Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” It’s not his wittiest retort, but Jungkook can’t think of anything better.

Jin fixes him with a flat stare. “Great. Now that that’s out of your system, can we get back to the task at hand?” He nods at the innocuous building across the street—a multi-storied apartment complex with a sandstone and brick exterior. Lurking somewhere within is the base of operations for the group of assassins known as Lotus, but Jungkook knows that it won’t be as easy as simply strolling inside and eliminating the target. And Jin knows it too, if his thoughtful expression is any indicator. “We should have a good view from up there,” the older man says after a moment’s contemplation, jabbing a thumb at the hotel they’re standing outside of.

Jungkook follows the direction of his hand, eyeing the chalkboard sign proudly displaying its happy hour offerings. “Rooftop bar?”

“Rooftop bar,” Jin confirms.

“Good,” Jungkook grunts. “I’ll need a fucking drink if I’m going to work with you.”

Jin rolls his eyes. “You know RM doesn’t want us drinking on the job,” he says coolly, turning on his heel and striding toward the hotel doors without a backward glance.

Ten minutes later, Jungkook finds himself sipping on water, sitting on one of the many stools lining the counter that runs around the entirety of the roof. The bar is nearly deserted at two in the afternoon, so snagging seats overlooking the apartment building poses no problem. To his right, Seokjin sits slurping soda, his watchful gaze sweeping the street below.

“Pretty quiet so far,” the older man remarks. “I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not.”

“Maybe they’re sleeping in,” Jungkook says unhelpfully, trying to fish an ice cube out of his glass with a straw. “I know I’d rather be asleep right now.”

Jin casts him a disdainful look. “Too bad.” Then his eyes narrow, zeroing in on Jungkook’s ongoing battle against the ice. “What the fuck are you doing? Can’t you just drink your water like a normal person?”

Jungkook gives the floating cube one last furious jab before dropping his straw with a groan. “I’m bored,” he complains. “There’s nothing happening. No one’s going in or out of that building at all; it’s a fucking dead zone.”

The older man raises a questioning brow. “And nothing about that seems odd to you? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you today? You’re always a pain in the ass, but you’re usually at least somewhat competent at your job. Why are you so off your game?”

There is an uncomfortably long pause as Seokjin stares him down expectantly, demanding an answer. Finally, Jungkook heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping forward as he lets his head drop down onto his folded arms. “She might be here.”

Jin inhales sharply, and Jungkook knows that the older man has realized exactly which she he is referring to. “Fuck. That’s… yeah. All right.” Awkwardly, he claps the younger man on the back, once, with all the stiffness and empathetic capability of a corpse.

For a few moments, neither man speaks. Jungkook doesn’t raise his head and Jin stares straight ahead with unseeing eyes, lips puckered.

And then he waves down a waiter and orders two shots of whiskey, neat.

Curiosity has Jungkook peering up at him through his fingers. “What happened to not drinking on the job?”

“I made an exception,” Jin says shortly, accepting the glasses of amber liquid with a nod of acknowledgement. Sliding one to Jungkook, he raises his own in the younger man’s direction before tipping it back into his mouth. “Well? Weren’t you the one saying you needed a drink to work together? Go on. It’s… it’s on me.”

Jungkook straightens up and picks up the glass, taking a long sip. “Hey,” he says quietly, staring down at the remaining dregs of whiskey. “Thanks.”

Jin nods, his gaze fixed on the skyline in front of him. “Yeah.”

It’s nearly seven o’clock by the time Jin and Jungkook decide to make a move. After nearly five hours of watching Lotus’ temporary base of operations with absolutely no signs of activity, both men are more than suspicious. “I’m telling you, they’ve moved on,” Jin hisses under his breath as they follow a woman and her young son inside the apartment complex.

Jungkook scoffs. “And you don’t think Namjoon would’ve given us that intel?”

“Not if he doesn’t know!” Jin retorts loudly, drawing an accusing stare from the mother in front of them. He flashes her an appropriately abashed smile, which drops off his handsome face as soon as she’s turned her back again. “Seriously, man, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of these guys in hours. There’s no way they’re still here.”

The elevator dings. The woman and her son step inside, and Jin and Jungkook wordlessly come to an agreement to take the stairs instead. Jin swings open the door and Jungkook follows him inside the stairwell, shoes tapping against the hard concrete. “So what happens if they’re not here?” he asks, his voice echoing in the narrow space. “Do we know where they’re headed next?”

Jin sighs. “Besides Seoul to try and finish us off? Not a clue.”

“You think this is a trap?”

A beat of silence, as Jin considers the very real possibility that the afternoon of inactivity had simply been a way to lure them into a false sense of security. “I don’t think so,” he says after a few seconds’ consideration. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“And we all know you have great instincts,” Jungkook mutters sarcastically.

The older man rolls his eyes, sweeping a strand of dark hair off his forehead as he ascends the last few steps. “Great instincts or not, I’ve made it this far in life.” Stopping just short of the landing, he eyes the door that leads out of the stairwell carefully. “Now shut up, we’re here. Be ready for anything.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a trap,” Jungkook points out dryly. Nevertheless, he checks his handgun before concealing it under his jacket once more.

Jin wisely chooses not to respond. Instead, he lays one hand on the weapon holstered at his hip and reaches out with the other to wrench the stairwell door open with as much nonchalance as he can muster. Together, they step out into the hallway, glancing around. “Room 907,” Jin murmurs, consulting the nearest sign. “You ready to break down the door?”

“Yeah.”

The older man gives him a satisfied nod and turns away, his footsteps muffled against the dark carpet. Jungkook steels himself as they come to a stop outside of the designated room, and is ready to throw his full weight against the door when something odd catches his attention.

“Genie,” he whispers. “The door’s unlocked.”

Jin’s eyes widen. Hesitantly, he reaches out and tests the doorknob, jaw falling slack when it twists easily in his grasp. “I don’t like this,” he mutters warily. “It’s all wrong.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Well, it’s now or never. Let’s go.”

Seokjin throws open the door with a bang and darts inside, gun raised. Jungkook is right on his heels with his own weapon at the ready, watchful gaze darting left, right, and upward. And then Jin stops dead in his tracks, shoulders tense. “Seahawk.”

Jungkook tries to peer around him. “What?”

Jin doesn’t respond, but he no longer has to. Jungkook has already nudged him out of the way and stepped out of the entryway, only to stare at the sight before him in utter disbelief.

Bodies litter the living room. One is draped over the back of the couch, two are lying prone on the floor, and a fourth sits upright in an armchair. If not for the unnatural angle of his neck, Jungkook could almost believe that he was simply asleep.

“What… what the hell happened here?” Jin asks, flabbergasted.

Jungkook recovers from the shock a little more quickly. “Well, it looks like a massacre happened,” he says dryly.

“One’s missing,” Jin whispers, gaze darting around frantically as he inches further into the room. “Lotus has five agents. There are only four bodies here.”

Jungkook barely hears him. He’s vaguely aware of the older man disappearing down the hallway toward the bedrooms, but his eyes are focused entirely on the four dead assassins scattered around the room. Experimentally, he nudges the man draped over the couch with his foot, eyes narrowing when his head flops around, boneless. “Broken neck,” Jungkook mutters to himself. Meandering around the coffee table, he peers critically at the two prone bodies on the floor—a man and a woman. The woman has a clean gunshot wound in the middle of her forehead, a thin line of blood dribbling down to disappear into her hairline. The man, on the other hand, sports a multitude of mottled purple bruises on his face, a nasty crimson gash cutting crudely across his throat and soaking the carpet in dark congealed blood. “Huh.”

Seokjin emerges from the hallway, his gun now lowered. “Found the fifth one,” he says, nodding toward one of the bedrooms. “On one of the beds. She’s been strangled.”

“Strangled,” Jungkook repeats slowly. “Fuck.”

Jin raises an inquiring brow. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re clean kills,” the younger man murmurs. His gaze flickers over to the bruised man on the ground, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Well, most of them, anyway.”

“So?” Jin shrugs. “Lotus had a lot of enemies. Lots of people wanted them dead.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It wasn’t just anyone,” he breathes. Like a man possessed, he strides down the hallway and into the bedroom at the end, taking in the sight of the strangled assassin lying on the mattress. Her hands are splayed neatly at her sides, dark hair fanned out underneath her head. She could easily have passed as napping if not for the purplish bruises encircling her throat like a mottled necklace.

Jin squints, bemused. “What are you saying, Seahawk?”

“I… I think it was her,” Jungkook murmurs. He can’t bring himself to look Seokjin in the eye as the older man digests this new information, the silence stretching between them.

Finally, Jin finds his voice. “Are… are you sure?”

“Not sure,” Jungkook admits. “But she never liked to leave a mess behind if she could help it.”

The older man nods, a wistful smile curving his lips. “I remember.” Surveying the room one last time, he nods decisively. “Well. There’s not much else for us to do here, and we should probably split before anyone else arrives.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement, tucking his gun back into the holster on his belt. “I’ll text RM and let him know that Lotus is taken care of.”

He doesn’t plan on telling the leader his suspicions about who exactly had taken care of them, and Jin gives him a knowing look, an implicit understanding passing between them.

“Hey,” Jin says suddenly. “Want to get dinner? I’m starving, and there’s a restaurant a few blocks away with good beer and the best damn pork buns you’ll ever taste.”

Jungkook blinks, taken aback by the gentleness in his tone, but a low rumble from his stomach reminds him just how hungry he is. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

///

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

Annoyance flares up in Jungkook’s chest, but as peeved as he is, it’s incredibly hard to find the willpower to launch a punch at a man who’s smiling as brightly as Hoseok is. “No,” he grits out, dropping into a crouch and sweeping one leg out in an arc.

Hoseok sidesteps the kick easily, lips still curled in a pleasant smile. “You sure? Jin told me all about Beijing, you know. Said you were really off your game.”

“Jin can go to hell.”

A chuckle escapes the red-haired man as he dodges the sharp jab that Jungkook directs at his head. “If Jin’s going to hell, you’re already there.” He straightens up but keeps his fists raised defensively, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he regards Jungkook carefully. “Really. You haven’t been the same since {Name} left.”

There it is. It’s been so long since he’s heard your name spoken aloud that he’s nearly forgotten what it sounds like. And in the brief moment that Jungkook is distracted, Hoseok launches a roundhouse kick right into his ribs that sends the younger man staggering.

“Jin wasn’t kidding. You really are off your game,” Hoseok remarks, returning to his defensive stance.

Jungkook growls and begins to circle, fists raised in preparation as he looks for an opening to attack. “No one asked you.”

“Yeah, I know,” the red-haired man replies with an easy grin, teeth flashing in the harsh fluorescent lights that illuminate the training room. “But I think you should know that Joon’s noticed too. You can’t keep letting it affect you like this.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook grits out before going on the offensive again, launching a flurry of punches at the older man. Hoseok manages to avoid the first few but eventually falters underneath the dogged assault, raising his arms over his head as Jungkook tackles him headlong to the ground. “How’s that for someone who’s supposedly off his game?” he spits out, straddling the red-haired man’s torso.

“Ouch.” Hoseok shoves Jungkook roughly off of him—sending the younger man crashing hard to the ground—and winces as he sits up. “Fuck, all right, man. You don’t want to talk about it. I get it.”

Jungkook scowls, rubbing at his bruised shoulder. “There’s nothing to talk about.” One look at Hoseok’s face tells him that the older man doesn’t believe the statement, and if Jungkook’s being honest with himself, neither does he. Still, he persists stubbornly. “I’m fine,” he says again, as if repetition will somehow make it true.

Hoseok offers him a small, sad smile. “That’s wishful thinking, Jeon, and you know it.”

His words ring loud and true in the stifling silence that suddenly fills the room. Jungkook cannot bring himself to look at the other man, who is shaking his red hair out of his face and rubbing at his tailbone with a grimace. After a few quiet seconds, Jungkook exhales heavily and clambers to his feet, extending a reconciling hand.

“Thanks,” the older man says gratefully, allowing Jungkook to pull him upright. “How’s the arm?”

He shrugs, ignoring the dull throb of pain that shoots from his fingertips to his shoulder. “I’ve had worse.”

Hoseok lets out a wry chuckle. “I believe it. Want to go again?”

Jungkook snorts. “I think we’ve had enough for one day, Hobi.”

“Fair enough.” Hoseok turns, striding over to one of the benches along the walls and grabbing his water bottle. Picking up Jungkook’s, he tosses it over before taking a long swig. “Hey,” he begins slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You might punch me again, but I really do think you should talk about it with someone. Maybe not me, necessarily, but bottling your feelings up like this isn’t healthy.”

Jungkook takes two large gulps of water before upending the remainder over his head. “What is there to talk about?” he scoffs, shaking out his wet hair like a dog. “She was last seen in Beijing. End of story.”

“Really?” Hoseok raises a skeptical brow, carefully stepping out of the range of the sudden deluge. “Jin said you thought that she was the one who took out Lotus.”

“Shit, I’m gonna kill him.” Jungkook’s fists clench, and Hoseok tilts his head curiously.

“So it’s true.”

Jungkook rakes a few strands of damp hair away from his forehead irritably. “So what if it is?”

Hoseok frowns. “Do you really think it was her?”

“I know what I saw.”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls up into a wry smile. “Don’t make me repeat myself about wishful thinking, Jungkook.”

“Don’t make me regret agreeing to spar with you,” Jungkook retorts with narrowed eyes. His fingernails dig deeper into the soft skin of his palms, but he barely feels the sharp twinge of pain.

“Okay, okay.” The red-haired man puts his hands up in surrender, a more genuine smile curving his lips. “Bet you’d rather be sparring with {Name} anyway, huh?”

The teasing glint in Hoseok’s eye doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “Shut the hell up,” Jungkook mutters, but there’s no real bite in his tone. His mind is awash in memories of old sparring sessions with you—your hair pulled up and away from your face, concentration etched across your features. He remembers the graceful way you moved, like long grass swaying in the wind. What you lacked in brute strength you made up for with agility, and his lips quirk as he recalls all the sessions that ended with him flat on his back, gazing up as you perched happily on top of him with a triumphant grin stretched across your face.

Most of all, he remembers kissing you after particularly vigorous sessions, his hands trailing down your body in the tight tops you preferred to fight in, the thin material now plastered to your curves with sweat. But he never minded the dampness or the salty tang on your lips, and neither did you. You were too busy trying to get as close to him as possible, and he was too preoccupied with peeling off your shirt to access your cleavage. Jungkook can practically feel the warmth of your body pressing up against him, your arms winding insistently around his neck and tugging him down to your level so you can press your mouth to his.

He misses you. But he’d be damned if he ever admitted that aloud.

One look at Hoseok’s face tells him that the older man knows what he’s thinking anyway. And when he speaks again, it’s the question that Jungkook has been dreading ever since Hoseok started interrogating him. “Why do you think she left?” His voice is gentle.

“I don’t fucking know,” Jungkook growls immediately, and it’s an honest answer. He’s been turning over every possibility—down to the everyday minutiae—to try and explain why you’d suddenly decided to up and leave Bangtan with no warning. He hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in seven months, trying to figure the puzzle out. But all he’s left with when he wakes up in the morning is dark bags under his eyes and the glaring absence of your body in bed beside him. “I don’t know,” he repeats.

Hoseok raises a hand and lays it on his shoulder gingerly, as if touching a coiled snake. “I don’t either,” he admits. “But whatever her reasons may have been, the one thing I do know is that it wasn’t because of you.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what to say in response to that. But as the two of them head for the showers, he feels better than he has in a long time.

///

There’s something about autumn in Paris, something bittersweet and melancholy that stirs in the cool breeze coming off the Seine and the crunch of dry brown leaves under his feet. The city has a reputation for lovers, which Jungkook has never really understood. The French capital has always been overcrowded and rife with petty criminals. On the rare occasions that he finds himself in the city, romance is the last thing on his mind.

Jungkook pulls his scarf a little tighter around his neck and quickens his pace. Based on Namjoon’s briefing, his target has set up base on Rue la Pérouse, just steps away from the Arc de Triomphe. It’s an easy mission—a simple in-and-out assassination. Inhaling deeply, he comes to a stop outside the front door. After a moment’s fiddling, the lock clicks open.

Eighteen minutes later, Jungkook is strolling down Rue la Pérouse again, retying his scarf and adjusting his black leather jacket to conceal a dark bloodstain on his collar. “Fucking brute,” he grumbles under his breath. And he’d been so close to making a clean getaway too.

Rounding a corner, he finds himself gazing up at the white stones of the Arc de Triomphe, a gaggle of tourists clamoring for photographs nearby. For Jungkook, this marks the fourth time he’s seen the ivory monument during his travels, and the sight has long since lost its appeal. Irritably, he weaves through the flock of people and cameras, turning onto Avenue des Champs-Élysées to continue on his way when suddenly, a café to his right catches his eye. To casual passersby, there is absolutely nothing remarkable about the place. There are dozens just like it all across the city. But for Jungkook, what he sees there is enough to make him stumble and nearly walk into another pedestrian.

It’s you. He can scarcely believe it, but there you are, curled up in one of the cushioned wicker chairs with an open newspaper and a mug of coffee sitting at your elbow. Jungkook has to rub his eyes and make sure he’s not hallucinating, but when he opens them and sees that nothing has changed, he stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk, mind reeling. Part of him wants to call out to you, to demand an explanation or ask where you’ve been—but something holds him back. Thankfully, you haven’t spotted him yet. Jungkook is sure he looks positively idiotic, standing in the middle of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, gaze riveted on a young woman who left him a year ago without even saying goodbye.

You’re sipping your coffee now, and Jungkook finds himself admiring the delicate curve of your wrist and the way your lips pucker around the rim of the mug. You’ve let your hair grow, he notices. As an agent, having short hair was much more practical, but he has to admit that he likes the longer style. He has never seen you look so peaceful, not even on the few mornings he’s woken up before you to see you still fast asleep beside him, chest rising and falling slowly as you dreamed. It suits you, he decides. Watching you now, it’s almost hard to believe that you were once an elite agent for one of the most dangerous spy organizations in the world.

Just as Jungkook is about to walk away and leave you to your new life, a man with a guitar strikes up a merry tune on the sidewalk behind him. The new sound catches your attention and you look up, gaze wandering to the musician before flitting across the group of pedestrians beginning to congregate. Jungkook tries in vain to duck behind a lamppost, but when you do a double take, eyes widening, he knows he’s been spotted.

“Kook?” you call out hesitantly, standing up and slapping a few euros on the table. Then you are walking toward him, the sound of your voice freezing him in place. ”Is that you?”

He turns, almost reluctantly, and finds himself gazing down into your achingly familiar face. You are speaking French, something in the back of his mind points out. He supposes that makes sense, considering where you are. Your accent is impeccable, and Jungkook realizes that you must’ve been in France for quite a long time to have perfected the language. His own French, on the other hand, is rusty—a fact he remembers when he opens his mouth to speak.

“Y-yeah, it’s me. Uh… hey.” He feels like an idiot.

But then you smile, and the sight is so dazzling that Jungkook momentarily forgets how to breathe. His heart takes off at a gallop, frenzied and uneven, and when your smile widens it skips several beats entirely. “Hey,” you murmur, something indescribably warm shimmering in your eyes. “It’s really good to see you.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. “You too,” he manages, sucking in a shallow breath. His heart flops frantically against his ribcage, and he quickly takes a few more breaths in an effort to calm its rapid rhythm. “You, uh. You look well,” he mumbles once he’s certain that his chest isn’t about to burst.

Your smile somehow manages to grow even further, so much that Jungkook is shocked you haven’t split apart at the seams. “Thanks. You look like you’re doing pretty well yourself, Kook.”

The nickname, so sweet coming from your lips, sends Jungkook’s heart into overdrive again. “I’m okay,” he manages once he recovers, and for the first time he notices your smile falter. “Just a little slip-up on today’s mission,” he amends quickly, watching carefully for your reaction. “Didn’t manage to make a completely clean getaway.”

“Ah.” Your gaze flickers down to the scarf that Jungkook is fiddling with, momentarily exposing a bloodstain on his collar. “That’s a shame.”

He grunts. “It’s all right.”

Silence falls, and Jungkook cannot find the words to break it. Luckily, you are a bit more articulate. “So, how long are you going to be in Paris?”

Jungkook racks his brain for the details of his briefing, recalling his itinerary with some difficulty under your inquiring gaze. “I leave tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod slowly. “Well, then. Care to take a walk with me? I’d really like to catch up.”

“S-sure,” he says hoarsely, heart rate picking up again. “I’d like that too.”

///

The two of you end up strolling along the Seine, breathing in the crisp autumn air and admiring the sunlight glittering off the rippling expanse of water. In the distance, the twin towers of Notre Dame rise up, ivory against the pristine blue backdrop of the cloudless sky.

Beside you, Jungkook is staunchly avoiding looking in your direction. His eyes skitter from a flock of pigeons pecking at the cobblestones for stray breadcrumbs, to the milling tourists taking photographs on the river. You see the stiff set of his shoulders, notice the way he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. It’s obvious that he has absolutely no idea how to strike up a conversation, and, if you’re being completely honest, you’re equally at a loss. By the time you finally manage to find your voice again, you want to kick yourself for the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“So, uh. It’s really nice out today.”

Jungkook blinks, lips parting in surprise as he sneaks a fleeting glance at you from underneath his dark lashes. “Oh. Um, yeah, it is.”

Resigning yourself to the fact that you are, indeed, going to talk about the weather, you stubbornly plow on. “How’s the weather in Seoul right now?”

Your dark-haired companion shrugs, gaze now fixed straight ahead. “It’s okay. Mostly cloudy.”

“Ah.” You aren’t sure what else there is to say. Silently, you berate yourself for your choice of conversation topic—rarely do conversations about the weather trigger any deeper discussion, so when Jungkook speaks again you are taken completely by surprise.

“You would hate it right now,” he murmurs. “The clouds, I mean. It’s probably a good thing you’re living here now, huh?”

There’s a certain quality to his tone—something whisper-soft and heart-wrenchingly tender in its reminiscence—that makes your heart feel as if it’s about to swell up and burst. “I do like it here,” you admit quietly.

Jungkook nods, raising his gaze from the cobblestones beneath his feet to hesitantly meet your eyes. “I can see why,” he says, his voice still laden with that same tenderness from before. “And you did always talk about how you wanted to move to France after you retired.”

You grin. “I know. I’m pretty sure I talked your ear off about how much I liked it after RM sent me on my first mission to Paris.”

A disbelieving huff escapes him, bordering on a laugh. “God. That was so long ago.”

“It really was,” you agree with a chuckle. “Hey, that was right before we went to Munich, remember?”

“You mean the time we went to Oktoberfest and drank our asses off instead of actually working?” Jungkook snorts out an actual laugh this time, rewarding you with a flash of his adorably prominent teeth. “Of course I remember. Still the best mission RM’s ever sent us on.”

“Hey, we got the job done, didn’t we?” You elbow him playfully, acting purely on instinct, but the way Jungkook’s eyes widen has you immediately reconsidering the comfortable gesture. A moment later, however, his mouth lifts into another smile.

“We did,” he agrees softly, eyes shining with an indescribable warmth that makes you flush from your toes to your crown despite the chilly autumn air. “We always did.”

Unable to take his intense gaze any longer, you instead focus your attention on a particularly adventurous pigeon that is boldly bobbing its way closer and closer to a little girl and her half-eaten box of macarons. “I don’t know about always,” you say in a hushed voice. Watching the bird zero in on the colorful confections, you miss the slight shift in Jungkook’s expression, something hard flitting across his features before he manages to smooth it away.

“Maybe not,” he acquiesces. “But we were damn good. Remember Cairo?”

The memory brings a tiny smile to your face. “Of course I do.”

“I sure hope so. Not every day you get to take down a whole network of corrupt politicians.” Jungkook grins and you are once again rewarded with the sight of his prominent teeth. “It was nice to make a difference.”

“A difference,” you repeat, blinking slowly. “Yeah.”

Jungkook’s gaze is openly curious now—doe-like and filled with silent inquiry. You know exactly what he wants to ask, can practically hear his next words on his tongue. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you say goodbye?

You aren’t ready to give him an answer. So instead, you turn to him with the brightest, most genuine smile you can muster and an outstretched hand. “Well, it’s almost time for dinner, and I’ve had beef bourguignon going in the oven since this morning. You interested?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jungkook reaches out and accepts your hand, his fingers curling protectively around yours. “Sure. That sounds delicious.”

///

Somehow, Jungkook ends up in your bed. He doesn’t know how it happened, or who initiated the first kiss. All he remembers is entering your apartment and watching you bustle around the kitchen for a few minutes before emerging with two platters of food.

And now you are pressed against him, breaking your fourth or fifth kiss of the evening and gasping for some much-needed air. “Fuck,” you mumble, a hair’s breadth away from his addicting mouth. Your fingers are still tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, your legs straddling his muscular thighs. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Since when did you decide to start following rules?” Jungkook retorts, tugging you flush against him once more and nipping at your neck. You gasp when he finds a particularly sensitive spot near your collarbone, throwing your head back and allowing him full access to the column of your throat.

“I—ah—never said I was going to start… following rules,” you manage between moans. Already, his mischievous hands have found their way underneath your shirt, trailing along the soft skin of your waist. You allow him to slide the thin material upward, his mouth leaving your neck briefly as he tugs it over your head and off entirely before latching back onto the soft spot near your clavicle. He bites down harshly before sucking at the tender skin—drawing another sharp gasp from you—and his wet tongue darts out a moment later to soothe the bruise that you know will blossom up tomorrow. “Oh god, Jungkook.”

The young man underneath you freezes. Alarmed, you pull back to get a good look at his expression, but he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck again before you can even ask what’s wrong. He kisses his way from the dip in your collarbones down to the valley between your breasts, and you keen in pleasure when he all but rips your bra off and envelops a nipple in his hot mouth.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, Jungkook, please.”

He groans hoarsely, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending shivers down your spine. Pulling back, he meets your gaze directly, dark eyes smoldering. “Say it again.”

“Wh-what—?”

Jungkook cuts you off with an absolutely bruising kiss, his insistent tongue darting into your mouth and lashing yours into subdued compliance. “My name,” he breathes, pulling away just enough to murmur the words against your swollen lips. “Say my name again.”

You sigh contentedly, more than happy to heed his request. “Jungkook,” you whisper, closing the gap between your lips in a soft, chaste kiss. “Jungkook.”

Another groan escapes him, and when he speaks again his voice is deep and cavernous in a way that sends a jolt of heat right to your core. “Christ, {Name}.”

It has been just over a year since you last heard him say your name, and you suddenly understand his adamant, breathy request with perfect clarity. “Jungkook,” you repeat, settling more firmly on his lap and grabbing the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it off and toss it aside, dark gaze never once leaving yours. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In a rush of motion, you suddenly find yourself flat on your back with all the air knocked out of your lungs. Jungkook hovers over you with a pleased smirk, arms coming down on either side of your head to cage you in. Wordlessly, he leans down to press one final kiss to your mouth before trailing downward, laving at the bruise he’d left on your neck earlier and chuckling when you arch underneath him. “So needy,” he rasps. “You want me to fuck you into this mattress, baby?”

Your only response is to reach down and pop open the button of his jeans, palming his growing erection through the denim. He exhales harshly at the sensation, sitting up and knocking your hand away to unzip his pants and shove them down to his hips, freeing his cock in one smooth motion. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to moisten your lips at the sight. “Jungkook,” you say hoarsely. “Please.”

Jungkook wraps his hand around his weeping length, giving himself a few good strokes as he tongues his cheek thoughtfully. “Hands and knees, baby,” he commands a moment later, and you scramble to comply. Almost immediately after you’ve settled into position, you feel Jungkook behind you, rubbing the head of his cock along your dripping entrance. “So wet,” he hums, giving your ass an appreciative squeeze. “That all for me?”

“You know damn well that it is,” you answer, trying in vain to keep the edge of desperation out of your voice. Your thighs rub together in anticipation as you feel him pressing closer, heat radiating off his chest in waves as he hunches over you and runs a gentle finger along the ridges of your spine.

“Good.” His mouth finds the shell of your ear, voice dropping lower and deeper. “That’s the way it should be.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, slick and hot and so, so familiar. A litany of gasps and curses leaves your mouth as your body adjusts to the intrusion, and you feel Jungkook’s head drop onto your shoulder with a hoarse groan.

“Fuck, I never thought I’d get to be inside you again,” he whispers, and the awe in his tone has you flushing with embarrassment. Somehow, you feel as if you’ve heard something that you had no right hearing, something that he didn’t intend for you to hear. And yet, he’s right—you didn’t think you’d ever see him again after you left, much less have his hips nestled up against the curve of your ass with his cock buried so deep inside you.

“Jungkook,” you urge softly, rocking back against him. “Move, please. I want you so badly.”

Your words seem to snap him out of his stupor. “How badly, baby?” he asks, squeezing your thigh and stopping your movements, much to your disappointment. “Tell me.”

“So badly,” you keen. Your head flops forward, hair falling messily around your face as your eyes squeeze shut. By this point, all you can feel is the slow throbbing of his length against your walls, slowly driving you insane. “So, so badly, please, Jungkook. I need you to move.”

“Such a greedy little thing,” he chuckles. “So needy and so fucking wet.” Agonizingly slow, he begins to pull back, retreating until only the head of his cock is still nestled inside you, before snapping his hips upward and filling you to the brim once more. “Fuck, you feel good. Don’t forget to scream my name, okay?”

You don’t need the reminder, for his name is all you can manage to keen out in between low whimpers begging for more. The pace that he sets is fast and sloppy, each movement filled with an urgency that borders on frantic. Pleasure coils in the pit of your belly and spirals outward, coursing through your veins in a torrent of tingling warmth that renders you near speechless. You feel fit to burst—gasping out as much to Jungkook, who only chuckles and slides a wicked hand from your hip down to the apex of your thighs. Two fingers find your swollen clit, pinching lightly before rolling around the sensitive nub in hard, insistent circles, and the resulting sound that leaves your lungs is near inhuman. Your head falls forward onto the mattress as he presses even harder on your bud, the rhythm of his hips never once faltering as he continues to drive into you.

A particularly hard thrust sends you sliding forward several inches on the bed, your knees dragging along the creased sheets and bunching them up further. You gasp as your arms give out, dropping to your elbows instead and moaning as your nipples brush against the soft material. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

“God, you’re hot,” he grunts, tangling his hand in your hair and forcing you to straighten until you are kneeling upright, his slick chest pressed flush against your back. “Wrap your arms around my neck, baby.”

Obediently, you reach back to wind your arms around him, mouth parting to release a whimper when his teeth catch on your shoulder and drag along the tender skin. Seconds later, his hot tongue traces the same path. One hand curls around your hip to keep you in place as he continues rolling up into you, the other wrapping more firmly around your hair and wrenching your head around. You meet his gaze, and the pure lust smoldering there sends electricity ricocheting down your spine and straight to your core. “O-oh god. God, Jungkook.” You can feel yourself growing wetter by the second, easing the slide of his thick cock along your tightening walls.

“Fuck, {Name},” he rasps out, his voice cavernous. “You feel goddamn incredible.”

“S-so do you!” you manage to stammer, your chest heaving with uneven, sharp breaths. Your tummy tenses.

And then Jungkook is crushing his mouth to yours, swallowing every moan and cry as you come undone in his arms, clenching around his surging cock in spasms. His hips stutter—falter—and then he is coming too, creamy heat flooding through your core and painting your walls white. Your name escapes him in a reverent groan, muffled and hot against your parted lips.

It takes several long moments for you to recover, but Jungkook eventually untangles his hand from your hair and releases his ironclad grip on your hipbone. Without his support, your muscles give out entirely, sending you flopping forward onto the rumpled bedspread with a low groan. His softening dick slides out of you, and immediately you can feel your combined juices beginning to trail down your thighs. “Wow,” you breathe, rolling over weakly to look up at him. “Fuck. I can barely feel my legs.”

The dark-haired man chuckles and collapses tiredly beside you, raking a hand through his sweaty bangs. “That good, huh?”

“That good,” you confirm with a lazy little grin, craning your neck and planting a kiss on the first part of him you can reach, which just so happens to be his chin. “Color me impressed, Jeon.”

Jungkook huffs out another laugh and leans down to press a proper kiss to your mouth. “I didn’t even eat you out,” he points out with a smirk.

Your gaze flickers up to meet his. “Well,” you begin, watching his face cautiously, “stay the night and maybe you can do it in the morning.”

He doesn’t immediately refuse, and a tentative tendril of hope takes root in your chest when you see his expression shift into one of careful consideration. “Okay,” he finally says, after what feels like eons but couldn’t have actually been more than a couple seconds. “I’ll stay tonight.”

The tendril in your chest blooms into something beautiful and radiant, wrapping around your heart and holding on tight. “Good,” you whisper, shifting a little closer to his chest and pressing your cheek against the warm, slightly damp skin. “Good.”

Jungkook stays awake long after your eyes flutter shut, silently admiring the way your lashes rest against the soft curve of your cheeks as you dream—hopefully about him. His arm tightens around your waist at the thought, a smile tugging his lips upward when you instinctively curl into him with a content sigh. Not just good, a satisfied voice in his mind croons. This is more than good.

It’s fucking perfect.

///

When Jungkook wakes up in the morning, you are gone.

Panic wells up inside him, roiling in his gut and threatening to upset the few bites of dinner he’d managed to eat last night before his mouth decided to engage in an entirely different, much more pleasurable activity instead. “{Name}?” The syllables escape him in little more than a warble, hoarse and strained. “{Name}?”

Reaching out, he touches the slight dip in the mattress where you’d lay the night before. The sheets are cool beneath his fingertips, indicating that you’ve been gone for quite a while now. His chest tightens at the thought.

“{Name}!” he tries again, voice a little stronger this time. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he stands up and reaches for the jeans he’d kicked off and to the foot of the bed last night, pulling them on hastily. His shirt is nowhere to be seen so he foregoes any attempt at covering up his chest, striding out of your bedroom and through the rest of your small, cozy apartment in search of you. He throws open closet doors and peers behind the shower curtain—even flopping onto his stomach and checking underneath the worn couch in a moment of fantastic absurdity.

But you are nowhere to be found.

There’s a despairing groan forming a lump in his throat and fighting to get out, but Jungkook wills it back down. Plucking his leather jacket up from where it’s hanging askew on the corner of your dining table, he shrugs it on and crosses over to your front door, flinging it open and glancing both ways down the hall in hopes that you’ll suddenly appear. But when you don’t, Jungkook slides his boots on and steps out into the corridor, letting the door click shut behind him.

Two flights of rickety stairs and one door later, Jungkook is standing on the street, taking in the quiet bustle of a city that’s still shrugging off the night’s sleep. A young man on a red bicycle zips by with a bundle of newspapers in his basket, barely swerving to avoid him, and Jungkook flinches back with a low curse. “What a fucking moron,” he mutters under his breath, but he’s no longer sure if he’s talking about the newsboy or himself. “An absolute asswipe.”

“Huh,” a voice hums thoughtfully from behind him. “I do need toilet paper, now that you mention it. But I’ll pick that up next time when I go to the store.”

Jungkook stiffens—whirls around—and there you are, standing on the sidewalk with your head tilted, gazing up at him with a curious little smile. His heart stutters in his chest before taking off in a mad sprint, lips parting to release words of relief that he hasn’t had time to formulate yet.

“Kook? You okay?” There’s a concerned knit in your brow now, and Jungkook shakes his head quickly.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. “It’s nothing.”

You don’t look convinced as you look over his appearance, your eyes narrowing further when you take in the state of his clothes. “Where the hell is your shirt?”

“Fuck if I know,” he says immediately. “You tell me.”

An amused grin twitches on your lips, and Jungkook is suddenly struck with the urge to swoop down and kiss you senseless. “I’ll help you find it after breakfast,” you promise, and for the first time he notices the paper bags dangling from your hands. Automatically, he’s reaching out and taking them from you, singlehandedly hefting both up with ease and peering curiously inside.

“What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, turning and ascending the front steps to your apartment building. “I realized I didn’t have that much food in the fridge this morning, so I went to the bakery down the street for some pastries. Somehow, I didn’t think you’d want beef bourguignon this early.”

Jungkook follows after you, bags still swinging loosely in his hand. “I’m not picky.”

“I know,” you say with a laugh, stepping inside and meandering through the lobby to the stairwell entrance. Pushing open the door, you begin the short ascent to your floor, already fumbling in your purse for your keys. “I’ll heat up some leftovers if you want them.”

“That’s okay.” Jungkook trails after you slowly, watching as you unlock your front door and pad down the hallway to disappear into the kitchen.

A second later, you poke your head out. “Coming?” you ask, peering inquisitively at the young man who still has not moved from the entryway.

“Yeah,” Jungkook grunts. Quietly, he joins you in the kitchen, setting both bags down and watching as you begin laying out the various pastries and confections you’d purchased, along with two cups of coffee. You hum as you work—something sweet and sentimental that he doesn’t recognize—and Jungkook finds that the question he’s wanted to ask since he first glimpsed you sitting at that nameless cafe can wait no longer. “Why’d you leave?” he blurts out, just a touch more sharply than he intended.

The melody dies in your throat. “What do you mean?” you inquire softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I already told you, I was picking up breakfast.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Jungkook surges forward, backing you up against the counter and tilting your chin up with his index finger. Your gazes meet—yours wide, his unyielding.

“Why’d you leave?” he repeats, softer this time. He isn’t sure if he wants to hear the answer, but he knows he needs to.

You suck in a deep breath and exhale slowly, eyes fluttering shut before you finally speak. Your voice is hushed in the sudden quiet of your apartment, but he still hears every word perfectly. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Jungkook watches the way your throat bobs nervously, his jaw going slack at your confession. “You… what?”

“I wasn’t good enough,” you repeat, swallowing. Mustering up your strength, you shove him in the chest, and he steps aside listlessly as soon as your hand comes in contact with his sternum. Freed from the cage of his body, you continue, “So… I left.”

“Good enough?” Jungkook echoes, mind awhirl. He’s never been good with words. “Good enough… for what?”

You suddenly feel like your chest has been stuffed full of cotton. “For Bangtan,” you say softly. “I wasn’t good enough for Bangtan, or Namjoon, or—“ and here your voice chokes off into a pitchy whisper, barely audible, “—or you.”

“Me,” Jungkook says dumbly, blinking twice in rapid succession. He doesn’t move a muscle.

Tears are beginning to prick at your eyes—tears you hastily try to blink away, to little avail. Turning away from the frozen young man standing in your kitchen, you busy yourself once more with arranging croissants on a plate. You are just about to reach for a jar of honey when two strong arms wrap around you from behind, enveloping you in sudden, stifling warmth.

“You didn’t think you were good enough,” Jungkook breathes disbelievingly in your ear, his hot breath fanning across your neck and ruffling a tendril of hair that tickles your cheek. “But you were. You are. God, {Name}, you’re fucking perfect and… and I missed you. I missed you so damn much.”

Your cheeks are damp before you can even process his hushed confession, the tears trickling down your face and dripping off your chin. Jungkook turns you around gently, swiping his thumb underneath your left eye and pressing a tender kiss underneath your right.

“Come back,” he entreaties softly as he pulls back, delicately cupping your face in both hands. “Come back with me.”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I… I’ve moved on, Jungkook.”

He presses closer until you can feel the heat rolling off his bare chest in waves, the ends of his leather jacket tickling your sides. “But you still care,” he murmurs. “Why else would you have done what you did in Beijing?”

You freeze. “How did you know about that?”

Jungkook’s mouth twitches up into a wry smile. “I only had a hunch,” he admits. “But you just confirmed it.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what else there is to say, so Jungkook continues on, unfazed. “You still care, {Name},” he repeats, his voice dropping an octave and transforming into something syrupy and warm. “I know you do. And now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go again so easily. So come back to Seoul. Come back home.”

“Jungkook…” His name leaves your lips in little more than a breathless whisper. “I-I don’t… I can’t—“

“You can,” Jungkook states firmly before leaning in and capturing your lips with his. “Now, I think I’m ready to eat.”

“Oh!” Startled, you try to wriggle free from Jungkook’s grasp and grab the plate of croissants off the counter, but he stops you in your tracks with a cavernous chuckle.

“I wasn’t talking about the pastries, baby,” Jungkook says with a smirk, and your face goes up in flames when you see the wicked glimmer in his eyes.

He may fail to form coherent sentences sometimes, but damn if he isn’t good with his tongue.

///

Jungkook arrives back at Bangtan’s headquarters that evening, the skies opening up and greeting him with a torrential downpour just as he parks his car in front of the building. “Shit,” he grumbles, turning off the ignition and scowling at the soaked windshield. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Umbrellas exist, you know,” you pipe up from the passenger seat. “And luckily for you, I’ve got one.”

Jungkook grins, accepting the little plastic bundle you hand him. “So well-prepared,” he remarks, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “I was just going to suggest we make out until the rain dies down.”

You tilt your head, already beginning to push yourself up and over the center console. “Honestly? I like that idea way better,” you murmur as you settle comfortably in his lap with one knee on either side of his thighs.

“Good,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, curling his hands around your hips and tugging until you are chest to chest. You take his face in your hands, thumbs gently tracing along his chiseled jawline before leaning down and pressing your lips to his.

You’re fairly certain that you could spend the rest of your life like this, pressed up against Jungkook in the driver’s seat, kissing him as raindrops continue drumming against the window. The steering wheel is digging into your back and you legs are beginning to fall asleep, but Jungkook is warm and solid and very, very determined in his quest to map out every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow, you will have to face Namjoon and the other members of Bangtan—will have to explain why you left them for so long and beg for their forgiveness.

But tonight, it’s just you and Jungkook, and you’ve got an entire year’s worth of kisses to catch up on.

also set in this universe:

[myg] [jhs]

#jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook angst #bts angst #jeon jungkook #bts #kpop scenarios #bangtan boys #secret agent!au #spy!au #secret agent au #spy au #happy jungkook day!!!#lia writes

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strangewriterforhire · 8 years ago

Text

Long Winter: Homesick Ch1

“Ahh, can ya smell that?” the elder of the two riders crowed from the back of his mount. The steads mighty hooves stilled for a moment, and he took in a deep breath of morning air. The second rider, younger by a handful of years at least, stilled his horse’s progress alongside his companions and took a tentative sniff of the air as well.

Of the pair one was bearded, the other not. One was muscular, and the other not. One was confident with the assuredness of experience, whilst the other was new found in his abilities and skills. This easily took the form of cockiness as an attitude appropriate for his role. Both were dressed in the warm furs that were a necessity in the far north of the Rishian highlands, their faces exposed to the elements in an odd moment of airy calm. Usually a man who went face to face with the winds of the north would lose a whisker or two to the chill. But on that particular morning as the sun rose through gossamer clouds to the east, it was a risk the bearded man was willing to take.

“I canny smell a blasted thing ‘cept over worked horse,” The younger man said laconically, miming an exaggerated yawn as he followed the others gaze out across the rolling hillside. Down the ice shrouded mounts and bracken clad hills, the land flattened to what had once been the end of the world in their youth.

“Well ain’t you full of the poet’s musings this fine morning?” the elder grinned, leaning over in his saddle to give a playful slug to his partners fur covered shoulder. “I was hoping you could smell the scents of the place the way I can! Then again, I go expecting too much from ya, so I should really know better by now.”

“It’s early! ‘Tis a time of peaceful leave from them that call our service theirs!” The younger man patted his fur covered arms to rub some warmth back into them, and not to hide rubbing the sore spot where he had been punched. Because that would show weakness, and probably lead to an all manner of ribbings and jokes to their travels. He then added by way of thoughtful self-examination. “And to be frank it’s a cold enough morning to turn an Inlander’s left teat to a glass cutter, so pardon me for not wanting a wiggle on with your damnable musings.”

“Well looks at that! Ya do have a touch off the poet to ya!” The elder barked a laugh, and then gestured with a gloved hand to the land stretched before them. “And yet ya missed the smell of the waves on the rocks, the hard graft of the soil and the heady aroma of the meads that flow in the grand halls like the rivers that run to the seas!”

The younger gave another experimental sniff of the air at that, his head slowly tilting to one side in slow realisation.

“I think one of the horses has expressed its opinion as to your babblings oh brother mine,” the young Shamus McDonald intoned with a wrinkled nose. “Canny say I’m not in agreement with the stout steed that you’re sort of full of it.”

Remas McDonald, eldest scion of Clan McDonald, heir to the mantle of Fell Rock, and soldier in the service of the Kingdom of Rishland, leaned over further and gave his brother a polite slap on the back of the head. The blow was perhaps harder than was necessary, but the lad had a fur lined hood up and there was ample evidence in his deeds that his skull was a thick one. That and the two were siblings of a fashion, and if that didn’t allow for a little brother harassment then there was no point in the bond of family.

With that Remas prompted his horse into motion, and began to descend narrow dog legs and switchbacks that allowed passage down from the treacherous ridges of the Highlands. The same mountains that broke the winds spirit as it roared along the length of the Rishian Isles, sparing the south the full year icy climes, made for an interesting and perilous traverse. This was doubly so when you took the passes and ledges on foot and by hoof. And seeing as there was an airship bound for the fortress keep of Fell Rock that would have gotten them there a full three days sooner, it could well be said to be triply dangerous.

But for a McDonald to take the easy path, well that went contrary to their contrary nature now didn’t it?

Shamus followed after his older brother, as had been his way since memory had chosen to serve him. Knowing that Remas would keep his mount safe on the well-worn trail, and knowing a horse's mind was as keen to follow orders as any first rate pikeman, Shamus allowed his eyes to wander free of the rock and ice. They drifted down to the sloping floor of the hills, to the narrow snow encrusted plains that swept out in a curve in either direction. And then the plains simply ceased to be, dropping away at the vertical into black crags of high cliffs. Below those cliffs the ocean snarled and roared its frustration, beating its foamy claws relentless against the over grown pebble of the Isle of Rish that dared stand up to its might. Many a fond memory could be found at the summer’s honouring festival to the oceans bountiful ferocity. Loremiester Daxon would go on at length with tales fury and malice long since harnessed by clever mischief of the Long Summer to bring ethereal light and heat to the rocky warren of Fell Rock.

Such fond memories were hard pressed to surface in the young man’s mind as his eyes fell upon the edifice of the keep of Fell Rock.

Built upon the precipice of the cliffs, a large portion of its armoured bulk clung to the sides and braved the chill of the sea far below, the Fell Rock looked as imposing as it had surely intended to be. Onyx black, the keeps very walls seeming to suck what warmth could be found from the air, it rose as a tower many hundreds of feet in the air at the cliffs edge. Spanning many times that wide, its walls housed clan and retainers, and the many lesser families of the area that paid homage to their laird. In the mornings light its twin terraces of battlements glowed like the sharpened teeth of some mighty carnivore. The four towers that rose from its corners were squat things, their armoured domes shuttered tightly closed against the elements, so that the delicate machinery of the keeps defences were not unduly damaged by the cold.

Though Long Summer artifice was rarely so delicate under such abuse.

For as much as the Fell Rock was the centre of power in the area, it was also the most northern outpost of the Isle of Rish, and so was suitably defended from all who might come to wage foolish war upon the land made coarse by warriors hands. Its defences, both conventional and ancient, were kept honed and readied to repel all comers. And should be some chance of fate an enemy find the battlements and force entry to the keep, they would find not cowed women folk and candlestick makers to slaughter by the job lot. Oh no. As was the Rishland creed, every man and woman, child and invalid, would stand to their laird and nations defence by free choice regardless of the odds.

‘Every last one!’ Was the cheerful retort at each Winter's Solstice when the Laird would ask who would fight.

It was closer to noon, the sun's meagre rays reaching down to paint all in an ironclad pallor, when riders in the ash grey livery of the Fell Rock appeared on the road to the keep. The brothers had gotten to the foothills of the mountains in good time, their horses a stout breed that seemed to enjoy the thinner air of the highlands and were now quite giddy creatures in the thickening lowlands. The approach of riders was not uncommon this early in the spring, seeing as the majority of passes through the highlands would still be locked with ice and fallen rocks, making any travellers on the road remarkable in their skills. Remarkable was useful, and sometimes dangerous if those that wielded it were prone to malicious thinking.

It was standard practise to send out a rider or three to ask politely the intentions of travellers bound for the keep. Especially so if the travellers were land bound couriers baring royal commandments from Spearpoint to the south. But fourteen armed riders was overkill, even by Rishian standards.

“I got me a bad feeling ‘bout this,” Shamus said beneath his breath.

The two scores of riders, their horses sheathed in armour plate, and their grey cloaks flowing behind them to reveal treated leather pads, and glass thread vests that could turn aside a blade's tip. The riders carried lightning spears at their sides, and when they stopped a dozen meters from the brothers their spears were levelled unwavering at them. To say that the two McDonald boys came to a complete halt at the sight goes without saying: brave they were, stupid they were not.

Well…no more than was expected.

The lead rider kicked its horse into motion with practiced ease and ambled slowly towards the two fur coated travellers. The lone rider now stood within a fanned volume of air that could, at the whim of the cordon, be filled with flickering azure energy that would turn all to ash in the blink of an eye. The rider did not seem to notice the danger they had placed themselves in as they approached. The grey cloaks hood was pulled up, hooked to the armoured helmets brow, and thus behind an iron clad chevron of interlocking plates the face of the rider was hidden. This gave them a vulpine look, the guise reminiscent of a metal works impression of a wolf’s head.

The ghostly grey riders of the Fell Rock were as legend in these parts, and their use of force when needed was measured and respectful. That alone went some way to making Shamus feel a little special inside. They thought they needed fourteen soldiers for the two brothers! That was sweet of them, flattering save for the threat of lethal force.

The rider began a slow circle of the two brothers, their mount as silent as a gentle flurry of snow on the wind. Neither man balked at such a display, keeping a calm face to such minor goading.

“Hail, riders from the keep,” Remas said, raising one gloved hand palm up in a salute. He said his words loudly but without intentional inflection, speaking the traditional riders greeting as though rehearsing the line before his own reflection. The circling rider tapped the horse’s flanks again, speeding up the circle slightly as she passed behind them for a moment, before reappearing on Shamus’s side. Then with one hand still upon the axe, they raised their other hand in a mirror to the greeting.

“Hail, rider from the south lowlands.” The voice that came from the armoured helm was indistinct, both muffled by the helmets acoustics and amplified by the workings crafted into it by the Fell Rock’s legendary metal workers. But if Remas was one to judge he would have guessed the voice was feminine, or one belonging to a lad whose voice was pitched high enough to do away with Shamus’s Inlander’s teat, when it came to breaking glass.

Then came silence, save the ever present wind that roared from the sea to snarl wicked threats against the barrier of the Highland’s rocky walls. The two scores of riders kept their station, with their lone investigator between them and the two travellers now stood still.

“So…” Shamus said into air rife with growing tension, looking from his brother to the grey cloaked soldier of his father’s keep “…do we stay out in the cold or is there to be forward progress made?”

The lead rider turned to face Shamus, the armoured ridges covering their face seeming to glower with violent intensity for a moment, before turning from younger to older brother. “Speak your business traveller, or travel back from whence you came.”

Remas caught out of the corner of his eye Shamus mockingly mouthing the phrase ‘whence you came’, but kept silent agreement from his lips at the high court vocabulary being put on display. Northerner’s of the Isle of Rish could be as hide bound and high minded as their southern counterparts, but when it came to the rules of formality and protocol things were a little less stringent. It was not unusual for trade agreements between northern Lairds to amount to a two day drinking binge, with said found agreement behind recovered the next morning from the rubble of the festivities. Such high minded language was best suited to the nobles of the southern lowlands, and the court of the king when finer talk was needed. How it had survived the trek from south to north was anyone’s guess, and yet here was someone speaking high noblesse to a pair of soldiering grunts on horseback.

“We have travelled north to return to the home of our kin and clan. I am Remas McDonald, heir to the mantle of Fell Rock, and Second Tempo in the service of his Royal Highnesses Overland Regiment.” The elder spoke in passing high noble, before gesturing to his brother “And this is my second, both in rank and kin, Sh-”

“Beansprout?!” spluttered the soon to be introduced little brother, looking agog at the armoured rider that interrogated them. “Is that you Beansprout?”

Remas frowned deeper at the statement, before something like suppressed mirth danced across his face. The rider, for her part, remained silent save for the creak of leather gloved hands against the bound hilt of the axe, her fingers tightened fiercely about it. With an effort of will she released the axe, and with her now free hand she reached up to her chin, unfastening the helmets face shield. Beneath the armoured was revealed a young face festooned with pale skin and a spattering of freckles.

The shock of platinum locks that could be seen under the helms protection served as a warning to the fiery nature of the woman’s temperament, if the snarl on her face was not warning enough.

“I know neither of you well enough to vouch your names as true. Follow me and mine, and words will be spoken to those that can vouch you safe passage into the keep,” she said with barely constrained ire, the words seeming to pain her in the speaking of them. She turned to look at Shamus. “And I would advise you keep a tongue mindful of manners when addressing a Captain of the Keeps Guard, Third Tempo of the Kings Overlanders. We have no truck with rewarded titles here. We who live in the shadow of the Fell Rock earn our titles, the hard way. The honest way!”

With a final glare she then tapped the helmets risen chin, letting it fall back down with a resounding shutter like clang. She kicked the horse’s flanks in frustration, turning it with a sharp braying neigh as the reins pulled on its bit, before allowing it to walk back towards the cordon. The nicknamed woman held a fist clenched hand up in the air, and the cordon of riders turned about, their spears risen to a carrying position, and they to begin to trot back towards the keep.

“That was a fine welcome.” Shamus said quietly as they walked their horses in the wake of the riders.

“Fine as you like,” Remas shrugged, not quite sounding convinced before looking at his brother. “Does seem as though the rules of hospitality have changed a might since last we ventured here.”

“Seems like,” the younger brother sighed. “And ta think I carried such a torch for wee Miss Molly.”

“Careful now. You keep a civil tongue or there’ll be more wee misses when Miss Molly brings the axe to your attention.” Remas remarked with a smirk. And with that the two brothers began to final leg of a journey that would see them home.

#Long Winter #Homesick #steampunk #end of the world #post apocalyptic #the brothers rish

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