#not much changed from this chapter actually

[pazziiiiiiii]

Hey guys, this is more of a filler chapter to describe what changed after she admitted what her dad told her. Thanks for the feedback so please keep sending it through and ideas for the next part pleaseee!! Next one coming very soon if you guys give me more ideas…

Part 4

It wasn’t like they talked about it.

What Paige had said that night at the court—about her dad, about Azzi—it wasn’t brought up again. Not even in passing. It settled into the space between them like dust in sunlight. Quiet. Unspoken. Still.

And if Paige had hoped telling Azzi would change something, maybe she didn’t realize how much of her didn’t actually want it to. She couldn’t afford it. Couldn’t even let herself want to want it.

She still hadn’t gone back to the guest room, though.

Her bag had stayed in Azzi’s room. Her clothes in the closet. Her shoes lined up by the door. The bed they shared—two pillows, one blanket, space between them that felt like a line she dared not cross.

But even in Azzi’s room, Paige felt far away.

She’d smile at the right times. Laugh, sometimes. She’d go through the motions. Lay there at night, stare at the ceiling, and listen to Azzi breathe like she was measuring her own steadiness against it.

But she wasn’t there. Not really.

Azzi noticed.

Paige could tell by the way Azzi would glance at her during long silences. Or how she’d watch her with a question that never made it past her lips. She’d try to draw her in with little things—“Wanna make pancakes?” or “Wanna shoot around later?”—but Paige always found ways to say yes and still hold herself back.

Azzi didn’t press. Not in the way she could’ve. Not in the way Paige might’ve wanted her to.

Instead, she started talking around it.

“Do you ever feel like… people just expect you to always be okay?” Azzi asked one night, their room lit by the faint blue of her laptop screen. “Like, if you’re not okay, it’s like… disappointing or something.”

Paige didn’t look up from her phone. “Yeah.”

Azzi waited.

But Paige didn’t add anything.

And when she finally glanced over, Azzi had turned back to her screen, earbuds in, lips pressed tight in that way she always did when she was pretending something didn’t sting.

⸻

A few weeks passed.

Long, slow days. Azzi’s family kept their bubble tight—home, court, backyard, repeat. Paige got used to it. Used to the rhythm. The quiet hum of Katie moving through the house, the smell of fresh coffee in the mornings, the way Azzi’s younger siblings knocked before barging in anyway.

It all felt normal.

Too normal.

Like she had almost convinced herself everything was fine.

Because on the outside, it kind of was.

She and Azzi were still best friends. They still did TikToks. Still played HORSE. Still stole food from each other’s plates at lunch. Still sat shoulder to shoulder during dumb Netflix movies, Paige tucking her knees into her chest like she was cold when she just didn’t know where to put her body.

But it was there. In the pauses. In the things they didn’t say.

In the way Paige flinched when their hands brushed and Azzi didn’t react at all.

⸻

The first time Paige saw the text, she froze.

Devon 🙋🏾‍♂️:

“Azzi I know your gonna be cute for me”

“pick u up at 7”

She hadn’t meant to see it. She was looking for the charger they always passed back and forth, and Azzi’s phone had lit up beside her.

Paige didn’t ask. Azzi didn’t offer.

But a few hours later, she came downstairs in jeans that actually fit and a hoodie Paige didn’t recognize. Her curls were a little more defined than usual, lips glossy.

“Where you going?” Paige asked, too casually.

Azzi glanced up from tying her shoes. “Just out for a bit.”

“Out?”

“Dinner.”

“With who?”

Azzi looked at her, and something flickered in her eyes before she shrugged. “Just a friend.”

“Right.” Paige nodded once. “Cool.”

She turned and walked away before she could give anything else away.

⸻

The clock on Paige’s phone glowed 8:47 when she went back into Azzi’s room. She lay on her side of the bed, alone, fully dressed, blanket untouched. The silence felt louder than anything.

She stared at the ceiling. Tried not to imagine who Azzi was with, what she was saying, what it looked like when she laughed at his jokes.

She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.

And somewhere beneath it all, shame started to bloom like rot.

Of course Azzi was out with a guy. Of course she’d say yes when someone like him asked. Why wouldn’t she?

She was normal.

And Paige?

Paige was a mess. A secret. Something shameful even to herself.

She pressed her palms into her eyes until the pressure made her see stars. It wasn’t even about the boy. Not really.

It was about knowing that Azzi didn’t see her that way.

And worse—about knowing that it was wrong to want her to.

She thought about her dad. The way his face had twisted when he yelled. The disgust in his voice. Why don’t you just go live with her and ask her to be your girlfriend…

Like just thinking about it was enough to be condemned.

She curled in on herself.

Maybe he was right.

⸻

Azzi didn’t talk about the dinner when she got back. Paige pretended to be asleep, back turned, breath even. She felt the bed dip when Azzi got in, heard the rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of her sigh.

She wanted to turn around. Ask. Was he nice? Did you have fun? Do you like him?

But she didn’t.

Because she didn’t want the answers.

⸻

They stayed like that for days.

Azzi never brought the boy up. Paige never asked.

But she noticed the subtle shifts—how Azzi smiled at her phone more. How she wore the same hoodie again a few days later. How she didn’t stay as close during movie nights anymore.

Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

But it felt like everything.

⸻

They were out on the court one afternoon, just shooting around. Azzi looked lighter than she had in days, her laugh bright as she nailed three in a row from the corner.

“You’re off today,” she teased, passing the ball back.

Paige forced a smile. “Guess I’m just tired.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You’ve been tired for a while.”

Paige caught the ball. Let it sit in her hands.

“I’m fine.”

Azzi watched her. “You always say that.”

Paige didn’t look up. “Because it’s true.”

“It’s not.”

Paige took a shot. Missed. The ball bounced long and she jogged to retrieve it.

When she came back, Azzi was sitting on the edge of the court, arms around her knees, watching the sky.

“Do you want me to stop asking?” Azzi said quietly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“Because I will. If you want me to.”

Paige sat down next to her, the concrete warm against her thighs.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she said finally.

Azzi turned her head slightly. “Then what do you want?”

The question sat heavy in the air.

Paige stared at the court. “I don’t know.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. She didn’t reach out. Didn’t scoot closer. She just nodded like she understood and let the silence settle again.

Paige wanted to thank her.

And scream.

And cry.

She did none of those things.

⸻

The next night, Katie made pasta. The house smelled like garlic and roasted tomatoes. Azzi was on FaceTime in the other room, laughing about something, her voice soft and fond. Paige stirred the sauce even though it was already done.

She didn’t ask who was on the other end of the call.

She didn’t want to know.

That night, Paige turned away from Azzi in bed again.

Azzi didn’t move closer.

⸻

The thing was… they still were best friends. That hadn’t changed. Not on the surface.

But every laugh felt a little shorter now. Every touch a little less certain. Every moment just a little too carefully navigated.

Paige felt like she was walking on a tightrope above something she couldn’t name. And every time she thought about Azzi—her laugh, her eyes, her kindness—something twisted deep in her gut.

It wasn’t just the fear.

It was the shame.

The knowledge that what she felt might ruin everything.

That maybe it already had.

⸻

On the second Friday of the month, they went for a walk. Just the two of them. No phones. No plan. Just wind and sky and space.

Azzi talked about her brothers. About how they were driving her insane. About how she missed AAU. About the show she started watching without Paige.

Paige listened. Nodded. Laughed at the right times.

But she felt like she was watching it all happen through a window she couldn’t open.

⸻

That night, Azzi finally said it.

Not everything. Just enough to make Paige freeze.

“You haven’t hugged me in weeks.”

They were sitting on the floor folding laundry, socks and shirts in scattered piles around them.

Paige looked up, startled.

Azzi wasn’t mad. Her voice was soft. But her eyes were serious.

“I didn’t notice,” Paige lied.

“I think you did.”

Silence stretched again.

“I just…” Paige started, then stopped. “I’ve just been in my head a lot.”

Azzi nodded slowly.

“I don’t want to push you,” she said. “But it’s weird, not having you with me. Even when you’re right here.”

Paige folded a shirt with shaking hands.

“I know, I’m trying really hard,” she whispered.

“I know. But you have to let me in at some point.”

Paige only nodded.

They finished folding the laundry without another word.

⸻

That night, when they got in bed, Paige lay stiff as ever. But this time, she said something, eyes locked on the ceiling.

“I’m sorry Azzi, I really am,” she said, voice quiet.

Her throat burned.

“I know P. I know. I’m always gonna be here. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Paige didn’t sleep for hours that night. Too caught up in her own thoughts. Like she had been for the past weeks.

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 5.8k.

NOTE. there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it’d end up being way too long so i reserved it for the next one. anyway, hope you enjoy your first week at nalkeutta. feedback and comments much appreciated. happy reading! NEXT CHAPTER TO BE PUBLISHED.

AFTER ONE ANGRY PHONE CALL, YOU FIND OUT MORE FROM MARK THE INTERNAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN JSS NALKEUTTA. Mark understands the precarious spot JSS is in, but can’t risk losing his major legal recourse whenever things get icky within his gang dealings. JSS recognizes the significant benefits it had been receiving by partnering with Nalkeutta, but this continued arrangement would be inimical in the long run.

So they came up with a very simple compromise. Nalkeutta will stop hiring lawyers from JSS if the firm simply hands over one of their lawyers to them, effectively cutting public ties between the two parties. However, Mark Lee will continue supporting JSS as a private investor, all while retaining the protection fee benefits that the firm has been enjoying thus far.

It’s a win-win situation for all. All except you.

You’re the only loser in this situation. These fuckers are tossing and trading you around like some sort of commodity.

“Are you happy that you’ve finally managed to poach me after all this time?”

Knowing very well how pissed you are, Mark offered to pick you up from your apartment. Today’s scheduled to be your first official day at Nalkeutta. He’s smiling in the driver’s seat of his fucking Bugatti, and it just makes you feel even shittier as your ass lands on the plush cushions of his unreasonably expensive car. “Seatbelt,” he simply tells you. You grunt and fasten it on. “I hope you’d change your mind about your transfer once you get a tour of our building.”

Oh, joy. A building tour. The best description for you and Mark in the car right now, driving down the sepia streets of Yeongdeungpo district, would be that of a chipper mom taking her angsty teen daughter to a birthday party, chin on palm, staring out the window and all.

He eventually pulls up to a tall, multi-windowed building. Very tall, wedged between two shorter establishments. You look at the towering building from inside the car, noticing the sign greeting you right above the well-mainted glass doors— Daybreak Security Company, it says. You release a scoff. Wow, what a disguise. 

Come to think of it, in the months you’ve worked with Nalkeutta, you’ve never actually been here before. Mark’s always the one visiting JSS, never the other way around, so there is the barest amount of curiosity here. “You can head in first and wait in the lobby,” he tells you. “I need to park this thing in the basement.” Your hand stops at the door handle, squinting back at Mark’s instruction. He laughs. “The staff are informed about your arrival. Most of them are out, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dubious, but you don’t protest. Mark Lee stays hazarding by the sidewalk with one car window open, watching you as you make your way to the entrance. You tentatively look behind, only to be met by Mark’s close-eyed smile, waving a hand to prompt you inside the building. You grimace and spin your heels. What a psycho, you think, and you finally hear him restarting the car to leave once you’re already halfway through Nalkeutta’s doors.

Jeez. He and Doyoung are on the opposite ends of the boss spectrum— both equally despicable— but at least your former boss wasn’t as creepy or an active threat to your life. Heck, he was even a source of entertainment sometimes. You don’t think you can get away with the same disrespectful shit you’ve been pulling on Doyoung with Mark. The only reason why the latter has been letting you talk back so much is because he never saw you as a threat. Now that you’re in his territory, you can’t be so complacent.

Anyhow, you do as instructed and are currently waiting in the lobby, collecting curious stares here and there from an incorrigible amount of men coming in and out, and your best attempt at an impatient resting bitch face so that none of these fuckers try to talk to you is starting to be overcome by queasiness. When the hell is he coming back? You notice a group of guys in their early twenties whisper while sneaking glances at you from the corner— one of them you’re pretty sure you’d had to bail out before for a DUI.

Besides that glimmer of abnormality, the rest of the lobby is eerily normal, harboring the appearance of any other company office with potted plants and clean sofas and a receptionist corner. Granted, they are trying to pose as a very legal, very unsuspicious security company, but knowing what you know about Nalkeutta, it just makes you sick to the bones.

Eventually, Mark Lee shows up, emerging from the ground floor elevator near the couch you’ve been waiting on. You don’t even try to hide your annoyance. “Sorry, Had to take a phone call,” he says, smiling and sounding not very sorry at all while nudging you out of your seat. “C’mon, attorney. Let’s start the tour.”

You release a dead and pained groan. Mark pats you on the back for your enthusiasm, leading the way through.

Nalkeutta has four floors in total. The first floor is basically the entirety of Nalkeuta’s front— Daybreak Security Company, all decked out with an abundance of private meeting rooms for clients, consultation offices, and a bunch of flat out empty rooms labelled as storage, and bathrooms on each wing. There’s both a staircase and an elevator leading further up the floors or down to the basement parking lot. Mark says he’ll show you to your reserved parking spot later, and that alone is already tipping the scales between him and Doyoung on who is the better bad boss.

The second floor is reserved for the general office— divided into Nalkeutta’s four divisions and a common break area in the center, cushions and sofas already occupied by less than familiar faces. You don’t look at any of them and instead feast your eyes “You’ll also be stationed on this floor,” he tells you, smiling. “But we’ll save that part of the tour for last.”

Wow. You can’t wait to have another crowded cubicle sandwiched between roughed up gangsters who probably don’t know how to work a printer. Now that you think about it, it’s kind of uncanny that this notorious gang operates in a sterilized office setting. Mark Lee never fails to send you to the depths of discomfort.

“Now, to the next floor.” Up another level in the elevator are two very large conference rooms, an entire fucking gym area, and rooms and rooms of organized files and storages, each tightly chained with locks, but that’s not the point.

They have a gym here. There’s a freaking fully-equipped gym in the middle of all this corporate bullshit. Of fucking course there is.

“I’ll give you the keys to the locked rooms later,” he informs with a hum. “And you’re free to use the amenities up here.”

There’s no point hiding the sheer disgust on your face. “You’re offering me up to a biohazard chamber.” This is a male dominated building. You may be stereotyping, but you can’t imagine how hygienic these roughed up gangsters are. Mark always smells like baby lotion and fabric softener, but hospitals hide the smell of blood and death with a noxious amount of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. Look at him laughing at your repugnance. Evil, evil man.

“Alright, now let’s head up to the fifth floor.”

Riding up the elevator, you notice quickly that the uppermost floor has a lot less going on than the three below it. The first and only place Mark lets you enter is his private office— instructing you to knock thrice in case you have an urgent matter to discuss with him without informing him beforehand. The rest of the rooms on the floor are confidential, beyond your scope of authority.

He drops a set of keys onto your open palm. “But once you’ve worked with us for around three or four years, I might change my mind.”

It’s concerning how employee access to restricted information depends on the insane boss’s fickleness of mind. “Sure.” You pocket the keys. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Let me show you to your office.”

Your palm, still inside your slacks pocket, tightens around the keys. Office? No. No fucking way. Haha. He probably means just a cubicle. Your heart starts racing. Mark starts walking, and you hear the thumping in your ears coincide with your clacking heels against the hollow hallway. 

Office. Office. Your hopes are starting to rise up as the elevator brings you a level down. It dings. Mark leads you back into the fourth floor, and when you pass by the sets of cubicles divided in the open office area without your boss turning his head or stopping or even batting an eye— you start losing your shit. Holy crap. He stops in front of a close-doored room, interiors concealed by large blinds from the inside. 

There’s an acrylic placard attached to the door. It says Chief Legal Officer.

“This room is yours.”

When he opens the door, the first thing that greets you is the glistening name plate sitting parallel before you atop the sleek mahogany desk. 

It has your name on it. Gold. Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow. You’re about to cry. Nevermind all that you said earlier. Fuck Kim Doyoung. Mark Lee is the best boss you could ever ask for.

“Hope the interior is to your liking, but you can change it up however you like.” 

That prompts you to actually take a look around, and holy shit— it’s almost as big as Doyoung’s office. There’s a substantial amount of organizers and cabinets. At the center sits a set of low, mustard settees and a small black coffee table to match. The floor is carpeted and lint-free. There’s a fucking mini fridge near the artificial potted plant in the corner. Your head snaps towards Mark. He laughs at your, speechless, open-mouthed, teary-eyed reaction to his surprise. 

“I’m guessing you’re satisfied with the office,” he says, looking like he’s about to say more but is interrupted by a silent buzz from his phone. He pulls it open, and his brows furrow for a split second. “Hmm. I still have to introduce you to Nalkeutta’s Executives, but something came up.” Mark pockets back his phone, and his usually pleasant expression takes over once more. “For now, I’ll let you get yourself settled in your office. I’ll send someone to pick you up in a while.”

The moment Mark Lee leaves the premises, you let out a scream, walk forward, drop down to your knees, and attempt to hug the entire length of your desk. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, cheek pressed against the cold surface of the red mahogany wood. “Oh my god, I’m naming you Savannah and you’ll be my new best friend.”

Savannah does not reciprocate your affections, but who gives a damn. You’re not sure how long you’ve been embracing your desk and inhaling the new office smell, but apparently long enough for someone to knock and push open your door with a sing-songy “Hellooo—!” The greeting quickly gets cut off the moment your widened eyes meet that of the intruder’s. Your knees are kissing the carpeted ground. Your head is cocked in a very uncomfortable manner in order to face the direction of the door— but not as uncomfortable as how the guy who just entered looks at the moment.

“Whoa, uh,” he double-takes. “Mark asked me to pick you up. You must be our new lawyer…?” 

You continue meeting the man’s gaze. You force your stiff shoulders back and slowly pull yourself up, patting down your pencil skirt. “Yes,” you start, promptly introducing yourself. “And you are?”

Very smooth. His gaze flickers down, making its way back up to meet your eyes— of which a wide grin starts to unfurl on his face. Your brow twitches. “Lee Haechan. Head of the Yoosun Department. My office is right across from yours.” He called Mark by his first name. Meaning, he must be one of his higher-ups. You wonder if it’s a Nalkeutta requirement to be rude and pretty in order to be promoted. “Nice to meet you, attorney. Seems like you’ll have no problem fitting right in.”

Haechan extends an arm for a handshake as if he didn’t just hit you with the worst insult you’ve been slapped with his fucking week. You respond with one firm shake before wiping the same palm against your blazer. 

He notices. You intended for him to notice. You beam at him with a smile. He’s still grinning, but slightly taken aback. “You’re fun.”

Mark has yet to orient you with the general organizational structure of Nalkeutta, but at the very least, there’s one thing you’re certain of.

“And you’re wasting time. What did Mark send you for?”

You answer to no one but him. Meaning, you’ve no reason to fake pleasantries with this Haechan guy. He barged into your office without waiting for admission. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.

“Oh, right,” he huffs. “He called us for a sudden meeting to meet the new head of our legal department, or something. I didn’t even know we had a legal department! Anyway, follow me, let’s head to the conference room. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?” The elevator doors close before you. You grace him with a response the moment he presses the floor button.

“You saw me in carnal embrace with my desk earlier. The only thing fucking me is my impending workload.”

Haechan chokes out a snorting laugh. “Holy shit,” he wheezes. “Is that a call for help? If so, I’m a pretty helpful guy.” 

You look at him, smiling. “Unless you’re a seventy-inch mahogany wood in width, I’m not interested.”

“Damn. High standards. I give, I give.”

You roll your eyes, taking the liberty of twisting the doorknob to the conference room before you. Your entrance is accompanied by a creak. At once, four sets of eyes immediately fall on you.

The first is the usual creepy ass gaze of Mark Lee, way too happy to see you. The next one is unfamiliar, covered by the glint of his glasses lens, but you don’t sense any animosity. The third is both blurry yet somewhat recognizable at the same time— a shiver down your spine when you meet his sharp glare. What the hell? This guy looks terrifying.

And the last one feels like walking back into a den that you swore you’d never return to. 

Na Jaemin’s eyes flicker up from his phone the moment you enter. You stifle a swear under your breath and shoot your gaze down. He flashes you a smile. Ah, fuck. Of course he’d be here. It totally slipped your mind thanks to the high from your new office and Lee Haechan trying to hook up with you. You’ve yet to judge whether or not a sick new office outweighs having to deal with this sick freak’s face every day. 

“Attorney!” he chirps from across the room, comfortably lounging on one of the office chairs lining the long conference table. A squeak accompanies every time the chair swivels from left to right, back and forth. “Long time no see.”

Yeah, you hoped it’d stay that way, but when did the scales ever tip in your favor? You swallow down any attempt of fear trying to break out and turn your head to the side. “Mark, what are we discussing?”

Standing at the head of the table, your new boss smiles at you. Not because of your flat enthusiasm. No way. He seems to be amused that you just ignored Na Jaemin point blank. “Ah, yes. I wanted to properly introduce you to our division executives and give you a briefer on the company.”

The annoying swiveling sound has stopped. You don’t dare look at that side in the room throughout the rest of the meeting.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Nalkeutta is divided into four divisions, and the other four brutes you’re trapped in this room right now are the executives of those four divisions respectively. You already know Na Jaemin is the man in charge of Ganghak. Lee Haechan has Yoosun. Glasses is introduced as Huang Renjun, who’s in charge of Hyeongshin. Big scary guy is Daehyeon’s Lee Jeno.

There’s a familiar ring to all of these division names. They’re all high schools in Yeongdeungpo. It starts to all make sense when Mark Lee tells you that this gang of his was founded nine years ago. 

Nalkeutta started as a juvenile gang by a bunch of fucked up high schoolers. And those schools continue to serve as breeding grounds for scumbags like them. This shit is insane.

“Hold on.” 

Your voice echoes, freezing the entire room. You narrow your eyes at the very comprehensive diagram of Nalkeutta’s organizational structure Huang Renjun is presenting up front on a laptop screen. 

“There’s something wrong with this.” You get up from your seat. You squeeze past Mark and Renjun, taking control of the touchpad to zoom into the upper part of the chart. Your name is underneath Mark’s, and on the same level as the four executives, but that’s not the problem here. “Why am I the only one under the legal department?” you lift your head up as you say this, eyes firmly locked into Mark. “Where are the rest of the lawyers?”

Mark Lee attempts to look apologetic and remorseful. “Attorney,” he starts, walking up. “You know well how hard it is for Nalkeutta to establish trust between our partners. We are in fact extremely grateful that we managed to get someone we trust very deeply to finally work with us directly.”

This son of a bitch. They couldn’t have at least pretended to give a fuck about your position.

How—how does he expect you to manage the legal affairs of this messed up organization all by yourself? Your blood starts to simmer. Fuck it, it’s already boiling, and you’re just about to blow up when Mark Lee opens his mouth before you could.

“Anyhow, let’s talk salary.”

Goddammit. This guy sure knows how to pacify you.

Jeno hands him a binded folder. He smiles and hands it over to you. “This is our employment contract. Let me know if you find any issues so we can negotiate, but the important part is here.” 

You glance down at the part of the page he’s tapping. Yearly salary. Your eyes fly wide open when you see the numbers on the page.

150,000,000 KRW. 

Your head shoots up from the folder. You look at him like he’s joking. He isn’t.

“Does this meet your standards, attorney?”

Motherfucker. First, a new office. Now this. It’s like he wants to strip you from your rights to complain.

‎*‎

Your first job under Nalkeutta is accompanying Huang Renjun to a client meeting in Yeongdeungpo’s Chinatown.

“Good to have you around, attorney.”

Well. Client meeting is a stretch. The quote-unquote client is a mixed-martial arts gym under Hyeongshin that’s been paying protection fees very diligently until last month. Hyeongshin’s grunts were sent to sniff around the other week to see what was up, and the owner of the gym was caught rendezvousing with a Cheongang under the bridge connecting Yeongdeungpo and Map.

Cheongang. If Yeongdeungpo has Nalkeutta, Map is controlled by a different gang called Cheongang. You don’t have much intel on them, save for the fact that this district was once part of their territory until Mark Lee came into the picture. Needless to say, the two gangs don’t have the most amicable relationship. This is going to be less of a client meeting and more of a beatdown for sure.

“Why am I even here?” you grunt in the car on the way to your destination. Huang Renjun is scrolling through his ipad as he sits next to you. He’s kind enough to respond to your mindless grumbles.

“Having a lawyer around is always useful,” he simply says. “Mark says this is your first exposure to the organization’s operations. You don’t have to do anything. Just observe.”

You peer at the side mirror and look at the other two Nalkeutta cars trailing behind this one. Huang Renjun is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Considering your first introductions to Nalkeutta were Na Jaemin and Mark Lee, this guys is a breath of fresh air.

The air turns rancid the moment you cross the paifang gate, and you watch as all hell breaks loose at the Rongyu Mixed-Martial Arts Gym at four in the fucking afternoon.

“Gijeol-ah I thought we had a relationship!”

You wince at the sound of Renjun’s voice.

“How could you cheat on us with these ugly Cheongang pricks?”

The gym’s doors are closed, but there’s almost a dozen people guarding it— all looking like they’re one second away from jumping the nearest person and beating the shit out of them. A few moments later, the door rattles open. A head pops out. He looks like he’s about to crap his pants.

“You— you Nalketta fuckers ask for too much shit! How could you raise the protection fees overnight? That’s not fucking fair!

You really feel like you shouldn’t be here, but for once in your life, you feel pretty thankful that there are lines and lines of tank built men surrounding you as a protective shield.

“Well, it’s part of the contract you signed, Gijeol-ah! This is your fingerprint isn’t it?” Renjun taunts further, holding up a contract before tapping on the bottom right page. “If you were having trouble, you could’ve just gone to me directly. Hyeongshin is pretty understanding, you know. We even let you off with just a warning last time when you were three months late in paying your loans. You should’ve been grateful that you’re not under Ganghak or Daehyeon.”

Nevermind. You no longer feel safe. You hear the nearest Hyeongshin guy next to you crack his knuckles. Another one starts warming up. You won’t be surprised if one of them is currently frothing at the mouth.

Huang Renjun drops his hands down. He sighs and hands you the contract. 

“But you went off to stab us in the back, Gijeol-ah. Unfortunately this is as far as my understanding extends.” 

You briefly skim over it. Wow. Mark Lee put work into this. It’s vague enough to bypass statutory limitations. They’re using Daybreak Security Company as the legal entity to ensure the contract’s validity. You see a few questionable provisions that might void this contract. And that’s gonna be your job to fix. Lucky you.

“You— you can go and shove your understanding up your ass! I’m sick and tired of Nalkeutta’s bullshit!”

“You’re breaking up with us? That’s too bad.” It’s starting. Huang Renjun lands a hand on one of his men’s shoulder. “Give me a call once you’re done.”

With that, they start to move forward. Renjun walks up to you and you hear a yell and the sounds of fists being thrown the moment he spins you around and prods you to the opposite direction of the noise. Various thuds and screams flood you from behind, the sounds of bones crushing and bodies crashing getting dimmer as you both continue to walk back to the car. 

“You hungry, attorney?” Huang Renjun asks. “I know a good dim sum place nearby.”

“Wait, what the fuck, hold on,” you stop. He turns to you, brow raised. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

Renjun narrows his eyes. “What? You want to watch that disgusting mess?”

With that prompt, you hesitantly turn around, and there you see a Nalkeutta guy swinging a metal bat straight into the ribcage of one Cheongag grunt. Oof. You wince. What a waste of a good sunset.

“I don’t fight. What’s the point of having men working under you if you won’t put them to good use?” The both of you make it back to the car. The driver inside greets Renjun, and the latter waves him off. “But if it’s a hard job, then I just transfer the case to Ganghak or Daehyeon. Usually Ganghak. Most of those guys are just like their psychopath of a boss.”

Yeah. This guy isn’t normal, either. What did you expect? At least he’s polite to you.

You slide into the backset. “Dim sum sounds nice.”

“Great.” He follows not long after, leaving an instruction to the driver. “Take us to Mama Hong’s.”

Renjun was right. Mama Hong has a killer dim sum selection, and you’d bookmark it on your maps if this place didn’t remind you of a massacre that’s currently ongoing. You can’t exactly enjoy your pork buns to the fullest knowing full well that someone’s head is getting bashed in right now. The silver lining is the fact that Huang Renjun is a good conversationalist and has not once called you a bitch nor tried to get in your pants in the past two hours that you’ve been with him. 

He’s a pretty cool guy. He joined the gang for money because he was a dirt poor immigrant in high school but then at one point he realized he was in too deep to quit.

It’s good to know you’re both stuck in Nalkeutta because you treasure your lives. It’s like Mark Lee has an invisible loaded gun perpetually pointed at your heads. What a way to bond in solidarity.

The sun had long set when Renjun received the text that the job was done. “Let’s go,” he tells you. “Two hours of overtime is good enough.”

See, this guy speaks your language. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get back to the Nalkeutta building, jotting another extra hour on your DTR. Meaning three total hours of overtime pay. Fucking amazing. If things continue speeding at this rate, then you won’t be entirely miserable working here. You’re already walking out the sliding doors of hell and thinking about harvesting your crops the moment you get home— but that’s exactly the moment the world decides that you haven’t filled your daily quota of dread yet.

“Attorney.”

Goddammit. You should know by now that the moment you think things are going well, god’s just gonna immediately spit in your mouth and tell you to enjoy it.

Na Jaemin lights the cigarette between his teeth, embers cascading onto the ground only for a good second before he stops on it to flash you a smile. “Took you fucking long enough,” he says. “Come with me. New recruits screening.”

Your brows furrow. When you don’t move for ten seconds too long, Na Jaemin’s smile drops.

“Mark’s orders. Notarize their contracts, or some shit.”

For fuck’s sake, you just clocked out. Disgruntled, you force your body out of its frozen state and you hear the psycho walking in front of you mutter something under his breath— something you’re not curious enough to find out. He leads you to a parking garage just a few blocks away, and it’s at this moment that you realize that maybe he lied to beat the shit out of you without anything knowing.

That fear is shut down when the dim, flickering lights of the rundown garage reveal seven teenage boys standing in one line as if they’re about to run a military drill. They’re all wearing Ganghak uniforms. This is some kind of sick mockery.

“Alright, you fucking maggots.”

Jesus christ. The way you flinch at Na Jaemin’s voice is purely instinctual— something that hasn’t been deeply ingrained into the seven boys before you, it seems, because they continue standing stiff and still with their chins up as Na Jaemin saunters up to them. He fishes something out from his pocket. You squint. It’s a car key. He clicks on it. You wince, a sudden glaring of lights from behind the boys.

“There’s only one car. There’s seven of you.”

You hear his voice speak as your vision readjusts.

“Get to it.”

Hold on a second.

“Hey, hurry the fuck up. Why aren’t any of you moving?” Your mouth gapes. You watch the realization slowly sink into the seven faces in front of you— an expression that Na Jaemin doesn’t share because more than anything, he looks pretty annoyed right now. He lets out a grunt and flicks his wrist up to check the time. The look on his face when he drops it back down is enough to send at least three of the kids stuttering. “If no one hits the ground in three seconds, you’re all fucking death for wasting my time. One. Two. Thr—”

The sound of a knuckle hitting a jaw. You shut your eyes and look away. 

There’s nothing enjoyable about watching a bunch of teenagers beating the shit out of each other, but your co-worker seems to fashion a different opinion. “Whew.”  A nasty grin spreads on his face, just as one of the boys drops onto dusty cement, no sign of getting back up any time soon. “One down. Can’t wait for this shitshow to be fucking over.”

You’re horrified as you look at him, but that’s the problem— you’re looking at him, and this doesn’t go under his notice. 

Na Jaemin locks into you. He tosses his unfinished cigarette behind and traps you into an unwanted conversation. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, attorney,” he starts with a hum. “You haven’t even spared me a hello since you got here. It’s almost like all those weeks we spent in prison together are nothing to you.”

Even if you want to talk to him, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You resign by flitting your eyes to the side and looking away. You hear a scoff and the sound of a lighter click, followed by the reintroduction of his foul cigarette smoke wafting through the air around you. “Want a hit?” he asks. You grimace. You get a feeling that he won’t appreciate being ignored a third time. So you force an answer out of your suffocating throat, and you try your best to make it entertaining so he doesn’t sock you in the face for being dull and boring.

“No, thank you,” you quickly say. “I intend on dying from heart failure, not from my lungs collapsing.”

He lets out a huff. You almost mistake it for laughter. “Either way, you die.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want my breath smelling like rot before the rest of my body does.”

Silence. Uh-oh. You’re met with a prolonged silence, followed by the click of his tongue and you notice him tossing the second cigarette like the first one, a little less willingly this time. God. There’s no place for your eyes around here. In front, there’s a teen battle royale and to your left is a bastard who gets triggered by eye contact. There’s nowhere for you to look but down, and even then you can still hear the cacophony of pained groans and punches hitting.

“Had fun on your little excursion with Renjun?”

Why the fuck is he trying to make small talk now? “A bit. He didn’t force me to watch a massacre and treated me out to dim sum. It was great.”

“Hah.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck jolt.

“Ain’t that pretty fucking nice.”

Why the fuck is he mad about that?

You snap your head up, about to look at Na Jaemin, but your attention is pried off from him when you hear the gravelled roar of one of the Ganghak students in front. Your eyes blur from the whiplash— then you notice one boy battered with deep heavy breaths, standing above his fallen peers. His eyes are wide. There’s multiple bruises on the visible parts of his skin. The weight of your worry is trumped by Na Jaemin’s sheer apathy.

“I—I did it,” the boy breathes out. “I did it, hyung-nim.”

Na Jaemin looked like he was just watching his favorite show earlier. Now he looks like he can give less than two shits about what this kid had just pulled off. “Name.” You can never fucking figure him out.

“Sion…Oh Sion.”

He grunts. “Yeah, congrats, whatever.” He tosses the car keys to the ground. It lands next to one of the writhing kids groaning in pain. “Now get lost.”

Na Jaemin’s heels turn back and he quickly starts walking away. You’re flabbergasted. Your feet move one way, then quickly reverse. What the fuck. What are you supposed to do now?

“Hey!” You catch up to him, still looking back at the sight you’re leaving behind. “We’re leaving already? Doesn’t the kid need to sign a contract?” He’s walking way too fast. He leers at you with an annoyed grunt and starts walking even faster.

“I don’t have it. Fuck, whatever, he can do that shit tomorrow.”

“What?” It comes off as a screech. “I thought Mark asked me to be here!”

Na Jaemin suddenly stops. You bump into his shoulder and stumble back with a swear. When you draw your breath in to look up, you see that Na Jaemin is already looking at you with an intensity that burns away all the venom out of your throat, leaving nothing but silence behind.

“Mark didn’t say shit,” he spits out. You think he’s about to toss you into the nearest dumpster, but then you notice a wrinkle between his brows. It’s deep. It’s troubled. And then he lets out an exasperated groan. “Whatever.” 

Na Jaemin stomps away, leaving you in the dead of night to figure out what the fuck just happened.

‎*‎

Before making it back home to your apartment, you stop by a public phone booth to call an ambulance to the scene of the altercation. This is way too much overtime for your first official day, and the last hour wasn’t even paid because you already clocked out before Na Jaemin lied to your face just to make you watch a teenage fight right and throw a tantrum at the very end with no fucking explanation.

Needless to say, it was an eventful day. It gets even more eventful when you reach the door of your apartment, about to key in your passcode, until you notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the door gap.

Your brows knit together. You snap a picture of it before slipping it out of the door and finally letting yourself in, dropping your work bag onto the floor of your entryway to examine what had been lodged into your apartment.

It’s an envelope. A cream colored envelope with a few smudges on the paper.

You open it. You couldn’t be less prepared with what you’re about to read.

You’re fucking dead, bitch.

Wow. Now a literal death threat. It’s almost as if you’re not allowed to catch a fucking break.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[cressidagrey]

Ok so. Please expect three different asks for three different chapters from me in explicit detail of howuvh emotionally unstable and gross I jam.

This one of for the newest chapter. Iust inform you that I have resorted to taking notes because I can't keep track of my own brain.u brain is basically scrambled eggs at this point. I will ad picture of my notes, just promise you won't think I'm an obsessed crazy person and block me forever.

1. Something from the previous chapter that struck strange to me was the use of "even Ferrari didn't remember" implying that's way more scandalous than your moder forgetting your birthday. I don't really get your thought process behind that one. I mean that's her mom. Her MOTHER.

2. Alex and Charlotte textassage making list is of potential suitors for Belle like it's pride and prejudice and they are at pemberly vetting out eligible bachelors with good prospects for her.

2.1. Fernando is a very good option. If Belle wasn't so madly in love with max I would actually be so on board with the Spanish lover trop. But the impending doom of daddy kink is killing the vibes. (Fernando seems like he would be more into fiery women anyways - insert kiss with a fist song.)

2.2. Lewis... Maybe. Yes. I think... I need more convincing. He has prospects yes but I think they are both way to quit. I think the need a little bit of chaos each.

2.3 casually saying no to max? That's just hilarious. I mean she hangs out with his dad. His father. With Jos. That has to count as something. Please girls see the truth.

2.4 Valterri Bottas mullet slander? Unacceptable. The man is a sex god in bikini. He is peak performance. He is Adonis in modern days.

3. 12 days and no birthday celebration from family. Listen if it were me I would set the house on fire. I am a spoiled rotten only child who plans her own gift list from 6months prior. I could never survive this.

4. Max - casually dropping actually 🤓☝ I got married in an interview - Verstappen. He will be the death of me. Put it on my tombstone. Dead by casual bomb dropping of fictional max Verstappen.

5. Christian - To whom? - Horner. (Who says to whom. Who keeps track of proper grammar when your number one driver and multi wolf champion says he got married on a random Saturday.) - what are you George Russle?

6. Helmt - corps - Marko. Speaks. He has motor skills. Great. Racist grandpa is here. I will accept .

7.I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. I SAW SIGNS. I kept reading bits and thinking huh, quite pregnancy-esque. But I thought maybe not. Maybe I'm reading to much. But no. I was right. I knew it. (Also 12 weeks? Second trimester? Already has a heartbeat? My god. My god. My god. My god.)

7.1. Soon expect poorly made college of baby room.

8. MRS. VERSTAPPEN. KILL ME. THAT'S SO HOT. I NEED THAT. LET HER CHANGE HER INSTAGRAM TO IT.

9. I never kid about matrimony. — Nico H ( because I don't know how to spell his name.) I will tatto this on my forehead.

10. Married drivers news letter. It better also come with merch. I need to be added to thatvnews Letter.

11. Every one finding out slowly but surely. We are closing the hour of our need / death. Angel of death claim my soul peacefully. Also Fernando just coming out of the shado like a master ninja guru with the powers of prophecy and The Sight™. He speaks poetry and I love it.

12. Kimi and Oli are brainrot children. They are two minions. Hitting each other with a banana peel.

12.1. How are they keep guessing and they keep making worse ones? How can they keep getting more wrong? Orange cat energy.

13. George - at this point it's performance art- Russle. He is so scandalized. Clutching pearls. Turning nose. He has turned into a judgmental, angry, righteous southern bell.

14. Kevin has entered the chat. Kevin has made a bet. Kevin has won the bet?? In the same hour? Legend behavior.

15.No word for the process of Zio Fred finally finding out. He is solemnly reevaluating his career.

16. Personally I think it wasn't technically Fred's job to know Belle's birthday. I mean yes it's polite to know. But also he is a team principal. Just the team principal if there was one person allowed to forget it's him. In Ferrari, I think we need to blame the PR people more. Technically speaking it's their job to know these things. And remind people of that. But it's really nice that he feels regret and sadness. Zio Fred is the only one I will forgive. But I am biased towards him. He is my pookie.

17. And finally. It happened. Through an interview. And he panics. Forgets all PR and makes a mess. PATHETIC.

So finally I am done. Thank you for tolerating me. I will be sending things like this more now that video decided I need to take notes to keep track of things.

As always love you. And your work.

This might just be the most elite feedback I’ve ever received. I feel like I just read an annotated dissertation titled “Why White Horse Has Permanently Altered My Brain Chemistry,” and I LIVED for every second of it. I was laughing, clutching my chest, nodding violently, and deeply honored the entire way through. Let’s break this down like the chaos scholars we are:

Ferrari vs. Pascale — you’re right. Her mother matters more that Ferrari. BUT Ferrari isn't one singular person. Ferrari are dozen upon dozen of people. And not one of them remembered. Not a PR person, not one of the engineers, not one person from hospitality. They didn't remember.

Pemberley Core™ — That’s exactly the vibe. The Mrs. Bennets of Pemberley cough The (future) Mrs. Leclercs of Monaco.

2.1. Fernando — fire sign men, am I right? The tension would be UNHINGED. But yeah, daddy issues unlocked.

2.2. Lewis — two softies = emotional whisper fights and shared skincare routines.

2.3. "She hangs out with his dad" — I SNORTED. Thank you for that. Evidence dismissed, girls. You lose.

2.4. Valtteri — I’ll see myself out for that slander. The man is art. Peak mullet energy. Nordic god.

12 Days, No Birthday — listen. If it were me? The family group chat would be on FIRE. 🔥

4–5. Max casually soft-launching matrimony in a post-race debrief — Max Verstappen: PR nightmare, emotional menace. King.

Helmut having a line of dialogue — we were all shocked. Even Helmut. (He’s still buffering.)

YOU CALLED IT — You and your spidey senses were absolutely spot on. The hints were dropped like Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs. The baby is real. And the drama is only just beginning. Prepare for baby gear collages at dawn.

Mrs. Verstappen — tattoo it on my soul. That’s all.

Nico Hülkenberg: King of Matrimonial Gravitas. Never kid about weddings. Never.

Newsletter & Merch — consider yourself subscribed. It comes with a gold-plated pen and passive-aggressive quotes from Nico.

The Reveal Slow Burn — it's like a thriller where every page is a tiny explosion. And Fernando? He never sleeps.He just waits.

12–12.1. Kimi and Oli — literal goblins. Orange cat chaos personified. Darwin Awards contenders.

George: Southern Belle Mode™ — the pearls have been CLUTCHED. The hand fan is fluttering. Someone fetch him a chaise lounge.

Kevin — has entered the chat, placed a bet, and won it before the dust settled. Absolute icon behavior.

15–16. Zio Fred — you know what? He is not guilty. PR definitely dropped the ball. Fred just wanted peace. Justice for Zio Pookie.

The Interview Reveal™ — the PR team watching from a distance with their souls leaving their bodies.

You’re brilliant. I welcome every future annotated ask you ever send with open arms and a strong cup of tea. Please neverstop yapping, theorizing, losing your mind, or threatening fictional men in commentaries. The way you love these stories? It gives me life. Love you right back. 💛

[cobaltperun]

Love Song Requiem - No Roads Left

Mabel x Female Reader

Story summary: Damn near everything in your life was purely business. So was this. Just go in, get the job done with the girl that's been building a reputation of her own, and that was supposed to be the end of it. And it was the end of something, you just didn't think it would be the end of a whole damn drug empire!

Chapter summary: "If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions," because they led you to her. You never truly believed in love, or that it could change you, but it did, she did. Lives neither of you chose connected, and the chain of events that would follow could not be stopped.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

-When did I lose my sense of purpose? Can I regain what's lost inside?-

You sat at the table, looking at the landline phone in front of you. Seriously? What was this? Last century. You sighed, figuring you should have gotten used to it by now as you dialed a familiar number. Every week, at the same time, the same number, the only number you still had the right to call and expect a friendly voice on the other side of the line.

Mabel picked up immediately, just like she always did these past eight weeks. “Y/N!” she exclaimed your name, and it almost hurt to hear. It sounded so much different than it did a few months ago, the excitement and flirty tone were replaced by longing and relief, but it was worth it.

It had to be worth it.

"Hey,” you smiled, forcing the negative thoughts out of your mind for a moment, hoping that Mabel would take this all a bit easier if you didn’t show how this was affecting you. “Is everything okay there?" you hoped you'd be able to notice if she was hiding anything from you.

And Mabel was doing the same thing, focusing on the positives. "Mhm," there it was, that casual got-everything-under-control response that made you relax. "Me and Charlie are just fine. He's a bit cautious and jumpy, but he'll get used to the new apartment," an unreasonable rage filled you.

"Charlie? Mabel, you know I love you, but quit trying to rename Charcoal," you whisper-shouted at her, ignoring the warning looks people around you gave you. It was worth it, especially since Mabel laughed, actually it was more of a semi-evil cackle.

"By the time you come back he'll only respond to Charlie!" she promised.

And despite the awful future she promised, you still smiled, wishing that future would come soon. At least your cat, Charcoal, would be happy with Mabel and not left to fend for himself. That cat wouldn’t last a day on the streets.

“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” Mabel suddenly asked, the light-hearted tone was gone, and though you could hear Charcoal hopping onto the table and purring as Mabel pet him it did little to ease your pain.

“Yeah, it all ends tomorrow,” your smile was just sad as you sank back into the chair as much as the phone cable allowed. You couldn’t even have that without tugging at the technology from a past era.

Mabel paused, but you knew what she would say before she even began speaking. “I should come,” she kept insisting, even if you argued against it.

“It’s not safe. Besides, you know what I want you to do,” you reminded her of the promise she vowed to break, even if you made her say the words. In her own words it wouldn’t be the first lie she had to utter.

“And you know I won’t do it,” she reminded you, but then she sighed and you could hear her burying her face in her hands, and you could picture her sitting at her new table, in a new, still unfamiliar apartment, away from everything happening here, her hair tied and messy, and her lower lip trembling slightly due to the emotions she tried to bottle up. “Did this have to happen?” she asked, and even though it was a rhetorical question you still answered.

“If I could do this all over again, I'd still make the same decisions,” those decisions led you to Mabel, led you to turning your life around, and to her finally finding a way out of the life she had before. You’d pay the price for her second chance, and maybe eventually you’d get your own second chance as well.

~X~ Eight months ago ~X~

Whoever decided that morning was the right time to start a day needs to be held responsible. And whoever decided that your cat needs to be fed at six in the morning also needs to be held responsible. “Come on Charcoal, I fed you last night, let me sleep a little longer,” you pleaded, seriously considering just never getting up again. An ashtray hitting the floor made you groan, which only prompted the black menace that snuck into your life to knock something else off the table. Judging by the heavy thud it was probably your notebook. “I’ll buy a table with raised edges, just to spite you,” you muttered under your breath and sat up like you were pulling the weight of the whole continent up with you.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to wake up as your body ached. Charcoal jumped from the table onto your lap and sat there, just looking at you with his sharp, alert eyes. “You’re too awake buddy,” you scratched his head with a tired smile, once again promising you would never sleep on the couch again. You were just too tired to reach your bedroom last night.

Stupid deals.

Stupid crimes you couldn’t pull out of anymore.

Charcoal purred and you figured, what the hell, he was comfortable on your lap, so surely, he wasn’t that hungry. You fell back on the couch and closed your eyes, hoping to go back to sleep, only for the damn black cat to hop from your lap onto your chest and tap you right on the chin.

You opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling. “Fuck,” you accepted your fate, picking the cat up and dragging yourself off the couch so you could go and feed the ungrateful, impatient, adorable, lovely cat that happened to be the boss of your life. “I’ll sue you, you know. Don’t know which court can find you guilty when you’re that cute, but I’ll find one,” you leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched as your one-year-old cat devoured his food.

Little glutton.

“Get up or go to sleep?” you wondered, glancing at the drawer where you kept your laptop, safely tucked away from your cat, because nothing in your apartment was safe from Charcoal unless it was under lock and key. Glasses? Plates? Anything breakable? Locked! Decorations? Almost nonexistent, aside from plastic ones that either didn’t break easily, or were easily replaceable. Other decorations? They were proven to be unable to resist Charcoal’s need to push them off whatever they were placed on, thus they had no place in your home. The number of TVs you had to either fix or replace because he’d scratched the screen was so high you no longer had the will to count.

You may be rich, but new TVs were not something you wanted to keep spending money on.

The thought of all those TVs drained you of what little energy you had this early in the morning and you headed toward your bedroom, with Charcoal, now fed, running after you. Work could wait, you needed sleep, and as you slipped under the covers with your cat choosing to spread on the bottom of the bed you figured that was the smartest decision you made in a while.

The heavy feeling that always came with big jobs made it difficult to sleep well, but Charcoal near you helped with that.

You still felt like you were missing something.

~X~

Around noon you walked into a almost empty bar near the edge of the city. Away from prying eyes, with just enough privacy to be acceptable for your job, but casual enough to pass it off as regular meeting between two law-abiding citizens. You came in early, about fifteen minutes before the scheduled meeting time. It was a habit you picked up along the way, wanting to be more careful of your surrounding and notice any potential problems before they could even happen.

Yet twenty-five minutes later you were annoyed and getting impatient. The woman you were supposed to meet with was nowhere to be found, hell, the only person that was on their own was a beautiful girl sitting in the corner. Despite her beauty you dismissed the girl, not really willing to get involved with anyone right now. Your life was a bit too messy for your liking, too tangled up in all the crime going on in the city to risk pulling an innocent woman into all of this. You noticed her right away, she couldn’t blend in even if she tried, she just stood out too much, drawing attention with her beauty and demeanor.

You glanced toward the girl again, noticing she was annoyed, frustrated even. As if she was waiting for someone.

‘No fucking way,’ you thought, nearly spilling your drink when the thought that she could be the person you were supposed to meet crossed your mind. She was too young! Well, that was rich coming from you, but your circumstances were different!

You approached her, a bit too hastily to your liking and she looked at you, cautious right from the start. And your heart sank, that cautiousness probably meant you were right. This was Mabel. But her eyes, there was just something in her eyes, serious, intense, dark eyes drawing you in, threatening to drown you in a sea of black. “Mabel?” you asked and those dark eyes widened slightly before she regained her composure.

“Y/N?” she was just as surprised as you were, definitely not expecting this. The two of you, close to same age, maybe even the same age. In this situation.

You nodded and then tilted your head toward the chair across from her. “May I?”

Mabel raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t expect the question. She probably didn’t. She was here to meet with you, it was business; asking if you may sit was actually quite stupid, it was a given that you may sit, that this meeting would happen. Yet you asked, maybe out of some obligation, maybe subconsciously giving her a way out. “Not a question I expected from the daughter of one of the bosses,” she pointed out and you shrugged, silently waiting for her to allow you to sit down.

When she remained silent you smirked slightly. “I’m a vampire, you need to tell me I can sit before I can do it,” you joked and she snorted at that.

“Not how it works,” but she waved dismissively at the chair. “But sure, go ahead,” you couldn’t tell if she was amused or not, but you sat down.

“I come from a long line of vampires, I make my own rules,” you joked, making her roll her eyes.

“You come from a long line of criminals,” she huffed, suspicious, not trusting you one bit, which was fair, if you were being honest. You heard of a new girl, efficient, quick, bringing in money, even if she was still a small-time drug dealer mostly working with Weeks. You also heard she was dragged into this either by or because of her family, which would explain her disdain toward you. Born into privilege, choosing to continue the family tradition because it brought you money. You couldn’t blame her for thinking that.

“We suck people dry. Whether it’s blood or money we’re sucking hardly matters,” yet you kept joking. Though people do tend to believe there’s some truth in each joke.

Mabel raised her glass of wine, probably cheap, considering where the two of you were. “To vampires then,” you accepted, raising your own glass, filled with the first non-alcoholic drink you saw on the menu, happened to be some juice that you were yet to try.

“To vampires,” you agreed, not knowing this meeting would change the course of your life. You took a sip of the juice and immediately winced at how sweet it was. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to approach you,” you ignored the sweetness and regret over not getting literally anything else. “I didn’t think you were, well, you,” you admitted. “How old are you again?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

She gave you a flat look, as if she was already tired of your bullshit. “Twenty-two,” she still answered, so she was the same age as you. “I didn’t figure out I was supposed to meet with you either, you look like you went for a run, not to talk about deals,” she pointed out, even if she herself was dressed rather casually.

You grinned a bit as you looked down at your choice of clothing, you really did look like you went for a run and stopped by to grab a drink on your way back home. “Better to look like I’m going for a run, than to catch someone’s attention and be on a run instead,” you pointed out, finally making Mabel crack a tiny smile.

“True,” she agreed, her smile spreading even as she tried to suppress it. Guarded and not willing to show even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in any way. Your parents would be proud if you had this kind of composure instead of making everything a joke. Well, jokes had their own advantages. Most of the time you seemed like you were so in control you could afford to mess around.

Yet her smile made your heart beat faster and you realized just how dangerous she could be if you didn’t play this right. “So, is everything going according to plan?” you asked, getting serious mostly out of some barely developed sense of self-preservation. Mabel nodded, confident, sure of herself, and you could physically feel the power balance shifting as she gained control.

She drank wine with smooth elegance, practiced ease, and with the glass still covering her lips she made her offer, all the while looking right into your eyes. “I can get it to you a week in advance if you pay extra.”

“I can pay you double if you deliver it tonight,” you countered, matching her gaze.

Mabel whistled. “Deal,” she agreed.

“Liar,” but you weren’t that naïve, or green, you’ve been dragged to these meeting for years before your parents made them your problem to deal with.

Mabel leaned back a bit, shrugging. “Worth a shot,” she figured and yeah, you supposed it was.

“Was it really? Staining our relationship with a lie right from the start is a bold move, Mabel,” yet she didn’t flinch.

“Expecting honor among thieves, Y/N?” she challenged you, not backing down for a single moment, and damn did you like that.

“I’m no ordinary thief,” you leaned forward. “I’m the thief in charge, and I don’t like being lied to,” her confidence wavered for a split second, before it returned with a smirk as she leaned in, almost too close, so close you could feel her breath tickling your skin and she stood up to close the distance further, putting her lips right next to your ear.

“True. You’re not in charge of me, though,” she whispered, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, but then she pulled away, taking a few steps away from the table. “We’ll fulfill our end of the deal, make sure you and your thieves pay on time.”

You heard her, but what really caught your attention was your drink that was now in her hand as she drank it, winked at you and left you with her wine and the bill.

“The fuck just happened,” you blinked a few times and then noticed the bill. “How the fuck do these guys have this wine?!” you exclaimed and could hear Mabel cackling in your head. How did you even figure she would cackle? Not that it mattered, what was this overpriced bullshit?! Did she order the most expensive wine the place had? “Damn, she’s good,” you leaned back against the chair, chuckling slightly to yourself, she got you good.

~X~

You entered your apartment, feeling tricked but somehow satisfied. Mabel’s actions were stuck in your head like an annoying song you couldn’t get rid of no matter how much you tried. “She really got me good,” you muttered to yourself as Charcoal hopped into your arms. “Hey there buddy! Did you make a mess while I was gone?” you asked, scratching the cat’s chin as he meowed and purred in your arms, and sure enough, there was quite a number of things knocked over. Pretty much anything that wasn’t locked up was on the floor. It wasn’t that many things, you learnt your lesson a long time ago, but it was still annoyingly endearing to see.

Some small plastic figures, a couple of notebooks, university guide you picked up a few years back, before your life’s path was decided for you. How did Charcoal even get it? Why wasn’t it stuck in the back of some drawer, never to be seen again until you had to clean it? Maybe Mark left it in your line of sight when he conducted a search of your apartment the last time? That was probably it.

Good old Mark, always trying to get you to turn your life around. “A life worth living,” he would often tell you while he and his partner questioned you at the station, trying to get you to crack under the pressure and the good cop bad cop dynamic because they had nothing definitive to prove your involvement.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you scolded the unbothered cat and figured you could clean the mess up tomorrow morning, after good night’s sleep. Perhaps morning would make your thoughts more coherent.

A/N: And here's a story I meant to write like a year ago. Taglist? Anyone?

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 2/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 2 : SMAU

@landonorris accidentally became the DJ again

📍London

@pietrapilao: you pressed two buttons and acted like you closed Coachella 💀 @maxfewtrell: never seen a man take credit for autoplay this confidently @carlos55: we left you alone for 5 minutes and this happens @oscarpiastri: how much to make this stop @maxverstappen1: your dj era again?? help. @chaoticgp: every off-season has its villain arc and this one’s giving ✨dj lando✨ @landozoned: this man cannot stay away from a soundboard @mclarenwitch: i just KNOW he said “trust me, I got this” before messing everything up @gridgirliez: lando the club menace is back and we’re not surviving

@arianariverria slow mornings, long rehearsals, quiet evenings 🤍

📍London

@maya.ross: the “main character in a French film” energy is overwhelming @juliettedlcrx: this post just cured my anxiety @claireballetco: i gasped at slide 2. actual sculpture. @balletwithluna: you live in an aesthetic moodboard and i’m just passing through @ellieharperballet: how do you make pink look like a power color @sylviaballet: the definition of stillness in strength @softshoesandsatin: every slide is a different kind of calm

@gridwatchgossip Spotted 👀 #LandoNorris seen behind the DJ booth and chatting closely with a mystery brunette at a London club a few nights ago during winter break. Sources say she wasn’t part of his usual crew, and the two were seen talking more than once throughout the night. No clear photos of the girl — but fans are already buzzing. 👀

@landozoned: NOT ANOTHER DJ ERA LMAOOO @softlandoz: "mystery brunette" is PR-speak for heartbreak incoming @tifosibae: girl if you see this, blink twice for a soft launch @chaoticgp: she better be able to handle his freak @gridtea: lando deep in convo = man is hooked @mclarencurls: plot twist: she’s the reason he didn’t break anything at the DJ booth @numberonechaos: new WAG watch? it's always the winter break

Texts messages :

Group Chat — "🌟 Chaos Trio 🌟"

Pietra: Gentle reminder that you both owe me for putting up with your entire existence last weekend So this Saturday: ballet night. Royal Opera House. We’re going.

Max Fewtrell: wait are we seriously doing this ?

Lando: is this revenge for making you walk through Mayfair with us for 3 hours

Pietra: No. This is me adding culture to your lives because I love one of you and tolerate the other

Max Fewtrell: I’m assuming I’m the one you love but I can’t be completely sure right now

Lando: I’m honored to be tolerated. truly.

Pietra: Dress code is smart. No trainers. No caps.

Max Fewtrell: Define “smart.” Because last time you said that I ended up in a turtleneck at a BBQ

Pietra: Blazer. Nice shirt. Clean shoes. Try not to look like you rolled out of a Twitch stream

Lando: so basically dress like Max but without the part where he’s trying to impress you

Max Fewtrell: rude but not inaccurate

Lando: ok but what if I fall asleep hypothetically

Pietra: Then I will elbow you in the ribs gently. and Max will pretend not to know you

Max Fewtrell: I’m bringing espresso and a respectful attitude also please hold my hand if it gets dramatic

Pietra: obviously it’s Tchaikovsky. we will feel things.

Lando: so we clap when? during? after? I don’t want to be the guy clapping in a tragic death scene

Pietra: clap when everyone else claps don’t start anything, don’t shout "bravo" in random moments

Max Fewtrell: ok but if the intermission has macarons I’ll call it a success

Lando: deal. I’m only coming for the macarons

Pietra: See? We’re growing. 6pm sharp. Don’t be late or I’m giving your ticket to someone cultured.

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[the-enhanced-project]

‎‧₊˚✧ Introduction ✧˚₊‧

Welcome to THE ENHANCED, a personal writing project that is a rewrite of a very, very old story I was working on a long time ago. I will probably never officially publish this, but I still wanted to get it out to the world somehow, so this blog came to be.

(The plot is really old so expect some cliches T-T)

I will be posting chapters (probably in parts) for your enjoyment. I do not have a definite release schedule yet, as I have to actually write it out first, but I will keep you guys updated as much as possible.

My plan right now is to write all of act 1 before I start posting so I can keep a semi-consistent schedule of publication, but that's open to change.

‎‧₊˚✧ About The Author ✧˚₊‧

Hiya!!! I'm Will, a queer, disabled teen author of (mostly) queer disabled characters :) I like to write what I know/can relate to.

You can find my main blog, where I post about the projects I actually plan on publishing, at @write-with-will !

I'm a minor (high school), so be safe when interacting with this blog and my main. I have no qualms against older people following along with this story though, especially since the characters are older. Just don't interact with me in ways a child shouldn't be interacted with and all will be well :).

I’m a boy please pretty please refer to me as such <3

Now that all that is out of the way, onto the story!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Basic Info ✧˚₊‧

Status - writing!!!

POV - 3rd person

Tense - past

Genre - superhero fiction, urban fantasy

Tropes - found family, team as family, superheroes, superpowers, whump

Other - lgbt rep, poc rep, disability rep (all main characters)

Content warnings - this story includes references to past child abuse, alcohol (the main character works as a bartender), injuries that aren't in a ton of detail, death, past trauma, discrimination, violence, action, and lots and lots of angst

Themes - death, healing, family, platonic relationships, betrayal

‎‧₊˚✧ Synopsis ✧˚₊‧

Anya really, really hates lying to people. Which is weird, considering that when she's not suffering through getting a criminology degree, she has a part time job at the Pacific Northwest chapter of ERGO--an organization that protects and monitors people who were born....different.

The enhanced, they were dubbed, the handful of kids who were born around the world with any kind of 'enhancement'--from being exceptionally strong or fast to having wings. And just like anything new... it wasn't taken very well by the general population.

Anya's newest project should be fairly simple: check out college student Charlie, who they suspect to be enhanced, and to have some unfortunate connections that could be invaluable in the fight for acceptance and safety.

‎‧₊˚✧ Characters ✧˚₊‧

(link leads to their wiki)

-> Anya Henare

-> Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Barak

-> Adam Harding

-> Robyn Cardiff

-> Kyra Dexx

-> William ‘Liam’ Dexx

-> Alastair Dexx

‎‧₊˚✧ Links ✧˚₊‧

(to be updated)

Navigation!!!!!!!!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tags ✧˚₊‧

#project: the enhanced - for any and all posts relating to this project!

#enhanced: character name - for posts about a specific character!

#enhanced: chapters - for the actual writing and chapters for this story!

#enhanced: updates - updates on how the story is going !!!!!! Usually spoiler free—surface level writing stuff

#enhanced: character intros - self explanatory--character bios I post!

#enhanced: lore - lore posts!

‎‧₊˚✧ Tag List ✧˚₊‧

(ask to be added)

@corinneglass @sunflowerrosy @eon-tries-writing @lunesartsworld @ark-inkweaving @nykenima @mymomsaysbobcipher

[justafewberries]

How did Katniss’s views of Peeta’s episodes change over time?

Hey, nonny!

This is going to be a sequel post to another ask here, where I discussed evidence for Katniss wanting to help Peeta out of his episodes in Mockingjay. 

In order to answer this, I’m going to separate Peeta into two characters: crafted image Peeta and Hijacked Peeta. Crafted image Peeta is going to be the idea of Peeta that Katniss has crafted in his absence. It is composed of everything “good”. Hijacked Peeta is the character post Capitol torture, specifically from the time he is rescued to the end of the book. 

I believe that Katniss detested Hijacked Peeta, but not because he’s Peeta, but because he’s a manifestation of what she feels like is her failure. She went into the arena with the intention to keep him safe, and she failed. There was a bigger plot in play, of course, but her feelings towards her failure overshadow the fact she largely could not have prevented what happened. Still, she spends much of her time in 13 feeling guilty for “failing”, so when she hears Peeta has returned, she feels this sense of relief. In her mind, she is no longer guilty, everything is okay, and Peeta is back. 

So when he strangles her, again, everything comes crashing down. She is once more condemned to be at fault, and she begins to resent Peeta for it. That crafted image Peeta she believed she was going to see doesn’t exist. She sees hijacked Peeta, a manifestation of what she tried to prevent, and it crushes her. She doesn’t admit this, of course, she runs, like I said in my last post. She doesn’t ask about him, she doesn’t visit, and she tenses up when he’s around. 

I don’t think she ever resents him for being Peeta, I think she resents what he has become. 

So when discussing the timeline of her warming up to his episodes, I’m going to credit it to Haymitch. In the Capitol setting, Katniss sees Peeta as a mutt. She doesn’t humanize him anymore because to her, she feels she has to cut her losses to survive. Could she ever actually kill Peeta if it came down to it? No. I wouldn’t even say she could do it out of necessity, as she didn’t pull the trigger when Gale was asking her to at the end. Here’s where Haymitch comes in:

"What are you trying to do? Provoke him into an attack?" he asks me. "Of course not. I just want him to leave me alone," I say. "Well, he can't. Not after what the Capitol put him through," says Haymitch. "Look, Coin may have sent him there hoping he'd kill you, but Peeta doesn't know that. He doesn't understand what's happened to him. So you can't blame him--" "I don't!" I say. "You do! You're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it's time you flipped this little scenario around in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?" demands Haymitch. I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn. "You and me, we made a deal to try and save him. Remember?" Haymitch says. When I don't respond, he disconnects after a curt "Try and remember."

Up until this point, Katniss has been pushing him away and writing him off as violent. She’s not necessarily trying to provoke him into an attack, like she says, but she’s not exactly treating him compassionately, either. 

She can’t write him off as irredeemable anymore, like she has tried so hard to convince herself. That’s why I think this conversation with Haymitch was the turning point in how she begins to view Peeta’s episodes. This also happens a few chapters before the “stay with me” kiss from my last post, which provides more evidence for how crucial this conversation was in Katniss’s mindset.

Before that call, she was punishing Peeta for being a culmination of what she believed to be her failure. After that call, she has a new perspective.

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 48

Part 47

You may recognize much of this chapter from Part C!

Robin watched as El touched Steve’s stomach, reverent and curious. She had lived quite a sheltered life and had only seen pregnancy in action a couple of times in her life. Steve chuckled at her touch.

“It’s much too early to feel anything”, Steve reminded her.

“But they’re there? Growing?”

Steve nodded. Robin came over and put a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this. You and Eddie have really changed each other.” When she first saw the prince in his cell, she never imagined he would lovingly accept the king’s seed and let it grow within him.

“It’s funny, I don’t feel very different from how I used to be”, Steve said. “I just feel more myself.”

And being that he was more himself, he continued to entertain the questions of the younglings, even when they bordered on inappropriate. Steve had gotten quite good at changing the subject, or like now, making an escape when Dustin or Mike demanded to know more details about the conception. He slipped away and made it about two steps before a hand grabbed him and pulled him into a spare room. Steve didn’t struggle, recognizing the hold of his lover.

“May our child be only half as inquisitive as those boys”, Eddie grinned.

“Hmm, then they’d only be half as intelligent”, Steve mused.

Stolen moments like these always felt precious. Especially when there was grim news on the horizon. Steve received two more letters. One was an invitation to pay respects to his new sibling. The other was for Eddie, although it was addressed to Steve still. Because of that, Eddie didn’t even want to hear of it at first. The castle had already begun preparations for the wedding. And Steve was with child. With everything going so well, Eddie didn’t want to give any attention to Alric at all.

But he was weak to Steve. And he could see his point of view. Eddie knew, even better than his fiance, that the conflict wouldn’t end just because Steve would give up his birthright. His parents would raise their new son to hate just as much. And he wouldn’t even know that the one he was fighting against was his own brother. The name of the first born prince would be burned from the royal records. Eddie knew it and Steve knew it. Unless they came and legitimized Alric’s invitation and played the part of amicable neighbors.

And so, the two of them traveled back to Steve’s ancestral home. They had sent a reply so that the king and queen could expect their arrival. Steve also wrote an informal invitation to their wedding and eventual birth of their grandchild. Steve had a feeling they already knew. Everyone in the kingdom was aware, thanks to Eddie shouting it to the heavens. But his word would confirm it.

Their party was small, led by Jeff. Nancy and Robin remained to hold down the fort in their absence and continue the wedding planning.

“If we play our cards right, they may let Tristan visit us”, Steve said as they rode along in the carriage.

“Do you think your parents are capable of such generosity?”, Eddie asked.

“They’ll let me return to come and visit, at least. I won’t be a crown prince anymore. But as a prince consort…”

Eddie held Steve’s hand to his chest. “You will be more than that, my love.”

“...What do you mean?”

“That throne wasn’t just for the trial. I want you by my side, for always. As my equal”, Eddie declared. “You will be a king.”

Steve was at a loss of words and it showed with how his lips parted and yet nothing came out. Eddie smiled and ran his thumb across his bottom lip.

“You should be inheriting your own kingdom. Mine is but a paltry consolation.”

Steve kissed him softly. “To seat me by your side is no small gift.”

He kissed him again and Eddie melted into it, his hand smoothing up Steve’s thigh and then pulling him into his lap. Eddie was not a conquering man. But he would steal the entire world just to present it to Steve as a dowry. Steve remained in his lap for the rest of the voyage, knowing he would have to keep his distance from Eddie once they arrived. 

His parents were very reserved in their marriage. They wouldn’t look too favorably on how free he and Eddie were in their affections. The fact that Eddie was a man and a product of the dark arts would be the least of it.

Before disembarking from the carriage, Eddie kissed each of Steve’s fingers. Steve kissed across his face from one cheek to the other. And then the door opened.

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

Alric knew that monster was near as crows circled the skies above his domain. They landed on the walls surrounding the castle, acting as the horrible omens they were. Only vultures would be more fitting. He and his wife arrived at the front entrance just in time for King Edward’s arrival. He had already discussed with his wife in great detail what they must do.

“The kingdom welcomes you”, he said as his son exited the carriage with his guest. Alric had never laid eyes on King Edward and was honestly a bit underwhelmed. He was very…human. Although Alric knew that he was prone to disguises. He wouldn’t let his guard down for a single second. Because of that, he hardly spared his son, who he hadn’t seen in an entire year, a glance.

Alric continued, “I’m sure you must be tired after your long journey-”

King Edward cut him off. “I’d actually like to get right to business. “But I would like Steve to rest. Wouldn’t want to put any stress on your grandchild.”

If his son was carrying anything inside of him, it was an abomination. Not a child. And Alric had let this rot spoil the branch of his family tree for too long. But he welcomed them inside all the same and had his wife tend to Steve, as planned, while the two kings went to discuss business.

A large table had been brought into the throne room and there Alric had written up an agreement between their two countries. They both sat down and Eddie gave it a cursory glance. As he did, he noted the guard stationed inside and outside the room. A few had followed behind Steve and his mother as well. Eddie had given Jeff the charge of watching Steve. His love, so strong and powerful enough to smash a man’s skull with only half of his strength. And yet Eddie knew he could never use it against his parents.

“You’ve written quite the essay here. How about you just give me the broad strokes.”

“I find that people use decorum as armor. It means they’re trying to hide something unsightly. Just say to my face that you want to use your own son as a bargaining chip.”

“Are you not a king?”, Alric questioned.. “You know as well as I do that we do not live for ourselves, but for our people. We are all bargaining chips from the day we’re born. Steven is no different. Neither are you.”

“And I suppose your newborn is just as expendable?” Royalty having children just to continue their line was one thing. But Eddie was certain their baby was being used for more than that right now. It was an easy way to get the soft-hearted Steve to fall in line.

“He is the future of this kingdom. And I won’t let anything get in the way of it.”

Eddie barked out laughter. How foolish could this man be? “It’s funny. Had you done this months ago, we could have been over and done.” Steve would have never been taken. He never would have met the prince, never would have fallen for him.

Alric smirked. “I’d say things ended up in your favor. You got a plaything in the form a crown prince.”

Eddie growled. “Your son is more than a plaything. He’s more than a pawn! If you don’t have the decency to respect him now, when he’s the only thing holding me back, then we have nothing to discuss.” Eddie stood, unable to bear more disrespect at Steve’s expense when the guards around the room moved around him.

Alric crossed his arms. “That boy hasn’t done a damn thing to earn my respect. And neither have you. I could have declared war on you long ago. I didn’t. But playtime is over.”

A trio of guards attacked from all sides then and even then, Eddie only gave a nominal effort in fighting them off. Even as they got him on the floor and began to restrain him, he held back. He could hear Steve now, chastising him for using too much power with mere mortals. He could knock all of these guards back and he’d give King Alric a good scare and then he and Steve would take off for home to laugh about how they ever thought his parents would be cordial-

“Get him to the dungeons for now”, Alric ordered. “We’ll have a public execution in the morning. Juliana should be done with Steven by now.”

And then Eddie understood. He had the idea that this could be a trap but pushed it away. Didn’t think this king was bold enough, stupid enough to think that he could truly cage what Eddie was. If it was just him, Eddie might toy with him. Might have fun before showing his true nature. But they took it too far.

He thought of Steve. So merciful that he was willing to forgive his parents just for the chance to see his infant brother. So full of grace that he was carrying the proof of their love inside of him. The rage in Eddie spilled over a hundredfold. The sound that came from him was an inhuman din that shook the walls. He didn’t know what he was. Only that the sight of him brought fear to the eyes of the men before him.

As it should.

Blood was on his tongue and bones crunched in his teeth as he freed himself. Alric was cowering away, calling for more guards. Eddie didn’t even feel the swords that tried to pierce him. He swatted at Alric, throwing him against the wall and then against the floor before capturing him in his jaws. He could kill him now with just one bite.

But even now, he was a servant to his love. And only Steve could decide his fate. Eddie carried him and searched for Steve’s scent, climbing outside the castle until he reached the window where he must be. He crashed through the window and Steve was already there. He was unharmed.

Eddie dropped Alric and Steve went right to his love, embracing him despite the blood and his undefined shape.

“It’s alright”, he whispered. “I’m alright. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

At that, Eddie nosed at Steve’s torso. It was still too early to detect anything from the outside. But Steve had been touched by magic. And as long as their child was growing, he could smell the magic on him.

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

As soon as Eddie was calm enough to regain his human form, Steve told him what had happened. His mother had tried to kill him. He managed to fight her off and Jeff helped to incapacitate her after taking care of the guards. Eddie and Jeff carried their unconscious bodies down to the dungeons, in separate cells. Eddie did so in the form of a black wolf in a size intimidating enough to keep any guards still loyal to them from trying anything.

While they did that, Steve ordered for the council to be assembled and only when that was getting set up did he give himself a moment to relax. He did so in his old room. Eddie came back from the dungeon and saw that a crib had been brought to the room.

“This must be the infamous Tristan”, Eddie said, leaning over to take a look at him. Tristan was asleep now, soothed after the chaos just before. “You wouldn’t know just by looking at him what lowlives his parents are.”

“We are quite literally cut from the same cloth”, Steve reminded him.

Eddie chuckled. “Speaking of that cloth…What do you intend to do with them?”

Steve sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Am I foolish for wanting them to love me still?”

“You are not foolish for wanting”, Eddie said. “But you must be honest with yourself. They tried to kill you today. You and our child!”

Tristan began to fuss at the noise and Eddie immediately made shushing noises as he picked up the babe. “And now he’s involved too. So I need to know, what will you do with your parents?”

Steve smiled at how easily Eddie handled Tristan. He stood and walked over as an idea formed. He lightly caressed Tristan’s cheek and kept his voice to a whisper. “If I choose to be selfish, will you indulge me?”

Eddie grinned and spoke just as quietly. “Until you are drowning in it, sweetheart.”

They spoke softly as Tristan napped. And when it was time to meet with the council that evening, they left his brother with Jeff, the only one they could trust for now. The nursery maids looked fraught with fear when they saw Tristan in Eddie’s arms and Steve knew that if they had the chance, they’d run off with his brother and he’d never see him again.

The council was already in the throne room when they arrived and Eddie made sure Steve sat on the king’s throne. The other men were completely baffled to see it was these two who had called them to this meeting.

Eddie took a backseat on the queen’s throne while Steve explained the situation - what his parents had done and how they were imprisoned, awaiting trial and punishment. He didn’t say anything until one of the council members challenged his claim to the throne. He growled, ready to snap his neck if it wasn’t for Steve’s soothing touch on his hand.

His moon and sun was such a vision, especially when threatening military force, should they not fall in line. Attempting to assassinate royalty was no small crime. Now, more than ever, Eddie was well within his rights to rain fire on this land. The council tried to talk of regents. Someone to watch over the kingdom until the young Prince Tristan was of age to claim his birthright. Because even now, Steve wouldn’t take it from his brother.

But having a regent made things messier, in Steve’s opinion. And he said so. 

“I only keep you alive because appointing an entirely new council is not worth the hassle. That being said, you will see a decrease in your reach as the merge happens.”

“The merge?”, one of the echoed.

“Appointing a regent will only encourage infighting and problems down the road. Tristan will be king one day, if he so chooses. And will receive all the education he needs to do so under my wing. Until that day, these lands, which will one day be his, shall fall under King Edward’s rule.”

It was silent in the throne room as the men wrestled with the weight of their new reality. It was so satisfying, Eddie was unable to resist.

“Welcome to hell bitches!”

Part 49

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-stevee

[indiestsnake]

heyyy look it’s a vent post. about. how i keep forcing you all to repeat the nice words you say because evidently my skulls a bit too thick to retain the info

don’t read if you don’t want to, I’ll probably sleep this off anyway

I hate how my brain neutralizes compliments

the longer nice words someone says stay in my brain the more fake they feel. even from my friends. what if their opinion has changed? what if I’ve done something wrong? what if they just don’t feel that strongly anymore?

it doesn’t help that i can’t expect anyone to come up with new ways to validate my stupid brain constantly

I still remember the beginning of to find warmth. every word mattered so much to me. checking my phone and always seeing that little inbox number tick up, faster and faster with each chapter, comments growing longer and more complex. I got tumblr and random people came by to tell me how cool they thought I was. I finally felt like I was important for once

and then it just. slowly started to mean a little less

my brain adapts. moves the goalpost. it writes the last words off as meaningless and says the current ones aren’t actually that impressive. sure, people like your writing. so what? you’re bad at a million other things.

and then the comments themselves slowed down. my fifteen minutes ran out. I no longer woke to 99+ notifs on tumblr, I stopped having new comments to read every morning. consitient commenters come and go because how the hell can I expect someone to find a new way to be nice to me every single chapter I post? it’s not possible. much less any sort of reasonable goal

the comments still mean a lot. it’s the difference between a gallon of water after a trek through a desert, and a sip on a hot day. I used to be starved for compliments. now I’m not.

someone called to find warmth one of their favorite books. someone said it genuinely empowered them with its themes. a friend reached out to translate it to Russian. the numbers grow higher and higher

but for some reason I just. it doesn’t feel real unless they say it again. it’s corroborated, or reiterated, or repeated. I keep forcing you all to keep telling me the ways I’ve impacted you over and over in different formats because I dump all the words you say into a self hatred acid pit apparently

I’m so grateful for the fandom I’ve grown and recieved. I could never express how happy it makes me to see this reach and help so many people. I’m sorry you have to hear me whine as if your words mean nothing I swear they do

I promise they do. they do. please please believe me. I just need you to repeat them. that’s all I ever say to you guys

im sorry. you don’t have to. you dont have to repeat yourself. you dont have to reach out to reinforce what I should already know. nor do you have to keep telling me things if this post makes it feel meaningless

im so happy to have you all. im sorry

[wintersoldierwhore]

covet — joel miller

Chapter One — “Just as grumpy as I remembered.”

Moving from California back to Texas was… painful. A three hour flight from San Francisco to Austin, sandwiched between a talkative old lady and a guy who couldn’t hold his overpriced water bottle with a steady hand. You sat in the airport in defeat, clutching a warm coffee as you watched the sun rise on the skyline. Your dad had promised to pick you up, even after you insisted it was an unreasonable time of morning and that you’d find your own way back.

You’d spent 18 years of your life in Austin, made friends, had lovers, had parties, had your heart broken, gotten drunk, gotten high, and yet coming back made you feel lost. You’d settled into San Francisco after college, you’d found a small data entry job and clawed your way into a pretty big Accountancy firm. But they were making cuts, and you chose to take the severance pay and come home for the summer, and settle back into Texan life once more.

Your dad had actually asked for help with the company, he said he could use an accountant to keep track of cash flow. With the added benefit of lodging and pay, of course.

”Kiddo!” You heard faintly through your headphones, and looked up to see your dad’s truck waiting in a very clearly marked No Waiting bay.

“Hey, dad,” you threw your suitcases into the back seat and settled in the front. It had the same smell, reminding you of getting rides from your dad to wherever you and your friends decided was the spot of the week. The odd receipt in the cup holder, a few loose tools in the foot well, it hadn’t changed a single bit.

“How has San Fran been?” He asked, you could hear the exhaustion in his voice but you could hear some cheeriness in there too.

“Good, really good.” You answered, which wasn’t a lie, you really enjoyed working and living there. “Just missed home.”

”Well it’s right where you left it.”

”Want any breakfast, kiddo?” The two of you had just dragged your suitcases into the house, and you could feel the walls hugging you warmly, telling you how much they missed you and how big you’ve gotten.

“No thanks, dad. I’m still half asleep.” You laughed, but it came out as more of a sigh. “It must be almost time for you to leave for work, surely?”

Your dad nodded, tipping some of the coffee from the pot he’d made before he left into a mug. “Shame I can’t see my favourite daughter till tonight.”

”Your only daughter.”

”Well,” he joked, “Sarah has been pretty helpful this year with business. But I suppose she just wanted the money.”

You missed Sarah, and you had made a note to see how big she’s gotten since you left seven years ago. You used to babysit her the summer before you left for college, and she was an energetic nine-year-old. She must be sixteen now?!

“How is Sarah?” You asked your dad, abandoning your suitcases and sitting at the kitchen island with him.

“A teenager is what she is, but she’s still same old Sarah.” He smiled, but his face dropped before he opened his mouth again. “Joel ‘n the Mrs are havin’ issues, real bad this time. Think they’re on their way t’ splittin’ up.”

You frowned, barely remembering he had a wife. Growing up, you’d never really see her. No need, he worked with your dad, she didn’t. You remembered Joel faintly, didn’t see him much but when you did, it was always dropping things off to the house or going to his for the evening, and you’d just be out by the pool with Sarah.

But he was a grump. Always had been.

Despite being a long blink away from sleep, you’d woken up a few hours later, showered, and put all your clothes back into your wardrobe and dresser. You’d packed your whole life up, but only your essentials accompanied you on the plane. The rest would be arriving in the next few days. Except your car, air freight promised your car would be back in Austin within a week.

You planned on doing some shopping, to update your room a little, but you were stuck without a car. So you’d just have to wait for your dad.

Your official job for your dad would begin on Monday, and it being Friday afternoon now, gave you the whole weekend to prepare.

You were chopping some tomatoes for your lunch, when you heard a truck pull in. Two doors slam, and keys shoved into the door. You resumed chopping, throwing the prepared vegetables into a pot.

“Hey, kid, what’ya making?”

You didn’t look away from your task as you answered, “makin’ soup for lunch, want some?”

”Joel, she left for a degree an’ came back knowing how t’ cook!” He yelped, patting your back as he threw some folders onto the island.

Hearing his name, and what your dad said about him this morning, you halted lunch for now. You turned to see the grump you remembered, and someone older stood in his place. Slightly messy hair, salt and peppered facial hair. A few curls starting to form on the ends of his hair, tired eyes, no smile at all. But he was built, a body only a man of labour could have.

“We had a few hours free between jobs so thought we’d show you what you can expect to do from Monday.” Your dad explained, “but first I need to pee.”

Your dad had jogged upstairs, and left you with all 6’3 of his best friend.

“Hi, Joel.” You smiled sweetly at him.

“Hi, darlin’,” he drawled, “how y’been?”

“Good as I can be really, lost my job, back to living with dad,” you shrugged, “what about you?”

“Workin’.” He huffed, you knew there was more to say than he did, but you didn’t press.

“Just as grumpy as I remembered,” you mumbled but it seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

You’d made your soup, gave your dad and Joel some, and listened as they — your dad — discussed your job role and made you sign some paperwork to take you on officially.

It was a relaxed offer, work from home, and access to their office if necessary, and work whenever you want, as long as the work was done by the deadline.

“Well, kiddo, don’t wanna keep you from whatever you’re gonna do today.” Your dad gathered his paperwork and tucked it under his arm. “What is it ya’doin’ today?”

”Well, I was going to do some bedroom shopping but my car doesn’t arrive till next week.” You answered, stacking the soup bowls and placing them in the sink.

“I can take ya’tomorrow if you like?” Joel offered, which took both you and your dad by surprise. “I got the bigger truck, only makes sense.”

”Sure thing. Thanks, Mr Miller.” You smiled up at him, passing by him with only an inch between you.

”I’ll go put this paperwork in my home office, Joel, get the truck runnin’.” Your dad called out, already at the top of the staircase.

“You heard the man.” You spoke quietly, Joel’s gaze on you hadn’t broken once since you’d thanked him. You’d do just about anything to have a swim around his brain right now.

He’d stepped onto the porch, unlocking the truck and turning back to face you once again.

“Darlin’,” he spoke, his voice gruff, almost like he’d just woken up, “you’re a smart girl. You’ll find ya’feet again soon, I bet.”

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

The Cursed Warlords Chapter #Nineteen – Hurt and Comfort

Of all the things you had to deal with on this journey, staying long enough to get your period once again was NOT apart of your plan!

It took the rest of that day to walk around the town. Spirit was firm in the fact that she didn’t want you to get involved with whoever was in the town. The monkey demon Mink had ran off so quickly you were unable to catch up with him even if you tried. So you continued your trip.

Wukong nuzzled your face happy with his win, having scared off the other demon. Though it wasn’t like Mink was trying to hurt you and was actually trying to help the warlords. But Wukong didn’t care, he tried to take him away from you! His precious darling, and for all he knew you could have gotten hurt before the curse would get broken!

‘You are an idiot,’ Macaque chirped with annoyance as je lounged on your other shoulder.

Wukong gawked at his mate in offence, ‘I am not! I protected our Reader!’ he explained rolling his eyes at his mate’s words.

‘Did you even think of the fact that we could have asked him to get Reader to bring us to Flower Fruit Mountain?’ Macaque responded with a groan.

Wukong opened his mouth to retort only to snap his mouth shut in shock. His brain fried for a second as he registered the fact that he just ruined their chance to break their curse sooner and get Reader to their home. Not to mention they could have found a way to get you to come to their home and you wouldn’t be able to leave without their say so.

‘Thought so,’ Macaque grumbled with an annoyed look on his face.

Though he hadn’t really helped the matter much. While Wukong was scaring off Mink he had let himself try and get your attention instead. The whole time he just wanted you to look at him instead of someone else, just like when he first met Wukong. Back when he had pined for Wukong, before they were mates and when he had to scare off the suitors who tried to get Wukong’s hand in marriage.

‘Macaque.’

His thoughts wondered back to those days, he could still feel the roaring jealousy that he felt back then. So many of Wukong’s suitors who died at his hand, he wasn’t even sure if his mate knew just how many. He purposefully didn’t tell him of the few that had been apart of the troop only to mysteriously disappear when they got too cozy with the single king.

‘Moon.’

Not that Wukong was any better. He knew how many people had died because someone said something bad about the ‘lone warrior,’ the ‘shadow’ of the king. Back when he first joined the troop after being a lone traveler for his whole life. Their screams were so lovely, whe didn’t mention how wonderful and horrible it made him feel. Wonderful because Wukong gave him attention before he proposed and horrible because at first Wukong saw them as friends and ‘sworn brothers,’ he rolled his eyes at the thought.

His mate had loved him just as much as he loved him ever since they met. He was just a dense idiot sometimes and didn’t realize it was romantic love rather than platonic. All he was at first was his ‘best bud’, well that changed when Macaque made the first move into courtship.

‘My Moon! Don’t ignore me! I said sorry,’ Wukong was all but crying at this point, his eyes wide with regret and fear for his life at the silence of his mate.

Macaque turned to look at him and rolled his eyes with a smirk. He didn’t respond only making Wukong even more silently hurt at the silence but he couldn’t do anything if he tried. Leaving you to calm the whiny monkey who was trying to get his mate’s attention.

>>>

The next few days were calm, they were peaceful and it was strange. Gentle breezes and a clear sky without a cloud in sight. Everything was easy for once, just you following Spirit’s lead towards your destination. However you didn’t expect this new road block to happen.

Sleeping in your under dress and using your outer hanfu as a pillow you woke up to something you didn’t want to deal with. You realized it in the early morning when you woke up with a painful cramp in your abdomen. Dread flooded through you as you gripped your stomach in pain. Your quiet groans caught the attention of Spirit who was already awake.

“You okay Reader?” She asked with a frown covering her lips.

“Uugh…. No,” you muttered trying to calm your cramps, it physically pained you knowing that you couldn’t have any ibuprofen or Advil, There was nothing to calm down the pain here.

You felt her hand press against your head and she frowned, you weren’t warm. You had plenty of sleep the last few days, she’s made sure you always had something to eat… Narrowing her eyes she gently shook your shoulder, hoping to get more information. She couldn’t help you if she didn’t know what was wrong, and she wanted to know what was going on before the cubs woke up. It was a miracle that they hadn’t woken up yet.

“What’s wrong?” She asked slowly.

You were about to respond when two small chirps turned your attention to them. A chirp from Peaches indicating he was awake and wanted food. That want for food was soon pushed back when he noticed you laying on the ground curled up in a fetal position. This wasn’t odd since you fell asleep in all kinds of positions but the look of pain on your face immediately had him chirping in worry.

“Shh Peaches. Reader I need you to tell me what’s wrong- do I smell blood?” That caught Plum’s attention. Now you were on the ground with three monkeys looking at you, chirping worriedly and asking for information, all while you were laying down and feeling mortified about the entire ordeal.

‘Blood!? Reader! Darling what happened!?’ Wukong chirped frantically his mate right at his side looking you over and sniffing your face.

“… It’s nothing,” You muttered in embarrassment.

“What? You’re bleeding,” Spirit bit back a slight growl bubbling up her through at the mere thought of it.

“I’m on my period. It’s not an external wound,” You grumbled before gently pushing the demoness away.

Said demoness gave you a blank look, blinking slowly at your words. She tilted her head in confusion, period? What was a period. She had never heard of such a thing, was it something that humans got? Was it a sickness!?

Wukong was no better, in fact he was still frantically looking you over in confusion. He had no idea what a period was, all he knew was that you were bleeding and you were in pain.

The only one of the three who was calm was Macaque. With his six ears he knew what a period was, his cheeks slightly flushed at the thoughts that flooded through his head. It was similar to a monkey demoness’s heat, at least from what he understood. The difference being was that demoness’ were most fertile during their heat while humans’ were most fertile right after their ‘periods.’ He was not going to disclose the delicious thoughts that flooded his mind, particularly the thought of you in their nest on Flower Fruit Mountain and beneath the two warlords.

“What the hell is a period?” Spirit asked, completely confused without a clue of what you were talking about.

You looked over your shoulder at her in shock. “A period, my menstrual cycle.”

Spirit stared back at you, tilting her head as she tried to figure out what you were talking about. Narrowing her eyes she asked, “You bleed? And it’s natural? How often does this happen?”

“Mmm… bout once a month, for a little less than a week,” You replied before groaning again, with all three monkeys gawking at you.

“You’re kidding! Why would you have to do that!? Are you sick!?” she asked nearly shouting in her shock.

You chuckled before grunting when the laugh hit your gut. “No. Women get it because it’s hoe their body handles their fertility… or something like that,” You e plainly vaguely not wanting to go in depth with it.

“Oh… So do you like… need rest?” Spirit asked unsure of what to do in this situation.

You nodded slightly curling up a little more, you tried to stretch a bit only for your gut to cramp even worse. Before you were able to curl up again, Plums pressed himself against your abdomen. You opened your mouth to say something but the words died in your throat, the heat of his body, and the slight pressure was nice. It was like a little heating pad.

“Hey get off of her. She said she was in pain,” Spirit growled at the white furred monkey.

Plums looked up at her blinking slowly before sticking his tongue out at her. Spirit’s fur puffed out as she growled and reached over you to grab the monkey.

“No. He’s fine,” You muttered tiredly and Spirit stopped her movement, a pout forming on her lips at your words. Regardless of her emotions she still nodded and left him alone.

Peaches chirped towards Plums before joining him in curling up with you, settling himself so he was comfy. His tail laying on top of Plums as he snuggled up to both of you.

“… Do you need something to eat?” Spirit asked from over your shoulder and you responded with a hum of agreement.

You didn’t look but you could hear her walking away from you. You wanted to say something, anything but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but groan. Both monkeys that were curled up with you chirped sadly at your pain and you couldn’t help but lightly chuckle towards them.

You didn’t even realize you fell asleep until Spirit was shaking you awake with a bowl in her hand. Not questioning where she got or stored the object you accepted the vegetable stew, there was rice, carrots and some green beans. All together it was rather bland and definitely not something that you wanted to eat, but it was food and you really needed to eat.

“Thank you,” You mumbled, able to sit up now. Both cubs sat on your lap as you ate the soup that Spirit had made.

“I’m not a good cook… but it’s probably better than snacking on only fruit,” The monkey demoness explained, fidgeting with her clothes.

“Thank you, really. It could be worse, nothing is burnt and it’s fully cooked,” You replied with a light smile, all that you said was true, even if you were leaving out the part of no seasonings. You couldn’t blame her on that since you weren’t even sure where she would be able to get any seasonings anyway.

*CHIRP! CHIRP!*

You turned your gaze to the two monkeys on your lap, both with pouts on their faces. They were offended that you were thanking Spirit, thanking her without even acknowledging them! They were your future mates! And you were talking to her more than them!? Chirping again they waited for a response, and you delivered! Gently patting their heads and scratching them as you spoke. “Thank you two for your help too,” You chuckled as they purred.

Spirit rolled her eyes, “Oh please they didn’t even do anything.”

“… Are you jealous of cubs?” You asked and watched as Spirit’s whole face turned bright red, her mask turning a shade of purple from the fluster that covered her face. Both cubs laughed at her expression with smug looks on their faces.

“What!? No! As if I’d be jealous over two brats!” she growled, turning her back on you with a huff much to your amusement.

Both cubs chittered and laughed as Spirit fumed next to you. It was honestly adorable. You laughed before letting out another grunt as another cramp hit you. Spirit whirled around so fast you didn’t even see her move, as she came face to face with you.

Staring at you for a solid minute she finally sighed and muttered, “We’re not going anywhere for a while are we?”

“What? No we could- ugh… okay probably not,” You grumbled.

‘It’s okay love! Rest, we’ll travel later,’ Macaque chirped, he knew you couldn’t understand but wanted you to rest.

Spirit ignored the monkey cub and took a different approach. She yawned, and stretched her arms before plopping behind you. Her hands gently combing through your hair, gently massaging your head. Your eyes drooped as she scratched your scalp.

Laying back against her you laid your head in front of her crossed legs. A yawns escaped your lips and quiet chirps left the two cubs as they snuggled back up on your abdomen with a welcome warmth and slight pressure just enough to feel comfortable. That wasn’t even mentioning the gentle, cool hands that combed through your hair over and over in a calming and sleep inducing way.

It kind of reminded you of the way your mother used to comb through your hair. Cheerful memories filled your head, now bittersweet as you’re unable to see your family. Your heart clenched in pain as you wished and prayed that they were safe and well during your absence.

Once again you fell asleep, not noticing the way that Spirit curled up beside you and let herself also fall asleep. If you weren’t going anywhere any time soon then she might as well take advantage of the time and sleep.

Wukong glanced at Spirit with a slight scowl, he didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous of the small demoness. She was protective and while not nearly as strong as The Monkey Kings, she had her own strengths. She protected you when he and his mate couldn’t and if it weren’t for her you would likely starve, get killed, eaten or worse. He hated to admit it but she did deserve a place in his troop… she would definitely help you join the troop easier with a familiar face.

Wukong wasn’t stupid, he knew that he was going to need to get you used to him and Macaque when he finally brought you home. To your new home with him, Macaque and the rest of his troop on Flower Fruit Mountain.

‘She’s going to make our perfect Queen~,’ Wukong chirped with a smile and Macaque chuckled, his tail lightly slapping his mate in a teasing manner. ‘You speak the obvious my love~.’

Wukong laughed, ‘I only speak the truth~ She is our perfect Queen just as you are my perfect King~’

[zephyrrr101]

Elizabeth Midford's Turmoil.

Okay, before I go on my rant, there are manga spoilers from the Arcs that are ahead of where Anime is, so you are being WARNED.

It kind of makes me sad that everyone hates Lizzy nowadays. Like idk what people expect from her. She is 14.

Freaking 14!

You know what we are doing at 14? Worrying and losing shit about our exams and not having good looks at 14.

Like, put yourself in her shoes. The girl lost not only her fiance but also two of her best friends, her uncle and aunt who would have dotted on her with how we know Vincent and Rachel were. She lost them all, and then after a month, one of her cousins came back saying he was her fiance, and this went on for three years.

I'm not saying Our Ciel is a bad guy here or anything. He had his own reasons. But think of it from Lizzy's side. This is supposed to be the boy who she sacrificed so much for. The boy for whom she exchanged beautiful heels for flats, appeared frail and girly because her supposed fiance had been scared of strong women since he was a child and she didn't want him to hate her or be scared of her, so she hid away her natural talents so he wouldn't think of her as the same way he thought of her mother. This is the girl who cried while trying to save the supposed fiance from walking corpses because she thought he'd hate her for being able to protect herself and him and not being girly.

Like has anyone thought about the fact there might have been things that Lizzy and Real Ciel might have discussed that Our Ciel wouldn't know about? Like for this instance here, from Chapter 66 when they are celebrating Easter.

This is seriously something to put into consideration that Lizzy is infact talking to him about something that she had told him before the fire at Phantomhive manor. And he doesn't knows it. And she is shocked. And she is shocked to the point that for the first time in what we have read the manga she asks that what happened to him in that ome month that changed him so much.

And then, all of sudden she is reunited with the guy who knows exactly what she and him talked about when they talking of their future. Mind you both Ciel were 10 and Lizzy was 11 at that time.

Do we even put it into thought that maybe Real Ciel might have given her a whole detailed version of what actually happened when he was killed, like how Our Ciel got the Phantomhive ring and all the gruesome details, and God knows would have told her what else?

And idk if you get it or not, but the fact that she's actually beating herself over is that she couldn't find any difference between Real Ciel and Our Ciel, which, again, if you put yourself in her shoes, will make sense that her reaction is right.

Source: Chapter 144

And even after that, her thoughts first go to how our Ciel might be mocking her or not then she tells Edward what she actually thought at the moment.

These two boys who she played with since they were kids, these two boys who were her best friends, and she couldn't find a difference between her fiance and his brother. It's not anything but traumatizing and something that anyone would feel tremendous guilt over. And even then she is feeling far more guilty over the fact that if she had known the truth, she could have ended up hating Ciel because he wasn't her fiance.

Reminds you guys of something?

Source: Chapter 11

She knows she would have turned bitter and we possibly would have seen the same reaction we did when Madam Red attempted to kill Our Ciel. Something which did happen when we saw her attacking Sebastian when he tried to retrieve her from the Sphere Music Hall. And if not that she feels guilty of playing part in what happened with Our Ciel and the Scotland Yard being set on his tail.

She feels hurt, guilty and confused all over not knowing what to do or who to side with because the guy who was okay with her being a strong woman was not her actual fiance but his younger twin.

Overall. Give the girl a break. She's 14, confused, and emotionally traumatized. Get that we love Our Ciel. I do too. But let's not get angry at a 14-year-old girl and allow her the liberty of having emotions like any real 14-year-old is allowed because let's accept it her situation ain't anything pretty.

[armpirate]

RED || Jungkook | Ch. 16

MASTERLIST Previous ||  Next

Pairings: Demon!Jungkook x fem!reader  

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, fantasy, past life

Warnings: Explicit language, mention of death and suicide, demonology, violence, rough sex

Summary: Y/n thought her life couldn't get worse after losing her parents in a tragic accident. Years after, she's aware of everyone moving forward, while she's in the same place, isolated and alone. She struggles to find meaning in a world that seems indifferent to her grief. Desperate for comfort, to feel the deep connection she had been missing, she starts the manifestation, expecting an inoffensive entity to walk with her that rough path. What she doesn't know is that she awoke the mysterious entity tied to an old necklace around her neck.

Jungkook, a mysterious and seductive figure, appears in her life, offering the company she craves. But as his presence grows stronger, so does the unsettling sense that there's more to him -and the necklace- than meets the eye, unfolding all the reasons that took him to that place.

Now, as the past bleeds into the present, Y/n must fight with her growing feelings for the demon who seems familiar yet dangerous. Jungkook is determined to reclaim his power, but in doing so, he may doom Y/n once again. Bound by fate, the two are locked in a dangerous mix of love, redemption, and the looming threat of destruction. 

Will they break the curse that has haunted them both, or will history repeat itself with devastating consequences?

Chapter duration: 17 minutes

The morning light spilled gently through the living room windows, slanting across the floorboards in a honey-gold glow. The apartment was quiet, too quiet.

Y/n rubbed her eyes, disoriented from the warmth still clinging to her skin, a remnant of the night before. She half-expected to find Jungkook still beside her, but his absence in the bed made the space feel suddenly cold.

She sat up, hair a mess, sleep still clinging to her limbs as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. A distant clunk followed by a loud ding! echoed from the kitchen, and then, the smell of mixed cooked food she hadn't ever woken up to before. At least since she moved out by herself.

There it was, the cursing.

—What the actual hell? You demonic piece of... You were made in hell, I know it, I can smell it!

Y/n blinked.

She got up and padded toward the sound, stopping at the corner of the hallway. There, in her kitchen, stood the demon she promised to transform into his full form. Barefoot, shirtless, and squinting suspiciously at the toaster like it had just insulted his lineage.

He was holding a blackened piece of toast with a pair of tongs, arms flexing as he aggressively poked at the appliance. Smoke curled lazily from the toaster, and a second piece of bread, very much not toast, was half-hanging out of the slot like it had given up halfway through the process.

—I think it's broken —he muttered under his breath, tugging the cord out of the wall like he was disarming a bomb—. This fucking thing is rigged.

Y/n leaned against the doorframe, watching him in silence, her lips twitching.

—Did the toaster offend you personally, or are you just mad it smells better than you? —she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

Jungkook startled, turning sharply.

Her eyes swept over him, lingering on the faint shimmer of his tattoos -less stark, less inky black than before. Like they were being rewritten somehow. His skin looked less shadowed too, the sharp contrast of his otherworldly presence dulling. But the most startling change? His eyes. They were tired. Not hollow, not deadened, but tired. Human tired.

—You're awake —he said, clearing his throat and pretending like he wasn't caught mid-toast battle—. I'm glad to see at least one of us had a good rest —he ironically said, turning back to the stove.

Y/n padded in, arms crossed.

—I thought you didn't sleep.

—I didn't —he said too quickly.

—Jungkook...

He hesitated, his jaw slightly clenching as he tried to fight the admission of how good his name sounded with her voice.

—I did. I think. I don't really remember how it felt like —he blinked, looking down at the piece of burnt toast in his hand like it held the answers—. I closed my eyes on the couch and suddenly I was standing in a field. There were horses. And fire. And I think someone threw a pie at me?

—Sounds like a dream —Y/n snorted.

—That's not possible —he muttered, clearly annoyed by his own confusion—. I don't dream.

—You didn't used to dream —she corrected gently—, but you did tonight.

He didn't reply. She stepped closer, nodding toward the toast.

—So, what's the deal? Trying to burn down my apartment as a thank-you for last night?

—You should be thanking me —Jungkook's mouth twitched—. I made breakfast.

—You mean you made charcoal —she took the piece of toast from him, holding it up—. This could be used as a weapon.

—Useful. We could use it next time someone tries to jump you.

There was a pause. Then, both of them laughed.

Something about the moment was surreal, watching a powerful demon in pajama pants, looking sleep-rumpled and mortal, fiddling with kitchen appliances like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Y/n reached into a drawer and pulled out new slices of bread.

—You know, you could've just asked for help.

—I didn't want to wake you.

—Since when do you care? —she raised a brow.

Another pause.

—I don't know —he said honestly—. But I just... didn't want to disturb you.

And just like that, something in her softened. She glanced at his bare torso, where the tattoos had once looked like curses burned into skin. Now, they shimmered faintly under the morning light, delicate and almost... beautiful. Like vines, not chains.

—I think the energy is changing you —she whispered.

—Is that a good thing or a bad thing? —he glanced at her, face unreadable.

—I think... —she hesitated, offering a real smile—. I think it means you're still capable of change.

Jungkook didn't reply at first. But his expression flickered. A glimmer of something soft settled in his features before he turned away to grab the butter.

—Well —he said, smirking slightly—, if I'm going to become a real boy, you'd better teach me how to use this toaster.

She laughed, and it echoed through the room like sunlight.

—Let's start preparing breakfast again, pinocchio.

They eventually abandoned the crime scene that was her kitchen, deciding it was safer to let the toaster mourn in silence. Y/n had managed to salvage some eggs, toast, and fruit, tossing everything onto two mismatched plates before leading Jungkook to the little balcony just outside her apartment.

The morning sun painted warm streaks across the small space, and though the chairs were wobbly and the table had seen better days, it felt... peaceful.

Jungkook plopped into his seat, eyes locked on the plate in front of him like it held the meaning of life. Then, without ceremony, he picked up a piece of toast and took a bite so aggressive it made her pause mid-sip of her coffee.

—Whoa —she blinked—. You good?

He nodded, already chewing, then pointed at the food with wide eyes.

—This —he said, mouth full— is the best thing I've ever eaten.

—It's literally overcooked toast —Y/n laughed—, and slightly burnt eggs.

He ignored her, grabbing a forkful of eggs like it was treasure.

—I don't care. It's salty. It's warm. It's... Wait, what's this? —he picked up a slice of mango and held it up dramatically.

—Mango. You've never had one?

—I've never tasted anything like this— he bit into it, and for a second, his expression went slack with awe—. Is this what eating is like for humans? I would've started centuries ago.

Y/n grinned, resting her cheek in her palm as she watched him devour his food with zero shame.

—You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this happy.

He licked juice off his fingers, not even bothering with a napkin.

—You've never fed me before.

She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile wider.

—Guess I've unlocked a new demon level.

—Not a demon —he corrected softly, but his voice held no real weight.

He looked at her for a second, really looked, and something unreadable passed behind his eyes. Then he blinked and stuffed more toast into his mouth like the moment hadn't happened.

They ate in mostly comfortable silence, save for the occasional grunt of satisfaction from Jungkook that sounded vaguely inappropriate. Y/n raised a brow every time, but he just shrugged.

—I get it now —he mumbled between bites—. Why humans kill for food —after a moment, he slowed down, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic sigh—. Okay. I think I just experienced something called... being full?

—That's how you know you're evolving —Y/n teased—. Next step: craving ice cream during a breakup.

—No way —he groaned—. Do I have to go through heartbreak too?

—Not if I can help it —she met his eyes, her teasing fading just slightly.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, something real, but then he just gave her a lazy smirk and kicked his foot against hers under the table.

—I'm still not sleeping in your bed.

—Nope —she said, sipping her coffee.

But neither of them looked away.

Not yet.

Jungkook was humming as he picked up the last few scraps from their breakfast, licking mango juice from his fingers with an exaggerated groan of appreciation. Y/n rolled her eyes and stood to clear the plates, gathering them in her arms.

—You're such a menace —she muttered, shaking her head as she stepped toward the kitchen door.

But then, her vision blurred. Just for a second.

The edges of the balcony tilted sideways, and the next thing she knew, her knees wobbled. A sharp wave of dizziness crashed through her chest like a drumbeat. One of the plates slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor with a piercing crack.

Jungkook froze.

—Y/n?

She blinked rapidly, bracing herself against the wall.

—I'm fine —she said quickly, too quickly—. Just stood up too fast.

But he was already moving. In a flash, he was at her side, his hands gripping her elbows to steady her. She hadn't even noticed how cold her fingers had gone until his warm palms pressed against them. His eyes searched hers, narrowed and tense, as if trying to see past her words.

—You're pale.

—I just didn't sleep well, that's all —she mumbled, looking away—. It's nothing.

He didn't buy it. Not for a second.

—Don't lie to me.

His voice wasn't harsh, it was soft, low, but firm in that way that made her chest twist. Y/n tried to straighten, to shrug him off, but the second she did, her knees threatened to buckle again. He caught her before she could even stumble.

—Stop pretending you're okay —Jungkook said, quieter now—. I can feel it. You're... dimming.

She looked at him sharply, throat dry.

—What?

He swallowed hard. His eyes, so sharp before, looked more human than ever, full of fear he hadn't yet learned to hide.

—Your energy. It's... it's duller than it was yesterday.

She forced a laugh, even though it felt like lying to her own lungs.

—Wow, thanks. Love being told I'm dull.

—I'm serious —he helped her lower into one of the chairs again, crouching in front of her—. I'm feeding off you. I didn't know it could drain you like this.

—You didn't know a lot of things would happen —she whispered, finally meeting his eyes.

—If this keeps hurting you —he didn't look away—, I'll stop. I'll figure something out.

—You'll die.

—Then I'll disappear.

—Don't say that —her heart clenched.

Weeks ago she'd have wanted everything to be that easy. Closing off and just avoiding the energy boost he received the closer they got, but that wasn't an option anymore. She wouldn't let him leave, even if that meant getting dizzy a few times.

He exhaled shakily, reaching up to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

—Then don't lie about how bad it's getting.

Silence hung between them like a held breath. And for the first time, it wasn't just about being bound together, it was about the cost. The cost of closeness. The price of something neither of them asked for, but now couldn't let go of.

—It's not getting bad. I just felt dizzy. You'll know better the more human you become —she finally said, standing up straight—. I'll go get something to clean the mess.

—No, I will. You go and pick up what's left on the balcony.

The sun was beginning to set behind the campus buildings, casting warm gold streaks across the sidewalk as students filtered out in pairs and groups. Laughter echoed in the distance, conversations blending into a soft, unbothered hum: life happening, as usual.

—Did you enjoy the lecture today? —she turned to him— Honestly, I think that dude who Mr. Croacks invited to give a speech on mythology was a big weirdo, but it was interesting.

Jungkook held back the twist of his lips as he was reminded of that discourse. He senses there was something wrong with that middle-aged man, and he hated how he couldn't quite picture what it was anymore.

—He was a bit of a freak —he tilted his head—. The stories he spoke about were... curious.

—He was high as fuck, and no one is convincing me he wasn't —Y/n chuckled, immediately easing the air between them, causing Jungkook to laugh again.

—Yeah... he probably was a bit high.

Y/n walked beside Jungkook, her shoulder brushing his arm every so often as they made their way down the street. She had a coffee in one hand and her bag in the other, and for once, things felt... normal.

Too normal.

—So —she said, sipping through her straw—, what happens if you eat burned toast again tomorrow? Do I get to call you my little toaster demon?

He groaned dramatically.

—I'll take the title only if you agree to be my sacrificial snack.

—Hard pass.

He smirked but didn't press. His hand casually dropped to the strap of her bag, like he always did when they were in crowded places. Not possessive. Just... tethered.

Until it happened.

A man bumped into Y/n from the opposite direction. Not harshly -just a light graze, really- but enough to make her stumble slightly.

—Ah... sorry —she muttered automatically.

The man stopped. He turned, too slowly.

Y/n frowned. His pupils had blown wide, swallowing almost all the color in his irises. His mouth dropped open slightly, not in surprise, but in wonder. And then a strange, fevered smile stretched across his lips. That man wasn't only weird while giving his speech in class, he was even creepier up close.

—I knew it —the man whispered.

Jungkook stopped walking. Y/n could feel it, like the air had thickened. She turned to look at him, but his face wasn't the same anymore. Something in it had shifted.

Predatory.

Dangerous.

The stranger stepped closer to Y/n, as if pulled by instinct, his gaze glued to her chest—no, to the necklace she wore.

—He's inside you —he whispered—. I can feel him. His energy... ancient. Strong.

Jungkook moved in front of her in a blur.

—I'm going to give you three seconds to walk away —Jungkook said, voice like ice—. Three.

But the man's hand twitched toward Y/n again.

—Two.

A pulse of heat radiated from Jungkook's body.

—One.

And then, chaos.

Jungkook's eyes flared black as he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the side of a building with such force that the concrete cracked behind his skull. The stranger gasped, but it was already too late. Jungkook had his hand pressed to the man's stomach, and the energy was pouring from him.

The man screamed.

Not loud, not dramatic -no, it was a visceral, gut-deep sound. His knees buckled as his body convulsed, arms seizing as if something inside him were being torn apart.

Y/n stared, frozen.

—Jungkook —she said, her voice trembling.

He didn't move. Didn't blink. His jaw clenched tighter as he pressed harder. The stranger writhed, sobbing now, clutching at his abdomen like something inside was breaking.

—Stop! —Y/n shouted, rushing forward.

She grabbed Jungkook's arm. He froze -finally, finally- and turned to look at her.

His eyes weren't black anymore, but they weren't quite human either. There was a terrifying stillness in them, a rage that hadn't fully faded.

She shook her head slowly.

—That's enough.

He released the man instantly. The stranger collapsed to the ground in a heap, gasping for air, barely conscious. They stood there in silence for a moment, Jungkook panting quietly, his body still tense.

Y/n's heart was hammering in her chest. He turned to her, expression unreadable. Before people could surround them, she held his wrist and started pulling him away from the scene, making sure they were far enough when people started paying attention to them.

—I warned you —he murmured—. You don't understand what I've been used for. What people will do to keep me bound.

She said nothing. Not right away. Jungkook stopped when they were away from the crowd, his eyes falling on her ever so slightly.

—I was summoned by kings to slaughter empires —he continued, voice low and shaken—, by cults to curse bloodlines. I've been used as a weapon since the first time I was dragged out of hell. People don't want me for protection, Y/n. They want me for destruction. And that creep is only an example of the way they get called by me, even if I don't want to.

The air between them was thick with something awful and unspoken. Y/n swallowed, glancing down at the man still curled on the sidewalk. And for the first time, she wasn't sure which scared her more: the strangers looking for Jungkook or Jungkook himself.

The door clicked shut behind them as they got back home, sealing off the outside world, but not the weight of what had just happened.

Y/n didn't say a word as she tossed her bag to the floor, her hands shaking slightly as she headed toward the kitchen. She needed water. Something cold. Something to focus on. Jungkook stood near the doorway, unmoving. His jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he was trying not to explode again. The silence stretched, brittle and dangerous.

—You didn't have to do that —she finally said, her voice hoarse.

He looked up, and his eyes were still darker than usual, stormy, unreadable.

—Didn't I? —he asked quietly.

—He touched me —she whispered, still trying to process the stranger's expression, like something had taken over his body the second their skin met—. He didn't do anything. He didn't even know what was happening.

—That's the problem —Jungkook snapped, his voice harsher now—. You think they don't know. But they do. They always do.

Y/n gripped the edge of the counter.

—You scared me, Jungkook.

The words landed between them like glass shattering. His face twisted, just for a moment, like the pain surprised even him.

—I know.

He dragged a hand through his hair and turned away, pacing like a caged animal. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he couldn't quite breathe evenly. Something about the way his fingers trembled as he ran them over his tattoos, the ones that seemed to shift and pulse more lately, made her chest tighten.

—You said people used you —she murmured—, you said they kept you bound.

He paused. And then, without turning, he said:

—You don't understand what I've done for people who've summoned me. The things they made me become. The things they took. So yeah, I lost control. Because you're not one of them. And I won't let you become a target for people like that.

Y/n's anger ebbed into something colder. Something softer. She stepped closer, watching his back rise and fall.

—You think I don't see it? That I don't see you?

He finally turned around. His eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no tears. Just exhaustion. And fear. Not for himself, she realized that now. But for her. She reached for his hand, and when her fingers brushed his, he flinched like he didn't deserve it.

Jungkook looked down at their joined hands, and then at her.

—I don't want to hurt you.

—Then don't —she said simply.

They stood like that for a moment, caught between the storm and the quiet after it. And when Jungkook finally let himself lean in, resting his forehead against hers, something shifted. Not the magic. Not the curse.

Something older.

Something real.

—I'll try —he whispered—. I'll try not to become what they made me.

She squeezed his hand gently.

—You're not —she said—. You don't have to try, because I know you aren't what they wanted you to be.

Those words alone made him feel so weak, so vulnerable. Because she was seeing past all the pain and hurt.

They stayed like that -forehead to forehead, fingers gently intertwined- anchored in the stillness between them. Jungkook's breath hitched. Not from her touch. Not even from her words.

But from something else.

Something distant... and yet painfully familiar.

The world seemed to tilt. In an instant, the scent of her shampoo, the dim light of the apartment, faded. And then he was there again. Not in the modern warmth of her home.

But somewhere older. Colder.

A candlelit corridor stretched behind them, lined with stone and whispers of old magic. She stood before him, garbed in silks and delicate embroidery, her hair swept up in gold pins that shimmered in the firelight. He was dressed in dark robes with ancient runes stitched across the collar, armor peeking beneath the folds. A sword hung at his side, still stained.

Their foreheads leaned against each other's, just like now. But in that version of the memory, there was blood on his lip. Her fingers trembled as they reached for his jaw, just as careful. Just as desperate.

"They'll come for you when they find out" she had whispered.

He remembered that voice. That fear. That impossible softness.

"Let them" he had murmured back. "If it means one more second with you, I'll face them all."

She'd closed her eyes then, leaning closer, as if committing his touch to memory. As if she knew it wouldn't last. He never saw her again after that night.

Until now.

A sharp pull brought him back to the present, the soft rush of Y/n's breath against his cheek, the subtle beat of her heart beneath his hand. Jungkook opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the haze.

Still forehead to forehead.

Still her.

But not just her.

It was her.

Y/n furrowed her brows, noticing the shift in him.

—What is it? —she whispered.

His lips parted, but no words came. Not yet. He couldn't explain what he'd just seen. Couldn't explain why he suddenly felt like time had folded in on itself, why her presence felt like fate rewound. So he simply looked at her, eyes wide, reverent, haunted.

And with a quiet, shaky breath, he whispered the only thing that made sense:

—I'm just... admiring you.

Y/n's eyes widened slightly, the weight of his words settling in her chest like thunder. But Jungkook only pulled her closer, hand cradling the back of her head as if to ground himself in this moment -this lifetime.

Because maybe this time, he wouldn't have to lose her.

Taglist: @vsr4197 , @aznstoner , @curse-of-art

[clegfly]

OKAY OMORI MANGA CHAPTER 9!!!!!

I did not make a bingo this time mostly because I forgot BSJSJSISI but. I do know some mutuals rely on my insanity to find out what’s cooking in this little dumpster fire so. Here we go!

What I want to first point out are the things I enjoyed here because there was not much- firstly, basil’s characterisation- because despite the HORRIBLE narrative changes here (the manga’s horrific pacing issues have stooped to a low almost as low as chapter 1 here) he manages to stay extremely consistent and well characterised! His actions actually adapt and change to orient around this new narrative in an incredibly in character manner which is really nice to see!!

His near-instant reaction to immediately shift the blame onto himself in an almost outburst-like fashion, to insist sunny’s superior morality and to use that as reasoning for his own “actions”- “it must have been me because it couldn’t have been sunny. He’s a good person”. And basil IS in active danger here- Aubrey is enraged and actively threatening here, but basil, likely accustomed to it at this point, flings himself into danger so long as it protects sunny. Absorbing all the blame and getting himself hurt. It’s so painfully basil, and it makes me so happy- basil’s portrayal in this manga has started to become my favourite thing about it. All of my favourite changes come from him, and hes the character I’d say has stayed the most in character this far. It’s really refreshing to see after some of the BRUTAL mischaracterisation in this chapter!!

Secondly there were some really neat visual choices here. Specifically in the drowning sequence!! Somehow- almost LAUGHABLY- the manga managed to ignore including thalassophobia, so now we can safely say that the manga has gone out of its way to avoid EVERY SINGLE PHOBIA SEGMENT!!! Woo hoo!!! Unless you count arachnophobia’s appearance in headspace in chapter 7, which I DONT because it didn’t serve the narrative function that it’s meant to- progress sunny’s character development. God I can’t wait for him to just RANDOMLY become courageous and able to fight something instead of slowly accustoming himself to it using the advice of his sister from the past and realise that courage and will to overcome and move on that was inside him all along!!1!2!3!3!2 god I LOVE that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

…I digress! I’m supposed to be talking about positives here.

I. REALLY like this panel. I love the SEQUENCE here even more, but I just want to say that this. REALLY made me laugh KAJSKSKS. I don’t know it’s just something about a door randomly spawning in and omori just busting it open and staring sunny down while hes fucking fighting for his life- god it just. Got me. Have a little urgency man!!!!/j

Anyways. Yeah this is a REALLY awesome take on the underwater sequence.

Having sunny actively having to choose between omori- able to drag him into the safety of white space, but likely also kill his physical body, leaving him to drown in the depths but be safe forever within its endless walls- or mari. His beloved sister, determined to save bim both from the waters, but this life and guilt he has condemned himself to, determined to guide him through and encourage his choice and bravery to overcome it all.

And sunny chooses mari.

The artificial, sterile, manufactured comfort of white space could never beat the true, real, warm comfort of mari’s arms- of reality, of life, of HIS life. It could never beat the promise of her embrace, of her smile and encouraging words. It could never beat the promise of- well, life. Mari is life (bittersweet and ironic) and omori is death here- and sunny is already beginning to learn to choose life when it is offered. To choose his real friends, to choose to comfort THEM instead of turning to recreations, to choose to make an effort to improve their lives as well as his own- that is what this scene establishes. Hell, it almost makes up for the lost character development from the phobia scenes!!! Almost.

And hey MARI IS BACK IN THE NARRATIVE WOO HOO!!!!

ALSO!!!!!!! HERO IS HERE!!!!!!!

🎉🎉🎉

Okay thats it thats all I liked. Buckle in.

Aubrey. And the hooligans.

Jesus. FUCKING. Christ.

Hey guys!!!!! Hey!!!!!!!!! Remember when Kim was. Actually. Fucking REALLY RELUCTANT to leave Aubrey alone and stopped to check to see if she wanted to come or if she truly needed a moment to herself (which she does NOT give her at all and actually leaves in order to encourage her to talk to people shes got issues with). Because she knows she struggles with it. Because Aubrey is her best friend and she loves her. Remember that.

The hooligans also have. Absolutely ZERO incentive to leave here!!!! Literally NONE. Sunny and kel do not even fucking FIGHT THEM. NOTHING HAPPENS. Kim just goes “Aubrey you need to sort this stuff out!!!! Anyways bye!!!” And then they all fucking dip??????? Genuinely WHAT. It’s. It’s not hard to. Write that part in???? At all????? Why did you just destroy their characters for the sake of pacing so you could clear all the hooligans out sooner to progress the scene??? I GET Kim’s approach here, but- it’s NOT in character and NOT the way you go about it. You don’t just ditch your friend with extreme trauma and abandonment issues with a bunch of people she has deep rooted issues with and hope they “talk it out”. That’s not gonna end well for ANYONE involved. OBVIOUSLY.

And. DO NOT. Get me started on Aubrey, her character, and the absolutely DIABOLICAL changes to the narrative made here.

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK. DIE. ACTUALLY DIE./j

First of fucking all!!!! THE PHOTOS.

THE FUCKING PHOTOS. God this manga REALLY can’t seem to get the photos right. I am SO terrified for the truth sequence now. PETRIFIED in fact. Which judging by the rate we’re going will probably be in like three or four chapters!!!! Yippee!!!!

Anyways. Uh. Brushing aside the fact that these are STILL SCRIBBLED OUT, which violates SO MUCH of Aubrey’s character and desire to preserve everything left of Mari she has control over which is scarce at that point by just… carrying them around and not trying to clean them at all like in the game, WHY ARE WE FINDING OUT ABOUT THESE. NOW.

WHY. THE FUCK. ARE WE FINDING OUT ABOUT THESE. A DAY EARLY.

WHERE. IS THE SUSPENSE AND INTRIGUE YOUVE BEEN BUILDING!?? THE MYSTERY??????????

We are meant to find out about what basil “did”AFTER Aubrey learns to forgive him. After she realises how shitty shes been to him. Not in this edgy fit of rage????

IN FACT!!!! This outburst is supposed to be dedicated to Aubrey’s anger over everybody’s desertion of both her, and MARI. MARI SPECIFICALLY.

MARI IS NOT MENTIONED ONCE IN THIS ENTIRE TIRADE. ONCE. ALL OF IT IS DEDICATED TOWARDS THESE FUCKING PHOTOS.

How are we supposed to see that Aubrey is stuck in the past, left behind by everyone yet simultaneously pushing them away in her blind hurt rage, clinging onto mari, her rock, her shining older figure and role model who left her behind, honouring yet plagued by her memory everyday????? How are we supposed to see just how much her feelings revolve around the loss of the most important person in her life???????? Have we forgotten how hung up Aubrey is on defending mari and her memory??????? How desperately she clings to and fights for control of anything left to remember her by, desperately doing anything she can to protect those few precious things and keep them safe????????????????? Because she doesn’t seem to give a SINGLE shit about her in this fucking manga. She mentions her TWICE, and even then it’s just off hand comments about her death that she uses to make a point about SOMEBODY ELSE. It’s NEVER about mari and what she meant to her and her anger about how both herself (though she tries to conceal that vulnerability and moment of selfish hurt and rage) and chiefly MARI was left behind and forgotten and not cared for anymore, it’s more-so used as just another reason to prove a point shes making about someone different when almost everything she does in the game is BECAUSE of mari.

That aside!!!! Let’s talk about how the manga hates SUBTLTY!!! And AUBREY!!!!!!!

Her immediate shift of the blame from basil to sunny with NO fucking proof or incentive at all is LAUGHABLE. She is so EASILY swayed in this conflict shes been having for FOUR FUCKING YEARS with a simple “basil didn’t do it” from just KEL?????? A BASELESS statement of “no he couldn’t” IMMEDIATELY changes her mind and she goes to blaming SUNNY FOR IT.

Hey???? WHAT THE FUCK??????? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK????????

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS ALL FOR????????

Now. I DO understand that it’s likely basil didn’t have anyone defending him during these four years, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Aubrey any different, but YOURE TELLING ME THIS ISSUE SHES BEEN STEWING OVER FOR NEARLY HALF A DECADE WITH BASIL IS IMMEDIATELY RESOLVED WITH THE SLIGHTEST “no” FROM SOMEONE COMPLETELY UNINVOLVED???? SHES WILLING TO COMPLETELY DROP IT AND MOVE ONTO SOMEONE ELSE THE MOMENT ANYONE DISAGREES WITH HER ON IT?????? AFTER BULLYING BASIL RELENTLESSLY FOR IT FOR SO LONG???? GOOD FUCKING GOD.

In the game, she learns to accept and FORGIVE basil for what he did, before learning it wasn’t him to begin with (after the good ending of course), because that is one of the game’s core themes, and even though what basil did greatly hurt and impacted her, leading to her holding this grudge for years, she can UNDERSTAND it and forgive him for it- in the manga, she cares so little that she’s immediately willing to change “targets”, like shes just some hateful machine rather than a hurt, scared and traumatised girl, at the slightest push in the other direction. The strength of this grudge was what made her choice to forgive so impactful- it stuck with Aubrey and made her do things even worse than what basil did in retaliation to being hurt, a grudge so deeply rooted that she hurt him for it- but it is so, SO unbelievably weak here.

SPEAKINGGGGGG of new targets!!!!!

OH MY GOD. WHAT WERE THEY THINKINGGGGGGGG

Aubrey immediately turning to sunny with no proof, no basis, no idea, no ANYTHING, spitting VERBATIM so much of the impactful dialogue from sunny’s own mind RESERVED FOR THE OMORI CONFRONTATION and simultaneously removing some of the impact there- it’s SO horrible I can’t even put it into fucking WORDS. God this manga SUCKS. IT SUCKS. It removes ALL the impact and subtlety from slowly piecing together that it was SUNNY who ruined the photos and NOT BASIL, that he was being PROTECTED BY HIM, establishing that part of their relationship to later use against the player in the truth sequence, and just shoves it in your face. THIS IS AWFUL. JUST. JUST AWFUL.

Anyways!!!!! HERO APPEARANCE YAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYA!!!! WOOHOO!!!! Please let’s all collectively pretend that’s all that happened here okay????? Please?????????? For my own sanity.

To end off- I’ve almost lost all hope for this to improve. As we approach omori’s endgame, I shudder to think of all the ways that the manga can and WILL butcher some of the most beautifully crafted and emotional scenes I’ve ever experienced- rather than gush over all the ways it may adapt them like I did in the first few chapters, when my hope for it remained.

I don’t have any hope. It’s devolved into slop which tries to bear ANY drop of substance once in a blue moon, and I’m sick of pretending it’s anything but that. It has so much potential, but it doesn’t care to realise it- because it doesn’t care to tell any semblance of a story. It hates pacing, it hates character, but hey!!! We added a pretty visual metaphor in here!!!! Isnt that something???? The omori manga is the best!!!!!!!!

[elizabeth-holland24]

Snowed In at the Country Inn - Chapter 4

In the aftermath of last night’s argument, the square was a blur of tinsel and chatter once more, filled with antsy children and gloved hands clutching cups of hot chocolate. A carousel spun out holiday tunes as though nothing had changed, but something felt different—like a missing jingle on a familiar song. Usually, the bustle of the Christmas market buoyed your spirits, yet today it was all you could do to ignore its merriment. The fight with Jake loomed large and ugly, casting a long shadow over the day’s festivities. From the moment you arrived, you sidestepped every chance encounter and turned away from laughter that threatened to circle back to him. You kept your head down, determined to act unbothered but struggling to feel it.

You were bent over the task of sorting through garlands and ornaments by the edge of the display, losing yourself in the soothing distraction of decorating.Mile-long strings of red and green beads lay in tangled heaps, their disarray demanding your single-minded attention. You intend your hands to stay busy, hoping Jake was off charming someone else far, far away from your vicinity. You needed the space and quiet to think, and the best way to get that was for him to be somewhere—anywhere—but near you.

Assuming Jake was off wooing someone else far, far away from you, you plan to keep your hands occupied. The greatest way to gain the peace and quiet you needed to think was for him to be somewhere—anywhere—but close to you.

No such luck.

You spotted him across the square, helping a kid fix their bike chain. Of course, he was being annoyingly sweet. You turned back to your garlands with an irritated huff, only to find Natasha watching you from a few feet away, arms crossed and a smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’ve been rearranging that same gold ribbon for ten minutes,” she said, stepping closer.

“I’m organizing,” you replied flatly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Organizing. Uh-huh. You know what else helps people sort through things? A friendly team-building activity.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re not subtle.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

Across the way, Bradley had cornered Jake by the cocoa stand. “So, hey, there’s this couples’ scavenger hunt later today,” he said casually, too casually. “Town council wants everyone to partner up to encourage… community bonding. And stuff.”

Jake frowned. “And stuff?”

“Yeah. Plus, Natasha and I may have already signed you up.”

“You what?”

“Relax. You’re partnered with someone who’s great at lists and loves control. It’ll be fun.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “You mean her.”

Bradley patted him on the back. “Just try not to insult her family this time, huh?”

Back with you, Natasha leaned in and handed you a tiny envelope. “Meet your scavenger hunt partner in front of the bakery at noon.”

You hesitated. “Who is it?”

She smiled wickedly. “You’ll see.”

Somehow, it seemed you were cursed by the universe. Maybe it was karma for all the times things had gone your way when they shouldn’t have, or fate’s way of punishing you for arguing with Jake at dinner. At exactly noon, you stood alone in front of the bakery, the crisp air biting at your cheeks, the envelope clutched tight in the hope that its contents wouldn't betray you. You imagined for a fleeting second that he was just a name on a list and that someone else would be standing with you. Maybe a stranger who wasn’t an incessant reminder of last night’s spat and of how much you wished things had gone differently.

The busy streets hummed with activity, shoppers bustling past in festive oblivion as you kept an eye out for your partner. You told yourself the odds were on your side, that you might even be lucky enough to pair up with someone you could actually stand. But, in the pit of your stomach, you knew better. Your eyes scanned every approaching figure, a small bubble of hope blooming and then bursting as each face came into view. You cursed yourself for letting hope even have a chance.

And just when you were foolishly starting to think that maybe—just maybe—you’d dodged the bullet, you saw an unmistakable silhouette heading your way, his hair ruffled by the wind.

Naturally, the universe had other plans.

Jake strolled up with his signature swagger, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, eyes flicking to yours with a mixture of hesitation and defiance. “Guess we’re the lucky couple.”

You opened the envelope without a word. Inside: a long scroll of holiday-themed challenges, written in Natasha’s perfectly looped cursive. At the bottom, in glitter pen, it read:

“Rule #1: You must complete every challenge together. No splitting up. Happy bonding! <3 – Nat & Brad”

You exhaled sharply. “I'm so killing them.”

Jake glanced at the list. “What’s first?”

You skimmed it. “Take a selfie recreating a romantic Christmas movie poster… Seriously?”

Jake grinned. “I call dibs on being Ryan Reynolds.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him to the oversized sleigh photo booth set up by the florist. You posed stiffly beside him, arms crossed, while he threw his arm around your shoulders like it was second nature.

Click.

Your face in the photo said grumpy elf. His said unbothered golden retriever.

“Next,” you muttered, dragging him toward the town square.

The library challenge was supposed to be easy—find the hidden candy cane stash nestled somewhere in the children’s section. But thirty minutes in, you were both elbow-deep in a chaotic mess of toppled books and badly deciphered clues, your patience unravelling with each passing second.

“I’m telling you,” Jake muttered, brushing dust off an oversized encyclopedia as he crouched beside a tilted bookshelf, “it’s got to be an anagram. ‘Sweet story’ could mean something—like Hansel and Gretel!”

You groaned, clutching a mangled copy of The Polar Express. “Or it just means literally any children’s book. This is not The Da Vinci Code.”

Jake shot you a look, half amusement, half challenge. “Well, at least I’m trying to think—”

Before he could finish, you tugged at a shelf that seemed suspiciously deeper than the rest—and the entire display buckled forward, sending a waterfall of hardcover picture books cascading onto the floor.

A heavy silence fell over the aisle.

Then, from behind the circulation desk, the librarian's voice rang out like a war horn. “OUT. Now!”

You and Jake bolted, half-tripping over scattered candy cane wrappers and each other’s feet, laughing breathlessly all the way to the pavement.

Later, in the town square gazebo, the mood shifted.

You paused beneath the next clue’s location—a delicate sprig of mistletoe hung from the arch above. It swayed slightly in the evening breeze, as if daring you both to acknowledge it.

Jake noticed it first, naturally. His grin was immediate, infuriatingly confident.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping into your space like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Looks like it’s your lucky day. You can just pretend I’m not irresistible.”

You didn’t even flinch. “I pretend that daily,” you replied flatly, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

But when he reached up—not to kiss you, but to gently brush a piece of tinsel from your cheek, his knuckles grazing your skin—you forgot how to breathe.

It was a simple touch. Light. Almost innocent. But the air between you suddenly felt too tight, too electric.

Jake’s eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary. He looked like he might say something, something real, something that would complicate things.

But the moment passed.

You stepped back, clearing your throat, pretending your pulse wasn’t hammering in your throat.

The next challenge brought you to the bakery, which—unsurprisingly—had run out of both time and actual snow. So, like any deranged duo determined to win, you and Jake improvised.

Flour. Cotton batting. Some crushed candy canes for flair.

Your “snowman” quickly devolved into a competition of petty sabotage.

Jake’s snowman sported an unsettlingly accurate version of your planner taped to its face.

“Oh, I see,” you said, arms crossed, surveying the abomination. “Trying to manifest organization in your life through art?”

He grinned proudly. “Figured if I couldn’t win your affection, I could at least earn a page in your colour-coded schedule.”

In retaliation, your snowman began to suspiciously resemble Jake. Messy tuft of faux snow for hair. Smug little candy cane grin. And, of course, the name tag on its chest: “Hi, I’m Trouble.”

Jake laughed out loud when he saw it. “Admit it,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “You like me just a little.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Just a little.

By the time the final, neatly folded clue led to the community centre, the sun was already dipping low in the sky. The horizon blazed with an orange glow, mirroring the flicker of moody lights from the newly opened holiday stalls. Despite your best efforts to resist, the day’s misadventures—and Jake’s relentless charm—had started to chip away at your resolve. Laughter you hadn’t intended to share had slipped out more than once, and though you’d never admit it, even to yourself, your walls were undeniably beginning to soften. You opened the door with cautious determination, stepping into the wide room filled with glittering decorations, knowing that somewhere in here the last ornament awaited.

The promise of victory spurred you into action, and you strode toward a display of presents, determined to finish first. Jake followed, just a step behind, and with a flourish of his arm, reached out to grab the elusive final ornament for your hunt prize. A silver bell chimed as he lifted it triumphantly. “I think this calls for a speech,” he announced, but the moment was short-lived. To your horror, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud.

Both of you turned in stunned silence, the echo of the heavy door like a mocking laugh. Jake was the first to recover, casually walking back and jiggling the handle. “Uh-oh,” he said, cocking an eyebrow with maddening casualness.

“What?” you asked, crossing the room quickly, a note of panic edging your voice.

“It’s locked,” Jake replied with a shrug, a mischievous glint in his eye, as though the universe’s latest trick was a mere inconvenience.

You stared at the solid door, then at him, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. “We are not spending the night trapped in here,” you insisted, but the flare of worry in your voice betrayed you.

“Yup,” Jake said, settling in with a familiar ease. “Stuck. Probably a timed lock, or maybe we’re just cursed.” He grinned and pulled a plaid blanket from one of the decoration boxes, shaking it free of dust like he was settling in for a cosy evening.

You sighed deeply, arms crossed. “We’ve already survived a scavenger hunt, a fake kiss, and each other. How hard can one night be?” Jake seemed to be enjoying this far too much, and the thought both irked and amused you.

He tossed the blanket onto a pile of bean bags with a carefree air, lounging back as if the building were his own personal retreat. “Famous last words.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed above as you paced near the community centre doors, phone held high in a futile attempt to find service. No bars. Of course.

Jake was already lounging on a pile of bean bags like this was a five-star ski lodge. “You’d think a place with twelve types of hot cocoa would have decent Wi-Fi.”

You shot him a look. “You could help me figure out how to get us out of here.”

He held up a tangled string of Christmas lights. “Hey, I’m being useful. Festive, even.”

You sighed and slid down against the wall, finally letting yourself feel how exhausted you were. From the hunt. From the week. From pretending like none of this affected you.

Jake eventually sat beside you, leaving just enough space between you for plausible deniability. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. Not exactly.

Then, softly: “You’re really good at this, you know.”

You glanced over. “At scavenger hunts?”

“At… making everything feel like Christmas. Like it matters.”

You looked away, throat tightening. “It does matter. Especially when things feel like they’re falling apart.”

Jake hesitated, then nodded. “So, your mum—was she the reason you love Christmas so much?”

Your fingers fiddled with the corner of your sleeve. “She made it feel like magic. Like, we could pause real life for a few days and just… breathe. Laugh. Eat too much. Watch movies on the couch.”

He was quiet, then asked, “What about your dad?”

You stiffened. “He wasn’t really around. Not much before. Even less after.”

Jake’s expression shifted, like he understood too late how close to the bone his earlier comment had been.

You added, with a bitter laugh, “It’s fine. I just learned to take care of everything myself. Made a plan. Stuck to it. At least if something went wrong, I’d only have myself to blame.”

He nodded slowly, voice low. “That explains a lot, actually.”

You turned to him. “Yeah? Like what?”

He met your gaze. “Like why you try to make everything perfect for everyone else. Why you can’t stand letting go of control. You think if you hold it all together, nobody else has to feel what you felt.”

Silence. It was too true.

And then—because he was still him—he added gently, “It’s kind of exhausting to watch, but… also kinda incredible.”

You laughed once, surprised, unsure. “Thanks?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “You’re welcome.”

Somewhere in the storage closet, an old stereo clicked on. A scratchy rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” floated into the room.

Jake stood and held out a hand. “C’mon. One dance. For our scavenger hunt win.”

You hesitated, but your hand found his. He pulled you in gently, his touch warm and steady, the soft hum of music wrapping around you both.

“I still think you’re a control freak,” he whispered.

“I still think you’re a cocky jerk,” you replied, but there was a smile in your voice now.

“Then we’re even.”

As you danced in the empty community centre, surrounded by fairy lights and half-hung wreaths, it felt—for a brief, breathless moment—like maybe things didn’t have to go according to plan to be perfect.

Jake shifted on the beanbag, the one he’d dragged over beside, where you’d eventually fallen asleep. The twinkling Christmas lights cast a soft glow over the room. It should’ve felt ridiculous—being trapped overnight in a glorified holiday craft storage unit—but it didn’t.

It felt… kind of perfect.

He watched the rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hand rested protectively over that worn planner even in sleep. Always planning. Always bracing.

He hadn’t meant to hit a nerve earlier. He really hadn’t. That quip about being raised by the military? God, what a dumbass thing to say. But it was how you were sometimes—so tight-laced he couldn’t tell if you were about to bark orders or have a breakdown. He used to find it funny. But now?

Now he got it.

You had to grow up too fast. You were holding the damn world together with glitter glue and to-do lists and pretending like you weren’t terrified of everything falling apart again.

And maybe what gutted him most was how good you were at hiding it. Until you weren’t. Until tonight.

Jake rubbed a hand over his face, his heart doing something weird in his chest he didn’t want to analyse too hard. He was supposed to be the flirty one. The funny one. The guy you didn’t take seriously.

But now, all he could think about was how fragile your voice sounded when you talked about your mum. How fiercely you tried to protect everyone else from chaos because no one had done the same for you.

And how maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to be the guy you laughed at any more.

He wanted to be the guy who got to see the real you. The girl who danced in the dark when no one was watching. The girl who remembered every little thing that made the holidays special. The one who’d built her own kind of magic out of loss.

Jake leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

“You’re screwed, Seresin,” he whispered to himself, letting out a small laugh. “So screwed.”

But he didn’t move. He just sat there, in the glow of paper snowflakes and tangled tinsel, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

And for once, he didn’t feel like running.

A/N: Hey.... so I know christmas mood is way over, heck even valentines, but I do want to finish this story for you guys. and I apologize I havent updated, my life has been a bit crazy not going to lie and ive gone through some big changes and stuff. But yeah, hope you guys still like this story and are interested in it. Again thank you all for your support and love.

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Ch 12 - Connecting the dots

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