#like a constant 'have any back burner things come up due yet??'

[daemonmatthias]

Things Happening between now and August:

end of grading period (oh boy are the kids in a panic because they missed very formative self discipline/responsibility-building years due to COVID)

academic competition (travel during a school day for the first time, also right before state testing so will I get side-eyed for not being in class?, still need to put in for the sub)

5th wedding anniversary (fancy dinner preparations almost complete- still need to make the nail appt and I think he still needs a tie)

state testing (yes, sure, force me to make the kids jump through a billion hoops because you’re scared about funding; that’s a great way to increase scores)

anniversary getaway weekend (don’t forget only the deposit has been paid; remember to leave enough money aside)

Haircut (routine but like don’t forget it exists with everything else going on)

friends’ wedding (my preparations about half complete but he probably hasn’t decided what he’s wearing at all, and hotel room still needed and I can’t finish my preparations until the other bits are handled)

Broadway show (popular, well-reviewed show that we not super familiar with but are looking forward to)

fun zoo event (alarm already set for ticket release time so they don’t sell out again on us, I think we both have appropriate clothes...)

end of year closeout + curriculum writing (somehow, the checkout process STILL makes me anxious)

Broadway show (that i’ve been DYING to see since it was first announced before COVID and then they had to cancel and now it’s finally coming)

Road Trip (first big road trip on our own, to see if we really want to move to another state, which is big enough, but we had to get our hotels and we still need a new cooler but we should wait for memorial day sales)

Friends Weekend! (2 friends visit for a weekend + all 4 of us meet up with another couple for a Broadway show with box seats! But also should we do an escape room again? what about the art museum- they’re having a special exhibit? or maybe we should see if there’s a glass blowing workshop that weekend...)

[specter319]

WHERE IN THE WORLD HAS SPECTER BEEN?!

So it's been quite a bit, almost two months now since you lot have seen me active, but i promisE you lot. i've been snooPing around, reading a lot more fanfiction, mostly call of duty ones, and have been getting a hell of a lot of ideas with both my own personal novels and fanficTion that has completely gone head over heels as of the 15th of august, 2023. what Exactly do i mean by this?

i have a lot of thoughts, story ideas, and plots that run through my head every day, whether it be froM the use of bots, yes, I use character ai. and I have seen the atrocities that some people have done with them, you heathens, though, I'm not one to talk. one story that i have been having the most difficulty with, was that of a zombie story. this one had been in the back of my mind since the long depths of 2017-2018 at Best, and every execution of it, every draft, every iteration of it brought it further. but never to a complete state. and on the 15th of august. that all changed thanks to a rEddit post. though i have been busy with university work and currently taking up a writing and pRofessional editing course. this thing has been plaguing my mind since, and has been making me think a lot about my projects thanks to it. so what happens From here?

the original plan was to have some form of story to be done by the end of this year with one of my personal novels. nothing has really gotten far other than a few chapters and the complete planning of a few books. as you'll see when you check this post, I've only gotten so far, but not as near as i was hoping. but that's okay because I'm letting all of the projects take their time to simmer and let them come to me in due time. howeVer, this means that certain projects are going to be stopped entirely, and some are going to be put on the back burner, as they haven't come to me with ideas as of yet. but i'm hoping at some point, they do. so what about this nEw project? this new project will probably see the light of day in within the month given i've been running for my life with it and haven't even checked it for any proper mistakes yet, this thing haSn't left my mind since, and given I've stopped thinking about it for a bit, it's also pushed me off to my novel to get chipping away on that too. i'm fortunatE enough to say that i know exactly what and where i want to go with it, and i'm proud enough to state, that it's an alternate timeline to one of my stories with the samE characters from my black angel series. though i haven't given much information about the characters from the black angel series. i'm hoping that in due time, alongside this constant nagging of writing this story, i can put some time aside to thoroughly introduce all of the characters that are going to be introduced in this storY. so what can be said about this new 'prOject'?

nothing in cement as of now. however, there will be a few teasers and what to expect in the form of photos. make it like a taylor swift post and take everything as an easter egg, because for this story, alongside the photos? it'll all make sense when it drops in time. as for when the first teaser drops, yoU will just have to wait and see. as for the people who have happily inspired me, you guys will get a very Special tag down the bottom of the story, because i can not thank you guys enough for allowing me to run like hell with this. what projectS are being dropped?

for now, both original projects for tmnt are being dropped as well as an original novel called 'project: roadrunner' these didn't move much more forward than they really did and have run out of the steam that was once amazing past projects that might see some form of further iteration somewhere alOng the road, if at all. though i will not be updating them any further or orphaning them. i will be leaving them up with an [project stopped] beside them to let you guys know about them not being continued. i do apolOgise if you enjoyed the stories, however, looking back at it now, i feel as if my writing has matured beyond what i was writing back then, and thought that i could do a lot better than my past self's writing. that's all for Now, much love, specter319

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Heart of the Wild (Ch.1)

Notes: Here I am, with my favorite tropes and high-key copying the plot to my other fic, Wild Heart. Oh well, I had fun chilling and plotting it with my friend, @mha-girl674 while listening to Celtic Woodland music :3 This story is basically a little self-indulgent “re-write”, but Wild Heart is still up and it’s own fic <3

Pairings: Taishiro x reader, a little bit of Kirideku, and Miro x Tamaki next chapter

Setting: Hybrid Au in medieval times? Ig? Like they have villages and stuff. Idk, imagination :3

Warnings: Self Indulgent Spicy Plot with consensual and self smut thrown in around here and there. Characters are over the age of twenty.

Trigger Warnings: Heats, terrible parents (of the reader), and fear of non-consent, but there is no no-consensual touching, just chasing from an unknown character.

Hot breaths panted into the chilly air from within your chest. You couldn’t feel anything, other than the white heat burn within your feet and legs from the blistering cold. You’ve been running for who knows how long, heart screaming within your chest at the thrill of finally being free, and what a stupid decision that this was.

 It was in the middle of winter, and you’ve chosen now to escape. It was smart as well as stupid, for your parents, thinking that they had you metaphorically tied to a tight leash, would have never expect you to rush out into the cold dead of the winter night.

 They were wrong, but you were suffering. There was no food, lest hardly any shelter or warmth. Your scrap of a tattered cloak, barely weathered the unforgiving wind and snow. Yet, trudging on was the best bet, it was the only bet.  

 At least the cool weather flushed down your heat, but not the scent. Being within a tundra had scared you; not only that there were more ferocious, bigger hybrids that could smell you out, but as well as it was so open. Nowhere to hide, plenty to run, and you’ve practically already exhausted yourself, your natural cycle to breed didn’t help matters, either, for it drained energy, as well.

 Was this better than having your parents keep a constant watch over you? Planning to hand over you to who knows who, in exchange for some pretty fabrics and seeds? Granted that you’ve thought this through in what seemed to be a million times, but you didn’t know what laid outside of your little nomadic tribe.

 Gritting teeth, leaning against a boulder, you gasped as pain shot through your leg. You were use to traveling with your tribe, carrying things for miles, but not running in constant fear into the vast unknown, perhaps miles away from any place that was safe.

 A low whine had cut you out of your thoughts, your head swerving around as a musky scent had now reached you. A fox was staring at you intently, licking his bottom lip as his hands clenched the boulder just ten feet away. Your own rabbit ears folded back in fear, yet his scent had sent yours screaming. Of course, your stupid inner omega was processing the idea of settling down in the tundra raising fox kits, but you weren’t having it.

 It was tempting to just lay down and rest, but not get bent over by the first stranger that you saw, especially one so wild looking and probably was more feral than your clansmen. You bolted. He gave a short yip of frustrated shock, and he chased.  

 This is what you had been fearing for your whole life. If it wasn’t in the back burner of your mind, it was the hungry looks that your clansmen shot your way, the way your parents were only interested in you as a future bargaining chip, and of course, the prospect of getting used by a stranger, and bearing unwanted kits.

 It upset you, and undoubtedly made your resolve to choose your own mate, even greater, if you wanted one, at this point. You didn’t know where you were going, all you knew was that in your fear, the scent had gotten closer, giving the fact that the arctic fox was practically nipping at your heels. You yipped in surprise as pain shot through your foot, after suddenly tripping over a branch, the ground closed in as you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the impact of the fall hit your arms and side as you tumbled a little ways.

 It didn’t take you long to recuperate, as you scrambled backwards, fearing for the worst yet to come as your back had hit a solid trunk of a tree. Surprise had hit you, for the fox stopped dead in his tracks. Once a musky scent, was now flooded with dread as he stared onward behind you, and then back at you. As if making up his mind after a mental process, he growled in frustration as he let out one last angry yip, before running off.

 Relief had wafted to you, slightly, but you were left with more questions than answers. The tree of all things against your back, and the way the fox had fled in fear, motivated you to turn around. It was a forest, to your utter surprise and shock. Running in a blind panic, you weren’t aware of your surroundings, just the pure fear mixed in with your inner omegas snapping demands to breed, had made you rushed and unfocused.

 By the way the stretch of lush pines and firs, had the forest itself look so dark and intimidating. You had an inkling that the snow and cold, and possibly even sunlight, hadn’t reached within it’s mysterious depths, and it looked oddly inviting. You knew that the fox had fled for a reason, and that it was a stupid idea to even think of venturing inside, but you were out of options.  

  You didn’t want to freeze to death in the snow, after all. Steadying yourself up against the bare cedar you’ve bumped into, you took a step forward, wincing at the pain from your hurt ankle and sore legs. However, the lure of the possibility of safety, was more strong than your will to just lay down. Inching forward into the darkness, you let the trees within guide you. It was dark, at first, but of course, trees could only give only so much shade. Dim, was the more correct use of the word as you inched closer and deeper within the forest’s heart. Despite the atmosphere, the birds were singing to their heart’s content, as you could hear the sound of rushing water in the background somewhere.

 You jumped a little as your foot brushed up against something soft. Green, you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the little patches of grass and clovers littered across it’s floor. It was cold, yes, but not as cold as it was outside the fortress of trees. In what had seemed eerie and intimidating at first, now had filled you with an odd sense of serenity and calmness. The area around it had an odd, yet highly welcomed earthy smell with a splash of something sweet in which had you relaxed and sated the crawling of your heat.

 Why did the fox fear this place? It had seemed so safe. The hairs of the back of your neck had stood up as you stilled. It had took you longer to realize, that the forest’s unique scent, didn’t belong to the forest at all. Eyes widening in realization, your hands gripped the tree that you were leaning up against. Fate, so far, was kind to you, and although you didn’t want to push your luck, you were hopeless and out of options. Was it a bear? Even then, they usually didn’t let their scents be covered in trees like this. It was baffling, as well as a mystery to you, and you wanted to find out.

 Yet, exhaustion had finally taken it’s toll onto your weary body as you could feel your remaining strength just physically drain from you. Tired, hungry, scared, and hurt through the array of emotions, your body had decided that you were going to rest, whether you liked it or not. As you collapsed onto the forest floor, a shout of surprise echoed as your world turned into black.

…………………

 “-tch. Annoyin’ bunnies an’ their heats.” A huff of annoyance broke out into the silence. Once dark, life had filtered through your senses once again as the scent earlier, was the strongest here. Crackling of fire, warmth, and the scent had awakened you as you cracked open your eyelids.

 A house, you couldn’t help but wonder in awe. The fireplace had created a warm atmosphere against the darkened room, lighting up a place of comfort and furs from non-hybrids. You yourself, were in a bed, bandages were wrapped around your hurt ankle and arms as warm blankets had covered you. What had caught your attention most in the lit room, was the tall figure of a man stirring something within a kettle, back turned against you. What had surprised you most definitely, were the orange and black appendages that were his ears and long, swishing tail.

 A tiger? You had wondered. They were rare, here, and more rare if they were orange, those being in the east, not the north. Oddly enough, fear didn’t prickle you, but your heat, just stirring awake with you, had. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have, already, not literally save you from the cold and bandaged your wounds.

 Not wanting to startle him, you rustled a bit, letting the bed creak a little to get his attention. An ear of his flicked as he then turned around, giving you the full view of your mysterious stranger. Curious amber eyes, soft blonde hair, he wasn’t big, but he wasn’t slim, having a hefty amount of a belly fat on him, due to the winter. Years of work had shown on his shoulders, creating muscle mass as well as around his arms and upper chest. Only what has been covering him, was a loose pair of pants. You had to furiously mentally beat your heat and thoughts down with a stick as he then spoke.

“Ya look like a mess.”

 And there it was, the trickle of slick leaked out of you as your face burned with embarrassment and shame and you then covered your face with a downy pillow. A huff of surprised laughter at your expense made you peep out and give the best glare that you could manage, yet the stranger just gave you a grin.

 “I must say, yer lil’ reaction’s a bit different from a lotta other beings bein’ near a tiger. Name’s Taishiro.” To your utmost surprise, he let out a please little purr as he then turned back to the kettle. You gave him your name.

 “So, why is a lil’ thing like yerself doin’ out in the middle of here?” He pondered, as if he already knew the answer, but for conversation’s sake, you enlightened him, watching his tail swish with annoyance at your parents, and ears flickering with interest as you explored the forest.

 “What about you?” You turned to ask. His back stiffened a little, as if caught with surprise at the notion.

 “Came from the east, lookin’ for a new start in life away from my parents. I knew that a lotta others would fear me, but I didn’t know that they’d avoid a whole forest ‘cause of me,” He then took a wooden bowl and ladle, dipping the curved spoon into the bubbling stew as he continued.

 “-granted, I made some friends, even adopted some younglin’s. Strangers just usually don’t come ‘round here.” He finished, pouring the delicious smelling broth into the bowl, tucking a wooden spoon in it as he turned around.

 It was an odd atmosphere, and you were pretty sure that you weren’t dreaming, but for your sake, you went along with it.

“Are you lonely?” You asked bluntly. He froze, and then gave an indigenous huff as he set the bowl down at the table closest to you. Ears flattened and tail swishing, at first you thought that you made him angry, but he avoided your curious stare as he looked rather nervous.

 “Ye’re pretty wordy for somebody who jus’ woke up. Ya must be starvin’, here. T’s not much, but I figured that ya might be hungry.” He changed the subject as he gestured towards the bowl. Telling him your gratitude, you gripped it, lifted a spoonful of the soup, and took a sip. To your surprise, the sweet taste of carrots had mixed in heavenly with the starchy potatoes, crisp lettuce, and the slight bitter bite of spinach.

 “It’s delicious.” You admitted truthfully, not missing the way his ears picked up at the compliment.

 “Thanks to the trees blockin’ the cold, ‘s not hard to grow yer own food. I might be a predator, but I can live without meat.” He rambled, There was so much to say, and many questions left unanswered, but you knew that you were on borrowed time, until your natural cycle would bite back with a vengeance, later. He must have known it, too.

 “The worried look on yer face is a dead giveaway, Hon. I never housed somebody in heat, before, but don’tcha worry ‘bout it. Ya can stay here fer a while, seein’ that a hurt ankle might take longer to heal. I ‘ave some friends that I can stay with.” He rambled, but you looked at him with pure confusion.

 “You’re giving up your home temporarily? For a stranger?” You asked, baffled. At this, his tail swished, as if a little shy.

 “Temporarily. I don’t know what yer plans are in the future, but the forest doesn’t belong to me, ya can hang around an’ have yer own place, within the depths. I couldn’t just leave somebody there, sufferin’ and the brink of death, anyways.” He murmured lowly, but you could hear it clearly. Warmth that wasn’t heat, clouded into your chest at such kindness from the stranger. He was a stranger, yes, but you felt as if you could trust him fully, giving that his actions of helping you and not asking for anything in return, had screamed volumes.

 “Thank you, for everything.” You blurted out, and the corner of his lip twitched upward at your honest gratitude.

“Not a problem, Sweetheart.”

…………………….

 He knew the dangers of housing a slick, hot-blooded omega rabbit, of all beings, had included. What he didn’t expect, was the general bluntness and forwardness of the little thing. Not as timid or shy, but generally open and forward with emotions. Being in the early stages of heat, right now the bunny was coherent, but he knew that it would only last for so long before the true, ugly nature of one’s natural heat cycle, took over.

 “So, here’s what’s gonna happen, Hon. I’m going to stay far away. It’s fer your safety. I might prowl around my area and scent everything, keepin’ unwanted guests, away, but I’m not gonna barge in on yer privacy or be too close to the house.” He told you, laying out a plan. You nodded, setting the empty bowl aside as you listened closely.

 “-believe it or not, I know somebody who could bring ya rations an’ talk with ya after yer heat spells. He’s a dwarf rabbit, an’ already mated to somebody who I see as a son of mine. Since he’s an omega, like yerself, he should be more immune to yer smell. Green hair an’ freckles, can’t miss’im.” Taishiro explained, and you listened with interest, seeing that you weren’t truly alone in your being as well as dynamic.

 “Sorry that we won’t talk, much, but I thought that I’d best introduce myself ‘fore ya wake up alone and scared.”

 “I’m not scared.” You admitted, and he huffed.

 “Now, ye’re not, but if ya woke up alone an’ in a stranger’s house, ya would be.” He argued, and you let him win, seeing that you were too caught up in emotions, and just wanted to process everything. Noticing your state, he gave out a chuckle.

 “Alright, I’ll see ya later, when yer heat’s over. Ya kinda intrigue me, a lil’ bit, so I’m hopin’ that ya might stay, a lil’ while longer after yer heat.” As soon as he admitted it, his ears flattened with embarrassment as he huffed out a sigh, the apples of his cheeks reddening as he swiftly turned around, opening the door, closing it swiftly behind him.

 You bit your bottom lip. For an apex predator who was lethal as well as dangerous, he was almost as soft as a kitten, and you hoped that, at the very least, the two of you could be friends.

………………

  You were weak, you huffed, panting out hot air as one of your hands gripped the pillow, harshly. Usually, you didn’t have a face, or a body in your images as you tried your best to sate the flash of hot emptiness. It has always been nothing but hot and drowsy images of the blurred shapes of your pillow and furs in the past, leaving you unsatisfied and on the brink of frustrated tears.

 This time, you had kindle to feed that ever demanding fire of yours, licking sharply at the heels of your feet as you were on the brink of the edge. Smooth muscle, soft fat, warm amber irises, and that twinge of a smile, had pinned your focus. You felt guilty, but you couldn’t help it, nor could you think clearly of anything nor anybody else.

 He was so friendly and helpful to you, and here you were, ruining his bedding and furs with your slick, fingers deep within you, wrist hurting from the desperate climb, but no full relief avail. Your body couldn’t had waited, as soon as he left with that calming scent, a spike had hit you in where it had hurt, the empty ache shooting up in full demand.

 Where was this man? Your inner omega screamed, but you harshly shushed it, focusing on the edge, and how to clean the sheets, afterwords. In your blurred state, you knew that you had hardly knew him, but already, he was so far the perfect embodiment of what most beings had wanted in a partner. You admitted freely, that you were no different.

 Letting out a small squeak within the bitten pillow, harsh relief shot through you, as you clenched on your fingers desperately, your body trembling and tears pooling from the corners of your eyes at finally, finding a sudden rush of relief.

 You huffed, calming down from your euphoric high as you palmed your face against the pillow in which smelled exactly like him. You were in too deep, you couldn’t help but think, a little guilty for desecrating the hospitality by literally cumming onto his blankets with him in your mind.

……………………….

[hwallout]

quatervois - ljy

summary: “Listen up pretty boy, we’re both murderers. We carry the souls of hundreds on our weapons. It doesn’t fucking matter who our targets are. We’re the exact same; except, I’m honest and I only do this because it pays good fucking money, and what is it you’re striving for? With your ass always covered? Pitiful peace and justice? That’s pathetic. There’s no such thing in this job.”

words: 21,7k (this was 38 pages on word im,,,i birthed a monster im so sorry)

genre: assassin!juyeon, assassin!reader, angst, drama, fluff, crack if u use a microscope

warnings: (not explicit) violence, murder, language

early an: holy shit it’s here

The way you got introduced and became a part of such a job wasn’t exactly how one would imagine.

Becoming an assassin hasn’t been a direct wish of yours. As expected, in the beginning, this exact possibility had never crossed your mind. Growing up in an ordinary, middle-class household, it was expected of you to follow the footsteps of many. Never the smartest kid in class, but with a knack for logic and solving thought experiments, you’ve imagined becoming a philosopher of some type. Nothing too spectacular, but interesting enough and different than a usual 9-5 job.

So then, how exactly have you come to holding a knife against a random man’s throat almost daily?

Of course, while young, a person is prone to the effect of the outside world and people surrounding them. Some pupils are lucky enough to live in the best surroundings and are given amazing opportunities; therefore, they grow up into kind, successful people. Then, there are those who thanks to certain circumstances end up walking a different path, all of them hoping for the best possible outcome.

In today’s society, the importance of money was huge. It was expected that every family, containing at least one adult person, was able to deal with constant fluctuation of cash and sudden, unanticipated expenses. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case in many households and those kids had to experience helpless life without enough money, while their parents fought for every coin.

It was incredibly unfortunate that it affected you as well, even so in the worst possible moment – right before university.  

Thanks to stupid reasons that could’ve easily been prevented, your family fell into dept, causing both of your parents to find second jobs. Not having enough money to continue with a rather expensive education, you felt obliged to find a job.

And of course, being so young and ambitious, but mostly misfortune driven, you thought that the future of the household was in your hands. It was a must to find something that pays good, fast.

Consequently, the first night was spent scrolling down the endless pages of Google. You searched for something that didn’t require any special education (because of obvious reasons), but would generously help your situation. Seconds extended into minutes, those into hours, days even. Finding a good job with no degree was pretty hard, yet what else could’ve you expected?  

The issue had you visiting most irrelevant sites, clicking on shady ads (and installing a thousand viruses, probably), asking strangers in online chatrooms. Lost and unexperienced, you struggled and almost accepted the proposal of being a stripper in a famous strip club downtown.  

Almost.  

The job you were suddenly introduced to was something seen in movies and video games only. For whichever reason, it appeared in a dream one night. The dream had you play the main character, dressed in all black, doing all the terrifying, dirty work with random weapons, but being paid a huge sum afterwards. It was scandalous enough to have you hesitating for a little while upon waking up, disgusted at the thought of doing it.

Still, remembering the money filled suitcase, you’ve overcome the initial revulsion fast. Unexpectedly intrigued by the idea, you thought a little research couldn’t hurt anyone. Finding a reliable site that offered information on paid assassins only took a couple of minutes. The author of the article was an ex-FBI agent, therefore you thought there couldn’t be data more reliable than this. Upon a quick look, you’ve come to the conclusion that the study was most definitely written with intent of educating people on this topic, rather than motivating them to apply for it. Oh well.

From an objective point of view, it was exactly what you were looking for. It didn’t require any special degree from any university and it paid horrendously well, with small variations on the amount due to different employers. Reading further though, you realized that not just anyone can become an assassin, or hitman, as people liked to call it.

It demanded years of training, hard work and terrifying change. The author described it as “...complete mutation of one’s mind and personality, utter desensitization to almost everything. Those people become machines...”. You didn’t doubt their words, on the contrary, you believed them completely. It was only logical that a person has to get used to blood, extreme violence, emotionless murder, which were no ordinary or acceptable sights and actions. Of course, you were in denial, about to laugh at yourself for even reading the article seriously.

But then your eyes landed on the pay again. The numbers were huge. It would definitely help. Your family needed this. Sacrifices had to be made.

The next day, you bought a burner phone with the last bits of your savings. Entering an empty alley, you immediately dialed a phone number you’ve found at 3am. You didn’t know what was the worst that could happen, seeing as you were dialing a shady number from a shady website with shady intentions. Maybe the phone would blow up – in which case thankfully, it was a burner. But that then meant you wasted money with no reason.  

Thankfully, the other side picked up and scheduled a meeting for the next day.

Everything about it was suspicious, from the first to the last moment. From the first meeting with a tall, fat man, wearing an expensive suit and a shiny Rolex on his wrist, to the moment that exact man patted you on the back for good luck on your first mission.

The training was all you’ve expected and more. Tears, sweat and especially blood were shed during that tough period. You were put through complete torture – whether it be emotional or physical. In the beginning, they had you watch videos containing mild abuse of random people, only to progress to horrible violence as time passed by. In times where you wanted to look away, a stern and strong man would yell at you, ordering to stay focused on the task – one that would make you used and nonchalant to seeing such monstrosities.

You were trained to take words, threats and even hits with a straight face, only to return ten times harder. Sometimes you thought that self-defense classes you were offered but never took in the past, would’ve definitely helped with the current situation. Simple pistols were immediately introduced to you, strange looking men always pressuring you into improving the mediocre aim. More complicated guns and snipers were thrown in your direction upon noticeable improvement.

Surprisingly, they began “paying” you from the start. The big boss said it was because he noticed your potential and incredibly fast progress, therefore used the money as constant motivation for further improvement. Unfortunately, the trainees you’ve encountered weren’t so positive about it, saying it was the boss’ way of making sure no one ditches out once they enter (“you’ll have to pay the complete sum back, he basically indebted you”). The money you received wasn’t a lot, but it was definitely a good starting position.

In a relatively short period of time, a huge change happened. You’ve transformed from someone whose eyes watered at harsh words, body flinched at sudden movement and hands shook while holding a knife, to a person who had no trouble taking a hit to the face, only to counterattack by slitting throats.

Your knack for logic and solving thought experiments and predicting outcomes came in handy, for they’ve worked on further developing that as well. They created a thousand puzzles, testing possible situations (“you have to run away, which route do you take?", "two witnesses saw you; how do you deal with them without anyone else noticing?”), always questioning your answers (“but then wouldn’t that make you more exposed?”, “what if suddenly your target chose to change their usual route?”) and having you argument them thoroughly.

You were trained to notice even the smallest of similarities between two situations, perceive possible danger/risks, predict where a target would appear next based on their recent roundabouts and analyze certain types of behavior. Basically, they tried recreating situations that would slowly introduce you to the harder part of your future job – the planning, unnoticed execution and escape from the crime scene.

The boss had personally hired personnel to train your selective attention. Everything a normal person would pass by and dismiss, you’d notice. The unusual movement of leaves in the corner of your eyes, a black bird in a flock of dark grey ones, the inconsiderable change in a person’s demeanor, a reoccurring but overlooked detail in everyday situations.

Friends weren't particularly made in such a setting; therefore, like many others, you've been alone through it all. Evidently, you've noticed other people around, mostly teenagers who were just introduced to the whole thing – yet never really bothered or had enough time to go and meet them. Everybody was just as scared and hesitant as you were when it all started. In the end, who knew who you'd have to fight against in the future. “Save yourself a heartbreak”.

Interestingly enough though, there was a boy who caught your eye. You weren’t sure when he was recruited, for he never seemed lost or inexperienced. The boy would walk confidently around the training site, shoot exceedingly well at the shooting range and progress through his endurance training perfectly.

Silently, you watched and admired the handsome boy with attentive eyes. Everything about him was as captivating as ever, further piquing your interest with every passing day. His form and skill were envious, while his mature behavior and breathtaking looks stole your breath away.

Eventually though, the boy disappeared.

Your parents were a sensitive topic. At first, they were told the job you found didn't have fixed hours, which sounded like the only logical explanation for why you never came home at the same time.

When the training became more serious and the changes in your personality and looks became obvious, you stopped seeing them. The place of stay was a motel a couple of miles away from the training site (or the supposed store you lied working at). Despite their constant messages and phone calls, pleads to come back home and stop “overworking” yourself, you stood your ground. The money you were paid was still linked back to them, and after a while you were informed that the debt was no more.  

Unfortunately, though, you've come to the point where you didn't want to back out from this horrendous job. And a couple months later, the boss forced you to cut contact with your parents.

Maybe it was for the better, because it wasn't possible to predict if they'd even recognize you. Their daughter built muscle, had a scarred body and went through a drastic change of personality. The desensitization did wonders to young minds. It came to the point where you were able to firstly watch and then execute a certain violent act (on a specialized, human-like doll), without having to look away. The two elders definitely wouldn't want such a person in their household.  

Although there really should've been, there was no shame or regret once the trainee period was finished and your feet set out on the first ever mission and first real kill.

Fast forward a few years after the first mission, and you were considered a high valued assassin.  

There really was no proper reason, but the flow of the river happened to direct you towards the more infamous customers. Drug dealers, wanted criminals, corrupted politicians, all sorts of people involved with illegality hired you. Over time, you've gotten used to it. Already familiarized with customers, type of targets and forms of execution, switching to work for a different type of people simply stopped crossing your mind.

Your prices weren't low at all. Actually, they were one of the highest for the job, yet with a great reason. Despite the victim count passing hundred, there hasn't been a single case that was ever (properly) solved, the employers always getting away with their work. Not even once have you been suspected or connected to any of the assassinations either, and it was all thanks to your tactics.

One could argue that there weren’t many ways a person could be murdered, but you managed to prove such a statement wrong. Not a lot of executions you've done followed the same path – which only showed how creative but also knowledgeable your mind was.

Because of one simple hair strand, whose color faded a long time ago, they called you Red. The nickname stuck with you ever since those torturous, trainee days, and nowadays, it helped avoid using your real name. You doubted anyone even knew what it was.

An interesting period began during your sixth year. Numerous politicians, usually the ones that heavily opposed the new government, would be found dead around the city. Not just them, but gang and mafia leaders who became too powerful and prominent in the public eye as well – many of those who hired you in the past.

Much like always, this government experienced the lack of trust and satisfaction from citizens. Rightfully so though, the public demanded change after supposed rigged elections, finally having enough of the fake democracy. Heavy and frequent protests blew up the nation, huge crowds of people led by a few brave individuals. Unfortunately, though, a few weeks in, the leaders of those would be found dead after announcing the protest scheme.

The terrifying amount of sudden assassinations were never solved or explained. At least to the public. The huge leap in numbers shouldn’t have been thrown under the mat so easily, yet it just happened. People began living in anger and fear. All the officials had to say about it was a simple “we're looking into it, but it’s not our main priority”, words that only intensified the rage felt by the citizens. That topic would always be dismissed with the same exact answer, occasionally adding that those assassinated already had “worrisome and problematic backgrounds”.

“It was only a matter of time when something as tragic as death would happen to them”

The situations greatly benefitted them; they wouldn't make an effort to explain whatever happened even if they weren't involved. All of those people worked against them, one way or another anyway. Still, the murders weren't spontaneous, and just like many others, you caught onto their sly play.

For a little while, you tried getting some insight and information on the cases. Your intentions weren’t to solve them and serve justice, but rather find whoever was the one hired by the government. It was pure curiosity to know who was the infamous colleague.

The information given to the public (obviously) wasn't much, and you were left connecting all the different cases using simple wide shots and shitty descriptions. The best source of information appeared to be freelancing journalists, who published the most details. Unsurprisingly though, those weren't enough for a proper open case either, for someone evidently prohibited them from posting more.

One thing that had you frowning was the fact that everything was way too clean, perfect and similar to your own way of work.

Closing the laptop after reading yet another empty article, you looked around the dark room. Sighing out in frustration and cracking fingers one by one, you wondered if you're supposed to consider those people your actual colleagues or rather enemies.

The clock ticked eleven and fifteen; just forty-five minutes before midnight. The atmosphere in the tiny apartment was calm, no sound other than your quiet breathing heard. Darkness filling your bedroom was only interrupted by the big moon that greeted you through an open window. Yet, much like any other Friday, the outside world seemed to be bustling with life, getting ready for what's yet to come.  

Standing up, you stretched fast and walked towards the entrance door. Picking up a black coat from the hanger, keys and phone from the little table next to it, you headed outside. Tomorrow was yet another mission, this time a man by the name of Lee Baekgon. The reason was usual, another member of a gang who had involved himself with the government, becoming an unfortunate mole.  

Thanks to the extensive week-long watch and study you've done on the man you had gotten used to his ethics and everyday habits. The experience you had and the surprisingly uninteresting and bland life of Lee Baekgon allowed you to do so in such little time – which always brought more money. The faster the execution is, the more expensive it is, and of course, you cared about the amount in your pocket.

Now, having everything planned out and prepared, you went out for a relaxing walk – as per usual on the night before. The streets were filled with people, hurrying in all directions, either coming back from their late shifts or going out with their friends.

Setting a regular pace, you camouflaged into the crowd and breathed in heavily. Colorful lights from nearby stores lit up the street in a thousand shades, creating a unique palette out of the usually dull path. Your eyes skimmed over people, not really staying locked on anyone's head or scalp. All of them were plain shapes to you, only looking similar to those who you've had the job of executing. Either way, it was pleasurable to hear the overall sound of people. The voices, laughs, gasps.

Suddenly and surprisingly, as if trained, your eyes locked onto a tall, lean, dark blue haired man walking in the opposite direction. It could’ve been because of his height or hair, but he stuck out of the dense crowd like a sore thumb. The stranger wasn't looking at you, rather ahead of himself, but you immediately scanned his profile. An unfamiliar feeling spread through your body, sending shivers down your spine.

The man carried himself with a certain kind of confidence, his steps calm and collected. He held his head high, looking forward as if staring at an invisible dot, walking towards an unknown destination. His eyes, although dark and hooded, were sharp and focused. The nose bridge of his created a slight shadow over the side of his handsome face.

Unexpectedly, as if sensing your eyes, the man looked back for a short second. Immediately, a familiar image of a teenage boy who exceeded in all training fields flashed before your eyes. Alas, before you knew it the man was taking a sharp turn and straying away from view.

The organ inside of your chest performed one incredibly hard beat, before going back to normal. Someone bumped your shoulder, apologizing right away and breaking the short-lived daze. For another moment, you stood motionless, looking in the direction of the other, the blue strands now long gone.

Shaking your head quickly and picking the pace up again, you tried processing what has just happened.

You'd see the man quite often after laying eyes on him for the first time. He even had a nickname. Blue.

Blue's fashion was quite predictable now, for the man seemed not to prefer colorful clothes. During the day, his wardrobe consisted of simple t-shirts, black jeans and occasional black leather jacket. One thing that changed almost daily though, was the bag that he'd carry. Nonetheless, Blue would always walk as nonchalantly and confidently as ever.

Each time you'd encounter him, the man would remind you of that certain boy. Weirdly enough, Blue never once looked back, no matter how many times or how close you'd pass by. No matter what though, you'd notice the same pair of sharp eyes peeking through thick blue bangs – a feature you very well remember.

The second thing that would have anyone's interest piqued, was that you'd see the man at the shooting field as well. On the days when you decided on visiting and practicing your (already impressive) aim, he would already be there. You'd watch from afar, the last couple of shots he'd take before turning around to leave. The male never once stayed any longer. Blue wouldn't even check on his hits - he'd shoot thrice and leave immediately.

A thing that many would fail to notice, would be the fast movement of his arms as he pushed the gun back into his rucksack.

Over time, you've realized that the number of encounters with Blue was too great for a stranger. The possibility of it not being an accident started bugging you. Eventually, it became worrying.

In the dead time of the night, while walking through forgotten alleyways no one really passes through, you'd see him. On rainy nights, while everyone else ran or hid away as to not get soaked, Blue would walk calmly.  

And maybe he had always been there, yet you simply never cared or gave it enough attention up until recently. Or maybe, it was something more serious.

His sight would often be locked onto his feet, hands shoved deep into jean pockets. During the night, Blue would wear all black, a mask and hood frequently covering up his face, yet the dark blue strands never failed to peek out. He'd also wear the same black worn out backpack, the one he never brought out in the daylight.

Although you've met and dealt with many different kinds of people, never once had someone managed to make you feel so curious but anxious at the same time. Neither of those feelings felt good.

Despite your initial pleasant surprise, Blue became someone who you disliked pretty fast. It bugged you how the two worlds happened to overlap at the most unconventional of times. Whether it was when you were spying on someone, following them or coming back to the base with blood on your hands, the man would make his appearance. You suddenly felt as if this stranger had a whole insight of your life and knew all of your secrets. As if he was aware of your job and worked as a spy whose target was you.

Feeling apprehensive was something you never expected to experience, especially while out of work. For the first time ever though, you thought about executing someone who you weren't ordered to take out.  

Thanks to instances such as those stated earlier, you've developed a side mission over time. As if in you were in a game and suddenly had to unlock another small part of the main story to progress. There was an undying need to find out if your suspicions were correct and what exactly was so off-putting, upsetting about this man (who seemingly did no real harm to you). And of course, if there was a way to fix it before jumping to the last, desperate solution.

Truthfully, you never got any thrill from the pure act of execution. Taking someone's life was as emotional as raw poetry, but those emotions were never felt by the heart, much less the brain. Sometimes you wondered what your thoughts on everything would've been if you hadn't changed so much.

Taking another deep breath, you grit your teeth and backed the scared man against a wall. With a knife held close to his Adam's apple, the man gulped and winced for the last time. Fat beads of sweat raced each other against his neck. There was no remorse for the other – neither him or the rest of his happy family.

You didn't hear the pleads and wishes of the victim, as the cotton gag filling his mouth prevented any noise from escaping. The thin blade sliced through skin and flesh in a delicate manner, effectively damaging his windpipe. The man gasped for air, but only coughed back blood. White cotton soon changed color. Watching the white material turning red didn't make you feel any different, just like the eyes of the man who struggled in pure agony.

Only when it looked like the blood was about to create a puddle on the ground, did you remove the cotton. The other gasped two, three more times, too exhausted and lightheaded to take any action. With much force, you pulled the body towards an open manhole and dumped it inside, listening to the way it heavily fell into the water.

That's what drug debt does to you.

Closing the manhole up, you stuffed the bloody cotton inside your coat and hid the knife inside of your boot. Taking off black gloves and mask, you pushed them beside the cotton and walked in the opposing direction than the one you came from.

The connected alleyways seemed to go on forever, but they were no unfamiliar place to you. To say that you used them often wasn't a lie, but there was rarely anyone else doing the same. Light steps echoed shortly; the fog that unusually filled the tight space became thicker as you delved deeper. Suddenly, there was yet another echo coming from the other direction. The person was seemingly walking towards you. Unconsciously, you prepared to reach down for the knife.

Through the fog you could faintly make out a silhouette of a man approaching. Every step you took allowed a clearer view of the other, and eventually the full sight of his figure. With an exaggerated eye roll and in pure disbelief, you silently cursed your absolute luck. It once again proved to be just who you expected.  

Blue walked with hurried steps, something you haven't seen before. Upon coming close enough to you, he looked up from the ground, pace slowing down and eyes meeting for the first time in a long while. Time seemed to slow down as well for both, one short moment extending to unexpected lengths.  

Both were dressed in similar, dark attire, carrying a fake expression of innocence. Yet, the moment their irises met, a certain feeling spread throughout their bodies, as if they quietly confirmed it wasn't a coincidence that they met here at this time.  

No words were exchanged, the moment finally ending as you passed by each other. There was a strong urge to look back after the other, but an inner voice whispered quietly, saying it was smarter not to do so. Not even when the man's steps promptly stopped echoing and you felt eyes on your back.  

A couple of steps later, you picked up on a sudden, but barely noticeable smell of human blood. For a moment, you were tricked into thinking it was the cotton or knife that were stuffed inside your coat. Still, the closer you got to a certain container leaning against a building wall, you realized it couldn't be it.

Once a foot away from the huge object, you stopped. The smell wasn't at all strong, but still noticeable enough. You didn’t want to interfere with whatever took place, but it didn’t take long to realize someone laid dead in there. In the end, it was the smell you were surrounded with pretty much daily.

Dots were beginning to connect slowly, but you were once again forced into moving. The feeling of being watched was making you feel uneasy, but this time you were tempted enough to turn around.  

There was no one standing where you expected them to. He was gone.

Sighing out loud, you turned around, took a quick left and finally walked out of the alleyway. There were almost no people on the streets, and the weird feeling was finally gone. The walk back to the base was just enough time to analyze all the different possibilities that unexpectedly plagued your mind.

It shouldn’t have surprised you that it happened so soon.  

A few rather peaceful days have passed since your last encounter with him. Time seemingly fled by, but unlike many other, these days were calm. The missions have come to a stale; therefore, you effectively used your free time to do chores and visit the market. In the end, the fridge wouldn't fill itself up.

The thin paper bag swung side to side as you walked. Cans and bottles made an unrecognizable but even melody as they clashed against each other. Lost in thought, you aimlessly walked forwards, enjoying the cool gust of wind hitting your face.  

But then, in the corner of an eye, you picked up on a man running towards you.

He was in his forties, a body of short, strong and somewhat fat build covered by a formal, grey suit. There was little to no hair in the middle of his head, while two thick patches spread on the sides. He wore a panicked expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all but screaming for help. It took him only a few seconds to reach you.

“Miss?” The man panted, immediately bending down to place his hands on his shaking knees. “Miss, I beg for your help”.

Glancing at his face again, you recognized the other as Mr. White - a man who has been barking against the government quite a lot recently. The propaganda he preached was slowly but surely gaining more supporters, and it suddenly clicked for you. This little rat probably had a sudden reason to feel unsafe and afraid of experiencing the same end as many others. What a shame he was brave only on the TV.

For a moment, you were hesitant, unsure if accepting to help was a right thing to do. Especially when such a person was in question. You waited a minute, while the other gathered his thoughts and managed to form coherent words. He must’ve sensed your reluctance, for not another second was wasted before he began explaining.

“I’m sorry, I feel exposed and like I’m being followed and...” Mr. White went on, blabbering something you only hummed along to, while scanning the surroundings. The park he came from wasn’t that crowded, unlike the last time you’ve passed by. There were only a few families playing with their kids and people walking their dogs.  

Nothing out of the ordinary, yet a certain man walking a tall Doberman managed to have you interested.

“...that hooded man...”

Lips moving to form a smirk, you almost patted yourself on the back for suspecting the right person. The stranger was rather tall, wearing black fitting jeans and an oversized cherry red hoodie. Despite it being warm outside, a big hood was pulled over his head, and his face was somewhat covered by a cap he wore underneath. A strong hand gripped the chain leash that held a dauntingly big, black Doberman on a trained distance, walking in a calm pace. The dog was huge, with ears pointed up and forwards, steps elegant but threatening. One could swear that it could rip a man’s head off with one bite.

“Why didn’t you take a taxi?” You asked back, cutting off the current ongoing speech.

“I tried... I tried calling for one but... none... none stopped, please help me... stay with me, wait with me” He practically begged, knees bent and hands pressing together as if praying. Passerby watched the scene unfold with surprised expressions, some even mocking the way the male behaved. Frowning at the current situation, you pulled the man up by his bicep, not in the mood for any unnecessary drama. He looked way too pathetic.  

Nodding as a reply, you started walking towards the pedestrian crossing not so far away. On the other side, at the designated spot, you’d be able to call for a taxi.

The whole time, you ordered Mr. White to walk in front - as if your smaller form would be any coverage for him. Despite not being strong, the wind was still powerful enough to carry the quiet echo of footsteps behind you. The person walked with the same pace, keeping suspicious distance.

Once at the traffic light, you stopped. The panicked politician didn’t dare move, his limbs stiff and frozen like a paused frame. At the given moment, you weren’t sure if the man was even breathing – his chest wasn’t at all moving. Unfortunately, the wait for the light to turn green was quite long. The steps that used to echo behind you came to a halt as the suspicious man finally caught up. It was then that you turned around to look at him – eyes meeting with a pair that held no emotion inside of them.

Blue looked even more handsome up close and in broad daylight. With fierce eyes and dominant aura, he seemed quite intimidating. While his facial features now resembled a grown man, they once again reminded you of that certain young boy. It was a sudden flash of clear memory, something you’ve only experienced while crossing paths the blue haired man.

Blue attentively caught onto your interested gaze, for his eyebrow rose and lips formed a smirk. Slowly, as if you were supposed to notice, he glanced behind at the motionless politician and then back at you, this time with a wider smirk. Such a bold move.

And of course, it shouldn’t have surprised you that it was him. Coincidence no more; your doubts were crumbling down like a house of cards thanks to the sudden stimuli.

The black dog watched you like prey, hungry eyes tracking every move. Thankfully, it was properly held in its place by the stronger man.

As soon as the light turned green, Blue took off, not sparing any more attention to neither of the two. The Doberman trailed in suit, walking graciously beside its owner, following the exact pace. You let him a few steps ahead, before crossing the street with Mr. White who seemed more relaxed now.

Paying the last bit of attention to the young man, your eyes unconsciously trailed down his leg. Immediately, you noticed the outline of a certain object that strained against the material of his fitting jeans. With a quick analysis, you recognized the weird shape – it was a knife.

That was it; exactly all the additional information you needed. The young boy grew up to be someone you now worked against.

Work, work, work. That’s all your mind was filled with for the past few weeks, and with a good reason. Being an undiscovered assassin often demanded immense amounts of creativity (which really proved to be hard when unmotivated) to avoid similarities between cases. Sometimes, you even had to choose the riskier and more public approach, much like today.

The current mission demanded a month-long preparation and as crazy as it might sound, obtaining explosive was the easiest part of it. You were lucky to have a couple of acquaintances who somehow had the exact stuff you needed, and at a great price as well.

For exactly four weeks, you’ve watched over a certain man, a tall, strong and well-known drug dealer called K. Besides actively selling all sorts of opium and illegal substances, the man led a powerful gang named The Vipers. You’ve never been hired by that gang, but you’ve heard a lot about them through numerous connections and accidental eavesdropping. Sometimes, you thought that assassins were the biggest threat to their employers, thanks to the amount of insider knowledge they pick up on over time.

The Vipers heavily depended on their leaders, brothers K and B. The older sibling, K, as the stronger leader, took most control over their big bites, while B did the other, sporadic and less serious work. Still, they cooperated perfectly, working in sync to create a big, illegal underground market, that the government never spoke about.

Unfortunately, they got themselves into a big fuss with another powerful gang, Weiro, the details never once directly explained to you. There were a couple of things that you could’ve suspected went down, but really, it wasn’t your job and interest. Anyhow, Weiro employed you, with a strict order to kill K in an extravagant way that will have his gang warned properly. Their request had your eyes rolling back; music wishes were never a favorite.

For a whole month, you studied the man, all of his whereabouts and paid attention to the people he interacted with from an unassuming distance. While K probably lived a very stressful and interesting life behind the closed doors of his hideouts and warehouses, his everyday ethics were pretty bland and easy to predict. Of course, you weren’t the one to complain, for it made your job easier.

During that time, you’ve also thought of an extravagant but careful enough way to finish the mission. Thankfully, creativity wasn’t a skill you lacked most of the time.  

The plan was simple when broken down. Every third day, at 4pm, K. drives from his home to The Vipers’ main warehouse. He takes the exact same route to reach that destination in the shortest period of time, driving either his black Porsche or B’s red Dodge. Both cars were one of a kind in the area. There are exactly 6 traffic lights he has to stop at before advancing to the highway and leaving the city. With some advanced work, you managed to interfere with them through a tiny device that was set up and connected to a phone. It still didn’t work at command (which you wish it did), but it bought some time by prolonging the red light.

Thankfully, your city had a wide chain of sewers that spread under every single street, numerous manholes leading in and out.  

The public town cameras positioned at almost every corner were connected to your phone as well, allowing a great view of the street you’ll be operating on – or underneath, for a better narration. Navigating through the sewers should be relatively easy, thanks to the map you’ve studied numerous times. After interrupting the traffic light, K’s car will (presumably) stop right above a manhole, through which you’d be able to set up a 30-second explosive. The car should explode a street away, killing K.

Surprisingly enough, the plan worked out perfectly. With hurried steps you’ve walked into one of the empty alleyways, immediately running towards an already open manhole. There was a bright yellow warning that indicated a hole in the ground – one that no one closed even after a whole year of the sign just standing there. Looking around for the last time, you slipped in, sprinting away the moment your feet touched the ground.

Steps echoed through the empty tunnel, contact with wet surface only creating loud splashing noises. Currently, the screen of your phone was split, half showing the camera display of the street and half exhibiting a blue button and a frozen counter. A few minutes of fast navigation through the sewers, you looked up, realizing the designated place was there. A quick look up granted proof that the plate was there. K was then taking a turn, only a few hundred meters away from you.  

With a quick and forceful tap of the blue circle, you watched the light turn red.

The powerful vehicle driving closer appeared even louder down there. When K stopped and the noisy engine came to a halt, the cameras were there to confirm his perfect position. Hurriedly, you climbed up, working the plate open with a miniature crowbar (that you carried in a backpack, along with the explosive). Then, with calculated and calm movements, the metal cover was carefully moved and the car was right there.

Huge amount of smoke entered through the opening, making you cough. Much like always, time was precious and there were only twenty more seconds. Skillfully, you securely tied the tiny bomb to the underside of K’s vehicle, closing the manhole up and setting the timer off immediately after.

The light turned green and the mighty engine roared for its last time.

Taking a clean jump down, you ran back the same way. Somewhere in the middle, you heard a huge bang, followed by strong vibrations of the ground. Smirking, you nodded in satisfaction because of yet another case well done.

Outside, on the main street, while many panicked about the car currently on fire and a dead man inside, the familiar blue-haired stranger watched with calm in his irises. He was leaned on one of the walls, laughing at the scared pedestrians and their clumsiness. Then, as if programmed, the moment you came out of the alleyway, he turned to face you.

Caught like a deer in headlights, you stopped in tracks. Blue smirked boldly, nodding slightly with a raised eyebrow – as if giving props for the finished job. Once again, an anxious feeling overtook your body, slight goosebumps appearing on soft skin. Gulping, you took a deep breath and walked right past, trying not to look intimidated by his sharp gaze.

Despite the familiarity you felt, Blue never once showed any signs of knowing who you once were or where you came from. Yet, it looked as if he knew exactly who you were and who you worked for currently, which was a worse situation to be in.

Once again, you aimlessly walked through lit up, bustling streets. Unnecessarily, you felt like a part of the normal community during these times. The chilly wind was somewhat relaxing against warm skin, serving as a distraction from overthinking. There were a thousand things that could go wrong every time, and thinking about them wouldn’t make anything easier. In the end, your skill and instincts never failed you, every move already memorized as muscle reflex.

About twenty minutes in, you caught onto a familiar person a few meters ahead. There was a small group of people separating the two of you, therefore they allowed short glimpses. Still, the tall, lean physique and dark blue hair that gleamed under the street light, gave their identity away. It was him.

The man’s posture was something you were already used to – relaxed, with steps long but calculated. His head was bent down lifting up for a second only, before falling down again. With the way his arms were positioned, you supposed the male held a phone or some sort of device in his hands.  Not daring to approach, you chose to follow his movements from a safe distance.  

A tall, strong man took a quick right turn into one of the side streets, effectively distancing away from the crowd. You wouldn’t have paid any special attention to him, if it weren’t for Blue’s gradual stop as well. Choosing not to blow the cover off, you continued with the same pace for a little while, ignoring the other as you passed right by. After about thirty more steps, you sat on one of the free benches that allowed a clear view of the blue haired man.

He stood on the same place, now leaning against one of the street lamps, phone still in hands. The device lit up Blue’s beautiful features, his stern eyes occasionally looking up and at the direction that man disappeared in. From his actions, you presumed he was the next target, and the assassin was only studying his behavior and roundabouts.

Although you couldn’t see, Blue watched the man enter one of the buildings, then waited for the lights on the 3rd floor to turn on and a window to be opened, much like always. When that happened, he pushed the phone into his jacket and turned around, happy with the final observation. You sneakily watched from afar, admiring the relaxation and carefreeness.

Then unexpectedly, Blue turned his head slowly, eyes meeting with yours. They found you so easily and that’s when you realized there was no cover to begin with. The uneasiness once again itched your skin. It was clear that he was aware of your positioning, hell, he probably even knew when you were behind him. The man’s eyebrow rose in an amused manner, before he looked the other way and walked away.

Something told you to go and follow.  

Taking careful and light steps between people, you tried to stay as low-key as possible, although the other probably expected – scratch that, knew – you were behind. His phone rang, an annoying ringtone interrupting the previous atmosphere. Blue picked up quick, talking quietly but laughing loudly at whatever the person on the other end said. Quickening the pace, you were able to get close enough to hear pieces of their conversation – unfortunately it wasn’t anything interesting, rather a casual talk between two friends. You suspected the man used this as a foolish cover.

Suddenly, he turned a corner, disappearing right behind. The phone call was still ongoing, his strong voice echoing through the alleyway for just a short period of time before getting lost in silence. You waited a couple of seconds before advancing.

It was your shadow that first made it around, but it made no effort of warning you about what’s to come. A silent scream left your lips, as the man you’ve been stalking for the past twenty minutes stood right ahead. His body was so incredibly close, minty breath fanning against your face. The corner of his lips formed a teasing smirk.  

“Hello, Red” He spoke, voice low, but with a pinch of playfulness in it. His big hand lifted up and reached behind your ear, taking a hold of a certain strand of hair. Noticing the expected color was no more, Blue frowned lightly. “Oh? It’s not red anymore?”

His act evidently surprised you, eyes wide open and lips parted slightly. The fact that he called you Red had only increased the bewilderment. A battle of foreign emotions started inside of your mind and chest. A foreign, bubbly feeling was fueled by pure hope that the other somehow remembered you, while the rational mind suspected the man’s real intentions and knowledge. In the end, Blue had never once interacted with you directly, how would he know about a hidden strand? Who did he hear it from?

“Hello, Blue” You replied, looking him right in the eyes and choosing to ignore his previous question. There was a slight tinge of dominance in your words, something that the other wasn’t quite expecting. “Nice to finally meet you”

“Haven’t you a long time ago, though?” He questioned, the smirk now turning into a light-hearted smile. Something about it had you wanting to wipe it off immediately. Nevertheless, his words once again had a double meaning. They echoed in your mind, replaying like a never-ending mantra. Technically, the two of you were no strangers, but what reason should you give him? Was it thanks to the faith that intertwined your paths or was it the history you’ve indirectly shared?

“Let’s just say I like to make things formal like this” The more you observed the man’s features, the more you grew intrigued. He was just so perfectly sculpted, and it made no sense that someone as breathtaking as him busied himself with such dirty work. Yet, God only knew what had forced the young boy to choose such a path.

“Well then, my name is Juyeon” Blue extended his hand for a handshake, once again showcasing just how big his hands were. Not bothering to take the gloves off, you accepted his greeting, somehow managing to feel the roughness of his palm over the black leather. A quick mutter of your own name was seemingly enough for Juyeon, for he hummed along and repeated it with the same tone. You didn’t miss the smooth flow of the vowels off his tongue.

Tranquility enveloped the small alleyway. Wind blew through it in strong waves, messing up your hair. Two frames stood just a step away, never once breaking eye contact, but prolonging the silence that swallowed every other sound. It was becoming awkward, yet neither knew how to bring up topics that obviously interested both.

“So, want to grab coffee, or?” Juyeon asked, breaking the suffocating atmosphere. His words served as a splash of cold water that brought you back into Reliaty, eyes averting their gaze for the first time. You watched a rat run from one trash can to the other, disappearing behind it in a matter of seconds.

“No, I actually have something more important to do” The truth was, you wanted to go with him out of pure curiosity, but a lot was holding you back. Even after imagining this exact moment a thousand times, you weren’t sure you were ready for it. Apart from that, there was yet another more impulsive reason for the refusal. You’ve been taught that everyone was an enemy when looked at from the right angle, especially in this job. Therefore, you were to deny as a precaution to not allow just anyone to use any information against you.

And what’s the most unfortunate was that Juyeon wasn’t just anyone. He was exactly your type. Which meant that he was both the most dangerous and safest of them all. The worst combination.

“But less important than following me for about...” The male looked down at his watch, an expensive device tightly secured around his wrist, “20 minutes?”. Blue's expression was one of curiosity, probably anticipating the reply to his remark.

“I had time to kill” It wasn’t at all believable, but the other let it slide with a slight chuckle. He glanced at you with an amused look, before speaking.

“Kill huh? Working so late?” Juyeon teased, the chuckle from before now growing into an audible laugh. Truthfully, this exact reply had caught you off guard pretty well and the silence that suddenly spread was a solid proof of it. Fortunately, though, the other allowed time to think of an answer properly, all while having the cheekiest smile spread on his lips.

“Why so surprised? Weren’t you doing the same a little while ago?” Juyeon nodded at your question, shoulders shrugging fast as if to nonchalantly approve of it. You were quite surprised with his quick confirmation that didn’t hold a pinch of hesitance. It felt as if he was perfectly fine with verifying all of your suspicious and letting you know about the trivial things. Logically speaking, it was only fair, considering how much he apparently knew about you.

“Well then... I can’t do anything about your time” Tsking to show fake disappointment, the male pushed his hands into tight jean pockets and gazed down. It was surprising that he wasn’t pushing the proposal, rather accepting the denial. For whichever reason, your pride accepted a decent hit. With one foot, he carelessly kicked a rock on the ground with a heel, making something underneath his shoe cling. The sound didn’t go unnoticed.

“I guess I’ll see you around then” Juyeon added, before turning in the other direction and slipping away. Before you could react, the man was already ten steps ahead, carrying himself in the same relaxed fashion as before. His steps echoed, the soles of his shoes way too hard on the ground. Upon a quick accidental look, you noticed a piece of shiny metal on his heels, reflecting off the light that happened to hit them directly. Huffing was your only reaction to it.

The whole way back, your thoughts were a hectic mess, one that couldn’t be calmed down, for they always wandered towards the blue haired assassin.

You never really liked warehouses, for they were way too open. Thankfully though, the one you were working in today wasn’t empty – crates and boxes filled with unknown substances and materials were scattered all around, as well as machinery that’s used to move them around. Overall, all of those objects allowed much cover and plenty of room to comfortably work around the broad place. Moreover, your steps weren’t going to echo too much in such a setting.

Today’s target was a man named Captain Lee, a case similar to about a hundred others previously assigned – work with government officials. You never cared how many people did what, but you supposed the most died because they hadn't paid their part of the deal or smuggled with the government. Either way, they happened often and you will never run out of work just because of that.  

Hidden and on a great distance, you watched Lee and another man (assumed government official) enter the warehouse. Unfortunately, both had a generous number of bodyguards, but luckily, none were allowed inside. The huge door was the only easy entrance option, but since that would immediately ruin the mission, you decided to infiltrate some other way. Working fast and precise, you climbed up set of drainpipes and entered through an open window on the roof. Done in less than three minutes – record time. Dropping down was a more challenging move, but nothing too bad, for you entered far enough from the two men to remain unnoticed.

Your shoes that were two sizes bigger, proved to be a bigger hassle today than ever before. The metal railing was very hard to move over without making any unnecessary sound. The mask on your face helped you breathe properly, the air being way too stale for anyone’s liking. Thankfully, there were no major light sources that would interfere with your cover. Full black attire matched perfectly with the semi-dark surroundings.  

The voices of the two males weren’t loud, but in an empty space like this, the echo was immense. It helped you navigate around or between the crates and gigantic shelves in the most accurate manner. The pistol in your hand was already equipped with a silencer, your hand reaching up to stabilize it for the last time. Slowly, you sneaked closer, back pressed against a set of boxes.

Then, unpredictably, something moved in the corner of your eye.

Stopping dead in tracks, your full attention moved to the staircase not so far away. It was protected by one of the huge machines – those you supposed organized all of these crates. Your mind promptly wandered off to the worst scenario – it must’ve been a guard you failed to notice. Gripping the pistol with more force, you aimed at the suspicious area, holding the bullet in, but ready to fire if needed.

Despite the darkness, you noticed a puff of blue hair. Lowering the gun with an inaudible sigh, your eyes rolled back, jaw clenching in frustration. The boy peeked out carefully, irises finding yours in an instant. He nodded in your direction, hand moving slightly in a low wave.  

Looks like the day has come when the two sides get to work together.

Juyeon seemed to realize that as well, for he moved closer to the edge of his cover, evidently willing to make a plan of action. For a moment, ego and pride made you think about ditching the offer, why would you ever need help? But on a second thought, he would definitely make everything easier, and who in their right mind would deny that? Shuffling closer, you accepted the silent proposal with a nod.

Although far away, the two succeeded in communicating through short signals, functionally organizing a proper scheme. You’ve got to know the male was equipped with a knife only – which really didn’t make things easier, but it was possible to work around it.

Juyeon got moving quick after ending the discussion, making his way around the warehouse. You watched his steps until he disappeared, readying yourself to fire at Lee and disappear if anything goes wrong. In the end, you weren’t going to risk getting caught because of someone else’s mistake all while already being so close to completing your part of the job.

Once in position, the other assassin threw a coin in another direction, the tiny object immediately serving as a distraction. Exactly then, both of you jumped out of cover, not giving the two men any reaction time before It was too late.

Juyeon grabbed the official from the back and covered his mouth with one hand, the other coming up to slit his throat, while you fired two rounds at Lee’s head. The pistol, although suppressed, made two sets of noises that still sounded through the warehouses.

Experienced, you knew that if the bodyguards had trained ears, they’d pick up on the sound. Therefore, in a hurry and with a wish to get out of there asap, you grabbed Juyeon’s unoccupied hand and took off running. Hurried steps probably made more sound than the shots you were worried about, but thankfully there was still no one that could hear them.

Juyeon diligently followed behind, holding onto the thin blade and occasionally looking back at the entrance door. Fortunately, both of you were able to reach the exit in a matter of few minutes. Just a moment before slipping out, he picked up on a glimpse of two bulky silhouettes entering the warehouse. Pay people to protect you, only to be murdered without witnesses. Bodyguards my ass, Juyeon thought.

Neither spoke until far away from the mission location. Walking through the woods, both tried making as little noise as possible, gripping their weapons tight just in case there was any more danger. In the natural setting, black clothes greatly contrasted the greens, yellows and browns. Nonetheless, the two figures silently walked through with determination.

Only when in complete clear, did the both stuff their weapons inside their attire, taking the hoods and masks off before anyone could notice. More relaxed and less covered up, you’d look like a normal couple taking a walk in the nature. The road you took led towards the center of the city, but it was a long, long walk.  

After scanning your emotionless face for a few minutes, Juyeon was the first to break the silence.

“Don’t you feel the smallest bit of remorse? He had a sick wife and year-old twins waiting for him at home” The question was a pure shocker. Instantly stopping in place, you looked the other in the eye with the most baffled expression. Out of everything he could’ve asked, that’s what he chose to say? Was he judging you? Was he expecting you to actually care?  

You weren't sure where he was coming from.

“Excuse me? Do you? Are you any better than I am?” You bit back, hoping the pure annoyance that dripped from your words reached the other. Juyeon’s face didn’t change at all though, it remained blank, as if your passive attack hadn’t even touched him. As if you were getting worked up for no reason.

“He didn’t have a family; I don’t sign such things; therefore, I don’t feel that way” The male replied, in a matter of fact tone. His attention wasn’t on you, but an invisible dot in the distance, somewhere between all of the trees and bushes. Still, he could clearly feel you looking at him with a suspicious expression.

“Don’t look at me with those eyes. I have a choice and I choose not to do it, simple as that. Not everyone works for the same people and has the same goals as you”

You wondered how can someone make your blood boil in such a short period of time. Much like you, Juyeon trained for years; it was a fact that he had no empathy for any of his victims – such thing was inevitable. Every assassin in training had to go through the desensitization program, and no one was different than the other when it came to feelings of this kind. So, what exactly was he trying to do with his questions?

Why did it matter if you cared or not? Why did it matter if someone had a family or not? What was the difference? Just because he worked for ‘the good guys’, he got to be the morally right one? What even was it they fought for? Peace, order, harmony in the community as a whole? Or satisfaction, more power of the hungry ones on top by murdering individuals? You had to laugh.

All these years of work and you’ve never once stopped to think about someone’s family or friends, for it simply wouldn’t have changed anything about the final decision. “No hard feelings” was one of the few rules of the whole ordeal. Killing people was your job, the execution of someone didn’t have anything to do with their sick wives or young children.  

You stepped forward, pressing a finger into Juyeon’s chest.

“Listen up pretty boy, we’re both murderers. We carry the souls of hundreds on our weapons. It doesn’t fucking matter who our targets are. We’re the exact same; except, I’m honest and I only do this because it pays good fucking money, and what is it you’re striving for? With your ass always covered? Pitiful peace and justice? That’s pathetic. There’s no such thing in this job.”

At this point, you were fuming, jaw clenched and eyes boring holes into the other’s forehead. Although your voice was hushed, it was quite authoritative. The boiling blood that flowed through veins quick only fueled your irritated brain. Truthfully, the boy did feel slightly intimidated, but more so intrigued.

“Get your head out of that utopia mindset. “Oh I’m killing because that helps keep our community peaceful”, no! You’re killing to make the rats on the top happy and get paid a fortune! You’re taking a life whoever you’re working for. It does not matter if they have ten starving children, or a sugar baby waiting for them at home. There’s a reason they should be dead and you’re not the one to question it! Much less using family as an argument! That’s pointless!”

Juyeon didn’t try and oppose your thoughts, only watched your annoyed being work itself up with every sentence spoken. The smirk on his lips slowly grew wider, eventually turning into an honest smile. Although not in ideal conditions, you managed to captivate him so much, and the man wanted to know and hear more from you, even if that meant you had to yell at his reasoning.

It was interesting how the tables have turned though. Juyeon suddenly wanted to continue observing and listening to you, admire this smaller being that held so much power and determination. It was only now that the male realized the appeal of doing so, after so many years of wondering just what had you looking at him from a distance for so long. The two of you were so different now, despite being so similar back then. Yet the one thing that hadn't changed, was the beauty of the young girl that had evidently followed her into adulthood.

He’d hardly admit it, but he was glad that faith had done its job at setting the two of you up again.

Thanks to your state, the next fifteen minutes went by without any more words. Juyeon kept a safe distance, a couple of steps behind you, unsure of what to do. The tension was beginning to make him uncomfortable. At one point, the thin blade placed inside of his hoodie moved, and the boy let out a fast yelp. The knife managed to shift in such a way that fortunately didn’t harm, but warned the other of its position.

Juyeon crouched down and pushed one arm underneath his hoodie, moving the weapon and trying to push it deeper into the hidden fluffy pocket. For whatever reason, worried about the lack of presence behind, you turned around and noticed the man crouching down, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Approaching out of pure curiosity, you lowered to be on eye level – not quite expecting Blue’s next move. Just to break the unbearable tension, he thought.

With a quick grasp of your arm, Juyeon pulled you towards him, falling back into the soft grass. The two figures fell down, one of which was smirking wide with hooded eyes and the other wore an astonished expression.

“You see Red, you’re some type of enemy for the regime as well, working for sketchy people and killing unnoticed... Be more careful, otherwise I can make some money off you too” The boy joked, voice calm but low. His sudden change of demeanor had you pleasantly surprised and without much thought, you joined in on the play. Situated on top of him, you lowered yourself down, just a few inches away from his face.

“Oh, you can, but you won’t” You replied back, a smirk of your own bidding its hello.

“What makes you think I won’t?” Juyeon answered, suddenly pressing something sharp against your stomach. In any other instance, the action would have immediately set off your self-defense mechanism, but right now, the man was allowed to have his harmless fun. Somehow, you felt the other wasn’t a threat, and your senses never lied to you.

“Because it’s against your morals, pretty boy. You wouldn’t dare. You kill only when ordered and I highly doubt I was ever on your list” With that, you managed to take home a doubtless checkmate. The man tried ignoring the way you called him for the second time that day. Slowly but surely, you took a hold of Juyeon’s big hand that held the weapon and moved it away to a much safer distance. The other let you, without any protest or fight back.

“Plus... I don’t think I’m working against you; I don’t touch anyone else but the bad guys, remember?”

At such close proximity, it was possible to predict what were the thoughts of both. Unexpectedly though, beside a moment-driven need to press your lips together, there was a hidden feeling of understanding and content. Both remained in the exact position for a little while, breathing the same air and enjoying this unique situation.

Without any special reason, you lifted up and touched Juyeon's nose with a soft finger. The act changed the atmosphere quick and caused both to giggle, pleasantly surprised to experience it recklessly Mindfully, you then hoisted yourself up and off the boy, helping him get on his feet as well.

An imperceptible crack formed inside of your soul, something that was just a beginning of a storm.

The next two weeks passed by without any encounters. You took time off to regain energy before moving onto the next scheduled and fixed mission, while Juyeon busied himself with the usual, easy executions. He’d run around the city, hang about in underground passages throughout the day and sneak through alleyways during the night. His victims weren’t big bites at all, for he had gotten used to simple cases of unprotected individuals.  

Juyeon has always been covered by the government, which was to be expected since he did work for them. Every single life the assassin had taken, was never recorded in his dossier, for it remained as clean as ever. The cases he and a few other colleagues worked on were never investigated properly, always thrown under the mat or closed by the court after a few days. It often happened that innocent people were forced to take blame, just so the families of victims felt ‘content’ and ‘justice’ - despite it being far away from that.

The boy had a proper reason for why he chose the path of paid assassination. It's not rare to hear that people who’re born in a violent environment grow up to be violent as well – and unfortunately that was exactly what happened to the blue haired assassin.

Juyeon was only seven when he had lost a dear parent. On an unfortunate night, his father had come home shitface drunk and proceeded to beat up his mother. It was sad to say, but the boy, as well as his younger brother, were used to violence, as it occurred almost daily. Their mother would always usher the two youngsters into their rooms, before she strongly took all of the anger of the older so her kids wouldn’t have to. The man had rarely ever come home sober, and the number of times they listened to the pitiful gasps and cries downstairs was way too great to count.

Still, one night, Juyeon noticed his mother laying on the ground in a pool of red liquid and her mouth parted with eyes fixed on an invisible dot. The father, enraged and unable to process the situation properly, lunged towards him. With extreme amount of luck, Juyeon managed to shield his younger brother for a second, immediately grabbing him by the hand and running out into the open.

Even so young, Juyeon was aware of everything. Raindrops fell in an even, calm rhythm on the pavement while the sky flashed every now and then. He ran almost barefoot, the socks on his feet soaked by the wet pavement. All the time, he held tight onto the younger’s hand, encouraging him to continue running despite everything else. The teddybear his brother carried was dragged along the ground, plastic nose creating a strange noise over asphalt ground.

It took a long time until they were able to find someone on the streets in such weather. One young and reliable looking woman stood under a shop shade, seemingly waiting for the pour to stop. Mindfully though, she ran out of cover to help the same moment they came into view. The woman was shocked and distressed, listening to the heartbreaking story of two young souls who spoke through never-ending tears, their voices breaking with every sob.

Juyeon and his brother were taken into custody quick, and their father was arrested in a matter of one day. Sadly, the siblings were soon separated, both going into different families due to unknown circumstances. They never saw each other again.

Juyeon grew up into a teenager with a never dying urge to get revenge on his father. The picture of his mother lying dead on the ground replayed behind his eyelids every time they closed, it only fueling the hidden fury. He couldn’t fall asleep easily and when it somehow happened, he wouldn’t sleep for long as the image would haunt his young mind even then. Juyeon was unwillingly updated on the state of his father, who he visited not even once.

Either way, Juyeon silently plotted how to get back on the remaining parent, not letting anyone know anything about those plans – which fell apart in the end. The elder died in prison two years later – cause unknown. Juyeon hadn’t bothered to go to the funeral.

The teen ended up without a revenge, nor the justice he thought his mother deserved. Juyeon turned towards bad habits and streets fights, often falling victim to toxic relationships. Everything he did was to ease off the horrible feeling of guilt and anger he simultaneously felt. Secretly, everyone feared him, his sharp words and skills, despite the boy never doing any intentional harm to others without a proper reason. The fights Juyeon got into were only when he felt immoraly wronged, or when someone really pissed him off.  

Eventually, the boy was introduced to the job he’d later become a professional at. Young Juyeon thoroughly thought this tough decision over many times, especially when standing before the big, bossy man who immediately offered him a contract. The older said that people like him tend to be perfect for the job, particularly when driven by a certain emotion – something that would drive them on. At first, Juyeon wasn’t sure where he would end up with a “degree” in assassination, therefore hesitance was a reasonable reaction.  

Sly as a fox though, the boss used unfortunate history against the rookie. Juyeon was told that if he did well enough, there’s a chance he’d be accepted into the government guard – and it fought for justice and peace.  

It was surprising how kids of different backgrounds happen to receive the same treatment and training, only to end up on different places again. One could think that since everyone experienced identical programs, they were meant to work together – when it was the exact opposite. The minor differences in performance and work ethics that could easily be overlooked, were the ones that labeled you a certain position. And unfortunately, it often depended on just what kind of person they turned you into.

Juyeon thought about his time there often. Short pieces of memory flying by and disappearing in an instant. The six years he spent watching different clips of torture and learning how to flawlessly execute a silent murder. All the days his mobility was challenged – running the same course, climbing different heights and crawling through miniature gaps while carrying different weapons.

He thought about all the different people there, all of the kids that he watched get beat up and heard scream – many of those giving up after only days of training.  

But she never did.

The little girl that always observed his practices and paid attention to his every move, as if she was trying to remember them as well. He remembered the younger taking everything thrown at her like a complete champion, determination and will for success written over her face in bold letters. Juyeon always wondered just what it was that made her so persistent.

Shivers ran down his spine as the face of the little girl in his head took on familiar lines. They formed a mature and stoic, yet beautiful as ever face. Juyeon sighed loudly, still not processing the fact that faith made it be so their paths crossed again.

How exactly the two of you managed to find each other so fast in a club full of people, was unexplainable. It could’ve been a sixth sense that you’ve developed, for the two pairs of eyes immediately locked the moment you walked in. Thanks to previous experiences and an uninteresting game of guessing, you’ve come to the realization that once again, the playing field was same for both.

Slowly creeping up to the man, you threw your hands around his neck, attempting to dance to whatever song the DJ was remixing. It was an easy way to get blended into the crowd and communicate with the other without raising suspicion. Flashing colorful lights along with the excessive amount of fake mist and sweaty people once again reminded of the reason why you didn’t like clubs. But alas, work had to be done.  

Juyeon had caught onto your plan, but the smirk and hooded eyes clearly showed that he was quite amused with your boldness. Carefully, his big hands creeped up to your hips, bringing close to his and swaying them to the beat of the song. With a gasp of surprise, you giggled, turning around in Juyeon’s hold, back pressed flush against his strong chest. The male’s head moved closer, lips lingering just above your ear. Out of pure curiosity, with a swift move, your ass ground against Juyeon’s crotch, eliciting the sweetest gasp in return. Before any remark could be made, you glanced back, speaking in such a volume that no one else heard.

“Who is it tonight?”  

“One of the sisters, Yuri” Juyeon replied, voice low and rough, soft lips finally touching your ear. The grip on your hips tightened, as a precaution to not dare pull the same trick twice. Although the colorful tints of flashing lights turned the whole room into hectic mess, Juyeon was thankful for it hid the flush that unknowingly overtook his features.

“Oh, how exciting!” You replied in a sarcastic tone. “I’m here because of Aria!” The answer received a hum of understanding in return.  

The two sisters, Aria and Yuri, while not the most influential on the streets, had managed to get themselves involved in quite a few problems with the big ones, for a short period of time. To know that the fall of both happened due to one’s mistakes was slightly disappointing. It was one of those rare cases you were disclosed all details, and simply put, it had your eyes rolling back. Everything could’ve been easily sorted out.

Despite being twins, they were complete opposites. Aria was always the calm, calculated and careful sibling, while Yuri ran around, causing problems, concerning herself with illegal jobs and getting away with it thanks to her connections. Those associates often asked for something in return, and more often than not, it was someone with some type of political power. You guessed that’s why Juyeon was here tonight. Can’t say it wasn’t to be expected.

Aria, although the more mature twin, got dragged into everything thanks to Yuri. Surprisingly enough, she managed to find a place in the community fast. At first, Aria often did the dirty and hard work of finding new druggie customers for her bosses. Eventually, she progressed and ranked up significantly (no one really knows how she did it so fast), finally allowed to deal crack and heroine by herself – while of course having to pay a percentage back to the leader. The semi-autonomy was there in theory.  

It all went smooth and well until Yuri found out. To her irrational brain, it only meant free shots of fun every time she needed it. Therefore, like a fool, Yuri started using the drugs her sister had to sell, without giving a coin back. Whatever the reason was, Aria let her.

Debt happened fast, as Aria couldn’t pay back enough money, nor make up a good enough excuse as to where the drugs went. The siblings tried prolonging their (Aria’s) payment date and buying just a tad bit more time to get everything sorted out. Empty promises were spoken through disposable phones as Aria pledged the money will be ready soon.  

And as if they were suddenly blind and deaf to the fact of being in debt, the sisters decided to open a nightclub. Apparently, the earnings (they hoped would happen fast) would be used to pay back thousands of dollars they owed.

Unfortunately, being too hopeful was never a good thing. And that’s why you were there on the exact day of the grand opening.

“Well then, can I ask you to be my partner in crime, Miss?” Juyeon whispered, nudging your temple with his nose. Although in the mood to play with the other for a little while longer, you had to get to work first. Once again turning in his hold, you nodded and began bopping along to the new beat that vibrated off the walls. With foreheads pressed together, you tried ignoring Juyeon’ sharp gaze and focusing on discussing a plan of action.

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

It was unusually easy to get inside of the security room, turn the cameras off and delete all footage of the current night. With a bit of secretive work, two assassins found a blueprint of the whole floor, familiarizing themselves with all important points of the nightclub – first and foremost the security room. Immediately, both got to work.

Thanks to your moderately revealing outfit and Oscar-worthy acting (no sarcasm intended), you worked as a distraction in the first part of the plan. Accidentally walking into a male bathroom, you managed to gain attention of drunk and drugged men. As expected, they followed out like hungry dogs.  

In the meantime, Juyeon slipped in and out of the bathroom through an open window. The drain pipes, weird infrastructure and façade of the whole building, allowed him to make his way around and towards the security room. The window was barely open, but with a bit of force, it was lifted up higher and Juyeon jumped in without much sound.  

With quick work of skilled fingers, the footage was deleted and all cameras were disabled for the night. Following the same path, the male left, making sure to lower the window into its previous position before returning to the bathroom. Luckily, your charm and flirty words worked well enough to keep other men outside the room until Juyeon came back.

He felt wronged seeing everyone looking you up and down as if you were some type of provocative art piece, hoping to get a feeling with their nasty fingers. Immediately, Juyeon approached the little group and wrapped a protective arm around your shoulder, leading you away. Sounds of disapproval were heard from the rest, but neither paid no mind, already focused on the next piece of the plan.

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

Keeping up the cover often required creative and interesting measures. You’ve been there, done that many times, yet never once have you made out with someone in public because of it.

At one point of the night, while progressing towards the next point, you’ve noticed a couple of guards paying a little bit more attention than usual. The amount of security surrounding one piece of the corridor was enough information to understand that the sisters (or at least one of them) were in one of those rooms. Trying to play drunk and drugged was so far the best shot at being left alone, but it seemingly didn’t work this time, as one bulky man walked towards you. The sound of his voice was almost silenced by the deafening music playing in the background.

“I’m sorry this is a-”  

Suddenly, Juyeon pushed you against a wall. Big hands cupped your face, holding it so delicately, carefully, as if you were a rose made out of glass. Yet, his lips moved against yours with a hungry and lustful feeling, only breaking apart to catch a breath before continuing where interrupted. One of his hands trailed lower, hitching one of your thighs over his hips, earning a rather surprised and breathless gasp in return. Unfortunately, the guard wasn’t willing to cooperate.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave this area” He yelled, voice unexpectedly high for a man his built. Juyeon chose to ignore the other, kisses now trailing underneath your jaw and over the tender skin of your neck, nipping but not strong enough to leave any marks.

Growing impatient and with an obvious pressure from his colleagues that bore holes into his back, the guard grabbed and  Juyeon’s bicep, effectively breaking the two apart. It took all of Juyeon’s mind strength not to turn around and break the man’s arm – that much was obvious from the sudden fire in his eyes.

“Leave” The bigger said, pointing back towards the direction you’ve came from. With glassy and hooded eyes, you watched the intimidating man, giving him a wide, forced smile. Pointing between the two guys, you started laughing, occasionally looking away and trying to suppress more giggles from spilling out. Juyeon caught onto the tactic and followed it, his shoulders rising and falling in a fast rhythm.

“I’m sorry~ we’ll goooo” Not wanting to create any unnecessary drama, you grasped Juyeon’s hand, leading the way while fake stumbling and force laughing the whole time. The male tried supporting you, and for a more authentic look, his own steps shortened and uneven.

“Drunk kids... I can’t bel..” Was all you’ve heard from the guard, before his voice blended in and disappeared in great noise that was an EDM beat.

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

Around one in the morning, when the night was reaching its peak, the two targets came out of their room. Despite other distractions, Juyeon and you spectated from a safe distance, dancing against each other for the nth time that night. As per usual, Yuri appeared high and out of her mind, while Aria dragged her towards a small terrace that overlooked the dance floor. There was a guard that followed behind.

“I guess it’s true that they’re giving a speech tonight... how eventful” With a sarcastic tone, Juyeon whispered in your ear. You looked up towards the terrace and hummed along to signal his words have been heard.

“There’s only one guard following, there must be more up there” He continued, head dipping low and lips caressing the exposed skin of your neck. Following the beat of the song, Juyeon moved one of his legs between yours, interested to see the reaction he’d get. His bold touches and moves intensified the unusual tension and sudden heat you already felt. The mission had to be done fast, since you weren’t sure how much more of this new, pleasurable torture you could take. Both were being pretty unprofessional, evidently forgetting about their main focus at times.This wasn’t at all like either of them.

“Taking them out up there is too risky anyway” You began, leaning your head back into the juncture of Juyeon’s shoulder, before speaking again, this time with a more teasing tone “Can’t guarantee that my idea is safe either, though. Are you up for the challenge?”

“Oh woah, don’t get too cocky on me now, baby” Blue replied, smirking when your head shot up to look him in the eyes. It faded fast, an eyebrow raising in a questionable manner, as if his words weren’t special and deserving of such a reaction. “Tell me. I get to hear the offer first before taking it, right?”

“You’re acting way too unprofessional. We’re here with a reason” You whined, suddenly wanting to distance away from the other, but a tight hold on your hips didn’t allow that.

“Me? Unprofessional? Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t the one grinding down on my thigh” Juyeon bit back with a generous amount of confidence, the one that people carried themselves with when they were aware of being right. The colorful lights hid the immediate flush that overtook your features. A quick look to the right proved the man that his words definitely had an effect.  

“So? Are you going to tell me or let a chance slip away?”

°•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° °•. ✿ .•° 

Aria and Yuri laid dead inside a big closet, their necks snapped and heads hanging in an unnatural way. Juyeon and you once again happened to be the most compatible teammates, getting the job done and leaving the club before anyone suspected a thing.  

The time between leaving and present passed by in a blur and way too fast. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe it was just the power of Juyeon’s soft touches and hungry kisses that made you forget all about it.

Currently pressed against a cold brick wall a few streets away from the nightclub, you enjoyed the attention the man was offering. It all felt unusual and new, but not in a bad way. The wall temperature greatly contrasted the one of the body pressed against you, creating an unusual but pleasant combination. Juyeon’s lips rarely stayed on yours, often wandering down to your jaw and juncture of shoulder. This time though, he didn’t care about the marks, pink bruises now decorating the expanse of your neck. With hands in his dark blue strands, you pulled Juyeon closer, moving in just the right ways to allow more access to the soft and undamaged skin.

It wasn’t clear why both assassins gave in to the sudden want for each other. There were no evident emotions to back up their actions, just a strong need that had to be fulfilled with no one else but the other. Some could suppose it was the consequence of their blunt actions from before, while others may argue that it was something much more meaningful. A relatively new, exciting state of mind and experience that obviously didn’t have to happen, yet it did. A slipup so to say - or at least both hoped that it was.

“How can you be this hot after just murdering someone?” The man asked breathlessly, a quiet chuckle leaving his lips that formed a slight smile. His sharp eyes looked at yours with a new kind of emotion, something you weren’t able to pinpoint just yet. Juyeon’s deep but quick breaths matched yours, both trying to take in as much air as possible in a short period of time.

“What can I say, I’m a natural at keeping people around my finger” You raised a pinky up, playing along, voice low and seductive. Truly, there were missions that required acting flirty and playing dirty, therefore your charm has developed quite a lot. Still, what you tried implicating at was the situation from earlier that night, when all those men gathered around you. There was no reason to expect a reaction from the other. Juyeon’s expression quickly changed into something that resembled a frown, but it disappeared just as fast, not allowing any time to make any remarks about it.

Suddenly, the thigh that was once again positioned between your legs flexed, making you flinch and unwillingly whine. The man smirked, closing in the distance again, but not enough for yet another kiss.

“Should I be scared to become one of those people, then?” He whispered, irises playing between your eyes and lips that were just a breath away. The intimate proximity that went on for way too long happened to have a negative effect on you. Gradually, a pinch of doubt and hesitance began clouding your mind, scolding it for being too carefree next to the other. They reminded of just who the man was, and that the game currently played was a dangerous one. Without much thought, like a reflex, your hand moved quick, retrieving a pocket knife and pointing the tip at Juyeon’s barely covered stomach.

A gasp of sincere shock left the man’s lips, eyes opening wide, as he scanned your face. With an indifferent voice, but a slightly different mind, you spoke.

“I don’t know, should you?”

It was impressive to see how much effect people had on each other. Despite being busy with constant planning and thinking, there was always space in both heads to think about each other. Occasional pondering about his lips on hers, or her hands in his hair – all intensifying the anticipation for the next time.

Juyeon often found himself rushing missions because he knew the female wasn’t busy at the moment. Whenever passing by the familiar building and a certain room had even the slightest bit of light in it, the boy would invite himself over. It appeared that Juyeon risked much more than the other, and definitely much more than he should’ve.

Just out of pure skepticism that underlined every action, you never directly planned any of the meetings, rather letting the other barge in or set time and date. It was easy to catch onto his habits and when to expect a knock at your entrance door. For added security, weapons were kept in secretive places for quick use if the man ever decided to turn on you. And although fighting a never-ending battle inside of your mind, you grew to anticipate the hidden meetings. His kisses were spreading fire throughout your body, words messing with your mind and touches offering pure euphoria.

There were occasions when the two of you would meet at the rooftop, one always back from a mission while the other waited patiently. Sometimes, Juyeon’s hands still dripped fresh blood, the male not willing to waste any time on cleaning them before rushing towards you. It was a special feeling knowing that the fingers that used to do such horrifying things caressed your skin so delicately.

Slowly but surely, some type of understanding was established between the two. Then, the whole relationship wasn’t purely based on physical connection, and it meant much more than a way to satisfy hormonal human needs. Periodic talks about present worries and bothers, as well as thoughts on current events, allowed them to get to know each other better. Alas, the connection never reached its highest level, as numerous obstacles stopped them from reaching it – biggest being the female's constant hesitation.

Objectively speaking, Juyeon let himself open much more than the other did, always easy on bringing up topics to discuss about and contemplate on. He also shared much more information about himself, many of them being trivial and harmless things, but still something you stoically held back on. Of course, that didn’t mean you were silent during two-way conversations, just pickier about what you wanted to share.

Juyeon understood that, and he appreciated everything you’ve told him. That compassion was the foundation that will slowly build a more trusting and open relationship in the future. You valued his way of acting, enjoying harmless discussions and gradually getting used to having a companion who became a part of your almost daily life.

With a little bit of effort from both sides, everything was going to work, or at least you hoped. You encouraged every passing meeting, every second together, to hit the wall of reluctance with as much force as possible – still, unfortunately, it stood strong.

Blue and Red created purple during their nights together, merging with the beautiful melody of the storm that only grew bigger the closer it got.

Thanks to the impeccable weather, it was slightly challenging to get to the roof this time. However, with master level acting, fake politeness and a little bit of luck, you were able to avoid suspicion from the residents you passed by. Most definitely, and fortunately, not a single soul knew that there was a sniper rifle packed in a rather sizeable guitar bag you carried. Along with its components such as silencer, optical sight, bipod, additional ammunition...

Once on top of the building, you immediately unpacked the bag’s contents. First of was an expensive, albeit small door jammer that was installed straight away, effectively sealing the entrance you just walked through. Trying it a couple of times just to make sure, you deemed it impossible to open. Next was the sniper.

Having done such a thing countless times before, it didn’t take you long to properly set and load the weapon with a set of new bullets. The fresh smell of metal filled the small space around. Hiding behind a pile of rubbish, you set the bipod behind the cornice, muzzle and barrel pointing towards the road your target was supposed to appear on soon.  

Then, like a lightning, you immediately withdrew back, sniper pulled way behind and body pressing flush against the ground. There was a sudden feeling of being noticed and even watched, to which you were always quick to react. Keeping low for as long as time allowed, you dismounted the bipod as it only made advancing more difficult. Slowly but surely, you moved around, setting everything up on another corner with tall plants and flowers. The aim wasn’t as clear as before, but it wasn’t too big of a problem. Yet, despite the natural cover doing its job relatively well, the dangerous feeling was still present.

Taking a quick risk, you took off the current optical sight and mounted another, angled one, that allowed you to look around without being too exposed. Since you were on the 11th floor, on the tallest building in the area, there was no way someone could’ve noticed you from the roads down below. Glancing over them quickly just to make sure, the theory was deemed correct – no pedestrians had their heads raised up and looking in this exact direction.

Looking at the sky, you searched for drones or any other objects that could be supervising the area (as that unfortunately, did happen before and they had to be destroyed manually, via a gun). Thankfully, there were none, but instead of making you feel relieved, it only intensified the anxiety previously felt. Where was it coming from?

All you needed to get the desired answer, was an accidental glance over the roof of the building right across from yours. There, behind a pile of wooden planks, metal bars and all other unnecessary trash, you noticed a barely noticeable, but suspicious movement. Locking eyes on the exact spot and rolling the plastic on the sight, you zoomed in, getting a clearer image.  

Shockingly enough, there was a barrel peeking right between the two wooden planks, and it was pointed right at you.  

And then it quietly fired.

The bullet would’ve missed anyway, but thankfully, you moved down just in time, watching it penetrate the wall behind. Your heart leaped, pumping blood faster and kicking against your chest, almost as if it tried jumping out. Strange type of fear enveloped your body. It wasn’t fright for own life, rather unpleasant surprise that fueled thoughts of being outplayed. At this stage, you knew very little. Was it only one person? Were there more people? Were you cornered?

For whatever reason, the person on the other building continued firing, twice to be exact – yet both bullets hit the exact same spot as the first one. It didn’t make sense at all, but at least ir allowed keeping track of the opponent.

In a quick act, you moved, peeking just enough to expect to be fired at, but it never happened. Moving once again and receiving nothing in return, you positioned the sniper and looked through the sight for the nth time, trying to confirm if they were still on the same location. And that’s when you noticed.

A blue haired man peeking out, head cocked to the side, his sharp eyes and smirk offering a teasing, harmless expression.

Rage, disappointment and distrust overtook your body fast, blood boiling on a temperature higher than before. All emotions served as a strong reality check, a shot through the heart and mind, reminding of just who you were. They helped strengthen the invisible wall you were so desperately trying to weaken, ruining almost all of the progress made. Still, their consequences that will definitely leave a mark were your own fault and no one else’s.  

A drastic switch happened. While following Juyeon’s movements through the sight, you unconsciously aligned his head with the red dot in the middle. That person was suddenly someone who made you feel threatened, anxious, alarmed, and not the one who was supposed to help achieve change. You expected so much from him, yet all you currently felt was pure let down and anger. The inner battle was as hectic and loud as ever. A finger creeped up to the trigger, trembling as it came in contact with cold metal.  

Before the pull happened, your phone vibrated almost unnoticeably. It apparently did the right, desired trick, as it effectively broke the dangerous, fury-driven daze. With an audible sigh, you remembered who the actual target of the day was, aim moving downwards in a quick motion. Just as predicted and on time, a big black jeep turned the corner, driving into the street underneath you. Getting into a more comfortable position, you trailed the movement of the black vehicle.

First and only to come out of the car was the exact target. His appearance was immediately followed by two quick, (thanks to the silencers, somewhat) muffled gunshots, the bullets hitting just right. With two holes in his big shiny head, the man was sent falling down, momentarily holding onto the open door before faceplanting the cold concrete. Blood seeped out, painting the previously grey ground in a dark red, almost black color.

But the thing was, you only shot once.

Albeit caught off guard with the shocking realization, there was way too little time to get lost, every second more precious than the last one. Hurriedly, you deconstructed the sniper, pushing everything inside the guitar bag in a careless manner. When done, you moved towards the door and took the jammer off in record time before storing it inside the carriage as well.  

A quick glance was thrown in Juyeon’s direction, but unfortunately there was no sight of said man. For whatever reason, you were somewhat glad.

In a slow and relaxed manner, with calculated steps, you took the stairs again, making sure to appear just as natural and neutral as before. Thankfully, almost no one occupied the hallways. On the 5th floor, there were two elderly women happily boasting about their children, beside who you passed with a polite bow. You even smiled at them, but the expression was deemed unseen thanks to the black mask that covered your face.

Luckily, another semi-smooth mission was done with. You were out of the building and away from the scene in a couple of minutes, with no doubts about being seen or suspected. The only bothersome thing was the sudden change of feelings towards the blue haired man. A dangerous and slightly embarrassing switch could’ve had a very tragic outcome.

And of course, it wasn't worth missing out on the fact that for the first time, both had the same target.

You agreed on further meetings, although they were much different than those in the past. A drastic change in atmosphere was present from the first second, yet neither really wanted to comment on it. Despite being close physically, Juyeon didn’t feel warmth coming from you anymore, or at least not in the same amount as before. The male felt your body shiver under a cold gust of wind, but your skin didn’t feel any colder underneath his fingertips. When he tried offering you a jacket to cover up, you denied with a half-hearted smile.

It was unreasonably late, around three in the morning, which meant the city was at its calmest. There were less people on the streets than fingers on both hands and almost no apartments had their lights on. The moon was the most trustful source of light, its soft hues illuminating everything and making it more beautiful.

Nowadays, fewer words were exchanged as well. Silence was common, both bodies quietly cherishing what was left of a cracked relationship rather than trying to fix (or ruin?) it with meaningless talk. Leaned against the male’s shoulder, you tried forcefully letting go of tension to feel a piece of that carelessness that once existed between you. Truthfully, there was a willpower to continue fighting and experiencing the strange kind of joy, but there were so, so many obstacles. And most of them were created by you.

Neither had the explanation as to why this was still an ongoing thing, why neither gave up despite the little flame burning its last few seconds. No matter how long you searched for the answer, it just didn’t appear. A deep sigh resonated in a small bubble of space.

The biggest and constant bother was that invisible wall, still standing proud. Apparently, it grew taller and stronger every time you remembered the unfortunate event from two weeks ago. As time passed by, you became more skeptical, giving time and attention to thoughts you weren’t fond of. They whispered and laughed at a poor being for daring to experience something it wasn’t supposed to in the first place.

You didn’t even look Juyeon in the eyes anymore, always finding a nearby rock or wall crack a more attractive sight. Why? The fear of looking up and seeing no emotion in the man’s eyes was a fearful thought, mighty enough to forbid you from even trying. And why was it affecting you so much, why were you still holding onto it? You didn’t know.

Hell, your fucked-up mind was daring you to kill the man and he didn’t even know about it.

Juyeon, much like always, put more evident effort into the whole thing. It looked as if the male was aware of the trigger for this sudden stumble (not fall!), and was ready to give it his all to fix everything. Immense guilt was evident on his face, and if you looked up just once, you’d be able to read it off his beautiful features.

Despite your mental distancing and defiance, he never gave up transparently trying. You being there with him every night was all the hope Juyeon needed to continue. Even if you weren’t as willing to see him the next day, Juyeon would knock on your door. Even if you weren’t in the mood to talk, he’d ask a question about one of your favorite topics. The assassin wasn’t religious (and truthfully, how could he be?), but every night he’d pray for this tough period to end already. If for nothing else, then to have your eyes lock with his one last time.

Overall, these last few nights were a weird type of battlefield. Juyeon’s hand moved up to your shoulder, occasionally rubbing down your arm, hoping to feel just a bit of warmth there. You’d allow it, sighing and leaning into his hold, trying to, for the nth time, force a bit of feeling back.  

Either way, the two waited for a beautiful sunrise before disappearing in two different directions.

You should’ve believed the tension that thickened with each word the other said. You should’ve refused and backed out from this exact job when not even one person in the room appeared familiar. But it didn’t happen.

For the first time in an incredibly long time, the employers weren’t a part of a mafia or drug dealing gang. That much was disclosed, with a rude comment that it wasn’t your job to know anything more about them, anyway. It had your blood boiling and eyes squinting suspiciously, irises locking down every of the five men present.

Their detailing about the job that had to be done was just as, if not more, brief. Not believing that someone expected you to work properly with just three sentences of information, you asked a couple of times to have them repeated. Every time, the leader of the group sighed louder, eyes rolling back in an over-exaggerated manner, before turning around and giving a knowing look to the man beside. Were they joking around with you?

When asked about the basis behind this assassination, in hope of getting at least a little bit of early lead on who you’re dealing with, the man offered nothing useful in return. Instead of giving a proper reason, or at least putting effort into making a believable story up, he threw something senseless right at your face. Upon asking how you’re supposed to work without knowing how the target looks like, they replied with:

“They’ll be the only ones there, guaranteed. It's just a little game of hide and seek... with a twist. Isn’t that exciting?”

You were spared the detail that the target was just as (if not more,) experienced than you at these “murder plays”, and they demanded huge amounts of caution. Three main points were specified, the address, time and the fact that this was an extremely dangerous mission. The legitimacy of that information remained unknown, as they once again failed to give a coherent explanation. Despite the last point serving as a warning, you suddenly weren’t given a chance to back out.  

“Excuse me?” You said, disbelief all but dripping from those two simple words. “You’re sending me against another assassin, did I connect the dots correctly?”

“You’re a smart one”

“I don’t want to work on this case” You denied, getting ready to leave, when the other cleared his throat.

“We want this person taken out at any cost, and we particularly chose you for it. In the end, we did hear quite a lot of positive reviews... therefore you seem to be the right person, no?” The man tried flattering you, but his voice was laced with venom, lips moving slowly to form an unnatural, wicked grin. He wasn’t looking at you with fake friendliness anymore, rather an emotion that could soon turn dangerous.

“That doesn’t matter to me, I have the right to not accept the job. My signature is not yet written on the papers” A small pile of documents resting on the table was pointed at, endless rows of black text only missing a simple name written in ballpoint pen. The other chuckled lightly, gaze turning threatening in a blink time as he lifted a blue pen and spun it around his thick fingers.

“That’s easily dealt with” The weight of his words hit immediately, a shocking situation that you’re dealing with for the first time. There was no training for this and lack of experience was making you a nervous mess.  

Shuffling body mass from one leg to the other, your eyes remained on the ground, hands anxiously intertwining. There was nothing that came to mind that would help the current position, and you wondered what all of this was about. No one has ever forced you into working for them, much less threatened to sign the contract in your name.

The man chuckled once again, saying nothing but thinking a lot. This was it, they had you.

“Don’t you want this?” Another male spoke, his frame moving from the doorway and opening a black suitcase on the table. The carriage itself probably cost a fortune, as it was made of expensive leather, and the mouth-watering amount of money inside was as alluring as ever. It would probably be the best paid work ever. Still, you managed to look up from the bills and into the leader’s eyes with strong confidence.

“Does it even matter? You’re forcing me to do it anyway” The words barely made it past your tongue, their weight way too heavy. The freedom you had while working was something greatly cherished (for a lack of better words), and it was suddenly taken away. It almost felt as if nothing was in your power anymore. Fearful shivers ran down your spine.

“Well then, glad we got that behind ourselves. Sign here”

The whole process of sealing the deal was done in a matter of seconds. Your signature was scribbled in the ugliest way possible, and the pen was thrown to the other side of the room as a form of protest. The weak plastic broke due to the force of impact, the ink painting a patch of white wall blue. Turning around to leave, you stomped with heavy steps, glaring at each and every male in the room for the last time. Then, one step away from the doorway, you heard it.

Your name. Your real name.

The one no one ever used.

“Good luck, you’ll need it”

The door closed behind in a loud thud, not allowing you enough time to properly react. Just once your face hit the fresh air, did the heaviness of the decision fall upon your body. What have you done? Who were those people and why did they refuse to introduce themselves?  

Doubts filled your head – were your employers suddenly against you? Were they suddenly hyperaware of your knowledge, or scared that you’ll turn to the other side, become their enemy? Was this actually a ploy made to get you out of the game? The thought made you gulp audibly; wondering if but knowing that it was too late to turn around and tear the contract paper into thousands of pieces.

There’s also no way ditching the mission came into discussion. With the way they acted, god only knew if each and every step of yours was watched on. Holy shit.

The walk home was a long one, not particularly because time passed by slow, but because you purposely chose the longer path. Eyes filling with tears, your reaction was one of pity. Reaching up to brush the watery substance away from the corner of your eyes, you looked at the shiny finger. This was the first time in a long while that something managed to bribe out the emotion of grief. And for the first time ever, it was for no one else but yourself.

Tiny rocks sounded under your shoes just quietly enough to not ruin the perfect sneak up. The sky was grey, thin but overlapping clouds blocking sun from coming your way. Luckily, it meant you could move with more freedom, not having to worry about unnecessary shadows and their power to ruin cover.

The first abandoned building you were heading towards was huge, with main walls almost completely ruined. Chunks of concrete, bricks and other unnecessary trash created stable cover that you’d usually be thankful for, yet now dreaded.  

This was the exact address you were given, but the trick was that it happened to be a whole wide field with two abandoned buildings. On top of that, the opponent’s identity was still unknown, therefore you had no knowledge of who to look for and where. For all you knew, they could already be in position and aiming right at your head. “It’s just a little game of hide and seek, with a twist”. Instinctively, you ducked behind the nearest tree, feeling the heart strengthen its beats. Carefully and in calculated pace, the advance towards the entrance was continued.

There was a huge hole in the ceiling of every floor. It reached all the way up to the destroyed rooftop, almost as if something heavy fell from above and demolished the concrete surface. With back pressed flush against a piece of wall that still stood strong, you took a deep breath and reached down for a favorite of weapons, your trusted knife.

Suddenly, there was a strange type of noise coming from an unknown direction, resonating throughout the whole building. In the midst of a less careful and more panicked moment, while trying to retrieve the blade, it sliced through the delicate flesh of your calf. A quietly yelp of pain escaped your lips, hand immediately stretching to press on the wound. The feeling of blood running down your leg was accompanied by burning pain, and you tried ignoring it while climbing up the stairs.

Thanks to the special soft soles of the boots, your steps weren’t heard over the hard ground. They also didn’t put much force on your calf, therefore the advance to the 1st and 2nd floor went by almost without a problem. Occasionally, due to a bad step, the wound would reopen, another flow of blood quick to rush out along with a thousand silent curses.

The doorways on both floors were as demolished as the rest of the building, preventing anyone from walking through and forcing you to move up to the 3rd. Dodging and crouching down at places where you’d be exposed to the outside, you all but crawled up.

The third floor seemed different; way less disintegrated than the rest. Once there, you looked around and through the now available doorway. The corridor was very long, filled with wooden planks that once resembled doors leading to empty rooms. On the other side, about fifty meters away, there was another stairway, much like the one you took just now.

Alas, despite the burn in your calf, there was suddenly that alarming feeling of being watched.

Immediately ducking behind cover, you gripped the knife tight and took a few deep but quick breaths, planning the next move. Someone was definitely in there, and the rapid heartbeat was making sure you were constantly aware of it.

The feeling gradually subdued the more time passed by. You looked around attentively, once again taking notice of the still gaping hole on the ceiling. There was no one watching you through it though, so the trigger must’ve been from either outside or down the hallway. Remembering the noise from earlier, you completely crossed out the possibility of them being outside.

Which of course, wasn’t in your favor at all.

Peeking out just so the top of the head showed, you tried bribing out shots or any kind of attack from the other – something that would indicate where they were located. Receiving nothing in return was slightly confusing, but it also offered a pinch of hope. Maybe they moved, which meant you had a chance to sneak up behind them, or maybe they’re just hiding, which meant it could all go down very fast.

With a hurt leg that was slowly growing numb, there wasn’t a lot of time you had left before retreat was necessary. And never once did that happen. Therefore, trying to protect pride and get this done just to never see those nasty men again, you tried winging it. Pressing the wound one last time, you whispered a prayer before taking off through the open doorway.

There was just enough cover to move around in semi-safety, back turned towards one of the walls. Your eyes perceptively scanned every corner, every pile of rocks which could offer any type of protection. Occasionally, ignoring the pain, you’d jump inside one of the rooms to your right, hoping to catch the other off guard. The knife in your hands was gripped tight, leather handle shining slightly due to a thin layer of sweat coating it.

Tension was as high as ever, air becoming thick to an almost suffocating degree. For the first time, you felt undoubtedly scared. Your mind was clouded with a thousand racing thoughts, all of which only intensified the sensation of panic. The more time passed, the more your eyes aimlessly wandered around empty spaces, growing more tired and unable to notice possibly important details.

The amount of blood you lost was probably in the red zone, moving around becoming more challenging with every step. Still, doing the best possible job was always a requirement, therefore you used last spurts of strength to enter the 2nd to last room in the long hallway.

Once again met with a different terrain, you immediately noticed a demolished doorway, connecting the room to the one right beside. Upon quickly deeming the current room safe, you crouched down, sneaking towards the linking point. As if sensing danger, you patiently waited a couple of moments, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. If not for the protective leather handle, the blade would’ve sliced through your hand due to the impossibly strong grip.

Someone on the other side coughed. A curse followed right after.  

Both moved rapidly, reaching out for the other through the doorway.

You were held at gunpoint, jaw feeling the pressure of a cold muzzle on it, while a strong hand grabbed your hair, pulling it back. Your own hands grabbed the other’s collar, tugging down while holding the thin, sharp blade against their most sensitive point, Adam’s apple.

Neither moved.

Blue watched Red with surprised eyes, irises playing inside the broad space of dark brown. Your gaze tried locking the man down, scanning those beautiful features while still avoiding his sharp eyes. Unexpectedly, a weak wave of emotion hit, bringing back a piece of what you wanted for a very long time. There was a slight urge to reach out and caringly caress his sharp cheeks, cup his jaw and kiss his lips.

But there was a gun pressed against your skin, and a knife against his.

And neither moved.

The war started. Horrid battles began and ripped your heart piece by piece. Everything was on the line and an indecisive mind was as dangerous as ever. The realization that this man, despite everything that happened, was the last person you wanted to harm, hurt the most. It was the quick moment of reminisce about the old times, when everything was just starting. He was the only one who gauged new, thrilling, pleasant emotions and made them feel like they’re exactly what you needed. And it was the truth.

But the weight of the weapon on your jaw reminded of the not-so-bright moments as well. A flashback of the day you were teasingly shot at sent shivers down your spine, feelings of pure anxiety and fear coming back in an instant. Rightfully so, they were strong and rivaled the positive ones, trying to outweigh them and take control over your next actions. The man was still someone who dared pull the trigger on you, dared taking that type of unpredictable risk.  

If he dared pull it again, you dared slit his flawless, soft skin. But embarrassingly enough, you’d never have enough strength to be the first one, no matter how impulse-driven. Harming him definitely was your last wish. The thought of it even being a possibility made your eyes water, tears welling up and falling like never before, straining your soft cheeks.

Juyeon’s heart ached as well. Sadly, it opposed two separate and strong thunders. The first one hit hard, touching the intimate topic of his feelings towards you. It wasn’t a secret that you’ve changed him as well. In a word of gloom, blood and violence, you made everything disappear and instead of war, brought peace to his mind. Most of the time, it was enough for Juyeon to know that you were there, and every worry would fade away. The mutual understanding was then something he grew accustomed to and happy for. The male didn’t feel like he didn’t deserve attention anymore.

But what hit even harder was the fact that Juyeon was aware of your current thought process, and the guilt once again ate him away, bite by bite.

Carefully, the grip on your hair was released, gloved hand reaching up, thumb wiping a falling tear. Rough material nearly scraped your skin, a frown appearing on the other’s face almost immediately. Juyeon bit down on the glove, taking it off before placing his hand back on your warm cheek. The act made your eyes water even more, lips trembling and throat constricting to stop loud whimpers from escaping.

Still, the weapons didn’t move.

“Juyeon” You suddenly whined, finally finding strength to say his name. Lightheadedness was slowly overtaking your whole body, vision blurring fast. The pain in your leg although still present was long forgotten. Every letter carried huge weight, every taken breath felt like the last and you wondered if taking that bullet hurt any less. Unconsciously, your hand began shaking, resulting in the thin blade moving against the man’s delicate skin. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but Juyeon visibly and audibly gulped under the metal.

“They... they set us up to kill each other, Juyeon” The realization hurt like a sudden kick to the gut. It was supposed to happen sooner or later. All suspicions you weren’t willing to think about came out to be true and the terror spread through your body in a strong wave. Everything made sense – why those men weren’t willing to introduce themselves, why refusal wasn't an option and why no proper explanation was given to you. They were aware that if you knew even one of those things, you wouldn’t have dared to show up in the first place.

Or would you? Would they be able to push just the right buttons and play with your mind as they were right now?

You were set to break apart.

Do it. Don’t do it. Do. Don’t. Past and present were clashing together, habits and new found emotions. For the first time in a while, you felt somewhat disgusted with your job. Yet, the wheels were turning, reminding that you’ve been doing this for years and now was no time to give up under the pressure. It was so, so easy to end this all, much like hundred times before. Swallow down the hard feeling and contractions of your heart, cut through like you’re used to. Emotions were just an accident, an error in the system of a machine.

All this time though, Juyeon’s hand remained on your cheek, and only now was it only noticeable that he wasn’t holding you in place. The muzzle of the gun wasn’t as strong on your jaw as it was before. Juyeon wasn’t going to actively fight or harm you either, that much was clear. This had to end somehow, and the male was about to use his last possible chance.

“Look at me” The voice he said it with was soft, but underlined with a certain type of authority. For whatever reason, as if under a spell, your eyelids opened, irises immediately locking on his.

And then it all crashed down.

All the doubts and hesitation were immediately gone. Your hand moved, putting pressure on the weapon for just a quick moment before letting go completely. Heavy blade fell onto the ground with a loud and high-pitched noise, one that echoed throughout the whole building. The invisible wall was no more.

At the same time, Juyeon released the gun, hefty metal hitting concrete with just as loud of a thud. When the pressure disappeared and the current situation processed properly, your body went numb. Legs giving out, you almost collapsed on the ground. Luckily, Juyeon managed to catch you just in time. The male lowered the smaller body onto the ground, holding it carefully.

Your head hung low; eyes wandering all around the room, but not focusing on one spot. This was the first mission you’ve ever failed and the fear of possible consequences was scary.

Juyeon’s hands enveloped your face, just holding it firmly. Neither had an obvious cheerful expression, but there was a lack of certain something that made both seem more at ease. He caressed the soft skin, examining your face that was blank of any emotion. It was the moment of complete calm.

Upon focusing on the man, you noticed a clear red line just underneath his Adam’s apple. Instinctively, you reached out, running a smooth finger over it and listening to Juyeon’s strained hiss. A new wave of tears welled up in your eyes, yet the other was quick to wipe it away.

“Can you listen to me?” He questioned, with a gaze that suddenly turned more serious, albeit none the less caring. The breathing rhythm was slow and deep, almost as if he was trying to calm down in the fastest way possible. With a slight nod, you replied, hoping to keep enough consciousness to listen until the end.

“Let’s escape this hell” You would’ve definitely reacted greatly to the proposition, if it weren’t for the lack of energy in your body. Instead, the reply was a simple, perplexed look, a result of not quite processing what was talked about.

“Escape, disappear, perish, they’ll never know. They’ll never find us because... because they’ll think we’re dead. Isn’t that what they wanted? To wipe us off the list?” The tone Juyeon used was a hopeful one, as if the man already had everything planned and was ready to go right this second. And maybe, just maybe, that was the case.

“We’ll move countries and get new identities – I have a couple of friends that could and will help us with that. We’ll start a new life away from... away from all of this, because we can’t stay” Gradually, his words became more rushed, too many thoughts and too little time to wrap them up. “We can’t go back. They’ll kill us themselves, you know that, right?”

Juyeon was right. In the planned scenario, one of you was supposed to die today, while the other would’ve been finished off upon reporting the case. You’ve thought about it many times, making up scenarios and trying to find a way to get out of them. No one has ever trained you in that field or shown any ways of dealing with it, and there was an exact, fucked-up reason for it.

“Or we could just...” His eyes wandered off to the two weapons lying on the ground, tears welling up fast. There’s no way that was the only other option, yet...

For a moment, you glanced at the objects as well, not out of interest, but pure disgust. Just a mere thought of what could happen made your stomach twirl and heart hurt. Turning around to look at the other, you noticed a teardrop that made it down his jaw. Wiping it off gently, you smiled, speaking in a low and calm whisper.

“No... no. Let’s... let’s go. Let’s disappear together, wherever that takes us, Juyeon” The mind finally accepted the sudden feelings that were no longer confined and hidden. The imaginary, but nonetheless strong, cage and restrictions were no more. You finally felt proper euphoria of freedom.

Speechless, but immensely happy, that’s what Juyeon was in that exact moment. His chest abruptly wasn’t enough space for the organ that beat at an incredible pace, with new-found strength. Tightening his hold, the male pulled you towards his chest, into a first, proper hug. Your hands sneaked around his body, trying to squeeze as hard as possible and relish the beautiful moment. In such an intimate position, it was possible to feel that exact excited heartbeat of the male.

After a long period of comfortable silence, you quietly spoke into his chest, “Please piggyback me... wherever... I don’t think I can walk”  

“Oh my god, you’re hurt?!” Juyeon noted in an alarming tone, eyes immediately scanning your body and finally noticing a streak of red liquid on the concrete underneath your leg. He loudly cursed at himself for not seeing it earlier, hand reaching down to press on the wound. Although not fresh, it still gushed out more blood, earning another hiss from you.

“Yeah, no shit mister... fuck be careful! I wouldn’t go all baby... and soft on you if I... I didn’t feel like fainting. You were lucky today” You bit back jokingly, trying to keep the light atmosphere that was slowly coming down its high. Juyeon’s head shook at that, a quiet ‘you’re not in position to speak like that’ passing through his barely parted lips. A pair of hands worked fast on tying a thin jacket around your calf to stop further bleeding.  

“How?” He asked, confused but curious at the same time.

“I’d rather not talk about it” Your head turned away from the other, irises locking onto one of many holes on the wall. The male chuckled at that, checking the knot before standing up with knees half bent. He helped you stand up and climb up on his back, strong arms instantly gripping the back of your thighs.

“Bet you hurt yourself, clumsy”

“Yeah, bet”  

With a loud, content sigh, your head lowered onto Juyeon’s back, eyes closing as you finally drifted off to sleep. There, on the closed, but broad battlefield, the two warriors accepted their faith. They made up their minds for a different future, something neither were sure how to approach, but were more than ready to experience together. A future that didn’t revolve around blood, murder and secrecy, one that would allow both to heal and live their lives breathing properly.

Quatervois, a heavy change no one expected. A decision made fast, but a result of long, aimless thought and experience. And some may say this was deemed to happen sooner or later, but was it? If things were just slightly different...  

Guess we would never know.

AN: well... here it is? truthfully speaking, i’m very satisfied with this work, and i love every piece of it, but it has been giving me so much stress oh my god... writing has taken me so much time because i tried so hard to make it perfect and i really hope reading almost 22k of this was worth it, and that you’ve enjoyed it. at some parts, i’ve maybe focused on the main female character too much, but i think that to understand her character, it’s important to have an in-depth point of view. i’d really appreciate it (to the moon and back) if you guys could leave feedback for this one. thank you so so so much for reading, have a good day <3

[calacuspr]

Calacus Weekly Hit & Miss – Simone Biles & Rassie Erasmus

Every Monday we look at the best and worst communicators in the sports world from the previous week.

HIT – SIMONE BILES

Simone Biles has been the superstar of gymnastics - if not female sport - since she burst into global consciousness by winning four gold medals at the Rio 2016 Olympic Games.

With 19 world championship gold medals as well to her name at the tender age of 24, expectations were high at Tokyo 2020.

Not content with leading the world in gymnastics, Biles showed remarkable strength from one so young by putting her mental health ahead of the attention and anticipation of her performances at this year’s Olympic Games.

After pulling out of the women's gymnastics team final. Biles explained: “I have to focus on my mental health. I just think mental health is more prevalent in sports right now.

"We have to protect our minds and our bodies and not just go out and do what the world wants us to do.

"I don't trust myself as much anymore. Maybe it's getting older. There were a couple of days when everybody tweets you and you feel the weight of the world.

"We're not just athletes. We're people at the end of the day and sometimes you just have to step back.”

The Olympic Games may be one of the biggest stages in world sport, but Biles showed remarkable poise to withdraw given her unofficial role as the symbol of Team USA.

It is further proof, if proof were needed, that sports stars now feel empowered to stand up, not only for social justice but also for themselves, as we saw with Naomi Osaka withdrawing from the French Open in much the same way earlier this year.

Michael Phelps, himself an Olympic phenomenon, defended Biles after previously revealing his own struggles with depression. He said: “This is an opportunity for all of us to really learn more about mental health, to all help each other out.

"For me, I want people to be able to have somebody that can support them, who’s non-judgmental and who’s willing to hold space. There’s a lot that we can do to help one another and we have to start. We can’t brush it under the rug anymore.”

Biles, remember, has spoken out about the sexual abuse she and many others faced at the hands of the former U.S.A. Gymnastics doctor Lawrence G. Nassar and the devastating effect it has had on her life.

She has also spoken out about racism, which she has encountered in life and in gymnastics competition; She said: “It happens every day, and I feel like every Black athlete or colored athlete can say that they've experienced it through their career.”

Biles has had to watch as her brother Tevin Biles-Thomas was accused and then recently acquitted of 15 charges including murder related to an incident three years ago.

The gymnast later withdrew from the final individual all-round competition, with USA Gymnastics stating: “We wholeheartedly support Simone’s decision and applaud her bravery in prioritizing her well-being. Her courage shows, yet again, why she is a role model for so many.”

There have been accusations that she let down her team by walking away, that she displayed an appetite for ‘losing, quitting and failure’ rather than seeing the bigger picture of fighting through adversity.

American conservative activist Charlie Kirk was also quick to criticise, saying: "We are raising a generation of weak people like Simone Biles. If she's got all these mental health problems: don't show up."

“She's probably the greatest gymnast of all time. She's also very selfish, she's immature and she's a shame to the country."

Those opinions were echoed by other right-wing activists and yet US newspapers such as USA Today called Biles’ decision “important” and a “powerful message.”

The New York Times lauded the 24-year-old for putting her “mental health first and the expectations of others, at best, second” and after Biles spoke about the mental exhaustion endemic to being the best, the Washington Post asked, “What are we doing, breaking our athletes?”

Mental health organisations such as The Rethink Mental Illness charity praised Biles and said: “Everyone needs to prioritise their mental health, even the best athletes in the world.

“Simone Biles’s decision to withdraw from an Olympics final will not have been taken lightly, and it’s great to see the support she received from her teammates.”

Mind also congratulated Biles on her bravery and posted on Twitter: “Working in elite sports like gymnastics comes with unimaginably high levels of pressure, perfectionism, scrutiny, and comparison. Simone Biles is incredibly brave for speaking out, and highlighting the importance of looking after your mental heath.

“Simone is a role model for women and girls everywhere. She deserves our applause, respect, appreciation – and above all our support right now.”

MISS – RASSIE ERASMUS

Rugby union prides itself on respect and one of the most fundamental aspects of game is based on how referees are treated.

It’s common law within the sport that players and coaches accept refereeing judgments without abusive disagreement but in recent times, the game has been caught up in controversy due to reactions over refereeing decisions.

During the 2021 British and Irish Lions and South Africa test series, South Africa head coach Rassie Erasmus has taken the disrespect of officials to a whole new level, as he openly criticised the officiating of the first test match between the two sides.

In an hour-long video, Erasmus let out his fury towards Australian referee Nick Berry in which he analysed 26 clips from the game of incidents which he believed were blatant mistakes.

In the video, he said: "It's comical the respect the [officials] showed towards the South African players compared to the Lions players.

"Let the Springboks and the Lions have an equal chance on the field when it comes to laws, respect, the way players are treated, what is said in the coaches' pre-match meeting with the referees, how they give feedback post-match and how things are said in the media.

"When Siya [Kolisi] spoke to the referee and when Alun Wyn [Jones] spoke to the referee, I just felt the reactions on how they treated both those players, there was a vast difference between who he was taking serious and who he wasn't taking serious."

Erasmus ends the video by saying that he recorded the video “in my personal capacity, and not as part of the Springboks”, even offering to quit his position for the remainder of the series.

But when you’re the head coach of the world champions in any sport, let alone rugby union, recording a video criticising a referee is entirely inappropriate.

Despite his claims that neither Nick Berry nor World Rugby provided feedback on the officiating during the first test, Erasmus raised his complaints in a totally unprofessional manner.

In response to the video, Rugby Australia defended Nick Berry and deemed the comments from Erasmus as "unacceptable", while World Rugby reacted by saying they would be taking up the matter with the South African Rugby Union.

Erasmus has never been afraid to speak out, but his comments towards referees has cast a shadow over the already disrupted Lions Tour in South Africa.

In the week running up to the first test, Erasmus refused to disassociate himself from a burner Twitter account named “Jaco Johan”, which carries video clips of controversial refereeing incidents for the previous games of the tour.

“When something makes sense to me I like to retweet it,” Erasmus said. “If you do analyse the things that he is supposed to see, then you are actually spot on with the integrity of the game.”

It’s also not the first time that the Springbok head coach has been caught up in controversy regarding the officiating in rugby.

Back in 2019, the then New Zealand head coach Steve Hansen accused Erasmus of trying to pressure referees into preferential treatment towards his team, after the South Africa boss suggested that the All Blacks had for years received soft officiating during matches.

Debate surrounding refereeing decisions has been a constant theme of the Lions series, with the tourists also raising concerns regarding the appointment of a South African television match official in the first game.

With South Africa going on to claim victory in the second Test, Erasmus could claim that his mind games paid off, especially considering several decisions went the Springboks' way.

Regardless, raising concerns about refereeing in rugby should be done in a respectful manner and in that regard, Erasmus missed the mark completely during the 2021 Lions tour.

[tipsycad147]

FULL STURGEON MOON – AUGUST,– PREPARING FOR CHANGE

The Full Sturgeon Moon observed each August gets it’s name from Native American tradition.  In the areas surrounding the North American Great Lakes, native tribes would prepare for winter by catching and drying sturgeon, which were abundant and easy to catch in August.

What You’ll Need For This Ritual

Quarter Candles (yellow, red, blue, green) Anthame Large White Goddess Candle – I prefer a three wick candle to symbolize the triple Goddess Paper and pencils

Throughout this ritual, any text surrounded by these symbols < > should be considered instructional and not spoken aloud but done in accordance with the directions

Full Sturgeon Moon Ritual Begins

I cast this circle round and round from earth to sky, from sky to ground. I conjure now this sacred space, outside of time, outside of place.  The circle has been cast, we are between the worlds.

Calling the Quarters

East From the East we hail and summon the mighty AIR spirits – come join us in this sacred ritual under the light of the full moon.  We seek your guidance and knowledge in all things related to movement, communication, and freshness.  Aid us in visualization of our future selves so that we may achieve our destinies.  <light yellow candle>

South From the South we hail and summon the mighty FIRE spirits – present yourselves within this circle and all the spaces surrounding it.  As the bringer of  both destruction and creation, you hold sway over those who walk among us.  Teach us to harness your unbridled energies but also to see the beautiful transformation in nature after the flames have passed. <light red candle>

West From the west we hail and summon the mighty WATER spirits – surround us in your glorious cleansing and wash away all that we carry into this ritual.  We know that without water, life does not exist, but also that an overabundance can wash away centuries of work in a moment.  Help us to find the happy medium that will balance our lives and our existence.  <light blue candle>

North Finally, to the north we call out the mighty EARTH spirits – come gather among the living and share the secrets of the elements, the soils, the trees, and the herbs.  Teach us to respect all things that you’ve provided and to conserve for the generations that follow. <light green candle>

Great Goddess, mother of all of us; hold us in your loving arms and help us to help ourselves and our own inner courage.  Lend us your strength, your wisdom, and your sound decision-making, as we walk along our chosen pathways. So mote it be <light Goddess candle>

Introduction

The Full Sturgeon Moon name comes from the Algonquin tribes that surrounded the North American Great Lakes. Other tribes referred to this full moon by different names; the Green Corn Moon, Fruit Moon, Barley Moon, Grain Moon, and the Red Moon.  Most of the names are directly tied to crops that would be harvested in different areas around the country.  The latter name, Red Moon is due to the fact that the moon rising in August always seems to have a reddish cast to it.   The Ojibwe called the August full moon the Blueberry Moon, while the Dakota Sioux knew it as The Moon When All Things Ripen.

Full Moon Musical Interlude

This month’s selection is called the Pagan Moon Goddess Song – it’s hauntingly beautiful and will certainly put you in a sacred moon trance.

Original Artwork by Sara Stevenson (June, 2012)

Preparing For Change

We celebrate each full moon with a ritual cleansing and a lesson on how we can improve our lives or learn some wisdom from nature.  The full sturgeon moon of August gives us a unique opportunity to discuss the topic of change.  We can see change happening all around us this month.  The heat of the summer is finally starting to wane, the fields are ripe and full of miracles of nature.  Fresh squash, berries, flowers, and herbs are plentiful and the green tops on our root vegetables and vines are gathering size in the sunlight.  Our children are enjoying the last few precious weeks of vacation before the abrupt change of the morning school bell and the nightly schoolwork.  We are looking in our closets for longer sleeves and jackets in the evening and planning for the coming cold ahead.  We experience these mundane changes with little to no fanfare as if they’ve become a comfortable routine.

Yet, with all the physical changes that we are surrounded by, many of us forget that this is a time of spiritual change as well.  Our bodies have been running at top speed for most of the summer; vacations, trips to the pool, hiking, and of course wild crafting our favorite herbs and roots.  During that period, many of us have slacked off on our spiritual growth – it’s a natural occurrence since there are only so many hours in the day.  Yet, after many months of putting things on the back burner, our spiritual plates are either filled with excess information or nearly empty.  Once we start to finally slow down, we come to the realization that something’s amiss and needs immediate attention; thus starts the beginning of a huge change cycle.

The point of realization is also the point of a potential problem, if we aren’t prepared.  Too much information leads to nothing getting accomplished usually; we feel overwhelmed and passive.  Too little leaves us feeling directionless and easily led astray.  But, if we’ve properly prepared for this change, then it’s business as usual.  Ironically, just speaking about it is the first step in the preparation; becoming aware in advance that it’s coming gives us time to schedule, budget our time, and plan time for spiritual healing.  Often we need to play “catch up” or often “pick up” from where we left off in the spring.

There are many methods to get back in the swing of things.  Some people keep a personal journal of their personal growth while others go a step further and write down a step by step plan.  Some use the cycle of the moon to measure growth in conjunction with their own spiritual cleansing.  Regardless of what method you choose, remember that this is a marathon and not a sprint.  If you are feeling overwhelmed with an overfilled plate, take time to organize, categorize, and prioritize.  I’ll repeat those three key things, because they need to be put to memory.  Organize, categorize, and prioritize; organize your life so that you have time to address things; categorize them into groups that pertain to the same topic or a group of topics, and finally prioritize them.  What is most important?  Which ones are “low hanging fruit” that can be dealt with quickly and free up time to focus on other things?  Do you need help with some of them?  By asking yourself questions, you can order things in a way that doesn’t seem overwhelming and actually make progress.

Another important thing to consider when you are processing a lot of information – it might sound like a good idea to just say you’re planning to get rid of everything and move on, but that will only leave lingering thoughts that may stick with you for a long time.  Remember that cleansing and clearing go hand in hand – it’s not worth cleansing something if you can’t permanently clear it from your spirit.  True healing and growth will only come if you release the negative fully and completely and refuse to give it any energy, ever again.

Cleansing and Clearing

As we do on each full moon, we gather together to release negativity; to burn that which needs burning, and ultimately to reduce mental clutter.   We also search for things to refill that empty space – this is where understanding becomes so important.  It’s not difficult to identify the things dragging us down; we may not show it on the surface, but deep down each of us knows exactly what is the root cause of our troubles.  Unfortunately we don’t always do corrective action.  We often opt for the easy routes in life, sometimes accepting or settling when we could instead be growing and languishing in a life which meets out spiritual and emotional needs.  It all comes down to understanding, making choices, and refusing to compromise our core needs, for any reason.

So tonight, before we commence in our monthly cleansing through burning session, take time to think about our lesson on change.  Are you prepared to sift through everything and weed your personal garden?  Will you follow through and rid yourselves of anything that has no value?  Also, think about how you can harness the positive energies coming from your harvests and late summer activities.  Look for ways to keep that magick alive in your life during the hard months of winter.  Bring some of the outside into your home so you’ll have a constant reminder of where your life is grounded.  Look for ways to excel rather than just settle.  Seek out those energies and store them inside your spirit, so that you don’t regress when things are dark.

<Offer participants pen & paper to write down anything they wish to permanently banish from their lives>

Approach the fire and burn away that which no longer serves you !

<once everyone is finished, take a few moments to meditate in silence>

Cleaning and releasing is only half of the job.  Do not allow negative energy to refill the spaces you’ve created.  Trade the bad for something better; something enlightening and pure.  Leave here with a smile on your face, the understanding that there is more to life than just existing, and that change is always part of our lives, but also that you’ve got this!  Change won’t stop you from growing.  Stop sitting on the sidelines and engage with the things that take existence to living.  Blessed Be!

Closing the Full Sturgeon Moon Circle

Spirits of Earth, guardians of the crops and the fields, we thank you for your presence in our circle tonight and for all that you provide us.  As we watch the change from season to season, we shall again call upon your guidance to maintain our grounding and focus. <extinguish green candle>

Spirits of Water, cleansing, sustaining, and flowing, we offer our praises for your never-ending refreshment and thirst-quenching magick.  We know our lives will rise and fall, just as the ocean tides do, but will trust in your strength to keep us from sinking.  <extinguish blue candle>

Spirits of Fire, source of all passion, heat, and warmth, we are humbled by your collective energies gathered in this circle tonight.  We sought to understand your many faces, so that we may work harmoniously with you throughout the changing seasons. <extinguish red candle>

Spirits of Air, where wisdom resides, and motion is never ceasing – we thank you for reminding us that change is inevitable but nothing is impossible unless we surrender our ambitions and choose to fail <extinguish yellow candle>

Beloved Goddess, Mother of all living things, we thank you for your comfort in times of sorrow; your compassion in times of weakness, and your never-ending wellspring of spiritual love for each one of us <extinguish Goddess candle>

This Full Sturgeon Moon circle is open but never broken!

By  Thegypsy

https://www.thegypsythread.org/full-sturgeon-moon-2019/

[swanning-around]

Possibly the best thing written on current UK politics, from Rex Varro, British Intelligence magazine - www.british-intelligence.co.uk

PRESSGANGED : BORIS JOHNSON AND THE BRITISH MEDIA

REX VARRO

1st September

​

It seems that people on the Right in Britain are broadly split into two camps: those who say Boris Johnson is a bullshitting waste of space, and those who think the prime minister will come good if we can just get past coronavirus.

I can see both sides of this. Yes, coronavirus dropped from a clear sky onto a government fondling an 80-seat majority and a country collectively sighing with relief at having avoided a Labour Party captured by communism and also having voted in a prime minister who promised an end to Tory lies about Brexit. Just like the moments in movies when someone asks what could possibly go wrong now, everything went pear-shaped very quickly.

Readers of British Intelligence being clever and well informed sorts, I do not need to recapitulate the sorry story of the past six months. True, Johnson became very ill – and some say he has yet to fully recover – but his absence made it all the more clear that the cabinet is like a giant rock band with a great front man: once he goes it is fatally reduced. I know that people pay good money to see Queen and The Blockheads, but as far as I am concerned, without Freddie and Ian it is a complete waste of time. True, you still have Priti Patel on bass as it were but it’s not enough.

Then there is the media’s obsessive hatred of Johnson. Back in the Eighties when I held left-wing views about society I often heard people moaning about Tory control of the media. It is hard to credit how strong and aggressive newspapers were in those days, yet even then I was sceptical about the supposed control papers such as the Sun held over public thought. The public’s innate conservativism was reflected by newspapers, not the other way round. It is typical that the Left got this arse about face, and still does. I still have Labour-supporting friends who rant about ‘Tory hate comics’, imagining that dying publications such as the Sun, the Daily Express and the Daily Telegraph are all that stands between them and a socialist Britain.

In any case, the ‘serious’ media, including many ‘broadsheets’, the BBC, Sky News, Channel 4 and ITV news, is now largely controlled by what is best described as a Blairite worldview. This means they hate Johnson. That they cannot see him as one of their own is indicative of how ignorant, unimaginative and saturated in received wisdom these institutions are. For Johnson is very close to the kind of politician they want: a social liberal, a can-kicker on debt, a wildly enthusiastic burner of public money and very much pro mass immigration. What, as they would say, is not to like?

Well, what they don’t like is that he’s posh – though that is OK if you are in the Labour Party –  went to Eton and above all has at times described women and certain minorities in jocular and pejorative terms. Yes, in his journalism he deployed a sub-Wodehousian style which while threadbare is not, to any sane grown-up, an indication of fascism.

The man deployed levity! He joked. He mentioned piccaninnies, bumboys and made mild fun of burkas. This is the most serious heresy for the media left. They know perfectly well that what Orwell said is true: every joke is a tiny revolution. The Left’s power increasingly resides in the controlling and policing of social attitudes. Real jokes, jokes that reflected events and behaviour in the world, were effectively banned a long time ago in the comedy revolutions of the Eighties and Nineties. The Left rejoices in snide sarcasm and social satire aimed at white people but jokes that kick against the fortress of identity politics can never be tolerated or forgotten, because if political correctness falls then the whole leftist project falls with it. Johnson’s crime is that he has never taken it seriously enough. That and also having the cheek to say he would stand by the result of the Brexit referendum.

Compare Johnson with the ultimate cuckservative Theresa May, with her capitulation to the Left on identity politics, policing and, don’t forget, her Frida Kahlo bracelet. What an easy ride she got from television news reporters (the most aggressively Blairite operators in the media)! She bought in to all their wrong ideas, accepted their premises and above all was committed to emasculating Brexit in broad daylight while promising the electorate that she was doing the opposite – a good old fashioned member of the political class in other words. If the media elite was not so fanatical and lost in a hammock-spin of fury over Brexit and Trump etc, it would realise that Johnson is not so far from May as his grassroots fans think: he has the primary Tory vice of seeking to work round issues caused by left-wing mischief making and wrongheadedness  rather than openly confronting and fighting them. Much of this will be due to entrenched public relations micromanagement inside Number Ten. Nevertheless, if Boris was the kind of freebooting maverick he is often sold as then he would have gone off-piste long ago. He hasn’t. The Conservative Party believes that it is easier and more electorally advantageous to ride the tiger of cultural Marxism rather than fight it, despite it being obvious that making war on PC is a vote-winner and, in the long game, the only way liberty, free trade and the rule of law – in short the centre right’s vision of society – will survive.

It must be recognised that revolution is being propagated in the West but Johnson is yet to show he is taking a different line to the Cameron/May governments. Cameron, a weapons-grade bullshitter, made speeches about social justice as did Theresa May, who in 2017 even instituted the pure socialism of a ‘race audit’ to tackle ‘burning injustices’. Johnson has been more practical with his talk of levelling up, but now Covid-19 has offered the Left the chance of perhaps its biggest power grab since 1945. It doesn’t want the crisis to end, at least not until it has seen society permanently changed, essentially a vast expansion of state power, state spending and interference in private life along with a new drive towards supranational relations to militate against the Brexit revolt. Worryingly, this is the agenda for the global elites. See what the World Economic Forum is doing with its ‘Great Reset’ initiative. Johnson fans often ask me how this can be achieved if there is no Labour government in Britain. Even asking the question reveals naivety: media campaigns, a left-leaning civil service, PR, forums, think-tanks, green papers and the like are the methods employed to chivvy ministers along, rather as a sheepdog herds its charges into an enclosure.

This all means that Johnson’s in-tray is massive and ominously fateful. This is not a time for standard soaking wet Tory tactics: fudging, ‘British compromise’ and managed decline. If this government gets the Covid fallout wrong the consequences will be far reaching.

What should Johnson do? Until it gets the sort of echt centre-left leader it craves, the media likes to present Britain as a pandemonium of dissent and protest. It is true that the revolutionary urge is growing, but race and environmental activists are comparatively small in number yet Johnson’s media handlers evidently live in fear of them or rather in fear of the media’s constant propaganda in their favour. Johnson should get all this in perspective and realise that the ‘silent majority’ does not want to live in the future the Left are dragging us all to. Therefore he is a lot safer than he thinks he is. In any case he is years from a general election so can afford to take gambles, be radical and forthright across the fields of education, law and order, sexual politics and international relations.

The lingering popularity of Margaret Thatcher, which was quite out of proportion to her actual achievements in office, was based on her straight talking and unqualified patriotism. Every prime minister since her time in office has more or less spoken with a forked tongue, aided and abetted by the media. Most reasonable intelligent ordinary people over the age of about 40 know the public have been lied to for years across a range of issues, the biggest one being immigration. Johnson must break the mould and set a precedent. Otherwise, and rather sooner than you think, this country will be truly ungovernable.

Rex Varro is a national newspaper journalist

Online Magazine of Ideas | British Intelligence | The Life of the Mind | Politics and Arts

©2019 by British Intelligence. Proudly created with Wix.com

[jennifersylvesters]

not so subtle - part ten

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x reader Word Count: 4.3k~ Warning: swearing A/N: welp, it’s here. we in the endgame double digits now folks. just as a heads up, “not so subtle” will be taking a semi-hiatus. basically this means i'm putting it on the back burner due a couple reasons. one: i’d really like to complete “ring ring” or “how to trick someone into loving you” because they have less parts. two: i was looking over my original outline and it’s not as strong of a conclusion as i wanted it to be. with that said, hope you enjoy this part. it’d be cool if y’all gave feedback, but no pressure

Now that you were aware of your feelings for Harrison, things sucked.

You desperately wanted to avoid him, but it wasn’t like those times that you ignored him due to your fervent hatred. In fact now it was the total opposite. You couldn’t look at him for more than a couple seconds before turning into a flustered mess. Who is this bitch, and why is she acting like a pining, lovesick idiot? It was disgusting how head over heels you were.

If you weren’t looking at Harrison, you were thinking about him. Your mind became consumed with images of the boy - the way he laughed, the way his nose crinkled, those flecks of deeper blue in his eyes that only shone when the light hit just right. Even the way he stretched showing just a slight bit of skin had a hold on you. Stupid brain.

You kept trying to reason with yourself, pointing out all his flaws. Yet for every flaw you were reminded of the softer, caring side he displayed only towards you. God, you were such a goner.

Yet you knew Harrison didn’t feel the same way. And why should he? You gave him time and time again reasons not to date you. Meanwhile there were other more glamorous girls that he could surround himself with. Remembering that made things suck more. All you wanted was for him to feel the same way. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently. Ha ha ha. You truly played yourself.

Just suppress your feelings. That’s what you reminded yourself daily. You could totally play it cool and casual like he wasn’t destined to break your heart. Just avoid social media. And going out. And him in general. It wasn’t that difficult.

Except it absolutely fucking was. After Valentine’s Day, Harrison visited your campus frequently. He claimed he was bored and the campus offered good research material for any college roles.

You could put on your best scowl and tell him to leave you alone but he paid no mind. The nature of your relationship had become lighthearted without you even realizing. No matter the threats you threw his way, he simply shook them off.

Whenever you studied, Harrison sat next to you in the library or cafe. While you flipped through notes and textbooks, he played on his phone or read through scripts.”Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you snarked, hoping your aggressive nature would prompt him to leave.

“Nowhere I’d rather be than here” he hummed. You thanked whatever higher being was out there that Harrison never glanced up to see your beet red face.

His bolder, familiar moments had you sweating bullets. Sometimes he hovered over your shoulder, his breath fanning your neck as he asked what you were working on. Other times he doodled in the margins of your notes while you were still writing.

“Osterfield, what are you doing?” you’d ask nervously seeing how dangerously close his hand was to yours.

He’d hum in response, engrossed in his drawing. “Just doodling” he would answer as your heart pounded out of your chest when his hands finally bumped yours.

“Is this alright?” Was it alright that he got you hot and bothered with a simple touch? Absolutely not. Was it alright for him to be drawing? Also not really. The whole point of writing notes was to focus on important details. Now all you did was goofily smile at the drawings on the sides of the pages.

But as soon as he looked up at you, all you could do was nod. One nod and his beautiful smile would come out; it took all your effort not to fall apart. You both longed for yet hated these moments. He had you wrapped around his finger, and the two of you weren’t even remotely close to dating.

There were flickers of potential where you thought he might see you differently, that he might actually like you. It was the way he brought snacks to share, always bringing your favorite treats and letting pick out your favorite flavors. They were the times he grabbed your bag when it was heavy, hoisting over his shoulder and walking you back home without complaint. Well, mild complaints. It was Harrison after all. Then there were those moments where he bumped shoulders with you only to gently tap his fingers on your arm. Three light taps as if to say “sorry about that”. It was a secret language that only you two shared.

Yet this was Harrison.Every time you felt so much of an inch of possibly being together, your hopes were instantly dashed. You wanted to have this blindly optimistic faith that he was falling for you like you fell for him. But wearing rose-colored glasses wasn’t something you could easily do when you saw the way he was around other girls.

Whenever you studied, you noticed girls slipping him their number and flirtatiously waving. He would flash them a grin and pocket their numbers with ease. His casual nature about these flirtations made you unsure if he could ever commit to a single person. Could he commit to you? Better yet, would he commit to you?

You told yourself you didn’t even deserve to be jealous. It’s not like you were dating him much less putting yourself out there. Even so, it stung to see girls fawning over him in your presence.

You tried to put distance, thinking if you inched away he would leave you be. Your chair grated against the floor as you shuffled away. Take the hint, Osterfield.

Unfortunately he didn’t understand that social cue. Instead he scooched his chair closer to yours. “Stop being jealous, Lil Skunk” he teased not knowing how his words meant more than he could ever realize.

“I’m not jealous” you hissed trying to focus on your work. A post-it note floated onto your notes reading: “if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably jealous ;)”.

“You’re such an idiot” you laughed quietly tossing the note back at him and he grinned.

“But you probably think it’s attractive, don’t you?” God, how you wished he was wrong.

With midterms approaching you hoped he would let you to study in peace. Of course Osterfield thought it was a better to do the opposite. Even when you insisted for him to leave you alone, there he was right by your side. Sometimes he left snacks or post-its saying “don’t fail, lil skunk” with an ugly drawing of a skunk frowning. It was so adorable you wondered if you should frame it. No, you idiot. Don’t be a creep.  

After all the late night studying and energy drink jitters, you managed to submit your papers on time. The tests were hell, but somehow you pulled through. You let out a tired sigh of relief as you tossed in your last test and headed back home.

Bursting through your apartment door, you saw Kimberly sitting upside down on the couch. She held a carton of strawberry ice cream in her hands while a spoon stuck out of her mouth. You grinned at the sight of your normally put together roommate looking slightly disheveled. Kimberly only got this way when she finished exams.

“I’m done with hell week!” you announced as you bounced down next to her. Pulling the spoon out of her mouth, she scooped up ice cream and held it towards you. Not one to deny yourself a sweet treat, you happily obliged taking the bite.

The two of you lazed around for a bit longer before she nudged you.

“Bar time?” she asked.

You nodded. “Bar time.”

It became a group tradition to celebrate finishing exams by going to your favorite bar. Despite being exhausted, you looked forward to this night knowing some of your friends partied harder than usual. You weren’t even sure why that was, but with how hilarious things got you didn’t question it. Nothing could ever top Sarah’s drunken serenade before she toppled down the stairs at a bar, but perhaps tonight someone else would claim the shame spot.

A couple hours later you headed out with friends towards the bar. No surprise the place was packed when you arrived. A good chunk of the patrons were students, everyone congratulatory drinking after the stress of finals. And why not? No more finals meant no longer worrying about late night cramming and napping in strange locations to get just an ounce of sleep.

Your friends managed to snag a small booth as you all crammed inside before ordering drinks. Everyone was in good spirits discussing their plans for spring break. While everyone excitedly talked about where they were visiting, you kept quiet. You planned on heading to the Bahamas with Emma but knew Tom and Harrison would probably accompany you. The idea of Harrison wandering around shirtless on a constant basis had you overwhelmed just thinking about it. Those abs. Oof.

About an hour later Tom and Emma shuffled through the crowd towards your group. Despite the ruckus, you could hear Emma worrying about her results.

“Babe, I think I failed. Oh, God. What if I failed?” Emma groaned as she gripped Tom’s sleeve.

“Nothing you can do about that now, darling” he shrugged before regretting his words. Your best friend let out a loud wail causing Tom to quickly apologize. “I’m sure you passed with flying colors! You’re so smart, babe!” he encouraged as the rest of you roared with laughter.

With Sarah preoccupied in a conversation, Kimberly nudged you to accompany her to the bar. The place was packed as the two of you pushed through the crowd. “Are you having fun?” your roommate asked as she waited for a bartender to take her order. You shrugged nonchalantly.

While everyone else was getting drunk, you slowly worked on a cranberry vodka. Sure, finals had been stressful but you wanted to relax. Downing shots was not what you had in mind. Surprisingly enough it was comforting being around this hectic noise. Hearing your friends laughing about trivial things felt oddly comforting, but there was only one voice you wanted to really hear.

That’s when you noticed Harrison across the bar. Ever since you realized your feelings, you found it easy to spot him in a crowd. You gravitated towards his presence. A part of you wanted to call out to him and wave him over. Despite his friendliness the past weeks, the idea that he would ignore your gesture worried you. Maybe his friendliness was a long con for playing a prank. Elaborate but not outside the realm of possibility. But the internal struggle vanished when you realized he wasn’t alone.  

Next to Harrison stood a blonde girl clearly interested in the Brit. You swallowed hard watching him smile at her as she gave all the signs of flirting. She leaned in whispering something in his ear. Her hand gently grazed along his arm. The way she bit down on her lip and pushed her chest out made it clear she wasn’t looking to just be friends.But it was her giggling and him breaking into laughter that struck the final blow because whatever she was selling, Harrison was definitely interested in.

It was reality slapping you across the face that you weren’t going to be that girl. You couldn’t simply flutter your lashes. You sure as hell couldn’t press up against him with the intention of expecting something more. How could you act cool around someone who flustered you without even trying? There was no way you could just act like a completely different person. He was Lil Shit and you were Lil Skunk. And that sinking feeling was a reminder that things would never change.

Gripping your drink, you chugged it before slamming it down on the bar. Kimberly watched with surprise as you ordered another. As the glass slid in your direction, you immediately pounded it down. The alcohol heated your stomach as you quickly gulped before making a face.

“Y/N-” Kimberly started as you called the bartender over once more. “Are you-?” You ignored her concern as you ordered a pint of beer. When he asked your preference, you shrugged and told him to take his pick. It didn’t matter anyways. You just wanted something to loosen you up, help forget reality even if only for a couple hours.

Half of your pint glass was drained by the time you finally acknowledged your roommate again. “Y/N, are you okay?” Kimberly asked as she eyed your drink.

“I’m fine” you grunted. “I’m great actually. I’m having fun.” If you said it enough, maybe it would actually become real. That it wouldn’t hurt to glance Harrison’s way. That you wouldn’t let this misery wash over you. That wouldn’t let fate remind you how would never have him. Tears that stung in your eyes wouldn’t slip out. You refused to let them. Absolutely no way you were bawling over Harrison in a bar. You had more class than that.  

You knew that if you wanted to get drunk - plastered even - you needed a certain amount of stealth around her. Kimberly was the voice of reason you wanted to simply flick away and ignore. As much as you loved her, you just wanted to drink to forget the pain. Was that such a crime?

So once you finished your pint, you left it on the bar and joined your friends. It was easy enough to convince them to buy you a couple drinks, using the excuse of you needing one after all those finals.

You found yourself slipping into a haze, sounds becoming slightly louder and certain thoughts sounding funnier than they ever did. Whoomp - there it was: you were certifiably drunk and way above your tolerance levels.

No one seemed to notice, not even Kimberly who was too preoccupied with her girlfriend. As you swayed to the bar’s music along with Emma, you kept telling yourself that you were fine. You were having fun.

“Hey I’m gonna head out.” Your ears perked up at the sound. Did that voice know how much you liked it? You would listen to it recite a takeout menu if given the opportunity.

Turning you saw Harrison clap his hand on Tom’s shoulder. Harrison whispered something into Tom’s ear causing his best friend to glance around before turning a shade of pink. Something inside you flared up. Was he heading off with the blonde girl? Of course he would. He looked cozy with her that you imagined he jumped at the chance to take her home.The assumption that Harrison was leaving with her left you seething.

You weren’t in your right mind as you burst into laughter causing both boys to look in your direction.

“‘Course you are” you slurred out. Harrison gave you a strange look as you blurted your immediate thoughts. “‘Course good ol’ Osterfield is getting laid tonight. Wouldn’t expect anything less!” Holding the cup in Emma’s hand steady, you took a long sip as she laughed at your antics. Both of you howled with laughter unaware of Harrison looking visibly hurt by your words.

“She’s just drunk” Tom tried to justify your actions, helping steady you as you toppled slightly.

“Yeah, drunk as a skunk” you snorted. “Ain’t that fitting for your little nickname for me.” You laughed dryly, knowing there was nothing funny about the moment.

Like a woman possessed, you grabbed Tom’s beer bottle and began chugging it. Tom’s eyes widened and shot a glance over at Harrison who just stared at you. Tom tried taking prying it away but your grip was tight. He could take the damn thing once you finished.

“Y/N, c’mon” Tom groaned. Once you finished, you put it on the table and let out a loud cheer. Emma and the rest of your drunken friends whooped along.

“I’m having fun, Tom. Why don’t you get with the program?” you sneered as you stumbled back, Harrison helping to keep you upright. You heard that voice you love so much murmur your name, urging you to stop but you simply shook your head.

“Go big or go home, bitches!” you roared out as you threw your hands in the air. Another round of cheers rang through the bar again.

For the rest of the night, you became a certified hot mess. You drunkenly sang along with the jukebox, shimmying to whatever tunes blasted through the speakers. You attempted to climb on tables, getting handsy with whoever tried to help you down.

You didn’t even notice how Harrison stuck by your side the rest of the night. Whenever you stumbled, he steadied you from falling over. Any guy that looked even remotely interested in you was shot a nasty glare.

He was practically babysitting you despite Tom’s insistence that he could take care of you and Emma. Harrison roughly shook his head watching you publicly embarrass yourself without a care in the world.

As the bar began closing, he slid his arm around your waist to keep you upright. You whined about wanting to keep the party going. The others tiredly cheered for that idea though the enthusiasm was wavering. If anything, the group just wanted to crash at someone’s place.

“As long as you guys don’t throw up on my floors, you guys can come over” Kimberly suggested earning a couple whoops.

You don’t remember when but you found your eyes getting heavy. You wanted nothing more than to pass out despite your earlier declaration of being able to party till the sun rose.

“‘m tired” you mumbled.

“Almost there, love.” You sighed leaning into his side before sleep washed over you. “I got you.”

The next morning your head pounded causing you to lowly groan. You slowly blinked awake with heavy lidded eyes. What time was it? The clock on your cell phone read ten thirty, and you grimaced at the bright backdrop from the phone.

Stumbling to the bathroom, the feeling that you were about to throw up kicked in. Oh no. You hurried into the bathroom quickly kneeling before vomiting. Gross. Despite the nasty sight of bile floating in the toilet, you felt slightly better.  

Taking a swig of water from the sink, you gargled and spit out the taste of the lingering vomit. It was a heavy reminder of your idiocy from the previous night. You brushed your teeth vigorously and gargled mouthwash hoping you weren’t the hottest mess of the night. Maybe Sarah did something worse than you?

Shuffling back to your room you heard voices arguing in the living room. Your head throbbed and you wondered who the hell was arguing this early. Everyone last night seemed to be on good spirits. Did someone throw up on the floor? Or worse - on another person? That would be a bitch to clean up. Except you realized the voices were two people who rarely argued.

“-would just tell her!” Tom yelled as you neared the living room.

“Just butt out!” Harrison shouted. The floor creaked as you entered the space prompting the conversation to come to a halt. Tom and Harrison glared at one another before Tom finally looked your direction. His face softened slightly, his mouth beginning to part.  

“Fuckin’ leave it alone, Tom” Harrison scowled. Tom swiveled back to him and glared. The mental showdown left you concerned, but you weren’t even sure how to ask what was happening.

Harrison turned away first muttered something under his breath. Jamming on his shoes, he shook his head and left slamming the door on the way out. You couldn’t help but jolt at the brusque action.

“What’s going on?” you asked. Silence. Everyone turned away from your glance besides Kimberly who shot you a helpless smile. Clearly they couldn’t speak about the matter. At least not in front of you.

“He’s...He’s coming back, right? He’s just grabbing something from his car?” Once again you were greeted with silence. Finally Emma looked up and shook her head.

You blinked at her response. Was this your fault again? Had you messed up everything last night to the point where he couldn’t stand your presence? You swallowed thickly at the thought. You hadn’t meant to upset Harrison that much, but you didn’t think that warranted him leaving. If you upset him, shouldn’t he have told you instead of rushing out like that? No, you weren’t going to let him go without an explanation.

Without waiting you slipped on sneakers and rushed after Harrison.

The rain heavily thundered outside and crashed down onto you. You pushed your hair out of your face as you spotted him pacing back and forth on the pavement. He was already soaked but he was too lost in his thoughts. You called out his surname which prompted him to walk away.

“Harrison” you called out, scampering behind the Brit who stormed ahead. “Harrison, wait!”

He turned around looking you dead in the eye.  “You realize this is the first time you’ve said my actual name, right?”  The statement caught you by surprise.

“I-I’ve said your name before” you stammered, but he shook his head.

“No, you’ve always called me by my last name, Y/N. Or Lil Shit.” He smiled at this, like the times you meant to be malicious were nothing more than the use of a tender nickname. “But you’ve never called me by name. Not since we first met. And...those times.”

He didn’t have to finish his thought for you to understand his reference. What happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas, does it? Not when it came to your feelings. Your face heated up at the reminder of what occurred that night. But was he telling the truth?

You tried to recall when you last called him by his first name but none came to mind. It was as if your anger always got the best of you. You relegated him to being only a friend of a friend, nothing more nothing less. You never wanted to grant him that intimacy in your relationship. Not until recently.

Oh.

So he was right. Despite your fiery temper, your actions had always been cold as ice.

“Did it really mean nothing to you?” His question pulled you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

“That night in Vegas. Did it really mean nothing?” Fuck.

Obviously it meant something. You told yourself at the time that it was simply a fling but at what point had you realized you were lying to yourself? You chose Harrison purposely that night. You wouldn’t have kissed him so forcefully if it meant nothing. You wouldn’t have allowed that intimacy between the two of you if it meant nothing.

Because in truth he meant everything to you. All these complicated emotions, all these confusing moments, everything. They meant everything to you, and it was why you panicked that night. Because you were so terrified that it could have meant nothing to him. The idea that he wasn’t all in when you would throw everything on the line scared you. Even now this vulnerability frightened you.

“You’ve never shown commitment to anyone, Osterfield. Why would I be any different?” He cringed when you called him by his surname but fell to pieces with your question.

“You’ve always been different, Y/N! Always!” He sounded so exasperated, desperately wanting you to understand his truth. Harrison turned around shaking his head wishing he could have you understand the gravity of his emotions.

“Then why all the other girls, Osterfield? You can’t just tell me that and then pretend those other girls don’t exist. I saw-”

“Because none of them really exist to me! Not the way you do!”

He turned around, his face straining as he let out a groan.

“W-what-” It was all you could muster, caught off guard by his admission.

“How do you not get it?!” With a pained look he ran his fingers through his damp hair.

“Don’t yell at me!” And there it was again. That spitfire part of you that didn’t know how to reign in your anger. That part of you that was afraid to be serious with him.You knew this temper of yours would ruin everything yet you let it get its way.

“I’m not yelling!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you clearly are!”

“No, I’m- you know what? Just forget it. Forget I said-Just forget it!” he scowled as he began walking away.

A split second later he stopped with his frame shaking. He turned on his heels heading back towards you. Your heart pounded, afraid he finally snapped after dealing with your frustrating attitude for so long.

Taking his last step he was only inches away. As you were about to question him, his mouth crashed onto yours. There was desperation in the kiss, a sort of hunger to it. He cupped your face firmly but tenderly, like he didn’t want to let go but felt how fragile you were. And you almost forgot how to breathe.

Harrison gently pulled away, hands still on your face. He studied your expression, trying to get a read on you. “Harrison-” you murmured and his eyes gently shut.

Despite the cold rain pouring down on the two of you, he looked enveloped in warmth just hearing you call his name. “I like hearing that the best” he whispered.

Shakily, you brought a hand up to touch his face. He leaned into your palm, comforted by your touch. He opened his eyes and smiled tiredly at you. Harrison dropped his hands from your face, taking your hand from his own cheek. His lips brushed gently across each finger, causing you to shiver.

“I’m always thankful for you. I don’t know why you don’t get it. You’re so goddamn special. You’re on a different wavelength than anyone else, Y/N.” And with that, he let go of your hand and headed off.

tags list: @sleepybesson, @sophiatomlinson23, @supernatural-girl97, @tomhaz | @almostrosadiazz, @alt-ernativewonderland, @blackstarryroses, @bringmethehorizonandpizza, @butithasntkilledyouyet, @chims-kookies, @choke-me-sweet-pea, @deleteidentity, @divosterfields, @highladyjel, @hollandhearts, @jessiq31, @kateelyse96-blog, @kayla-m1996, @lovelytrashure, @mylifesucksbuthereiam, @otheenglishsetters, @sadnoelle, @sarcasticvodka, @sleepwalkingdragon, @soccerstud004, @spider-mendes, @thefallenbibliophilequote, @wolvesofthewinter

[noccalula-writes]

I wrote a long-ass essay about the entire experience with my father, as it was happening, because that’s how I cope with shit. 

CW: parental death, discussions of abuse, medical situations, dying. 

(7/4/2019)

It’s Thursday. The hospice nurses don’t think he’ll die tonight and I don’t either, but his breathing pattern is beginning to change. The rattling of the gathering fluids at the back of his mouth. The way he sleeps with his mouth hanging fully open, a much further drop than the way he’d nod off in his chair or on the couch, open enough to drool and snore but not the near-scream affectation of his jaw hanging loosely that I’ve been seeing since we arrived here yesterday by ambulance.

His jaundice is returning, albeit more subtly than it was before. Sometimes he sleeps deep. Sometimes his eyebrows move, knitting and raising and fluctuating like he’s in the middle of a very important conversation with someone who just isn’t getting the message. For some reason, I keep thinking he’s talking to his own father. I hope he is. I hope it’s a good conversation.

But his breathing becomes erratic and the emaciated curve of his chest starts to heave a little or goes too still for too long and then rises harshly, and I hold my own breath while I wait to see if his is coming back.

I want to be here when he dies. I will be here when he dies.

***

I had booked a flight on Sunday for 7:45 pm. I made it out the other side of the TSA checkpoint when I got the text that American Airlines had canceled my flight.

I called and explained the direness of the situation, and the best they could offer was 7am the next morning.

Monday morning, I flew into Charlotte NC with a 36 minute layover, just enough to let me pee and refill my water bottle and make it to the gate with less than an hour’s wait til boarding.

No sooner had I sat down than American Airlines sent out yet another text. “Your flight has been cancelled.” I was five and a half hours away from Jacksonville as a straight shot. The next flight they could put me on was at 2:45 that afternoon. The nurses had been encouraging me to come down due to my father’s rapid deterioration – I spent the entire transit up until that point only mildly afraid that he would die before I would arrive.

There in North Carolina? I was terrified.

I called, talked to yet another sympathetic courtesy clerk who could do nothing for me, talked to a far less courteous clerk at the actual airport desk, tried to see if they could just get me a rental car instead. I could either sit for a six hour layover or I could get a car and make it to Jax half an hour before my flight would leave.

Nothing.

I did not have the money to fly here – a dear friend bought my ticket – and I do not have the money to fly back. I’ll work that out after. I definitely did not have the money for my own rental car.

Finally, I went back to the courtesy desk, cried to the older gentleman behind the computer, and how quickly his face changed when I said my father was dying told me he too knew what it meant to need to get home now, now, now.

He handed me a comp ticket for a 1:11 flight that no one else had even brought up with me and told me I had to run if I was going to make it across the airport in time to board.

***

Yesterday morning, he had the last period of real lucidity, unreplicated since we arrived and began comfort-care treatment.

His main doctor came into the ICU and explained to both him and me, freshly awakened by the sound of her pulling his curtain, father and daughter both bleary-eyed but alert and trying to look focused at the importance of the situation.

“There is really nothing else we can do,” she offered with empathy, looking more at me than at him. I don’t blame her for that. It must be harder to look him in the eyes and tell him he’s at the end of the road. We both nod grimly and I ask him, just to be sure, if he understands what she’s saying.

The day before, he slept through my consultations with his kidney doctor and his oncologist and through the group meeting (myself, both half sisters, their mother) with palliative care specialists but naturally was awake when hospice came. The word ‘hospice’ knocked the breath out of him, his left hand searching feebly along the side of his hospital bed, trying to hold on to the edge like he was cresting a daunting roller coaster.

I was crouching to his right, trying to stay eye-level instead of looming over him. I think he reached for my hand. Maybe I reached first. All I know is I took his hand and he squeezed mine.

He asked for a day to consider it, and when that patch of lucidity was gone in twenty minutes, so was his consideration.

That next morning, however, with his lovely doctor standing over us both while I rested my arm and chin on the bedrail beside him, like were co-conspirators instead of a distant father and daughter with a contentious relationship whose power dynamic was about to shift considerably, there was no question of the conversation we were having.

“Do you understand why we need to do this?” I asked him after explaining that we were out of other options. My Great Aunt Jane couldn’t handle home care, even with me present, and he would never get a moment’s peace with her hovering and micromanaging. The hospital was at the end of their ability to care for him, and any measures taken to sustain his life were only delaying the inevitable.

I don’t know if he fully understood that last part, but he nodded, looking away.

I waited for a moment, summoning my courage.

“You understand this is metastatic cancer, right?”

Another nod.

Another moment of gathering courage.

“Your oncologist told me you’ve known about this since last year…” I was cautious, careful not to make him feel judged though I knew it might be a moot point, “Do you remember that?”

He paused, taking assessment, his eyes moving slowly across the ceiling as he pulled through his own memory to find the answer.

“No,” he said slowly, “I don’t… but I must have known.”

***

I arrived on Monday afternoon, my cousin bringing me straight from the airport to the hospital.

I slept on the small sofa in his hospital room both Monday and Tuesday nights. I only left for an hour on Tuesday to meet a close friend at a restaurant right on the other side of the business park from the hospital, a quick catch up to eat and get some take out for Tara.

When I start to worry that I’m doing this because I need to feel like The Goodest Daughter, like I’ve somehow exceeded everyone else’s efforts by miles, I remind myself that I’m still putting chapstick on him, rubbing lotion onto his feet, helping the nurses turn and hold him to change his diaper, enduring the vilest of shit (that systems-are-shutting-down feces is no joke), making sure his dentures are clean and his goatee is free of food despite the fact that he’s called me Tara more than once.

***

My father and I have barely spoken in the last several years.

Nobody seems to suspect that.

***

I’ve been trying to journal but it’s difficult to keep up with considering how tired I am – writing by hand is still a beautiful pastime but I’m at the point where my memory goes so quickly that if I’m not in front of a keyboard, I lose whatever nice prose I thought I had going.

I know from a self-care perspective that I should probably leave a little more often. Go for a walk around the property at a more leisurely pace than my panic-stricken power walk – big body, short little legs, shitty shoes means my legs have been killing me since the day I had to hoof it across the Charlotte airport all the way until I got back from my quick Target trip today, four days later. But I can’t.

The idea of him being alone and afraid makes me feel sick.

But he’s calm now. He’s been calm since we arrived at hospice yesterday afternoon, after I rode in the ambulance beside him that took us from his 8th-floor ICU suite to the Hadlow hospice center on Sunbeam Road, a road only slightly off the path that I rode with my father so many times. We’ve definitely driven down it before together, though, and I can’t stop thinking about time, about how eight years ago today he put “happy 4th, love ya” on my facebook wall and within three years of that we were so strained we barely spoke, existed somewhere not quite yet arriving at estrangement but somewhere further away from familiarity.

***

I’m working very hard to not let that anger I carried for him all the way up until the phone call came on Saturday that he was dying get transmuted into guilt. Of course, it’s happened to some degree, that much I couldn’t fight off – but I’m trying to remember that this anger isn’t the dysfunction of a spoiled kid who couldn’t quit butting heads with her father, but someone who tried very hard to build a relationship that never took, who eventually decided to take her hand off the burner because eventually she stopped accepting pain as a trade-in for affection.

One of the things that has emerged the clearest to me during this transition between ICU to hospice, between periodic lucidity and near constant sleep, is how different a relationship to him Tara has had than Alina or I had. Alina has always carried the bitterness of feeling unfavored atop the conflict that close proximity built between them – she spent the first 7 years of her life with him constantly, traded off every other week after that. She’s angry at him for things that he did or said, for how he chose to shape her life from that vantage point. I spent two months of every summer with him and every Christmas and birthday as they fall during the same winter break from school. I was a part-time visitor in the life he had with both of them; I came and lived in his life, on his terms.

Her anger comes from a sense of entitlement. Mine comes from an ever-present ache of abandonment. Alina has always resented him for what he did when he was there; I resented him for not being there to begin with. I ached for a relationship with my father. I called him sporadically – far apart enough that it wouldn’t cramp his distant style, but close enough that we could maintain a steady narrative of what my life was like (always mine, almost never his – my father was as cagey and distant with me as I often was with other people). The rivers of bad blood between his longtime girlfriend and all 3 of his daughters made matters worse; she was the sort of woman who never made it past high-school level social skills and let pain and depression turn her cruel and callous, and once their relationship was over my father very openly blamed her for the strain between him and his daughters.

I once countered to him that he had made the decision to not step in and stop her. To me, it was more his fault than hers. She was awful but he was complacent with it.

Never being able to consolidate world views in general atop my feelings of having been abandoned to my grief after my mother’s death in a house that felt more like a prison (I once left a cup of water unemptied in the sink and came home to find he had dumped it all over my bed – another time, I arrived home to find my dresser from Alabama pluming up smoke from the burn pile in the back yard without so much as a word to me, because he said he saw spiders in it) made it incredibly difficult to stitch the distance between us closed. I started leaving at 5am to go to my boyfriend’s house before school and have breakfast with his family (or, more often, sneak in and either go back to sleep or have sex). I begged to move out, to leave and go stay at my great aunt’s house instead, and he resisted me only until his girlfriend needed my bedroom for her kids when they visited. Then, I was allowed to leave.

He kept all of my social security survivor’s checks. I only saw the very last one. I worked at McDonald’s to pay for my own gas (I inherited my mother’s car, a 1990 Cutlass Cierra, when she died) and insurance, and I bought my own food as well so his girlfriend didn’t get upset when I ate at the house.

He judged my mother mightily for her mistakes and while my sexuality didn’t seem to hang him up too much – he nearly choked on chicken when I told him I had been dating a girl, but he recovered quickly with a shrug and a “well… shit happens” – and my defensiveness of her put us at odds with each other again. I tried to call and set up dinner dates or ask him to come see whatever new apartment my girlfriend and I were living in. He visited one once and then never again. I brought over a pizza to hang out with him one night and within thirty minutes, Cynthia called me to tell me that one of our cats had died. Spending time together got harder to arrange, and the more he seemed indifferent to how hard I was trying to forge a relationship, the more I resented him for it.

My calls went unanswered. Seeing him required going out of my way, every time. He rarely met me halfway, almost never if it required real effort on his part.

By the time Cyn and I moved to Pensacola, we had been living less than 10 minutes away from one another and had seen each other less than 5 times in a year.

By the time we moved to Columbus, Ohio, I didn’t even tell him we were going. It didn’t seem to matter.

***

The jaundice and edema have returned by Friday morning. His breathing is becoming more and more erratic. Morphine and Ativan are coming in through a subcutaneous port because he no longer wakes up to swallow.

I have to fight the urge to try to wake him, make him take a sip of water for his parched tongue. His mouth stays wide open all of the time now. I gently rub chapstick over his lips a few times a day so they don’t crack, but the corners of his mouth are bruising from the constant tension.

I am letting him die. We are letting him die. It feels like a failure somehow, even though I know I would absolutely encourage literally anyone else to do exactly what I am doing now in exactly this situation.

***

When I was 12 years old, I played my first live show.

My father brought me onstage at the bar where he played lead guitar in the house band, a vast waste of his natural talent, and had me sing Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” while he accompanied me. We drilled it night after night in his studio apartment during the summer that he split from Alina and Tara’s mother. We worked on Tom Petty’s “Breakdown” but there was something to “Time After Time” that we both really loved – I had only recently gotten very good with pitch control and my young voice was still high and soft, able to curl over the notes gently. Now I sing with the base of my chest and what I suspect are several vocal nodes, my voice getting weak quickly but frankly it suits my style.

I was shaking, I remember very clearly wanting to throw up, but my father beamed at me from his post on the barstool beside me and started to play.

Years later, my Italian macho-typical misogynist of a father would come to the local women’s center where I worked as a victim advocate for a sexual assault response team and play in our courtyard during our survivor event in April. He played an Ani DiFranco song and I sang.

***

Time is a swallowed bomb, waiting. You pay for the whole seat but you only use the edge.  

***

On Friday night, they’re saying less than 24 hours. His breathing has changed again, growing labored and strange.

I almost have a panic attack when I have to go to the funeral home to sign papers for a cremation and fill out what of his death certificate I can remember.

Tara is staying beside him. Alina joined us for a while today, all three of us sitting and holding his hands, petting his leg while we listened to his favorite Splendor album and sang “Yeah, Whatever” to him. Hospice brought his lunch; he doesn’t eat or take water anymore. We stole his cookie and split it and talked to him about how good it was, teasing the way he always teased us. We reminisced, talked about the past and our mistakes. We all cried. We all laughed. It was as good a moment as we’d had together in a long, long time.

He didn’t wake up, but we were holding his hands. We were keeping him safe.

***

I sing to him when we’re alone – his favorite Bonnie Raitt songs. Time After Time, of course. When I try singing Warren Zevon’s “Keep Me In Your Heart For A While,” I only make it to the second stanza before I can’t go on.

“When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun, keep me in your heart for a while; there’s a train leaving nightly called When All Is Said And Done, keep me in your heart for a while.”

I asked him for guitar lessons once. He tried to teach me a G chord, told me to keep it simple.

“With your voice, you won’t need to learn much,” he said, and I was so overjoyed for the compliment that I’ve never forgotten it.

***

My dear friend Diana comes in to see him, despite having only known him through me.

He would hate this, I think, but I need her to be there, if only for a few minutes.

We met at the abortion clinic we both worked at; she became my boss within two months of my starting and we’ve been close ever since. When she goes to leave, she addresses my father, coming to put her hand gently on his.

“Mister Vance, if I don’t see you again, safe travels.”

I don’t know where he’s going. If there is somewhere, though, it’s going to have so much music. He’s going to be playing his heart out, saying everything his pride never let him say with notes and bars.  

Once, back in college, he called me and said nothing, setting the phone beside him on the couch while he absolutely nailed the Eruption solo from Van Halen’s cover of “Girl You Really Got Me Now.”

I have never thought of him as a good father. I have always thought of him as an incredible musician.

***

Back on Sunday, when I knew I would be flying out due to the severity of the situation, I told the nurse to tell Dad I was coming.

I didn’t think he was lucid enough to understand much of anything anyone said, but I missed a call from the hospital by margins of seconds. In an absolute tizzy over what might have been on the other end, I called back.

My father answered, his voice barely a hoarse whisper, his focus obscured by so much morphine.

“Dad? Is that you?”

“Bre?”

“Dad?”

“Bre?”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s Bre.”

His voice broke. “Oh, my baby girl.”

I felt my heart fall out of my ribs and drop down the staircase I fell down the year before and cracked my tailbone, shattered a tooth. I sat down on the stairs. I had been so worried he wouldn’t want to see me, that I’d get there and the ice coating would crawl back over our relationship and I’d have rushed down for little more than maybe a chance to say hello.

“Are you really coming?” he asked, over and over, like a child afraid of the answer being ‘no.’

***

On Saturday, he’s gasping for breath like a fish on a deck. It’s terrifying for me and Tara, who sit on either side of him wide-eyed and panic stricken, waiting for the higher dose of morphine to kick in. It’s violent to watch, but thankfully it starts to subside by that night.

The fear dissipates from the room, but we don’t forget the experience.

***

I show the night nurse pictures of my father with his long dark hair, his brown-tan skin, his brilliant green eyes. I show her pictures of him just two short years ago, round-faced and charming in his straw fedora as he played his guitar, blissfully unaware of all the shitty connotations of fedoras nowadays. She marvels at how handsome he is, how happy he looks holding a guitar. I tell her he’s a really good carpenter but he’s a much better musician, raised by a father who was notoriously talented as well. My father lit up onstage, not as towering as a front man but as the ever-present lead guitarist, just quirky and fun enough to draw your eye from the main microphone but practical, decades of practice and honed skill turning him into the kind of perfectionist he resented in his father.

The lead singer of the last band he played for comes to see him for the third time since Monday. He’s the kind of man who has a natural charm about him, a comfort with being the center of attention that most of us can’t cultivate. He’s sincere in his grief about my father, but he’s also the kind of person who acts as though it’s never dawned on him that not everything he does will come with applause. He performs a very dramatic one man show of his grief when it’s just him and my sister; when I’m here he holds court with his memories and talks about throwing back whiskey with my father at the bar they played at.

“He always said the doctor said it was okay!”

I fight back irritation when I respond, “The doctor absolutely did not say it was okay, he had liver damage.” It’s not this man’s fault my father took big gambles with his health and his addictions. It’s not his fault that my father has always loved a good time. It’s certainly not his fault my father lied about his condition to most people to avoid having to talk about it.

He makes open-ended statements designed to make us ask him questions about himself. Neither one of us do. This seems to bother him. It occurs to me that after a lifetime of being handsome and musically inclined, he might just be expressing himself the only way he knows how – from a vantage point where the world ends at the end of his nose.

Later, when his wife comes, it’s a complete 180. She is calm and warm and immediate, built small and slight like my mother, and between that and her unabashed Mom vibes I’m instantly glad that this virtual stranger is in the room. We watch my father struggle to breathe and she puts her hand on my back, one hand on mine on his, and for a second I shut my eyes and let myself cry – not the way I want to cry, I haven’t found the softest spot to rip that one open from yet, but quietly. If I keep my eyes closed, it feels like my mother is beside me. I can’t think of a not-weird way to tell her I’m grateful for that, so I don’t.

***

Tara and I hold vigil all day on Sunday. His lungs are full of fluid and his face is going grey. His breaths are gentle and small but he sounds like a coffee maker, an observation I make after waking from a catnap in the bay window.

It’s just the three of us and a Law & Order SVU marathon. Dad’s come to like police procedurals in his old age.

We put up a statement on Facebook asking people to send their well wishes via text and phone calls, that we are running out of road and we’d like to focus mostly on spending the last hours or days with him. Alina doesn’t show. She’s been present but sporadically, unable to bear the full weight of the reality of the situation perhaps or too distracted by her own personal demons. I wonder, of the three of us, which daughter will be the one living with the most regret. It’s probably between me and Alina.

When Tara finally goes home for the evening, the nurse comes back to check on him again. Between his blood pressure and his gentle, rattling breaths, he could easily go tonight or go into the morning.

I text my cousin and refer to my father as Captain Refuses-To-Die. She laughs. I feel guilty. She points out that no one would be laughing more than my father. I feel better.

On this, likely the last night we’ll ever have together, I read to him from the book I’ve brought from home (Dessa Wander’s My Own Devices, nonfiction essays that are beautiful and poignant), put Chicago PD on mute and play him Jeff Buckley. I read aloud from the chapter in which Dessa filmed the music video for “Sound The Bells”, and the ending lines crush me all over again: “Some places you need to go, even a chestful of air is too much cargo. Some places you can only go empty.”

I tell him, for the hundredth time, that it’s okay to go if he needs to. His blood pressure is lower and the rattling breaths are a sign we’re growing closer, but he’s still warm to the touch all over. If he’s mottling, we can’t see it. There’s gray in his face again but he reacts to the oral swab of moisturizer to keep his mouth from drying out by furrowing his brows, almost turning away but not quite. The nurses aren’t sure what to make of it. One of these literal angels asks me if I’ve tried telling him it’s okay to go – I tell her that might be what’s holding him up, because now that it was someone else’s idea, he’s just not going to do it.

I hear him in my ear sometimes. Quit rushin’ me. I’ll go when I want and not a moment sooner. Sit down.

We listen to three different versions of Buckley’s Hallelujah – instrumental while I read to him, live, and studio. We move on to the rest of the Grace album.

I’m afraid to go to the bathroom or take a shower when it’s just me and him, so convinced he’ll wait until the second the door clicks shut and then take his opportunity to slip away unnoticed, robbing me of the moment where I get to hold his hand and put some symmetry to our relationship. After all, he was there when I came into the world, purple and defiantly refusing to breathe until suddenly I sucked in air and began to scream. He saw me come in; I vow to at least be here when he goes out. I want to hold his hand the whole time, but if in all his wittiness he decides to kick while I’m half-sleeping on the World’s Okayest Cot, just being in the room will have to be enough.

***

When Alina arrived at my great aunt’s and found him on the floor, slumped against his bed bleeding and unable to get up, he told her he had become addicted to oxycodone since nothing else was helping for the pain. He told her he was done, that he was tired of being sick and tired of fighting.

Despite this, he’s still hanging on. I don’t think he wants to go. He’s only 61 years old. It seems far away to me now the way my mother’s 39 years seemed when I was 16, but now I am 32 and 39 gets more horrible and tragic every day. My father was the life of the party between his sense of humor and relentless flirting and I can only assume that on some base level, he’s not ready for the party to stop yet.

His fingers stopped searching for the fret board days ago. His eyes don’t move behind the lids anymore, and the shadows and bruises around them are coming in fierce. The Haldol is doing nothing to stop the secretions and he’s still in full brew mode, death rattle on all day long. It’s terrifying at first but after a while it’s just a rumble, just a purr. There are moments when Tara and I are perched in our respective chairs on either side of him, eyes turned to the TV or our phones, and this is… ‘fine’ isn’t really the word, but mundane. Just a thing we’re all doing. Boring, even. And then I glance at the bed and see my emaciated, sunken-faced father gurgling through yet another breath and it takes my own away how very not okay it all is.

He’d hate this, is the only thing I can keep thinking. He would hate all of this.

***

There’s a train leaving nightly called ‘When All Is Said and Done.’

Keep me in your heart for a while.

I love him with every ounce of my being. I’m so angry for all the time we missed. I’m so sad that he didn’t let me love him more.

***

It’s Thursday, again. The last few days have been a blur so emotionally exhausting I haven’t had the presence of mind to put pen to paper in any capacity.

When he’ll die is anyone’s guess. For a while yesterday his breathing changed so drastically, came in short little hiccups, that the PRN was sure he was breathing his last. Then, like nothing had ever transpired, he was back to the soft, shallow breaths of before, the rattling having disappeared within a day of its arrival. He started having spells yesterday where he exhales so hard that it engages his vocal cords, making a groan or soft moan like a zombie in a horror film; this terrified the shit out of Tara and me so badly that we grabbed the nurse. His eyes tried to open. It was incredibly upsetting.

The nurse explained that these were reflexive, the deep sighs were him fighting his own heart’s slowing down on some basal level. He’s been unconscious for an entire week now – the eyes opening are a reflex, not intentional and not a sign of any sort of awareness behind the lids.

When they opened after he was cleaned, they had rolled all the way up into his head, leaving nothing but a sliver of white, making me feel sick to my stomach. I knew dying wasn’t elegant and beautiful the way the movies would have you believe, but this is taking so very, very long and it’s so very, very awful.

It’s been a week without water now, so at some point something will have to give.

Tara has spent every day right next to me, sometimes holding his other hand, sometimes napping in the armchair while I nap on my cot. It’s often the two of us in comfortable silence for long stretches or cracking jokes over whatever is on tv. We share his trays when they come in – sometimes the worker slips us a second tray specifically for Tara – or she runs to grab lunch. We tried going out together a few times but no results; he would be exactly as we left him upon our return. Whatever he’s holding on for, he’s holding on with both hands.

I watch his pulse pound in the veins in his neck. I can see his heartbeat through the emaciation of his ribs. I wish to god this was a Death With Dignity state. I wish to god the end would just come gently for him already, and then I feel like a monster for wishing that. How do you want someone you love to die? How do you want them to stay and suffer? Damned if I do, fucked if I don’t.

I play him Joe Bonamassa, more Jeff Buckley, Bonnie Raitt, Bon Iver, Eva Cassidy, Warren Zevon. I sing every song he ever asked me to sing for him, even the ones he chastised me for singing too loudly for him to hear the radio. I hum when I can’t muster the energy to sing, which is increasingly often at this point.

I’m a ghost wandering the hospice halls. The staff greets me by first name and I know most of theirs now – Lisa, who is a literal angel, sent in a dining room cart loaded with sandwiches and chips when a big storm hit yesterday, thinking Tara and I wouldn’t likely go out to get dinner. Gloria dutifully checks on me and my dad and Tara. Jasmine, Victoria, Tinkey, Dolores, the cleaning lady named Cynthia (my wife’s name) is a particular comfort, going out of her way to talk to me every time she comes in to sweep.

The guilt is palpable. I miss my wife and my dog and my apartment; sleeping on this cot has triggered my already flared vestibular disorder and I am so dizzy I worry I’ll fall over at least once a day. I eat what I can when I can but my diet is garbage. I often forget to eat. I’m making it a point to drink as much water as I physically can without getting sick as it helps my headaches.

But I haven’t cried in what feels like days. I can’t anymore. I talk about the increasingly mottling on his fingers, his toes, his ears like it’s a matter-of-fact conversation about the weather. The sound of his sighs and groans still make my heart catch in my throat every time but I’m going numb to the rest. We’re just kind of trapped here in limbo between being able to care for him, which we no longer can, and being able to mourn him and grieve, which we cannot yet do. It feels like torture. I mentally calculate out how much therapy I’m going to need to get out the other side of this. I watch more cop procedurals than I’ve watched in years and hate every last one of them unless Olivia Benson is in them (except Criminal Minds, which I have a complicated relationship with but Tara and I both share a deep abiding love of Spencer Reid, so.)

I want to go home. I feel like dog shit for wanting to go home. I can’t leave him. Not like this. I don’t know how to ask for help but I feel like I’m drowning.

***

The only slices of time where I feel like I can breathe is when Tara and I run to Target for no good reason or when I’m in the shower late in the evening. At first I was too afraid to so much as use the bathroom, scared he would slip off the second I left the room in one final act of independence to prove once and for all that he didn’t need anybody else’s input or help.

Dad’s hospice room has a huge walk-in shower built to accommodate a sitting toilet for those who are still resisting the sponge bath with all their might. Dad was unable to walk for the three days he was in the ICU, much less now, so I drag the entire rig of pvc and toilet seat out into the bathroom proper and enjoy a shower with enough space to comfortably fit three people. In my apartment back home, we haven’t had a functional shower in months; the whole set up fell out of the wall, leaving us only with our very deep and very beautiful porcelain tub. It’s hard to complain about such a tub but the reality is that cup baths get tiring very quickly when you’re disabled and getting into and out of that gorgeous porcelain tank is real work.

This shower comes equipped with safety rails, which at the ripe old age of 32 send my chronically ill self into pure joy. I find reasons to stay in the shower longer than I normally would, water conscious as I try to be. My legs haven’t been so shaven so frequently since I was a teenager. I don’t always have the energy to slip off and stand in hot water for twenty minutes at a time but when I do I try to take advantage; we don’t know when he’s going to decide he’s had enough and I’ll be quickly packing our things into all these Zaxby’s carryout bags I keep hoarding.

***

At some point, this has begun to feel deliberate. Am I locked in one final battle of wills with my father? Is he testing my mettle – and Tara’s, for that matter – to make sure we’ve got the stones to follow up on our promises?

My father made a lot of promises he didn’t honor. Whether they haunted him or if he just forgot is anybody’s guess.

***

I’m on the lanai near my father’s room when I noticed a few people going in and out of the room. I tell my aunt Sharon, “If he slipped off while I was outside on the phone, I swear to god.” He hasn’t, but we’re close; they’ve repositioned him to try to help things move along. The doctor tells me the mottling has moved quickly up his legs and that we’re looking at hours now, maybe even sooner.

His eyes are partially open again. I grimace and close them gently. I remember my mothers’ open eyes, dead for hours when I found her, and it’s something that sixteen years of road between that moment and now have never been able to rub free from my memory. I wonder what about this will haunt me in specificity – the whole experience, sure, but the little things. If I’ll smell someone wearing his nurse practitioner’s perfume and it’ll send me straight into fight or flight. If I’ll be so consumed by my grief that I can’t eat but the second I can I find I can never eat trail mix again. If something will slip just under the edge of my self awareness and then one day I’ll be crying in the aisle at Kroger for no reason.

Bronze nail polish, unexpected splashes of Daffodil yellow, and “Girl You Really Got Me Now” stop me in my tracks in regards to my mother, but she was part of my life every single day. This man laying in this hospital bed is undoubtedly someone I love so much it makes my chest hurt to think of, but not much in my day to day life will change when he is gone – he wasn’t a part of it, hadn’t been for years.

A storm is rolling in. I call my sister.

***

He dies at 10:40 on July 11th.

Tara is asleep on the cot on one side of him, I’m sitting in the armchair on the other, listening to him breathe and texting my wife. Chicago PD is on because of course it is. I get a strange prickle of discomfort and pause, realizing that I no longer hear the heaving of his breath.

At that exact moment, my sister wakes for no reason and goes into the bathroom, passing me as I quickly come around the bed to look at my father’s face in the blue tv light, his eyes slit just barely open. His chest unmoving. The thrum of his heartbeat, so visible for so many days, stilled. I pressed two fingers to his neck, fought the urge to recoil, and pressed the call button to the nurse’s station.

We get an hour and a half with him before the funeral home arrives at nearly 1 am. With my mother, my shock and fear kept me from being able to go anywhere near her body after I dropped her when I tried to turn her over. My criminology studies made me slightly more comfortable around the dead but that quick recoil didn’t leave me and before long I was doubly nursing a burgeoning drinking problem and a crippling fear of death. I’ve done the reading. I’ve pushed myself past my comfort zone. When my beloved dogs died in 2015 and 2017, I spent time with them before burying them myself in the backyard of my aunt’s home.

When the doctor backs out of the door gracefully, quietly, I press my ear to my father’s chest and hear nothing. I put my arm over both of his. I let myself sob into his still, unmoving shoulder and I remember for a moment how he held me in my bedroom at his house the day I moved in, when my mother’s death was suddenly too real to stand under the weight off. How he let me lean fully into him and slid down to the floor with me, let me sob until I was too sore to keep crying, how for that one blessed moment he was the father I needed at exactly the moment I needed him. 

They come to take him. The funeral home worker watches me with a soft expression as I dip down one last time and tell him, “On to the next adventure. Thank you for everything. I love you, Dad. Goodbye.”

***

I love you, Dad.

Goodbye.

***

I think I’m going to feel better but really, I’m just tired. Bone-deep tired. A tired I can’t put a name to. I want to go home and be held by my wife more than I want anything in the world. I spend the day with my sisters, alternating between being mostly-okay and having my breath snatched from me by how not-okay I am. Alina submits herself back to rehab to return on Monday. We make plans to go through his things, together, in September, when I’ve returned for a wedding. It feels okay-ish, and then it feels less okay, and then it’s so awful I can’t wrap my head around it.

And it will continue to be awful. I know that. But it will gradually become less awful, the edges rubbing down until it doesn’t cut me every time I brush against it. It will always be awful. But it will turn into a shape of awful that I can breathe around.

I take stock of what I’ve got left in my hands now that my watch has ended. I went from “my father is not in my life” to “my father is dying and I am caring for him in his final days after a lifetime of his antiseptic behavior to my attempts at building emotional bridges with him” to “my father is dead” in the space of about 13 days. There was no time. It all happened too fast.

On my last day in Florida, I drag both of my exhausted sisters to the beach. Alina sleeps on a towel. Tara and I wade out into the ocean, and I let the salt water of my sweat and my tears remind me how we all came from the sea, how we all return to the earth, and how one day this planet will keep spinning without me, regardless of whether I’ve left a list of things undone or not.

I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just float for a while. 

[locke-writes]

In Other Words

Author: locke-writes

Title: In Other Words

Prompt: Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra, “Would you give me the pleasure of this dance?” x Bucky Barnes. For: @becaamm ‘s Valentine’s Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,047

When Steve Rogers was pulled from the ice you were the first person Nick Fury called. It had been his idea to set Steve up in the hospital room that mirrored the 40's but he wanted it only to be used as a test. No one was certain as to how Steve would react when he woke up in the new millennium. Would it be with rage or with reluctant acceptance, no one could truly have predicted any outcome. 

He had been frozen for many years, missed so much. Friends, family, anyone he'd ever known was perhaps dead or if they were still alive they were quite old. It was a lot for anyone to take in at once and he needed someone to guide him along, someone who could get him up to date with everything he had missed yet at the same time sympathize with him about everything he'd lost.

You weren't called in because you were an expert on time travel which would help with explaining the drastic time change, because you weren't an expert. You weren't called in because you had a degree in history, because that degree did not exist. You were called simply because you had an old soul. It had somewhat been inherited through your family, the love of old films and of old music. You lived in the present and loved the things of the past, Fury hoped that this would allow you to connect with Steve, provide some common ground, helping with the adjustment process.

Steve was a quick learner. Due to his being frozen it was like sleeping and waking up years in future, his brain hadn't deteriorated but was preserved. He knew events of his childhood like they happened yesterday but the gap came when he couldn't recall anything about the years after going under the ice. Pop culture stayed on the back burner for a while, history stood front and center. Updating Steve on the missing gaps was more important you thought then teaching him about the top grossing films of the 50's. You told him that he should make a list of things pop culture related to look into and gave him some starting points. 

Your work with Steve led to a strong friendship. Coulson knew everything about Steve which could be intimidating, you knew everything about the time Steve grew up in which provided a sense of calm. Steve knew that you weren't actually alive then but he felt that you were with the way you could talk about the movies he'd go see as a kid or the music he'd listen to on the radio. Even the way you asked him questions about his favorite baseball players made him feel less like a man out of time.

All this was the number one reason why you were the first person called when Bucky had been found. 

Bucky had been a more complex case. He had no memories of anything after the jump off the train. That was the last memory and the next was meeting Steve on the bridge. You knew when he had been brought in that there was going to be a lot of trauma to work through. And so that became your priority. Steve had been stuck in ice for years, that's all he'd been doing. History was the only real thing that mattered when it came to what to teach Steve. When it came to Bucky, history was important but making sure that healed from constant brainwashing was more important to you.

Working with Bucky took longer than it took with Steve. You'd called in favors from friends outside of SHIELD, forced them to sign confidentiality waivers and then briefed them on Bucky's condition. While Bucky wasn't exactly pleased by what you were requiring of him, he grew to understand and appreciate every bit of effort you put in to healing him all around. Reluctantly he began attending appointments regularly. Seeing doctors to determine what could be done about his arm, removing the mark of HYDRA control that was ever present and following him, and replacing it with another prosthetic. He'd started seeing a therapist, at first three times a week but then dropping to two when it was deemed that he had made tremendous progress.

Bucky was different when it came to teaching. Steve wanted to go alongside it with you, to be walked through and talked through with it. He'd missed so much he wanted to be guided as though he might misstep. Bucky wanted to be instructed, to be given something and left alone with it to think, to process at his own pace. He wanted to be handed books and given time to read. He wanted to understand technology for faster access of information and to be able to contact you with any possible questions that he had. It wasn't so much the knowledge and history portion of his life he needed help with. That part of his life was easy for him to pick up, he was an intelligent man, always had been you would learn, but he needed someone to be there to help decipher, to decode the given information.

It was the healing portion of his life that he needed greater help with. It was the healing portion of his life that led him to accept the help of your friends. And while it was easy for him to process the missing gaps of time in his memory by filling them in with what he'd gleamed from books it was harder to process the memories that were coming forth from his time with HYDRA.

That would take longer to heal from but he'd go about it in his own way with help and guidance. New understanding of mental health, of medicine, would greatly benefit him. He'd improve with time and he'd have more faith in himself. He'd have more ways of coping, of understanding what had happened to him and what he'd done.

The change in Bucky was gradual but it pleased you to watch.

He'd recently been approved to get a support dog. A German Shepard named Charlie that was specifically trained to deal with symptoms of PTSD. He was making incredible progress and you felt that now with his life coming together in terms of recovering from HYDRA control that it was time for you to step away. At least this is what you were planning on telling Steve.

You anticipated Steve's protest, you just weren't ready to admit the true reason for your stepping back to anyone but yourself. Yet Steve would understand, you knew and believed he'd have to understand to agree with you. Confessing to him what you'd only confessed to yourself was the only way you could think to go about it.

"It's been eleven months, he's in therapy, he's adjusting to his new arm and to having Charlie. I think he'll be fine on his own."

"He needs you" Steve protested.

You shook your head, "I don't know if that's true but either way I can't stay Steve. I have to go."

"Can't? Why 'can't"

You think Steve knew the answer in that moment. You were sure he knew what you were trying to say. You also knew that he wouldn't accept it if it wasn't proven true. Assumptions were fine but confirmations were great.

"I like him Steve. I like him a lot. Whether what I feel for him is love I don't know, I've never been in love. But I have feelings for him, strong feelings. Being around him. That's something that I want, I'll always want. I just can't be around him while helping him heal. I'm afraid my feelings will get in the way of any real progress that he still has left to make"

"I think I'm beginning to understand. I can't blame you for wanting to step away then if these feelings might get in the way. Don't worry about it, I can tell him. I'll figure something out with Sam. Going to the VA meetings has been helping me I'll see if Sam knows some people near Bucky's apartment"

"Thanks Steve. I owe you one. Really I do"

The next meeting you had with Bucky was a week after you had talked to Steve. You sat at the table where the two of you usually met waiting for him to show. Or rather hoping that Steve had talked to him and that he wouldn't show. Checking the clock you watched the hand tick the last few minutes away before hearing the chair beside you scooting across the floor. Turning you saw that Bucky was, as usual, on time. What was unusual was the lack of books he'd brought with him.

"Steve talked to me." He let the words slip out into the air.

"About what?" You questioned, hoping that what was spoken wasn't every word you had said.

Bucky smiled but you knew that he was nervous. You'd been around him long enough to be able to tell the signs as they appeared on his face.

"Do you want to go to dinner?"

"What?"

"Dinner? Unless that's not something people do for dates anymore. Not that this would be a date I mean. It could be though. If you wanted it to be."

"I take it that Steve really did tell you everything."

"He did. I would have liked to hear it from you but if I were in your shoes I probably would have done the same. If it's any consolation I like you too. And I too have no idea if what I feel for you is love."

"Dinner huh?" You questioned, a small smile on your face.

"If you're up for it."

You grabbed his hand and squeezed, "You know, I think I am up for it"

Some days you still look back on that first date. It felt like you'd only just met but at the same time it felt like you'd known one another forever. Whatever you had felt for one another only grew deeper during that first date. It continued to grow with every story Bucky told of his childhood and every antidote you had from your own. 

It continued to grow as slowly the two of you found you had more in common than originally thought. It continued to grow after Bucky asked to take a walk in the park, reaching for your hand around the first lap. It grew when you sat on one of the park benches and laid your head on his shoulder. It grew and it grew and it grew.

That would be the first date but it wouldn't be your last. Not by a long shot.

You'd continue going on dates at least once a week, mainly because that was as much time as you could stand to be without seeing one another. Bucky agreed that once you started dating you shouldn't continue to be his teacher, it wasn't weird or anything it was just distracting when he found himself kissing you in the midst of discussing the changing American economy. He began attending VA meetings with Steve and Sam instead, finding it helpful to talk to other soldiers about what he'd been through.

Six months into your relationship came the first I love you. 

One year into the relationship came renting an apartment together. It was halfway between the Avengers base and SHIELD headquarters. Dog friendly and close to public transportation if you needed to get farther out. 

It was an adjustment living together but a good adjustment. Getting a place together felt more like the two of you having a home rather than living in the others home had Bucky moved to your apartment or you moved to Bucky's

One year in also marked the first time Bucky would go on a mission. 

It had taken time before Bucky had begun working with the Avengers. Steve had asked him to join but Bucky refused, saying that he wasn't ready. No one wanted to push Bucky into anything he didn't think he was ready for and so they waited. Bucky worked on the information side of things, he still wanted to help in some way, but working in the field wasn't something he wanted to take up just yet. 

It had taken one full year but finally Bucky felt like he would be ready to go out into the world. He feared many things in regard to that first mission, the main one was simply being recognized as the Winter Soldier. To everyone the Winter Soldier was a HYDRA agent, an image that was going to be hard to shake off. To those who had become close to him, Bucky was far from the man that had been under their control. 

Indeed some still associate the name of Winter Soldier with the HYDRA agent but after that mission the perception began to change.

For you it had taken only a few weeks to see this change. You'd come to care for him in only a few weeks, you'd come to love him in only a few months. You'd come to date him for a year, and in one more year, Bucky would see for himself the change that you insisted was in him.

Two years since you had first been asked out by Bucky, two years and he was finally coming to see himself in the same way that you had seen him. You could thank yourself for that change but really you owed it all to one little girl and Halloween.

At the time Bucky had been reluctant to do any media appearances or even any public appearances. His reputation and image had changed somewhat when it came to others but the fear was there. Some days you believed it always would be. Somehow he had managed to be roped in to handing out candy on Halloween with the rest of the team, yourself included. While it was a small way of giving back you knew it would mean a lot to the children and the parents who couldn't afford tickets to meet and greets at conventions often one Avenger was invited to.

She was maybe eight years old and she stood there before him stunned. For Bucky it was the first time he'd seen anyone at all dress up like him, for her it was the first time she'd seen anyone like her as a hero.

"We decorated my arm just like yours! Sometimes people say I can't do things because of my arm but I tell them that the Winter Soldier has one arm too and he can do anything!" She raised her prosthetic for him to see.

Bucky was speechless for a few moments before telling her that she was right, that having one arm just meant sometimes she might have to work harder but she could do everything she wanted. Bucky took a few pictures, signed a few things, and then practically dumped the entire candy bowl into the little girls bucket.

One year of missions, two years of dating, and one little girl with her Winter Soldier arm were all that it took for Bucky to slowly begin to accept himself. Time was always needed to convince oneself that they were more than what they were brainwashed to be.  

A few weeks.

A few months.

One year.

Two years.

Now.

Now here you were, a long way from when you had first met Bucky. Now here you were lying on the couch in your apartment waiting for him to come home. He'd texted you, something he was still getting the hang of, not to wait up. You never listened to him in this aspect, you were an agent, you knew what missions were like and the protocol of after. The mission with Steve had lasted a full week, far longer than had been anticipated. The debriefing at the base wouldn't take quite as long but it would still be a lengthy amount of time. 

You yawned once more, fighting off sleep. Bucky was set to be home at any minute according to what you assumed based on your own debriefings. Focusing on the music you'd put on and the book you were currently reading wasn't helping.

The opening of the door and the feeling of a weight being added on top of you let you know that Bucky and Charlie were home. Charlie had to undergo some training but he'd been accompanying Bucky on mission since day one. You scratched behind the dogs ears.

"How was the mission?" You questioned after Bucky kissed you.

"I guess it could have gone better but no one on either side was killed which is the only thing that matters most"

You nodded, sitting up slowly and stretching. 

Bucky turned his head to glance over at the record player, "I know that voice but, not the song."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. That's Sinatra's song Fly Me To The Moon. It didn't come out until after the train incident"

"Wait? Sinatra? As in Frank Sinatra? He had a career?"

"A long lasting one at that. Were you aware of him back then?"

"Not just aware of him, Steve and I saw him live once. Of course back then he was the new singer in a band that had just come to town but. Who knew he was going to be known for decades."

"I can't believe you never found out about his career, maybe Steve hasn't fully caught up on music after all. Remind me to make you a list of singers from back in the day that are still well known"

"I will. In the meantime, would you give me the pleasure of this dance?"

As the two of you swayed to the music you once again though back to all that Bucky had been through. Sometimes when you thought back you wished it had never happened to him, sometimes Bucky wished it too. But if that were the case then you would't be here dancing in your dimly lit apartment, your head on his shoulder. 

You whispered that you loved him and Bucky whispered it back.

It was moments such as these that made Bucky a truly grateful man.

[yourmomisastrongwoman]

How Science Fiction and the Theoretical coexist Within Feminism.

My first piece of writing that I’m submitting to this blog, journal, log (what ever this collection of my thoughts and opinions should be called), is a comparison of two texts. Over the span of a couple of weeks, my First Year Seminar course was assigned to read author James Tiptree, Jr’s: “The Women Men Don’t See”, as well as a collection of writer and poet, Audre Lorde’s work. From Lorde’s essays, I decided to focus on “Poetry Is Not a Luxury” in order to think and to discuss how different themes of feminism overlap with Tiptree, Jr’s “The Women Men Don’t See”. 

The texts differ in genre - In Tiptree, Jr’s story, we’re brought along on a journey from the perspective of Don (your token, small minded, white man trope), as we read how he goes about reluctantly coexisting, let alone surviving, with three other victims (Ruth, Althea, and Esteban) through a spontaneous plane crash in Mexico. Tiptree writes an engaging story written from her take on a cis, hetero, white male perspective, that dives into the subconscious snap judgments made on women in society everyday. Lorde, on the other hand, writes a powerful essay on her feminist beliefs, more specifically how she believes that art - even more specifically - poetry, is a means of emotional communication that is too often ignored, or put on the back burner. 

In both Tiptree and Lorde’s texts, the authors explore the process of finding stability in things that are alien (literally in Tiptree’s) in relation to the #strongindependentwoman - more eloquently put: the female autonomy. One wouldn’t immediately think that these two pieces of writing are similar due to the obvious fact that, on the surface, they’re wildly different from one another. However, the two unite/communicate surprisingly cohesively. 

I was reluctant to love Alice B. Sheldon’s (more commonly known under her pen name “James Tiptree, Jr”) story, “The Women Men Don’t See”. Initially, I was slightly hesitant to read on as I, a 17 year old self identifying feminist, was caught off guard by the irritatingly familiar “mansplainy” tone in which it was written. Within the first page of Jr’s story, we get Don Fenton, our narrator’s, descriptions of female characters which include, but are not limited to: “small, plain, and neutral-colored”, as well as “I see the girl has what could be an attractive body if there was any spark at all” (1). Right off the bat we’re coming in strong with a problematic approach to merely existing with women. Don’s character doesn’t stray from comments like these throughout the story; it’s his point of view, it’s constant, and it’s annoying. (Yet, also simultaneously a little funny because the female reader understands that some people actually do think this way, and that is … ridiculous). What enables (and heightens) Don’s line of thinking, is his current situation and the equalizing of powers. Don is a white man; his privilege protects him on a daily basis. However, he’s currently just experienced a plane crash, accompanied by two women (Ruth and her daughter Althea), and their Pilot, Esteban (who is routinely referred to by Don as “The Maya”, unpacking a whole host of other problematic things). It’s clear that he can not stand the fact that all previous structures of a gender/racial social hierarchy have been stripped from the four, and now all are equal in survival mode. 

As the story continues, Don and Ruth end up leaving camp in search for fresh water. On their separate journey Don becomes increasingly annoyed that Ruth doesn’t seem to uphold a woman’s “typical characteristics”, while his thoughts regarding her become more and more sexual. “Mrs. Ruth Parsons of Bethesda, this thrumming, private woman. How crazy can I get? … I blink away the fantasies and see a scared little woman in a mangrove swamp … she sits obediently, like a kid in a dentist chair … she nibbles her lip” (16). 

The culmination of Tiptree’s story ends with literal Aliens arriving at Ruth and Don’s camp. Within the alien’s presence, Ruth’s instinct reaction is to empathize with the agitated creatures, while Don’s instinct reaction is conquer them (colonialism at its finest). 

NOW HOW DOES ALL OF THIS CONNECT TO THE WONDERFUL AUDRE LORDE, AND HER INCREDIBLE ESSAY ON HOW ART IS A MEANS OF ENHANCING OUR WOMANHOOD? Well, I’m so happy this finally got brought up! Lorde spends “Poetry is Not a Luxury” detailing how by devoting time and energy into poetry, the woman equips herself with a multiplicity of tools, helping her dismantle the patriarchy that affects her everyday. 

One of the biggest ways in which Lorde and Tiptree’s texts overlap, are the overarching themes of devoting oneself to something alien in order to distract. Lorde writes: “As we become more in touch with our own ancient, black, non european view of living … we learn more and more to cherish our feelings, and to respect those hidden sources of our power from where true knowledge and therefore lasting action comes” (1). This quote exists in harmony when paired with the culmination of “The Women Men Don’t See”. Ruth’s character doesn’t reach to find her “ancient, non european” roots, however, she does reach - metaphorically - and ends up exhibiting her inherent character values which include empathy. Ruth’s been so caged by Don’s male presence, when the aliens arrive it’s clear that she prefers the company from strange, extraterrestrial beings, to the white man. “‘Ruth, get over here behind me!’ She doesn’t look at me, only keeps sidling farther away. My terror detonates into anger. ‘Come back here!’ … she doesn’t turn but straightens up warily, still hugging the thing … is she actually trying to talk to them? ‘Please…’she swallows. ‘Please speak to me. I need your help’” (23). Through the natural act of empathy, Ruth is able to easily connect with the creatures through “the hidden sources of power from where true knowledge and … lasting action comes” (to quote Lorde). 

Another connection between Lorde and Tiptree’s texts are the effects of power on women, and how we survive experiencing them everyday in society. Lorde writes: “As we learn to bear the intimacy of scrutiny, and to flourish within it, as we learn to use the products of that scrutiny for power within our living, those fears which rule our lives and form our silences begin to lose their control over us” (Lorde, 1). We know as women, that even though Don in “The Women Men Don’t See”, never flat out says the diminutive things that he thinks about Ruth, and frankly, women in general, it’s clear that his demeanor and overall (and I’m putting this in what I feel is best described as) “aggressive manly man white male trope’s” presence, has an effect on Ruth that she’s all too familiar with. It’s obvious that if this story was written from the perspective of Ruth, or truthfully any woman, his mannerisms would be picked up on immediately, and we would have insight on why Ruth’s character acts the way she acts. We, the female reader understand her soft, non intrusive demeanor, because everyone of us has experienced the looming presence and energy of an overly confident, stubborn, male. We sympathize with Ruth’s thoughtfulness, and end up relating to the strength that she displays by the end of the story. Lorde’s words perfectly summarize the way in which women (in this case Ruth), become accustomed to the sexist and demeaning language, portrayed through tone and energy. However, through patronization Ruth flourishes, creating bonds with the creatures, as well as ultimately escaping with her daughter to another universe. As Lorde promotes, Ruth literally devotes herself to an alien idea to distract herself from the white patriarchy, and only until she does that, she becomes free.

Through Lorde’s theoretical, and James Tiptree Jr’s sci-fi/fictional texts, we as women can learn, as well as relate to the ideas and the strategies that these authors spell out for us. Tiptree paints a character that every one of us, in one way or another, is familiar with. While Lorde stresses the importance of experiencing as well as identifying emotions along with what enables them. Both are thought provoking works that every woman is able to absorb and connect with. 

[adcrias-blog]

kim jiyeon/kei + cisfemale + she/her + computer virus physiology.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear q&a by cherry bullet  playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just jane kwon, a twenty-three year old student intern. according to my sources, i heard she can be chaotic good and is earnest, but also nosy. that’s probably why they remind everyone of colourful video games, burnt photographs, the wind rushing through your hair so much ! anyway, whether or not they’re in favor of the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them !

hello !! i’m sarah and i’m super excited to be here it’s been like 2 seconds and everything on the dash has me like :O !! but if you wanna plot hmu <33

EARLY LIFE

so jane comes from an upper class family, her father is a successful ceo of a media company and her mother was one of his employees until and after they were married and had jane.

her father was always a workaholic with constant hours in the office while her mother was far more reasonable, balancing her time between being with jane and being at work. when neither parent was at home, she had a nanny to look after her.

everything was fine for a while until jane’s parents began fighting. sometimes it was about little things, like who forgot to tell the maid that the study was off-limits or who was supposed to change jane’s nappy when the nanny wasn’t on the clock. sometimes it was bigger things, like when her father’s workaholic tendencies were brought up and he’d constantly defend himself against accusations that he didn’t care about his family, or when he thought her mother was cheating on him and demanded to know where she was at all times at all hours of the day.

jane’s mother eventually became sick of the controlling behaviour and lashed out. to this day, jane isn’t sure what happened despite being a witness to it. one second, her father was standing upright in the kitchen, and then he was suddenly on the other side of the penthouse, sprawled on the ground, but still conscious.

jane’s father ordered her to go to her room, so she isn’t entirely sure what happened next. all she knew was that the next day, her mother and all her stuff was gone and her father offered no explanation. it wasn’t until she was a little older that she realised her mother was a super.

her father’s had a hatred for supers since that day, or maybe he already wasn’t fond of them and the ordeal with her mother just cemented the whole thing. either way, he would either rant about them when they were mentioned on tv or just flat-out ignored their existence. jane didn’t share his opinions, especially after she realised that her mother -- the parent who genuinely cared for her -- was forced out of her life because of that mentality

GROWING UP

since her father wasn’t around, jane was allowed free reign of the penthouse from a young age. she had nannies when she was younger, but they had no issues with her doing what she wanted since she was polite.

that being said, she didn’t let any super friends she had in her home, for their own sakes.

due to her father’s work, she took an interest in media and technology from a young age, and while she was interested in all aspects, computer science was her main focus, and she decided that she wanted her future career to revolve around that

unfortunately for her, her father was adamant on her selecting the high school classes he wanted for her, then the university he wanted for her as well as her major and classes etc etc, claiming that it was because he had an interest in her future and education, but she called bullshit on that

he gave her an ultimatum: do as he says and be fine or choose her own path and have to start from scratch, earning her own money and living in a place she has to pay for. he believed she wouldn’t want to be rid of the lavish lifestyle and told her to think about it

jokes on him tho she was gone by the time he got home from work the next day

INVESTIGATION + DISCOVERING HER POWERS

jane’s intention was to grab her money from her bank account before her father froze it, moving it into another account that was under her name and her name only. when doing so, she asked for a rundown of her account activity and was surprised to learn that money wasn’t just coming in from her father, but another unknown source

she sorta put this discovery on the back burner while she got herself sorted out, enrolled at university and rented herself an apartment, etc etc

after all that’s done, though, she decided to track down this unknown source, believing and hoping that it was her mother and so the Hunt™ began

computer science student by day, nancy drew by night tbh

this investigation probably led her into seedy parts of town, probably got her into a few scuffles, ruffled a few feathers, but she didn’t really care about that, she was determined to find out who this person was

her search led her back to her father’s place, which was easy to get into since he was hardly ever home, and after going through his draws decided to search his computer

she found some files that were confidential, but they were protected by a bunch of code, and by this point she was frustrated so she just let out a sigh and leaned her hand on one of the computer wires

and boom she was sucked into the computer

there’s obviously more to it than that but long story short, she was inside the computer, staring at this wall made of code, and when she waved her hands a certain way, she could make it move

it still took a while, but she unlocked the code faster than she would have on the outside, and when she went in she found files and exchange receipts that pointed to her mother being in a research facility

when she went home and researched on her own, however, she found that the facility was abandoned a long time ago, leaving her at a dead end

PRESENT

she’s still thinking about finding her mother of course, but with no new leads and her internship to deal with, it’s been put on the back burner

ever since she found out she was a super, however, she’s wanted to help the heroes in any way she can, she just doesn’t know how to approach them

that’s why she chose to do her internship at haggis tech, as she heard the rumours that heroes tended to frequent the place

she hasn’t revealed her powers to anyone yet, only because her father’s attitude towards supers made her somewhat paranoid, even though she probably has friends who are supers etc etc, she just doesn’t want her father to find out and maybe even get rid of her like he did with her mother

PERSONALITY

jane is very bright and enthusiastic person, always ready to take on a new challenge, even if she’s in over her head

she insists on helping and can be pretty stubborn about it, which sometimes rubs people the wrong way, but it all comes from a good place

she’s also kind of a dumbass who will put herself in danger if it means saving someone else, she’s very self-sacrificing and i’m surprised she isn’t dead yet tbh

despite being an outgoing person, she doesn’t confide in others much. i doubt anyone really knows about her investigation, nor what situations she’s gotten into during it. she’s the type of person who wants to hear how you’re doing and what you’ve been doing

she can be super whiny, though, a small remnant of when she was given everything on a silver platter. it usually happens when someone’s denying her information or access to something

POWERS

so jane has computer virus physiology but imma try and explain how it works for her specifically let’s see if i’m coherent

VARIANT: CONTROL/ORDER: the type of virus jane is. rather than destroying everything in her path, she can take control of the system and everything within it, providing she isn’t interrupted, of course. she can move things, delete things, and she’s currently working on being able to add things, but it’s a work in progress

CABLE TRAVEL: the way jane can enter a computer system is via the wires attached to it, so she sort of rides the current, so to speak. if that computer is connected to wires that connect to another computer, she can travel to the second computer without returning to the real world

POWER-UP: she can grant herself power-ups for a limited time by reconstructing her data while she’s in the computer. this power-up will follow her into the real world, but will drain faster than if she was still inside the system

WEAKNESSES: if she’s in the computer and someone shuts it down, she shuts down with it until the power is restored. system crashes are the most dangerous as the data becomes harder to control and it’s possible that the system will shut down and never reboot, leaving her trapped inside for eternity. strong anti-viruses are also a major threat and can potentially kill her for good

[prakathesh]

May 18.

May 18. I still remember that day so clearly, I was 14 years old. My family and I were driving back home from Sydney after a protest. We were in the car. My mother gets a call…All I hear from her conversation is ‘Aiyo’ as she starts crying and screaming. We all were concerned. News broke out. The war had ended.

My entire body was frozen. Without understanding what to say. 3 decades of armed struggle. More than 3 decades of oppression. My entire childhood was centred around learning about Tamil, the war and our people. I didn’t even know any English until after I attended school which is not common for a child born in an English speaking nation such as Australia. All those years growing up thinking by the time I was an adult I would get to go home to Eelam and claim it as my country. It’s been 10 years since that day. 10 years since the lives of Eelam Tamil’s were shaken, shattered and broken. Our dream of an independent state. Our dream of freedom. Our dream for the next generation. It is so hard to write about this loss. This loss isn’t digestible. It is as if something has been stuck in my throat for a decade now. Every Maaveerar thinam, every Black July, every Mullivaikkal Remembrance Day. EVERY SINGLE DAY THE THOUGHT OF THE LOSS OCCURS IN MY MIND.

How could this occur? How are we still fighting for basic answers to the war crimes which were committed? How are were still seeking answers regarding the missing Annas and Akkas? How are we still seeking justice? How is oppression still occurring, where is this so called ‘unity’? When you look back in time, you will notice that the war began due to Tamil youth feeling that they could not rely on the government nor the politicians anymore. They felt the need to begin an armed struggle as they could no longer face oppression and started to realise that the continued oppression will only get worse for the future generation. Many of us grew up on the notion and belief of Tamil Eelam. Many of us grew up wishing for an independent state for the Tamil people, a state where there was equality and a place which was home without discrimination.

I ask you, for one moment, let us put the concept of having an independent state in the back burner. Let us focus on the present moment and focus on what is going on now, 10 years later. Let us start by asking this question first; why are we still living in oppression? Why are the Tamil people of Sri Lanka still getting monitored with systematic militarisation? It is one thing to say the war is over, yet why is there systematic militarisation still occurring? Why is there still constant harassment to former cadres and their families throughout the north and eastern provinces? Why?!

So far, I have poured my heart out and spoken about my raw emotions of a time that was a struggle and continues to be to this day. It’s a feeling that is scattered all over and lays in a bed of heartache. Going forward I have broken this piece into parts to educate and put these emotions into perspective. Let’s discuss a few things starting with;

-          The war

-          The aftermath

-          The next step forward

-          Removal of anger and hatred

-          Unity

-          The future generation

-          The closing paragraph

The War

This part is about education regarding why it all started, what happened and starting from the beginning of the bloody, gruesome, lengthy 30-year civil war. Firstly, this was a war which started due to the oppression our Tamil people faced from the Sri Lankan government and the opposing extremist. Notice how I state the government of Sri Lanka and extremist because to hate on all Sinhalese people will make us no different from those that commit the atrocities towards our people. To say that there are plenty of good Sinhalese people would be rude as its understating how many of them are good. So, hating them as an ethnicity group would be wrong. Both sides faced a loss and we must first acknowledge that if we want to rebuild. We are against the oppressor. Now moving onto the facts.

This war started in the 80’s but the oppression was established long before that, prior to the first president coming into power. This oppression occurred when there was a shift in power and the equally living Sinhalese and Tamils were placed in a position where the majority race was given ruling power. In the hands of power, small changes occurred which caused distrust in the Sri Lankan government and eventually the Sinhala Only Act was brought in to play in 1956. This was a major influence in distrust and a major impact to the Tamil people. This was the government saying that the Tamil people were not of the same value. Move forward a few more years and the Sri Lankan flag was officially adopted on December 17, 1978. Prior to 1815, the gold lion was originally the national flag of Ceylon; its four pippul leaves are Buddhist symbols and the sword is said to represent authority. On this modern version, the green represents Muslims, while the orange represents Hindus. Want to know more about the little things on the flag.... just Google it. Please don’t be ignorant. So, let’s be honest just from these two things you can tell there’s a major shift in power and there is definitely a sign of racism. Now skip forward to 1981. The burning of the Jaffna library. Our literature. Our history. Our ancestral information and writings. Then, what about Black July? 1983. Black July. Wow. The black and white images still haunt me and I haven’t even seen them all.

The 1983 riots are what led to the beginning of a 30-year war which saw the loss of countless innocent lives. It sparked a flame which continues to burn to this very day. As a child of an immigrant I grew up seeing our immigrant parents and the difficulty they faced. I grew up seeing and hearing the oppression my Tamil families faced back home. I grew up facing an identity crisis and a struggle of being so privileged that at times I too was ignorant. Once again, I’m rambling my emotions. Let’s go back to the facts. 1983 riots sparked the war to which there was a back and forth struggle between the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) against the Sri Lankan Government and Sri Lankan Armed forces. A war which lead to a multitude of innocent civilians being raped, tortured, discriminated, abused and living in fear. To this day, the rape, torture, discrimination, abuse and living in fear still occurs to Tamil people in the North and East of the country....

The Aftermath

10 years on.

No answers to the missing people. No answer to the white van kidnapping. No answers to all the questions we ask in regard to justice and war crimes. There is continued militarisation through the North and Eastern provinces. The Tamil provinces of Sri Lanka have been seeing multiple structural and cultural changes with Sinhala based identities being placed. With simple examples of a Buddhist temple being built in Jaffna. Religious logos being written in Sinhalese instead of Tamil. Whether it be a big change or a little change, there is systematic assimilation which occurs to this day.

Let’s break down the aftermath of the war. Firstly, the massacre in the end which led to the death of what is stated official as 40,000 innocent civilians. Mainly Tamil but Sinhalese too. However, some say the number reaches nearly 140,000 or more. For a second imagine how many people were injured, lost a limb, displaced and how many families were ruined by the loss of one or more members. This was the beginning of the aftermath. With no armed resistance the government started to kidnap and torture multiple Tamils. Anyone they were suspicious of, even without any proof they would take away and question them, torture them and hold captive until they pleased. In some cases, victims have stated that they have been held captive for more than 5 years. The officials had a list and documented all the people that they had captured or taken away and yet there is no list being released ten years on and those people are still missing or presumed dead. Just early this year and late last year various mass grave sights were found with a plethora of bodies from infants to grown adults. There has been a systematic assimilation of Sinhala into the North and Eastern provinces from the military based tourism projects, to building Buddhist temples and even tiny changes like signs in Sinhalese on our buses. There has been a systematic militarization of the North and Eastern provinces where the military operate as either military or locals working in military based businesses. Just recently as I write this the Sri Lankan government are celebrating their so called ‘Independence Day’ by having military parades and parading various weaponry as a sign of power and mass destruction. Independence should be about unity and peace yet their overall reflection on this matter clearly doesn’t show the same. The aftermath of all the genocide and civil war has left Tamil people in the same place they were prior to the civil war. They are still not treated with equality and they are yet to be given any justice or answers regarding all the people that are missing.

The next step forward

This is probably the most important part and why I began to write this piece. I cannot believe I have been trying to write this for over 5 months now. The present. The current moment. This is where the Tamil diaspora can investigate making a change and empowering our fellow Tamil people whether it be those in foreign nations or those back home. There are many organizations and individuals in the international community whom work towards rehabilitating. I recently read something which really stuck with me. When it comes to those who wonder what they can do for those back home, here is your answer. There are many ways and there isn’t one right thing to do. Knowledge is power and you need to educate yourself. Once you’ve educated yourself, you’ll be able to find out what you can do based on your suitability to help the struggle. There are many activists and organisations out there who are more than happy to help assist and spend their time assisting new activists find their feet. The learning should never stop as there will always be more to learn. Some of us focus on research and advocacy with countries, others focus on strengthening the community within the diaspora, then some choose to build institutions and support the people back home with education and livelihood. There is no one set path you must take when there are multiple options you can use in order to make a change and have an impact. After all its a ripple effect. Even recently early in May I was having a discussion with my partner and sister to which I heard this being said; ‘everyone has a role to play’, that is something that resonated so deep within me as it is so true. Those that want to give back and help, all have a role to play, what that role looks like is based on the individual. However, we should not look down upon or segregate those that are trying to help, in a way that suits their lifestyle.

The next step forward is to realise the rebuilding and unity are the core focuses. If our actions bring us to that goal then we have hope in a better future for the future generations. It gives us the opportunity to focus on rebuilding our communities and uniting our Tamil people together in order to achieve the greater good.

Anger and hatred

Recently with the Easter bomb blasts there was a lot of Tamil people speaking up and raising awareness regarding the atrocities which happened in 2009 as it was a time where the international media had a spotlight on Sri Lanka, and it was a great opportunity to spark debate and investigation. During this time there was a popular hashtag going around - #prayforthevictims. This was a response to the hashtag of -#prayforsrilanka. It was an interesting time as during this distressing and awful period, many Tamil people raised their voices without bashing any Sinhala people. So, kudos to us. However, I want to touch on 2 points regarding the topic of anger and hatred. First and foremost, I applaud everyone who genuinely was out there raising their voice for their rights and during that time there were many Sinhala supremacist who chose to attack various activists and threaten them. During that time, it was so upsetting to see our Tamil youth go through and face hatred aimed at them, although what prevailed in the end was adversity as they were supported through it all. It’s amazing to see that through all we faced, even then the concept of anger and hatred was not placed towards Sinhala people but only towards the Sri Lankan government, the Sri Lankan armed forces and Sinhala supremacists. With that being said, what I did see was my own people bash one another since there is a belief that we all should hold the same beliefs and play the same role towards helping back home. It got to the point where people I knew felt uncomfortable speaking up as they felt as if what they did and do with good intentions was interpreted incorrectly. We need to remember that spreading that anger and hatred towards our people whom choose to voice their opinions and help in their own manner will not do anything but cause them to show anger and hatred back.

Unity

This is something that truly means the most to me as even today I see so much distance between Tamil people and I truly believe we need more unity. I understand not everyone can get along with everyone though and when I talk about ‘unity’ it comes to helping those back home. At this present moment, the desire for a De Facto state of Tamil Eelam is not going to occur anytime soon, so what we need to really address is uniting as Tamil people and helping our brothers and sisters out. They deserve it. The Tamil brothers and sisters back home deserve more opportunities to live happy lives. Further, the Tamil brothers and sisters living within the diaspora, those who are seeking a new life and those who are the youth of the future generations of the diaspora, who are not fully informed about the struggle and the resistance. We need to come together and understand that the trauma and pain which each person has endured is will be different from one another. We need to accept that pain and trauma affects everyone differently and we must come together to unite and rebuild ourselves and those around us.

The future generation

My biggest concern is Tamil going extinct one day. I even wrote about it a few years ago, with that being said, it will only become extinct if we do not teach and educate the future generation of what our people went through or if we do not try and make sure that the future generations speak in Tamil and are proud to be Tamil. I see too many kids these days, refusing to learn or speak Tamil. Too many youth who are not even aware of the struggle and to what extent it was carried out in. So many people who choose to turn a blind eye when our brothers and sisters back home are still facing injustice. Remember, that could have easily been us or our parents. We are fortunate to live in a foreign nation with all these luxuries when our people back home are still being oppressed. Educate yourself and those around you as that alone will go far in making a change. If you cannot voice your opinions, if you cannot financially contribute, if you cannot advocate for the rights, at least educate yourself and those around you, that way it will spark a conversation and awareness and as that awareness is raised, you will be surprised to see how many people will be inspired. I am speaking from personal experience; the more you educate, the larger we will grow.  

The closing paragraph

With all that being said, I stand by a few things. First and foremost, being that Tamil is such a beautiful language with such rich culture and heritage, when you do your research you come to learn that it truly is such a marvel itself. For instance, growing up I used to wonder and think to myself how stupid it was to have three different mei ezhuthukal to pronounce one sound, yet when you truly explore it the differences between the ழ, ல and ள are used to distinctly emphasise the sound behind each part in a word. Our language, culture, traditions and the Tamil struggle for freedom are all significant things that make us who we are and which we must continue to emphasise and educate ourselves and one another on. The future of Tamil and Illankai Tamil is in our hands. It is in the hands of the youth and the future generation. So, let’s take a step forward and unite and find avenues to help those in need. There are so many organisations out there and so many individuals, so reach out. If you do not know where to begin, message me, I would be happy to provide you with various options so that you pick something that best suits you. Do what you can, the way you want, so that you are happy and satisfied at the end of the day. Because no matter what, we will forever be united and fighting for one cause that is, Tamil.

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Okay, so I am fricken living for these two right now!! So, in case you’re wondering; my main projects right now (aside from Cuba v DR) are this one, Switching Roles and of course the requests I’m still working my way through. I have another project on the back burner, but I wanna take my time with that one, so I won’t be posting anything for it yet.

Also, I one again tagged anyone who commented that they enjoyed the last two parts of this, and again if you prefer not to be tagged, feel free to let me know!

tagged: @bullet-prooflove, @delia26, @ghostofachancewithyou, @whiterose2664, @blown-transistor, @esparza-army, @mikeydodds, @southern-magnolia

3. The Thing About Dating

The thing about dating was that he knew how easily he could get swept up in a moment. On the few occasions where he had tried to court someone, he’d gotten lucky and the other person had reciprocated his energy, though not necessarily his intentions. Sebastian Everette was a hopeless romantic, a man who longed to feel that special connection he always heard about in love songs. He had felt it before, unfortunately no one he’d ever gone out with had.

There were times in his life when he’d been convinced that someone like him could never find the person who understood him or his notions about love. Even his best friend, Casper, had told him time and time again that the kind of love Sebastian spent his life believing in didn’t exist. That love was just what people said to each other once they realized that they could probably spend the rest of their days together and be content, happy.

“There are six billion people in the world. It’s hard to find the one person who’s right for you.”

Even now, Casper’s words echoed in his mind, repeating themselves over and over, and still Sebastian couldn’t find it in himself to give up hope. It was too early to know whether Rafael was the one person he’d been waiting for, he kept reminding himself, but still he hoped.

Sebastian began to fidget as he stood in front the Skat Cat, waiting for Rafael. The butterflies in his stomach hadn’t shown any signs of settling since the first conversation they’d had at the bar. His pulse quickened at the thought of the well-dressed ADA and the corner of his lips naturally lifted into a gentle smile. Leaning back against the building behind him, Sebastian sighed and tried to calm his nerves by focusing on his breathing. He also tried not to notice that Rafael was twenty minutes late.

While a reasonable person might chalk the ADA’s tardiness with a slow moving subway or traffic--if he’d decided to take a cab--Sebastian had a tendency to overthink the simplest of things. He imagined that was part of the reason why he was single, most guys appreciated their freedom to be on time or be late if they pleased without their significant other taking it personally. The musician was well aware of his insecurities and, after years of solitude, had gotten them fairly under control. At least he hoped. Which was why he refused to let himself think that Rafael wouldn’t show up eventually.

As if an answer to his prayers, the prosecutor jogged up the sidewalk, briefcase in hand and an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m so sorry, the subway got delayed on 14th--”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Sebastian answered, smiling at the other man. He took a deep breath in attempts to silence the nagging voice in the back of his head.

“No hat tonight, huh?” Rafael asked with a smile.

“Yeah, well, you know...thought I’d keep things interesting,” Sebastian answered. Rafael chuckled, nodding in appreciation. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

Continuing to focus on his breathing, Sebastian was able to reign his nerves once more. “So, tough day, huh?”

“Something like that,” Rafael answered as they walked side by side on the walkway. “The case I’m trying right now is...complex. I won’t bore you with the details but suffice it to say that it’s one case I’m not sure I’d win. I’m hoping the defense will be open to a plea deal.”

“Hm.”

Rafael knitted his brows as he glanced at the man walking beside him. “What?”

Sebastian bobbed his shoulders. “I don’t know, you just don’t give off the vibe of someone who gives up.”

“It’s not that I’m giving up, I just...jury trials are always a crapshoot. You go in hoping that the jury will be able to make sense of all the evidence, but there’s always a chance that it could work against you.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean if you have evidence that something went down, they have to take that into consideration, right?” Sebastian asked, casting his eyes to the slightly taller man.

“Yes. But a good defense attorney--and this guy has one--will do what it takes to create reasonable doubt. All it takes is one juror to turn a trial inside out,” Rafael answered.

“Sounds pretty complicated,” Sebastian mused. “I mean, I get it; innocent until proven guilty and all that, but if this cat really did something wrong and you have evidence that proves it--”

“--He also has evidence that contradicts mine,” Rafael said.

The pianist raised his brows as he nodded once. “Oh…”

For a moment they walked in silence, the quiet between them filled with the rustle and bustle of every other New Yorker walking to one destination or another. Sebastian bit down on his bottom lip, wondering if he should offer an apology and also wondering why he’d felt the need to offer an opinion in the first place. It wasn’t as though he knew very much about the legal system anyhow.

“But enough about that,” Rafael said softly, offering him a smile. “Tell me about your day.”

The musician smiled back, grateful to have not ruined their time with his nonsense. “I spent most of it working.”

The ADA furrowed his brows. “Working? I thought you said you were off today.”

“Well, a different kind of working,” Sebastian answered, smiling through the warmth that spread on his face. “I’m uh...writing a musical. Or trying to anyway.”

The corner of Rafael’s lips curled upward as they reached Miyabi Sushi and the pianist opened the door, holding it to let Rafael in first. “Really..?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian answered with a faint smile, stepping inside behind Rafael. “It’s a work in progress. A long, long progress.”

“What’s it about?” Rafael asked, following the musician to a corner table, where they sat down.

“Love. Loss. Grief,” Sebastian answered, running a hand through his hair as he chuckled. “I know, it sounds like every other musical since the beginning of time.”

“Well,” Rafael mumbled as he bobbed his shoulders and took off his jacket. “Love, loss, even grief are often times subjective. There is no one-fits-all experience.”

Sebastian tilted his head in the form of a shrug. “I don’t know, for the most part people tend to go through the same emotions when it comes to things like that.”

“Well, yes, but they don’t necessarily experience them the same way,” Rafael countered.

They shared a moment of silence as their server brought over menus and took their drink order. When they were left alone again, Sebastian looked up at the man across from him, eying him appreciatively before he continued to read the menu.

“I’d love to hear it sometime,” Rafael said, eyes still looking over the laminated list of dishes as the server came back their drinks.

Sebastian felt the heat rise in his cheeks, traveling all the way down to the back of his neck. “Maybe. If I can ever actually get it finished.” He took a sip from his beer, gesturing to Rafael’s menu with his chin. “Anything look good?”

“Think I’m in a sashimi kinda mood,” Rafael answered with a smirk as he set the menu down. “How long have you been working on it? The musical.”

“Seven years,” Sebastian answered in a sigh, offering a smile. “I’ve thought about scrapping it a couple of times. My buddy, Casper, has told me I should start over but I just can’t let it go. Too stubborn, I guess.”

“Seven years, that’s…”

“Pathetic?” Sebastian offered in a chuckle.

“No, it’s admirable,” Rafael replied. “Means you really believe in it despite any struggles.”

The musician bobbed his shoulders. “It’s a constant struggle, but I guess I figure if you’ve got no fight left in you, you might as well be dead, ya know?”

Rafael smiled, nodding his head as their server came back and took their order. Sebastian let out a breath as his gaze caught that of the prosecutor. He took a moment to admire the depth of the other man’s eyes--a much darker shade of green due to the dimness of their surroundings--and the way his hair was so perfect combed away from his face. His hook nose only seemed to add character to his other features and the beautiful pout that seemed to be permanently curled into a gentle smirk.

Sebastian couldn’t help but grace the other man with a smirk of his own. “I gotta ask you something…”

Rafael swallowed, eyes holding the other man’s stare. “What’s that?”

“How is it that a guy like you--handsome, successful--is single?”

An eruption of goosebumps freckled Sebastian’s skin as Rafael blushed and cast his eyes down to his hands. He followed the attorney’s gaze and dear God, how had he not noticed his hands? His large, gorgeous hands, long, graceful fingers and veins that raised the smooth skin so naturally.

“I think it’s the classic story of working too much to really meet anyone outside of the job, plus...my work is…” He sighed as he shook his head. “Grim at best. Horrifying at its worst. It’s sometimes difficult to be good company for anyone, let alone be romantic. My social life has taken a back seat for quite some time. After a while, I hardly noticed it anymore...until recently,” Rafael answered, bringing his eyes back up. “Though I could ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t know that I would call myself successful persay.”

“You make a living doing what you’re most passionate about; making beautiful music,” Rafael replied, smiling. “In my book, that constitutes being successful. Plus you’re charming and talented--”

“--Alright, easy,” Sebastian chuckled. “I can take a compliment and all, but my knees start knockin’ when you turn on the charm full-blast.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, the reality was that his heart had been hammering in his chest since Rafael had walked up to the bar to meet him. His stomach had done somersaults every time the ADA smiled at him. He felt anxious and calm, insecure and safe all in the same breath.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Rafael said with a smirk as he placed his forearms on the table to lean towards Sebastian.

He paused, swallowing and trying to choose his words carefully. “I...feel things pretty intensely.” Was that too honest? “When I like someone, I tend to throw my whole heart into it, and um…sometimes I get too far into my own head, I overthink, I…” Shut up! “I let my insecurities get the best of me.” Talking. He was doing too much of it! He sighed and took a deep breath. “I dunno, I guess it...freaks guys out.”

Why? Why had he said all of that?! He could’ve just said he simply hadn’t found the right guy yet and left it at that!

He chuckled under his breath, keeping his eyes down.

“Sorry, that got a little heavy. I didn’t mean to freak you out, too--”

“--No,” Rafael answered, shaking his head as his hand reached across the table to rest on Sebastian’s. “It was honest...and it doesn’t freak me out at all.”

“It doesn’t?” Sebastian asked with an arched brow. “So you’re just as crazy as I am?” he teased, lacing their fingers together.

“That’s actually a strong possibility. I did once get a defendant on the stand to choke me with a belt just to prove a point,” Rafael answered.

Sebastian laughed heartily as their food arrived, though neither of them moved to acknowledge it.

“Seriously,” Rafael said, holding the other man’s gaze. “I even provided the belt.”

The corners of the musician’s lips curled in amusement as he nodded once. “My turn to be impressed.”

Rafael’s head tilted in the form of a shrug as he smirked. “It worked.”

For a moment that seemed like a lifetime, Sebastian could--in his mind’s eye--see the two of them together, sharing so many tender moments, so many firsts, so many milestones. He swallowed when he caught himself wondering what Rafael would look like holding a newborn baby. Blinking twice, he slowly pulled his fingers from Rafael’s to reach for the chopsticks beside his plate.

He could hear the sounds of the city outside and began to feel grounded again as he picked up one of the pieces of sashimi and popped it into his mouth. “So…” He chewed and swallowed as he tried to think of something to say. “Where’d you go to law school?”

“Harvard,” Rafael answered. “What about you? Did you go to school?”

“Manhattan School of Music,” Sebastian answered.

“Did you always know you wanted to be a musician?”

“Yeah, ever since I was a kid. Started teaching myself piano when I was six,” Sebastian replied. “My mom didn’t have much money for lessons, but our neighbor had this great Wurlitzer Console that she hardly ever used. She used to babysit me while my mom worked the night shift at the diner on the corner of our street. The minute I first touched those keys, I remember it was like...this electricity going through my fingers. Music was a way for me to express how I felt inside in a way words couldn’t, like a piece of my soul made up of crescendos and legatos.”

Way to sound like a tool, he thought to himself.

Rafael smiled as he chewed a piece of raw fish. “You make it sound so beautiful.”

A pink hue graced Sebastian’s cheeks as he gathered some rice with his chopsticks. “How about you? Were you one of those kids that argued with everyone over everything?”

The prosecutor laughed. “Often. I’ve always had a bit of a mouth that I, still to this day, utilize. Sometimes a little too much, some might say.”

“Your parents must’ve loved that,” Sebastian teased with a grin. He could've kicked himself when he looked up and saw Rafael biting down on his bottom lip, looking as though he was trying suppress a terrible memory by staring at his sashimi. “Hey, I’m--Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The lawyer looked back up at him and shook his head. “No, no, I just…” He paused as if to gather his thoughts. “My father was not very good man, he was in and out of the picture most of the time.”

Sebastian frowned, reaching across the table to lay his hand on the other man’s forearm. “I’m sorry,” he said again in a whisper.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” Rafael answered, one corner of his mouth twitch as if trying to form a smile.

Sebastian let a moment of silence settle between them before he glanced down at the other man’s half-eaten plate. “So, what do you think? This is a great place, right?”

Rafael seemed thankful for the change in subject, smiling as he nodded. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“Let me guess, you’ve walked by it a bunch of times, but never thought to go inside?” the pianist quipped with a wink.

Rafael narrowed his eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Clever.”

“I thought so,” Sebastian answered with a bob of his shoulders as he continued to eat.

When they were finished with their respective dinner’s, Sebastian--after refusing to split the bill-- paid their tab and polished off his beer. Standing, he waited for Rafael to walk in front of him, blushing when the attorney made a comment about him being such a gentleman.

As they stepped out into the crisp fall air, Sebastian tucked his hands into his front pockets as he and Rafael settled into a leisure walk back towards the club. Conversation with the ADA came so easy and Sebastian mentally cursed the short, one-block walk to the Skat Cat. He could’ve spent the whole night talking to Rafael without so much as noticing whether it was daylight yet. As they approached the spot where they’d began their night, Sebastian sighed, turning to face the other man with a smile.

“Thank you for dinner,” Rafael said.

“I’m glad you called. I had a really great time,” Sebastian replied.

“So did I,” the ADA answered, grinning at the slightly shorter man. “What are you doing for breakfast tomorrow?”

Sebastian cast his eyes upward, as if he would find the answer somewhere in the air above the other man’s head. “I think I still have some pop tarts,” he answered, smiling when Rafael chuckled.

“We should meet at the cafe by Gristedes. They have the most amazing French lattes,” Rafael suggested.

Sebastian grinned and nodded. “I’d like that alot.”

“How about we meet back here at, say, seven?”

Again the musician nodded. “Okay. Seven it is.”

For a moment, he was unsure as to whether he should try for a good night kiss. Was this even a date? It had certainly felt like one for most of the night.

What if he did kiss Rafael and got carried away? Even if he wouldn’t be opposed to things going a bit further, he knew it would only sink him in deeper than he already was and it was only the first date. If it even was, in fact, a first date.

“I should go,” Rafael said softly, reaching out with the hand that wasn’t holding his briefcase. Sebastian took it in his all too willingly and stroked the ADA’s skin with his thumb, lifting the corner of his lips.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, earning a nod from the other man.

“Good night, Sebastian.”

“Good night, Rafael.”

Sebastian watched as the ADA continued walking down the street and he let out a sigh as he turned to go in through the door beside the entrance to the Skat Cat. He climbed the narrow staircase and unlocked the door to his apartment, shedding his jacket. For a moment, he stood there, replaying the last moments of his evening with Rafael and he closed his eyes as he huffed out a breath.

“Fuck, I should’ve kissed him,” he hissed.

[schwiftit-blog]

Hiiiiiiii! I was wondering if you could do an image where Rick finds out the reader has depression/suicidal thoughts. Thank you!

Major trigger warning for suicidal contemplation, “casual” suicidal thoughts, and over all harsh topics. This fic is pretty long too, so hopefully its still what you were looking for. Enjoy and thanks for the request!!

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You’re what the kids are dubbing now as casually suicidal. Well, more specifically you were depressed with casual suicidal thoughts. You couldn’t believe the term when you googled your symptoms: The constant just do it, you can end it right now paired with the delicate why not? why not just jump off the edge, put your hand on the burner, throw yourself out the car, grab the knife, slice––

These intrusive thoughts would be less worrying if they came at appropriate times. They surfaced after a normal day, while you ate dinner, or when you were driving. They popped out during the most normal of times and that was when you realized you were beginning to normalize them. They were as part of everyday life as was brushing your teeth or even sleeping. 

And somehow, you always managed to ignore these…Urges. These babbling, compulsive thoughts that, at the time, don’t seem too abnormal. Until you start scrawling down how many of these particular thoughts you’re having a day. 

The journal is worn out, something you snagged from the discount bookstore from downtown. The front and back are an mottled light brown. There’s a small drawstring that slips around it so you can tie it up. There was no spiral spine, the paper a bit thicker than printer. It fit in the palm of your hand, almost mimicking the small size of a planner. The journal was a few bucks, a cheap steal really. You picked a blue ballpoint pen to go along with it and thus began your journey of journal keeping.

If you just ended it now, you won’t have to deal with traffic ever again. 2

Why not just do it to…Do it? 1

Each time you had one of these thoughts, you would quickly jot it down when you had the chance. Next to it, you’d rate the level of motivated you felt to actually commit the action. Most of these thoughts stayed within the 1-4 range of “seriousness”. However, some days the thoughts were blunter, harsher, and you found yourself jotting down a 7 or an 8. Never had you had a 9 or 10 thankfully.

Once you began filling pages with these thoughts, you realized just how in deep you were. 

>>

Somewhere along the line you decided telling Rick about these thoughts would be a Very Bad Idea and therefore, plan Very Bad Idea was marked off the list of “things to do about this issue”. You knew you needed to take action, to be properly diagnosed, you even had the journal to show you were actively taking part in recognizing these thoughts.

However, at some point, the journal became something too personal to ever share with anyone and so, began the real mission: Keep the Journal from Rick.

Rick Sanchez was an extremely nosy person, for that you were certain. The genius was not only a master of deduction, but also a mastermind at observing the little signal people shared about their lives. So, it is when you are sitting in your apartment, knees curled up to your chest and journal out, that Rick of course decides to portal in. Unannounced.

Completely unannounced. 

You scramble to throw the book under your covers, but before you can Rick is stumbling forward with his flask in hand and coat whipping wildly behind him whilst the portal shrinks away. You know you look a deer in headlights and Rick decides to just––

“S-Shit babe, you seen a ghost or what?” He asks, words slurring and feet unstable. He collapses on the bed, face in your lap and long limbs dangling off the edge of your bed. He kicks off his shoes with squirming difficulty, a sure sign he plans to stay a while and bug you. Probably even sleep over if he’s drunk enough to pass out.

Do drunk comas count as sleepovers? You’d like to think so.

The book is plastered to Rick’s cheek and somehow he is still unaware of it, or rather simply, he probably doesn’t care. With a calm motion you run your fingers through his hair and hope you can slip it from his face and slide it to the edge of the bed.

Operation: Out of Sight, Out of Mind is a go. 

Your fingers graze the edge of the pages.

“No, but I am seeing sorosis right in my lap.” You counter, tugging not even an inch of the book out.

He shifts.

“Oh, one of those moods, huh ba-babe?” Rick rolls his eyes, then meets yours with a drunken grin spattering his face. “I know just how to fix that up.”

Long fingers begin to scour your stomach, lightly leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You squirm, unable to move due to the journal and Rick’s weight on you. He sits up a touch, craning his neck to press a kiss, then a bit to your lower abdomen. You suck in a harsh breath before he sits up and––

The pages stick to his cheek and then plop onto the sheets. Rick’s eyes land on it and you know its downhill from there. In half a heartbeat the mood in the room shifts from sexually-tense to stressfully-tense. Rick reads over the words, the numbers, feeling the thickness of the filled out pages.

“What is––What the fuck is this shit?” He asks you, half serious, half kidding. Like he thinks this is maybe a college project or perhaps a coding system for one of your other more obscure hobbies.

“Its, uh, well I mean…” Your hand goes to your neck and that is a definite sign to Rick that this is what it looks like.

“What do the numbers mean.” It isn’t a question, but rather a demand. The words grinding out and, most alarmingly, without a stutter.

You hang your head in shame for a moment, eyes not daring meet Rick’s again. “How…Close I got to trying out whatever thought…I had?” The words get stuck coming out, but they eventually do.

Rick’s quiet and you hear the constant flip of pages before a bony hand is lifting your chin. The grip is firm and near painful leaving you no choice but to look up. This was turning out to be just as painful as you thought it would be.

“Op-Open up,” Rick mumbles, his other hand grabbing something you can’t see. Cool metal is pressed to your lips a second later and not too long after that the searing burn of whiskey is choking you. You take the drink in stride for a moment before sputtering, residual alcohol slipping down your chin and your sinuses on fucking fire. “Thats it…G-Good girl, alright, alright, enough. I can’t take your sniffling, its just a-alcohol. Sheesh.”

You sat with your back against the wall, your hands fisting the sheets while you waited for Rick’s next move. Already you could feel the liquor in your toes and the warmth was spreading from your chest. 

“I’m not gonna––There’s no magic lesson here, alright?” He leans back on one hand, drinking more from his flask with the other. Drool settles on his chin and you watch it as he leans forward and points at your chest. His finger just continues on until it is jabbing you right where you think he thinks your heart is. Rick is only a little off, to cut the guy some slack at least. 

“But you can’t be––Y-You can’t obsess over this shit. People, their brains, trust me. Sometimes they’re fucking just not working, you know? And we have––There is t-this whole fucking universe spanning around us, and yet…W-W-We have thoughts against ourselves like that.” Rick was becoming slightly more animated as he spoke, beginning with gestures and eventually shifting so he was in your personal space.

You nod for lack of words to say, your shoulders slowly losing their tension.

“And the fucking benefit to it all is b-babe, you’re with Rick Sanchez!” He finishes off, like it makes any sense. “Y-You wanna ge-get these feelings out of your system? W-W-Well we can. We fucking can and with no fucking repercussions because I just want to give that big ol’ fuck you to the universe. Loopholes bitch, now th-thats what we’re all about.”

“I don’t…Understand?” You ask, voice apprehensive.

“Tonight, we’re gonna lay low. Eat that pussy, get you all boneless and relaxed. Tomorrow we’re g-going to head out to one of my favorite spots along the galaxy. You’ll see. Trust me.”

And you do, because if Rick was good at one thing, it was earning people’s trust. 

“Now here, t-t-the only real cure for this shit is liquor so…Drink up.”

[fierypen37]

Held Captive XXIII

Another chapter! Enjoy!

Part XXIII

 “Have you found your sea-legs yet, Snow?” Asha Greyjoy said, clapping him on the shoulder. Jon groaned, slumped against the railing. He retched over the side, though only bile was left. He swiped his mouth on the cuff of his jerkin and squeezed his watering eyes shut. Maybe by blotting out the image of seething, endless grey waves and greyer sky would help. Jon was fascinated by the sea, but now there was nothing he despised more than endless open water.

“Aye, just watch me walk on water,” Jon said, spitting over the rail. Asha snorted, resting her elbows on the rail as she looked at him sidelong. Those wide grey eyes, that arrogant curl of her mouth, she looked like Theon, and that made him want to punch something.

“Northerners never do well at sea. Not in several thousand years,” Asha said, casting a critical eye of over the sail and heading.

“Warne! Tighten up our fore! The rocks are sharp the closer we get to Oakenshield!” she shouted.

“Aye, Captain!” the squat ironborn said, fingers deft on the ropes.

“Another Brandon,” Jon said, swallowing another wave of bile as the ship sliced through a swell. Icy spray dampened his clammy face.

“Eh?” Asha said, beads of seawater glistening like pearls in her short cap of dark hair.

“Brandon the Burner. He set the North’s ships on fire,” he said. Asha nodded.

“Regretting that now, hmm? House Greyjoy would never have risen to power had the North kept their navy. Say what you will about the Ironborn, but we never let an opportunity pass us by.”

“No matter who you trample on to take that opportunity,” Jon muttered. Asha rolled her eyes, mouth pinched as if she’d bitten a lemon.

“Gods! What does the queen see in you? A grim bumpkin born on the wrong side of the sheets,” she said. Jon glowered at her, tempted to correct her. I am a Stark of Winterfell, a knight and dragonrider. Missing Daenerys settled into a dull ache in his chest, though his griping stomach gave him little time to ponder it.  

“How long until we reach the Mander?” he asked, striving for a neutral topic. Asha startled him by leaping up on the rail and leaning over the side, supported by a line wrapped around her arm. Squinting into the misty horizon, she grinned down at him. Her long coat fluttered around her like leathery wings.

“We’ll reach Oakenshield by nightfall, and slip by under cover of darkness. Their signal fires are a pain in the arse to contend with. Then we’ll need those muscles of yours, Snow. Poling up the Mander takes a strong man.”

“It seems slower than riding.”

“A skiff is light and maneuverable. While we might get away with riding unnoticed—the Reach is bloody huge—our best bet is to slip upriver quick and quiet. Trust me, Snow. We’ll get you to King’s Landing and back to those sweet tits soon.”

“Watch your mouth,” Jon snapped, gripping Longclaw’s hilt. Asha’s smirk fell away. She squatted on the rail, braced expertly against the pitch of the ship with a cat’s light balance.

“I guessed by those longing looks at the Rock you and the queen were fucking. Can’t blame you, she has a fine arse. I don’t care who the queen fucks. But you’d do well to remember that she is a queen. Eventually some perfumed ponce is going to come along and offer swords or gold or whatever it is queens will trade their cunts for. And she can’t be having babes with your pretty curly hair, hmm? Look how it worked out for Cersei Lannister.”

Mine and damn the consequences, he’d said. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thought just the scenario Asha proposed. Things were different now though. He was named Stark, a dragonrider. Named Daenerys’ second. Surely now he would be considered worthy of her? Jon’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt his teeth. Missing her was a constant ache low in his chest, actual, physical pain.

“Daenerys is nothing like Cersei.”

“Aye. That’s what worries me,” Asha said, expression serious.

With that, Asha left him to his thoughts, barking orders as she did so. Jon squirted water from a skin to rinse his mouth. He couldn’t sit and pine for her. He had work to do.

Tyrion had a long scroll of ideas on how to chip away at the tottering statue of House Lannister, especially in retaliation for the Lannisport fire. A man had to admire the sheer ruthlessness when Tyrion applied his considerable intellect against his remaining family.

In the search for Sansa or Arya, Robb had sent Brienne. Jon and half a dozen of his men were to accompany Asha up the Mander to King’s Landing. One of Tyrion’s spies, his former squire Podrick Payne was in the city, working at a tavern. He could smuggle them into the city unnoticed to meet their mysterious ally. They were due in several weeks’ time to meet at a tavern in Flea Bottom. By the time the first true snow falls, the scroll had read.  

Jon staggered across the deck and ducked below to the cramped cabin. Ser Talhart and five others lay in various tangled states of misery as he. Only Brienne seemed unaffected. Even nearly a week aboard and Jon still felt queasy with the pitch and roll of the deck underfoot. The room was unbearably hot, reeking of vomit and unwashed bodies.  

“Greyjoy says we should reach Oakenshield by nightfall. Come morning, we’ll be on the Mander.”

“Thank the gods! I swear by any god there is I will never set foot on a ship again,” Ser Talhart said.

“Aye. We’ll see if Greyjoy is as good a captain as she boasts. Between rough seas and currents around Oakenshield, we should be in for a long night,” Jon said.

The afternoon passed in agonizing slowness. While he was able to keep down some broth, the nausea remained, his stomach quivering and lurching along with the ship. Captain’s orders bid them to stay below deck, and not a man complained. Jon settled himself by sharpening Longclaw, then his dirk, then the sock knife tucked in his boot. Then he turned his attention to oiling his boiled leather armor. Heavy plate was suicide on the deck of a ship, so thus his lighter leather. A couple of the men diced, and Ser Talhart snored beneath his lowered cap. Though Jon felt leagues from sleep, he settled on the floor, pillowing his head on his folded arms.

The world spread before him, every rolling hill, ridge, river and tree limned with gold. The grass was soft and lush in high summer, and he lay lulled by the music of water and the hum of bees. Then to the North, an echo of cold. Faintly, the high, thin cry of a wolf’s howl and the flutter of wings. An ancient voice holding the gasps of dying men and the rustle of dead leaves: Jon. Jon. The Isle. The Isle of Faces. Find me. Find me. Find me, Jon!

“Jon! Wake up!”

Jon snapped awake, finding Ser Talhart’s square face above him.

“We should arm. It’s nearly time,” he said. Jon swiped the sweat from his brow.

“Aye. Aye, give me a moment,” he said.

A glance out the murky window found full dark, the sky a blank grey-black slate. By the time he’d choked down a stale biscuit and wine and settled into his armor, the dregs of the dream faded. Together, Jon, Brienne, and his men clattered up the stair to deck. In the middle distance stood the island of Oakenshield, seat of House Hewett.

“A shame we’re sneaking by at night. I hear the signal fires of the Shield Islands are a sight to behold. I hear the roof of the castle has green tiles,” Brienne said, excitement crackling in her blue eyes. Jon smirked.

“I think tonight it will be a good thing not to see the signal fires,” he said.

“True,” Brienne said, donning the hooded cloak to hide the shine of the moonlight on her fair hair.

“Quiet now, lads. Eerl, the mainsail! Hagen, tighten up that drag line!” Asha hissed, darting around deck like a mad crow.

The wind was with them, as far as Jon could tell, the ship glided through rough swells. The moon shone in scattered beams on the water, the black bulk of the island sharp against the shimmering sea. Jon’s mouth was dry.

“Now the plan is to sail up the mouth of the Mander, then we disembark?” Ser Talhart asked.

“Aye. Then Asha’s men will sail back to Pyke. Hopefully without being seen. Then no Lannister men will be looking for us,” Jon said, knuckles white on the lip of the railing.

“What happens if they raise the alarm?” Ser Talhart asked with a nervous glance at the jagged black spears of rock surrounding Oakenshield. The ironborn had been by turns gleeful and morbid describing the treacheries of riptides, rogue waves, and ships run aground on hidden rocks.  

“That won’t happen,” Asha said, nudging Ser Talhart’s shoulder, “now shut up.”

They froze, gliding past the empty black eye socket of a guard tower. Jon squinted into the gloom, searching for a hint of movement. Just as he was about to breathe a sigh of relief, there was a scrum of movement on the wall.

“Hawkeye!” Asha said with a wave.

“Got ‘em,” the gruff ironborn replied, poised with a longbow on the ship’s crosstree, squat and black like a vulture. The guard on the wall paused, warming his hands at the brazier, talking to his companion. Hagen Hawkeye waited, keeping them in his sight as the ship slipped by. Jon held his breath, conscious of every creak of the ship, every flap of sail . . . The Black Wind crept by, silent as a shadow.  

“We’re clear of the main guard tower,” Asha hissed, “Another hour or so and we’ll be at the mouth of the Mander.”

Jon paced up and down the deck, marking out the steps as time ticked by. He found he was too nervous to be ill, a small blessing. Oakenshield faded in the distance, and fortunately, Jon could see the black shape of land on the horizon. So close . . . The bulk of Oakenshield loomed behind them. For himself, Jon wouldn’t feel safe until there was solid ground beneath his feet. He felt the itch of watching eyes on the back of his neck.

Under Asha’s direction, he and his men began loading their supplies in the skiff lashed to the side of the ship. The labor took his mind off the guards, though standing poised in the bed of the skiff, Jon saw only ocean. Surging water, endless lurching . . . Jon retched over the side. Some of the sick was caught by the wind and slapped against the ship’s hull.

“Watch where your puling, Snow!” Asha said, laughter in her voice.

“Bugger off,” Jon said hoarsely, setting down the crate of hard biscuits. Gods, his throat felt sore and raw. As he watched, there was movement in the water, a sleek black shape. A triangular fin broke the surface.

“What’s that?” Brienne asked from above.

“A shark. Big one too, look at the tailfin,” Asha said, pointing to a smaller lashing fin slicing through the surface. Jon clumsily staggered toward the rope ladder. He certainly felt safer with the deck boards under his feet.

“Are there sharks in the Mander?” Ser Talhart asked, eyes fixed on the shape in the water. The shark disappeared into the depths quick as thought. Asha shrugged.

“I’ve never seen one. It seems they don’t like the water. Too sweet for their taste,” she said.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Jon asked, with a longing glance at land. Asha squinted at the sky. It was still full dark, Jon guessed the hour of the wolf.

“We’ll be cutting it close,” she said, “you lot go below. Get out from underfoot.”

Warne Harlaw, Asha’s second, stumped below the sky began to lighten toward dawn. From their murky window, Jon saw the shapes of the shore. Thank the gods.

“Hurry up, you shites! We have to be off beyond the Shields before the guard changes,” he said, fat lips peeled back in a sneer to reveal chipped, yellowed teeth.

Jon leapt to his feet, settling Longclaw and catching up his rucksack holding his armor and supplies. A brisk wind made Jon grateful for his cloak as they stepped on deck. One by one, his men and Brienne climbed down in the skiff. Jon followed, his grip white-knuckled on the skiff’s low side. Two ironborn lowered the skiff to the water was a loud splash. Asha leapt down, landing with practiced balance.

“Remember Harlaw, keep her low and fast! Drowned God save you from my wrath if the shielders raise their alarm.” Settling at the prow, Asha gestured to Jon and his men.

“Poles! Quickly now!”

 Asha hadn’t lied. Poling upriver took strength. Training with the sword and hard labor had toughened Jon’s muscles, but he was more used to bearing a shield and sword than a river pole. Jon stifled a grunt as he dragged the pole up, sweeping it forward in tandem with Ser Talhart and his two other men on the starboard side of the skiff. His arms trembled, his shoulders ached, his hands felt like they were on fire, chafed to blisters even through his gloves. By his guess, they’d been at it for at least two watches since dawn broke in sunny brilliance.

The Mander was rich with the loamy scent of silt and rushes. The air was cool and moist, even though the rising sunlight was enough make him sweat in his leathers. Gnats and midges danced in the air. The breadth of the river surprised him, wide enough for two of Asha’s longships to sail up side by side. Jon shared a glance with Brienne who answered with a grim smile. None of the northmen would break first. It was a matter of honor to prove their strength to an outsider. Asha stood balanced on the prow, keen eyes scanning the murky river ahead for sand banks and submerged obstacles. As time dragged on, Asha broke the silence in a sweet clear voice.

“Hey don’t ye see that black cloud a risin’?/Way haul, we’ll haul away Jo!/Nay whinin an’ my mam told me/Way haul, we’ll haul away Jo!” With each repetition of ‘Jo,’ Asha stabbed her pole down for a sweep, guiding them through the current. Jon recognized it as a common work song, used to pass the time. He and the men took up the answering phrase.

“Hey don’t ye see that black cloud a risin’?” Asha sang.

“Way haul, we’ll haul away Jo!” Jon grunted, slamming his pole down for another pull. His arms and shoulders shrieked.

To take his mind off the pain, Jon’s eyes wandered over the gently rolling fields of the Reach, still tinged with green even at this late season. The wide open fields felt strange after the Westerland’s crags and the Riverland’s dense woods, what trees were to be found were in the ordered lines of orchards. He and Daenerys had poured over maps of the Reach and the Crownlands, and he’d memorized every holdfast and road on their route to King’s Landing. His love had a fierce, loyal heart, but life had taught her cruel lessons of betrayal. Her worry touched him.

“Oi found meself an Arbor lass!” Asha said.

“Way haul, we’ll haul away Jo!”

Another half a watch passed with Asha leading them in songs to ease the effort of work. The sun climbed in the sky, sweat streamed beneath the now suffocating weight of his cloak, exacerbated the strangely humid air. Each breath emerged in a low grunt, lost in the river’s murmurings. Asha stopped singing and danced to the back of the skiff, angling the craft toward shore.

“Whew! Pull up then, lads! Pull up!” Asha said, with an ushering gesture. Jon bit back a sigh of relief as they set aside their poles and stomped through knee-high marsh to shore.

“You northerners are tough bastards. Close to three watches’ worth of hard rowing without stopping,” Asha said, tossing a waterskin over her shoulder. Jon caught it, squirting stream into his mouth and onto his face. Sweet relief to the parched, burning tissue of his throat. Asha stabbed the skiff’s grounding stake into the dirt, tamping it down with a careless stomp of her boot.  

“Here, Theo,” Jon said, handing the waterskin to Ser Talhart. Brienne looked a little grey, so Jon clapped a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Asha took a seat in the rippling shade of a willow. His men staggered up in various attitudes of exhaustion. Jon sank onto the ground beside Brienne. The breeze cooled the sweat on his brow in sweet relief.

“Are there any biscuits to be had?” he asked, ravenously hungry.

“Aye,” Brienne said, handing him two. The hardtack was dry as dust, and crunched between his teeth. Still, it was food.

The group chewed in silence, broken only by the soft chuckle of the Mander. Jon washed down the unpalatable lump of hardtack with tepid water, longing for a side of venison with spiced honey, fried potatoes with butter.

“We made it past the shielders. I think the only house close is Horn Hill, and old Randyll Tarly has sworn to Cersei, as far as I know. She made him lord of who-fucking-cares. Last I heard, he was fighting your brother in the Crownlands, Snow. The only other real power along the Mander is Highgarden, and the Golden Company did us a favor and sacked the castle already,” Asha said, folding her hands behind her head. Ironborn to the bone, they thrive in turmoil.

“The Tyrells are Lords Paramount of the Mander, right?” Ser Talhart asked, cracking his knuckles.

“They were. Until the Lannister bitch blew them to hell in the Sept of Baelor,” Asha said, eyes half-closed.

“I thought Mace Tyrell had four children. Only Loras and Margery died in King’s Landing,” Brienne said, between bites of hardtack.  

“Aye, there were two others. Garlan Tyrell died during the War of Five Kings, at the Battle of Blackwater, along with Renly Baratheon and most of Stannis’ men. The eldest, what was his name? Willem?”  

“Willas,” Brienne corrected.

“Willas! He was the crippled one. He died when they sacked the castle.”

“Olenna left him behind?” Jon asked with a frown. A woman who would risk death for treason to avenge her murdered grandchildren would not leave her last living relative to die. Asha shrugged.

“Olenna doesn’t enjoy talking to a girl who ‘swaggers around like an idiot boy.’ She didn’t talk about Highgarden. I didn’t ask.” Asha settled against the willow’s bark. Jon stood, shaking the soreness from his arms.

“Brienne, take two of the men and scout around. I’ll see to the weapons. We rest here?” Jon said.

“Aye,” Asha said, “for at least a watch or two. The Mander doesn’t have many tributaries or side streams to get lost in, so if we pole on after dusk, we won’t get lost.” Jon nodded, parting the willow’s draping branches. Brienne, Ser Talhart and his son Ed moved in stealthy circles through the rushes, pushing outward.

Jon checked the lines tethering the skiff, scooping handfuls of river water to wash his face. The cool water felt heavenly. Jon heaved the bundled spears and longswords over his shoulder. He looked up into the cloudless blue sky near midday, the air so warm. He half-expected the dragons to be wheeling overhead. The feeling of loss struck him deeper than he anticipated.

“I’ll be back for another ride, I promise,” Jon whispered to Rhaegal.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to the Mother of Dragons. Jon kneaded his breastbone, willing away the ache. How spoiled he’d been, being so close to Daenerys Targaryen for so many months. The world felt greyer and colder away from her. He craved the sharp thrill of meeting those changeable eyes, how her laugh touched him.

Jon heaved a sigh and stood. He squelched through soft river mud back to the willow tree. Brienne waited, standing at attention, her hand lightly curled around Oathkeeper.

“Anything?” Jon asked. “We saw a few smallfolk to the north, but nothing else.”

“Good. I for one could use a bit of sleep on solid ground,” he said with a smirk. Brienne nodded with her usual thin smile.

“You are not a seafarer, Ser.”

“Indeed not. Maybe I’ll try again in a little boat off Tarth, but not on open sea,” Jon said, knowing how deeply Brienne longed for home.

“The waters around Tarth are a sight behold. A very pleasant way to spend a summer afternoon with a loved one,” Brienne said slyly. Jon grunted, claiming a bit of grass beneath the swaying willow branches. They made a reedy sort of music as the breeze moved through.

With an exhausted sigh, Jon stretched out his head pillowed on his wadded cloak, loosening Longclaw for easy draw. His protesting limbs loosened and relaxed and soon he was asleep.